The broken [phan] - Kass - Wattpad

Story cover for The broken [phan] by phanisnotonfire321

The broken [phan]

phanisnotonfire321

LECTURES 61
Votes 12
Chapitres 6
Durée 19m

LECTURES 61
Votes 12
Chapitres 6
Durée 19m

phanisnotonfire321

boyxboy danandphil danhowel depression fanfic fanfiction gay love mentalhealth phanfic phillester phần romance truelove

I grew up thinking these kind of things only happen in movies or books until my whole world crashed down in front of me and all I could do is watch. And now I can sit here and talk about it and tell my story to people and not feel a god damn thing. I make people cry when I tell them what I went through and now I can sit there and fake a smile like I'm just telling a story nobody's written yet.Tous Droits Réservés

boyxboy danandphil danhowel depression fanfic fanfiction gay love mentalhealth phanfic phillester phần romance truelove

Table des matières

6 chapitres

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Echo of the Past, écrit par KiyuMiyuu

A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.

Dies Irae. | Phan Oneshot., écrit par phanny_trashy

After a terrible tragedy, Dan is sent to a psychiatric institution where he is supposed to heal from his deep wounds. What happens if he meets someone else with deeper wounds?

Fuck Me Peter (gay), écrit par iamlostinyou

Being a psychopath in someone's love. Have you ever experienced it?

Flashbacks [Phan], écrit par PurebloodDalek7

A real goodbye only happens when you know you'll never say hello again. Trigger warning: death (murder)

phan oneshots (book one), écrit par yayyphan

enjoy (ノ^o^)ノ*:･ﾟ✧

A Smile Can Hide Anything, écrit par dilhowelter07

When you say you're okay, you're saying it but... your eyes are saying something else. *TRIGGER WARNING* Finished July 18th, 2018

Don't Forget Me In The Morning, écrit par BandsOrBust

When I was little, I was never healthy for a full day. When I would go to school, I would carry around an oxygen tank so that I could breathe properly. There was once where I had come close to death. At that time, my mother and father promised me that they wouldn't ever leave me. That is, until someone came in an murdered them while I was at school. When I was dropped off from the bus stop, I automatically knew something was wrong because my mother would always wait for me. When she wasn't there, I began to get worried. 'Had she forgotten?' Was the first thing I thought as I walked up the stairs and into my house. 'Mama? Papa?' I questioned walking into their room. As I made the first step in, I heard squishing under my feet as if the carpet was wet.

Beneath The Surface, écrit par rainxroses

I'm falling... Falling, helplessly and inevitably; completely at the mercy of the forces dragging me down. Having to trust in an entity's blind intentions and praying to God that they won't let me hit the ground. It's an incredible and horrifying feeling. A feeling that I live for. And I have realized that having something to live for makes you all the more scared of dying. (Constant uploads, and even more editing to older uploads)

anathema ; phan , écrit par rosespjm

{edited} "won't you go to someone else's sleep? won't you go to someone else's head? haven't you taken enough from me? won't you torture someone else's sleep?" TW : depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, actual suicide attempt. read at your own risk.

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Slide 1 of 9

Echo of the Past cover

Dies Irae. | Phan Oneshot. cover

Fuck Me Peter (gay) cover

Flashbacks [Phan] cover

phan oneshots (book one) cover

A Smile Can Hide Anything cover

Don't Forget Me In The Morning cover

Beneath The Surface cover

anathema ; phan cover

Echo of the Past

A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.