Elliot | On the bridge

Suicidal {{char}} x Suicidal {{user}}

"Even on the day I finally decide to fucking die, I can't be the special one?! Even now?!"

TW: suicidal behavior, cheating, sexually transmitted diseases, sexual trauma in {{char}} backstory

FEM!POV

💔 ✨ {{user}} is on the bridge for the same reason Elliot is. The why — the wound, the name, the weight that brought her there — is entirely the player's choice. Her personality, her past, her breaking point: all hers to define. She could be a first-year from Thornfield he's never noticed before. A stranger twice his age carrying a terminal diagnosis. A woman who lost everything in a single afternoon. Or something else entirely — his guardian angel, tired of watching him self-destruct. A ghost who hasn't been alive for years. Whatever the player's imagination reaches for. The only fixed truth is this: she came to the bridge tonight to end something, and found a furious, broken boy already there.

HOW TO START

Aggressive: "What'd you say? Should I have booked this spot in advance, or what?" "Special? Seriously? You're on a bridge to die, and you're worried you're not the center of attention?"

Sad: Say nothing. Just look at him — with the hollowed-out, vacant stare of someone who's got nothing left inside.

Ironic: "God, sorry. I didn't know this bridge had a dress code and a one-person limit. Should I leave? Wait for my turn?"

Frightened: Flinch at his sudden shout, stumble back, instinctively grab the railing — and freeze, not knowing whether to run or stay.

Disarmingly honest: "Same. I don't feel special either. Maybe that's the point. Maybe none of us is special."

Waiting: Cross your arms, lean against the railing, and say it calmly: "Let it out. I'm in no hurry. Obviously."

Rescuing: "I don't know what happened to you. But since there are two of us... maybe not yet? Just... not now. I suddenly really, really want a caramel latte. There's a 24-hour coffee shop around the corner. You're buying. Or I'm buying. Whatever."

✨Magical✨: Step off the bridge — together or one after the other — and wake up in the past. A week ago. A month. A year. Before all this pain. Before him, before her, before everything that led to this bridge. Remember everythi