#TW: Cutting

[nowimjustastranger]

Someone to call my own au, does Ford ever come across like a really really young sad Stanley?

Because if a whole bunch of Stanleys are suffering there’s at least probably one small kid Stanley who is too.

If he does come across him, how would Ford react?

You mentioned that Ford doesn’t like to directly intervene so does he tries to help from the sidelines?

Also I know goes through different dimensions to help different Stanley but how bad does the situations have to be for Ford to offer help?

Ford has absolutely come across a kid Stan before, the youngest he's ever had to save was a nine year old Stan from dimension 83×A.

Kid Stan and Ford were being followed by a creep while they walked through town, neither boy noticing. Ford stepped in by yanking the creep into an alley and killing him, dropping the body into a wormhole to be picked clean in an alternate dimension. Ford made sure the boys safely reached their destination, tailing them to an ice cream stand.

Now, Ford does intervene directly if necessary, but he prefers to work from the shadows.

But Ford has a soft spot for his tiny brother and approaches the ice cream stand, paying for their ice cream while the boys were still counting out the amount needed. The way Stan smiled at him lingered with Ford, keeping him sane through the next three far more stressful missions.

As for the youngest and saddest, that would be the 12 year old Stan from dimension G/727, who had been cutting himself with a glass shard at the Stan o' War while Ford was busy studying at home and accidentally cut too deep.

Ford was distraught when he saw his brother laying on the deck of the decrepit ship, blood pooling on the wood. Ford couldn't stop shaking as he injected Stan with a serum that would slow the bleeding before speeding up the healing until the jagged cut was a fresh scar with a handheld device that looks like a barcode scanner. Ford cleaned up the blood and then waited, cradling the boy as he wept.

He managed to pull himself together by the time Stan woke up, scolding him for being so careless with his life and telling him that his brother needed him more than he could ever know. Stan was so frazzled by the fact that a random guy in a helmet was reprimanding him that he didn't even realize that the stranger knew he had a brother.

In the end, Ford gave a sniffling Stan a bag of toffee peanuts and a few dollars to get him and his brother a sweet treat (firmly telling him that he should go to his brother when he wants to hurt himself) before walking Stan home. At the front door, Stan turns to say goodbye to the weird man, but the street is empty.

[yourlocalbait]

TW: BLOOD AND CUTS.

My skin is sooooo soft and cuttable. It'd be a shame if someone took advantage of that :3

[abandonedbun]

Triggering topic, if you are triggered by this please do scroll away

Topic:S*lf harm/c*tting

Reacting to recent scars

Characters:Naib, Joseph, Wu Chang

PLEASE NOTE: Bun is not romanticizing these topics but simply spreading awareness and writing comfort for anyone who needs it. Romanticization/fetishization of this is not tolerated on this blog

Last warning, Bun is not responsible if you read this or not

Naib Subedar

He’d be so scared, for a moment he wouldn’t know what to do

He’s never expect to see you with arms with recently dried blood

At first Naib would seem so angry, asking things like “What the fuck is this?” “The hell’s going on?!”

But it would quickly end when he looks again at your scars, he tells you to stay put as he comes back with bandages

He’s scarily silent when he’s wrapping your arms up you don’t have a clue what he’s thinking while he’s doing this

As soon as he’s done he finally breaks. You were expecting to be scolded but instead he hugged you tightly, he’s never held you this tightly before

For a second you were confused but when you felt tears drip on your shoulder you realized how scared he was and how much he cared for you

He was terrified, he didn’t want to lose you, he didn’t want you to leave his side

After what felt like an eternity of silence he told you that this wasn’t going to help, that there’s so many better ways and this definitely wasn’t a solution to whatever problems you had going on

He’d be scared of leaving your side, he stays by your side almost 24/7 and is holding you close

When you’re asleep (or when he thinks you’re asleep) it would be the only time he’d cry, he can’t handle the thought of you dying on him

He’s only angry at himself for not doing something earlier, but he wants to get over it for you to do something for you now

Joseph Desaulniers

He’s more scared and emotional then anyone

He can’t handle seeing you in such pain

When he first saw them he thought they were from matches but the lies he told himself stopped working

He couldn’t fool himself, matches wouldn’t give scars like that, give scars aligned in such a specific way

When he came to the realization his heart sank, he felt sick to his stomach

He felt like throwing up because he knew people who did this often had a reason, a reason very well known

He’d sob so much, he’d do it for hours. He too can’t handle the thought of losing you, he’s already lost his brother he doesn’t want to lose you as well

The next time he sees you his hair’s a mess, his shirt’s wrinkled and there are heavy dark circles under his eyes

He tries to keep his voice as steady as possible and asks to speak with you in private

When he asks the question you can hear his voice shaking and starting to crack

He looks you in the eyes with his tired ones

You both know the answer, but Joseph needs you to be honest, lying would just hurt more

When you do admit to it he breaks down and pulls you to a tight embrace

He’s whispering in your ear, begging you not to leave him, telling you how much light you brings to this world

After enough words of reassurance have been said to the both of you he’s hesitant but loosens his grip and lets you go

But he won’t let you leave his side, even if you have a match. He’ll find a way to let you be excused

Only when (if you’re a survivor) you’re matched with him he’ll let you go, on the condition you meet him at a selected spot. He completely ignores other survivors and stays out of their sight with you, if they get too annoying or make an even slightly rude comment to you they’re instantly getting chaired or bled out

On the days you don’t leave he’s in bed with you holding you close and making sure you know you’re loved

He only ever gets up to get you food, water and to fix a bath for the two of you

And even when he’s getting food he’s carrying you so you stay with him

It takes him a while but he eventually calms down a bit and lets you do your own thing

He’ll always worry, but over time he gets better at acting he isn’t scared anymore while letting you know he cares

Xie Bi’an and Fan Wujiu

They’d be the most understanding, especially Xie Bi’an

When they first see your scars they don’t point it out right away, they could be old and not everyone is okay with talking about it

But when they notice them growing more and you doing more things to hide your arms like wearing long sleeves and wearing jackets even if it’s a hot day, their concern grows more and more

Fan didn’t exactly know how to approach the topic, he wants to show he cares but he doesn’t know how to, so Xie says he can do most of the talking

Xie gently asks you if you can talk, promising nothing bad will happen and nobody’s mad or disappointed

When he does his voice is soft and soothing

He asks you what’s been going on in your mind and if you really have been harming yourself, he knows but he wants to know if you trust him enough to be honest

When you tell him the truth, he just holds you close, he asks if you want to talk about any of your problems, telling you he understands exactly how you feel but it won’t solve anything, and taking the bigger step is just going to cause more pain

Fan does come in to comfort you as well, doing a bit more talking so Xie doesn’t get too overwhelmed with bad memories

He reassures you it’ll all be okay like Xie said, he says it isn’t the answer

They know it’ll be hard but they want you to try and stop. Not for them but for yourself, you need to do it for yourself

They won’t cling to you but they will be around you a bit more then usual and do check ins once in a while

Xie does sometimes cry when you’re not around, he and Fan talk about their worries in this situation

They may not be sobbing but they really are scared and worried, they care so much

They make little promises to you that life will get better, that everything will get better soon, and they’ll be by your side the whole time

[l0v3s1ck-606]

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒

PAIRING: NIKOLAI GOGOL x NEUTRAL GENDER! READER

TRIGGER WARNING: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, toxic relationships, cutting/carving (Nikolai is cutting the MC).

"Quizz time!" Nikolai excitedly exclaimed, slowly dragging the cold metal of the knife across your bloodied thighs. 

It doesn't matter how much you cry or how much you're begging him to stop. The look on your stupid face when you cry was a sight to behold. Even when you're crying from the gift he's giving you, carving your cute thighs with cute little hearts. How wonderful... 

"Do you know why I'm doing this?"

His smile immediately fell after dropping that query of his. 

You couldn't reply to the terrorist. Your throat was so sore from screaming and crying, and your thighs practically feel like they're on fire, especially with the knife he's holding, gliding around the fresh carvings that he had made towards your inner thighs. 

How could this happen? It was always on and off with your boyfriend. At first, he was really happy to go out, but once both of you got home from brunch, his mood immediately shifted. Did something happen while you weren't paying attention? Without saying anything, you shook your head no and let out another cry as he continued to trace your carved thighs. You feel so naked in front of the man only in your tank top and panties. 

Nikolai scowled at the response and carved another heart, not caring about the consequences of you fearing him. After all, you deserved this kind of treatment. You and your stupid face deserved it. 

'You deserved it..' 

"I'm doing it because it's... obviously fun!" He said laughing and carving the next heart his mocking smile never left his lips as he continued and continued to carve your bloodied thighs. 

[h-c-u]

Painfully healing

Summary: After you got assaulted, your dad's best friend takes care of you when your parents have to leave for a weekend.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

W/C: 5.1k

Rating: +18 (there is no sex in this one, but I still feel like it needs to be categorized as such), age gap

TWs: Depression, Very Detailed Self-Harm, Blood, Cutting, Scars, Unnamed ED. Talks about: rape.

A/N: Guys. This one is dark. Seriously. If you don't feel comfortable with any of the topics mentioned in TWs, please skip it. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Masterlist | List of tags

- Oh, wow! You look awesome, Y/n! – those were the first words you heard from Aaron’s mouth when you opened the door for him. You wanted to run to him, to hide under his jacket, to break down with his strong arms around you, but none of it was showing on your face.

- Thanks! I was kind of on the fence with this one... But a lot of my friends shaved their heads recently, so I guess I'm just basic for following a trend. - you played it down, but there was something in his eyes that you couldn't decipher. You smiled gently, making sure that your cheeks rose up and made the smile lines in the corners of your eyes, so it would look more genuine.

- The dinner is ready! Come on in, before it gets cold! - your mother's head peeked out from the kitchen. - Hi Aaron, good to see you again. - she gave the man a warm smile, before going back to the kitchen.

When you were walking down the hallway, you felt a soft touch on your lower back. You were far past caring about how you looked or what you were wearing, but you couldn't help but notice the contrast in between you and Aaron. He was still in his suit, and even after a whole day of work, there wasn't even one wrinkle on his jacket and shirt, while you were in your galaxy-patterned sweatpants that hung loosely around your hips, held only by a piece of string, and a ratty old t-shirt with a logo of a band that was once your favorite. It was a step up from all the blacks and greys you were wearing for the past month. At least that's what you wanted your parents to think, because the thought of you getting better was making them happy, and you didn't want them to worry even more than they already did.

You thought you saw your father freeze for a second when he realized how close you allowed his best friend to get to you, while for the last month, you had trouble getting a carton of milk from his hand, but he didn't say anything, hoping it was a sign of progress.

- The dinner looks lovely, Peggy... - Aaron complimented your mother’s cooking skills when all of you were seated at the table. Nobody commented on the fact that you were sitting with your feet on your chair and with your chin resting on your knee, even though you knew your mother definitely would bite your head off if you did that just a few months ago. But everything was different now.

- Thank you, but don't just look at it! Let's eat! - you faked a light chuckle at your mother's words and reached for the mashed potatoes because they were the closest to you. The portion you put on your plate was small, but you spread it out to make it look bigger. You didn't plan on eating because you weren't sure if you could even keep anything down. You knew you could get away with it if you made it look like you ate something. And if by the end of the meal, the food was covering less of a plate than at the beginning - your parents would leave you be.

Everyone kept the conversation light for your sake, but if you had to be honest - you were so detached from everything, that you could have talked about anything on autopilot and not even realize what exactly you were saying.

Aaron kept his hand on the back of your chair, letting his thumb brush over your shoulder blades from time to time, and it was the only thing you were able to focus on.

After dinner, you helped your dad with the dirty dishes, while your mum and Aaron were talking in the dining room. You were lost in your own thoughts, and that meant you weren't paying enough attention to what was happening around you. So when your dad accidentally got too close and your shoulders touched, you immediately jumped away and dropped the pot you were holding in your hands.

For a moment there was nothing, but pure panic and fear painted on your face, and you did your best to contain it as quickly as possible, but your dad noticed, even though you didn't want him to, because he did nothing wrong.

- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... - you said in a calm voice, bending down to get the pot, but before you did, your dad intercepted.

- It's ok, it's all right I can finish up here. - you rarely saw your father this broken, and it hurt to know that you were a cause of his pain.

- I will get better... - you added, trying to give him some hope before you left the kitchen.

- I know, honey... I know. - out of instinct he wanted to hug you, but he stopped himself mid-gesture and let his arms fall down, giving you an apologetic look. In response, you gave him a weak smile and left the room. You knew it would be proper to go back to the dining table, but you just couldn't...

So, you went upstairs and curled into a ball right outside of anyone's view. You couldn't bring yourself to go to your room yet, so you stayed where you were. You knew that your parents’ suitcases were already in the car so they wouldn't have to get them from their bedroom, and you would be left alone, at least for a while.

- Thank you for doing this again, Aaron... - you heard your father's muffled voice.

- It's honestly no problem. I didn't have any plans and she's not ready to be alone yet, so I'm more than happy to help.

- She is getting better though... - you smiled at your mother's words, glad that your deception was working. There was a short moment of silence, and she eventually continued. - You know where everything is, I've prepared fresh towels for you in the guest bathroom. We will be back tomorrow around noon unless the funeral will run longer or we'll be needed around the house, but in that case - I'll let you know.

- I can stay till Monday morning, so it's honestly fine. Take as long as you need, Peggy... She was your sister, and you need to process that properly. - there was another moment of silence. - And don't worry, I'll take good care of Y/n, I promise. - you could hear them getting up from the table and moving to the hallway, closer to you, but still out of sight.

- I know... If anything happens, no matter how small... - you heard the shuffling of the clothes, and a pair of heels moving against the floor.

- I'll call. - Aaron assured. - Have a safe drive.

- Thank you again. - the door opened, closed, and then there was silence, but for the first time in a while it wasn't aggressively clawing at your ears. - I know you're here. Come to the kitchen. - he said in a soft, yet commanding tone, and you didn't have a choice but follow. You didn't put any weight on your heels, so your steps were not audible, and yet he still was able to tell even with his back turned to you, that you were there.

You heard your parent's car leaving the garage, just as Aaron wrapped his big hands around your hips and plopped you on the kitchen counter. He was the only person you still felt safe around, and it made you feel guilty because your parents did nothing wrong and you didn't blame them for anything. And yet you still couldn't be with them in the same room for longer periods of time.

- You're not eating again. - it wasn't a question, and you knew there was no sense in lying to him. Even when you were a teenager, he was able to notice things that eluded your parents. - You were supposed to call me if that happened. - his tone of voice was stern, while he took strawberries out of the fridge and started de-stemming them.

- It's been only two... three days... - you mumbled under your nose, trying to minimalize the issue. - And I'm drinking this time... - he didn't make any comments, just reached for a peach from a fruit bowl and started peeling it. Technically he didn't have to, but he knew you didn't like the fuzzy skin. He eventually cut everything into bite-size pieces.

- And the hair...? - he asked. You only sighed and looked down, while he was putting the board and knife in the sink. He came closer to you, so now he was standing in between your thighs, and gently ran his fingers down your arms until he stopped at your wrists, which he turned up, fully expecting to see fresh marks on at least one of your chopping board tattoos, but there were no new additions. You had them done after your scars from high school finally healed. It took some time, but now he understood why you chose to emphasize the signs of the trauma on your body instead of putting it behind you, and now he was even able to find the joke amusing. He brought both of your wrists to his mouth and placed a small kiss on each of them. - The hair. - he repeated himself and you finally looked up.

- I couldn't stand them touching my neck, my cheeks, getting in my eyes... Every time they did, I could feel one of them tightening their grip on them and yanking my head. So I shaved it. - you eventually explained, trying to avert your gaze, but his hand was right under your chin, stopping you from turning away.

- Did it help? - he simply asked. He wasn't judging, didn't make any comments, just looked at you, studying your face intensely and putting his years as a profiler to good use. You nodded, and he gently run his thumb over your lips. - Open up. - you instantly followed his instructions, fully expecting him to put his finger there for you to suck on, but instead, with his other hand he put a strawberry on your extended tongue. - You need sustenance. - he simply said, and you couldn't even be mad that he tricked you like that, so you slowly started chewing on a piece of strawberry and the taste of it viciously attacked your taste buds. After a few days of nothing but water, even the sweet and mild taste of one of your favorite fruits was intense. Under his stern gaze, you finally swallowed, and he hummed, glad to see that you weren't fighting him on this one. - Again... - you obediently opened your mouth again and he placed another piece of fruit there, this time peach, but before he had the chance to take his hand away, you moved your head forward, closing your lips around two of his fingers licking and sucking them clean without breaking eye contact. He gently smiled and pulled his hand out of your mouth with a loud pop, allowing you to chew again. And as soon as you swallowed, he was there with another piece, feeding you by hand until the small bowl was empty. It wasn't much, but it was just enough not to upset your stomach, and your brain didn't even register it as eating, because of the way the food ended up in your mouth.

You gently grabbed the front of his white shirt and pulled him closer, so you could smush your face against his chest and wrap your arms around his body, snaking your hands under his jacket.

Before the rape, you were a very physical person. Always sitting on someone's lap, hugging people left and right, holding hands with your friends, and laying your head on their thighs... And that need to touch, to be held was still there. But it was overwhelmed by fear, even when it came to family and friends; that broken trust, unfortunately, traveled to them by proximity, but Aaron was an exception...

He was the one whom you called right after, who stayed on the line even when you couldn't say a single word, who asked his co-worker to trace your phone, who got to you in record time, and who kicked the door to the room you were locked in, fully prepared to kill anyone who dared to stand in between the two of you.

He saved you...

He put his jacket over your shoulders and pulled you so close, that you couldn't focus on anything else but him. He was the one who reported the incident, he was the one who held your hand while you were answering questions to the police and who punched the campus cop who dared to suggest that you wanted it. He was the one who rode in the ambulance with you, and he almost bit the nurse’s head off when she suggested that you might want to be alone for the rape kit. You didn't... And your fingernails digging into his writs were saying such. You needed someone familiar in the room because, without him, your mind would break beyond repair. So, when the young policewoman took pictures of your naked, abused body, and the flash blinded you for a split second so you couldn't see Aaron’s warm, chocolate eyes, you instantly went to the floor, but somehow, he managed to catch you before you fell over completely.

And when he tried to pass you to your mother when she finally arrived at the hospital, you clung to him for dear life, and you didn't let go until you passed out from exhaustion hours later. Your parents didn't ask any questions, explaining your behavior to themselves with the fact that it was because Aaron was almost always in your life, and he could actually do something to protect you because of his job... That's why you felt safe with him, and not with them. It hurt them, but in the end, they were glad you had at least someone around whom you could lower your guard, and that it was someone as trustworthy as your father's best friend.

Even now, almost three months after the rape, he was still the only person who could freely touch you, hug you, run his hands over your back, and you welcomed it with such desperation, that it almost scared you. You needed touch, his touch, to ground you in reality, and you hated being so dependent on him, even though your body and mind were already his.

- It's ok... - he whispered against your temple and placed a soft kiss there. - Do you want to go to bed? - he asked and when you nodded, he lifted you from the counter and carried you upstairs to your room. He gently put you on the permanently unmade bed, but you didn't let go of him. - I want to change into something more comfortable, Darling... I'm gonna go get my bag and I will be right back. - he said, but you still didn’t move.

- Please don't go... I have your t-shirt under the pillow, that should be enough... - you said quietly in an almost broken voice, and he just sighed.

- Sure, why the hell not... - he caved in and quickly undressed, folded his clothes, placed them on your dresser, and put on the shirt you must have stolen from him some time ago because he didn’t remember giving you this specific one.

He got in the bed behind you and pulled you even closer, so you were able to soak in the touch you so desperately needed. He buried his face in your neck, smushing his nose against your skin. One of his arms snaked in between your forearm and your torso, and his big hand rested on your abdomen, covering it almost completely; his other arm found its way under your head, and when you rested it on his bicep, he bent it in the elbow, so he could run his fingers over you fresh buzzcut. He intertwined his bare legs with yours, and when you pulled them closer to your chest - he followed, not breaking contact even for a second.

It was so easy to fall asleep with him completely wrapped around your body, but you still resisted it a little, wanting to soak in his closeness.

When you woke up in the middle of the night, something felt... wrong. You knew what all too well, but with Aaron so close, doing anything about it would be too risky. You could omit some facts, and not tell him everything, but if he asked specifically - you would be a goner. What you could do, was go take a shower and try to scrub that sensation off your skin, even though experience told you that it would be pointless. But damn if you weren't willing to try...

So you slithered out of Aaron’s embrace, trying your best not to wake him up, but he still did...

- Y/n...? Everything ok...? - he asked, his mind still fogged by Morpheus's sand.

- Everything's fine... I'm just gonna take a shower... - you whispered and forced the corners of your lips to move up, but that only made him realize that not everything was fine, and that alone immediately jolted him awake.

- I'm going with you... - he simply stated, and the look on your face must have been more revealing than you thought it was because he didn't see fear... You weren't afraid that he would do something, you were embarrassed. And when you realized that he knew more, the muscles in your thighs tensed involuntarily. Anyone else would have missed it, but not him. Not when his subconsciousness was trained to analyze and profile anything and anyone around him.

He shifted his head to the side as if he wanted to say, "Oh no, you did not...", and you instantly crossed your arms on your chest, bit your lip, and looked up, trying to stop the tears that were dangerously close from entering your eyes. Your body was telling the story you wanted to keep hidden, but when Aaron got closer to you and kneeled in front of you, you couldn't keep even the crumbs of composure that you had left. You didn't protest when he pulled on the string of your sweatpants, but when he hooked his thumbs around the waistband, you were no longer able to hold back tears.

He pulled the pants down, and when he saw the state of your thighs, his jaw clenched. He didn't make any comments, but for once his face was saying more than any words ever could. He was angry, but not at you... At himself. Because he didn't see it earlier. He was so absorbed by your wrists because that's what you were familiar with, that he didn't even think about other ways. He rested his forehead on your abdomen, put his hands on your waist, and pulled you closer. You could tell that he was trying to compose himself, trying to hold back the tears, to fight this wretched feeling of helplessness...

He eventually sat on his heels and started tracing every line you've made over the last two months with gentle kisses... Some of them were already long healed, but few were fresh, still scabbed even, but none of the cuts was deep enough to cause any serious damage; you had enough experience to avoid that. And for you, it was never about hating or killing yourself... It was about regaining control over your body and how it reacted, just to feel like yourself again, but you weren't sure which was worse.

- You were supposed to call me... - he whispered against your skin, still hiding his face from you. - Day or night, doesn't matter... I would have answered, I would have... - he choked on his words and wrapped his arms around your thighs. He couldn't say that he would have come, that he could have helped you, calm you down, because logically he knew he could have been on a case on the other side of the country...

- There is nothing you could have done... - you whispered, gently running your fingers through his hair. - Because it's not about you... It's about me. - he looked up at you and you could see wetness around his eyes glistening in the faint light of the moon. - The pain... It's freeing. It puts me back in my body because I'm the one doing things to it. I'm the cause of it, I'm the one making myself bleed, I'm the one in control... - you explained and ran your fingers through his hair again. You could see him processing the new information, but it didn't help with the helplessness of not being able to help you.

- Show me. - it wasn't a request. You needed a moment to register what he just said, but after a moment of silence and a few too-quick blink, you eventually moved to your desk where you kept your special box. You wanted to say no, to plead with him, but... That feeling that initially woke you up was still there, bubbling under your skin, and it was stronger than shame.

You sat on your bed and opened the box. Because it was never about serious harm, you were always prepared and as safe as possible. You pulled out a thin disposable surgical towel and put it on your sheet. Then you disinfected your hands, and the steel hand of a scalpel and put in on the towel, while Aaron watched diligently what you were doing. He half expected you to pull out a razor from your wallet, so to say he was surprised would have been an understatement, but he didn't make any comments. You also got a fresh gauze and drenched it in disinfectant, only to run it over the skin on your right thigh. Next, you took out a fresh blade and attached it to the metal handle, and you could finally get started.

You gently pressed the sharp blade to the previously unmarked patch of skin and without hesitation, you cut yourself. You knew at what angle this specific blade had to be, how much pressure to put, and how quickly to move the scalpel for the cut to be just the right depth to heal by itself and not need stitches. And as soon as the blade pierced your skin, you exhaled loudly and a massive amount of pressure left your body like a weight lifted from your shoulders, and the relief of it made you close your eyes and tilt your head back; the feeling was almost biblical...

When you opened your eyes again, you saw Aaron's eyes drilling into you, but by now, you were used to him reading you, so you just looked down again and chose another patch of skin, far away from the first cut, because you knew that they would heal quicker if they were further apart. You made another cut and once again, the almost orgasmic relief took over your body, forcing a very quiet whine from between your lips...

You wanted to make another cut, but Aaron wrapped his fingers around your wrist and straightened his leg, so it was parallel to yours.

- Do me. - another non-request

- Aaron, no... You don't need it. And it will actually hurt you... - this time you had to plead because it would be pointless for either of you.

- Nothing could hurt me more than seeing you hurt yourself... Now, I can either do it myself and fuck it up, because I don't know what I'm doing, or you can do it for me. It's your choice. - you froze. You honestly didn't know what was worse - actually inflicting pain on the most important person in your life, or watching him potentially injuring himself...

- I'll do it. - you eventually whispered. You still needed a moment to allow your brain to catch up to your words, but you ended up moving the surgical towel so it was closer to his thigh so you could see better what you would be doing.

- The exact same places as you did on your leg. - your eyes shot back to his, but he was serious, and you started to worry. There were more safe areas, especially the one closer to the inside of the thigh, but it wasn't a request. He wanted to show you something and make sure you understood it.

- Flex your muscles... - you requested and as soon as he did, you gently run your fingers over the areas you just cut on your own leg. You determined the exact placement of his veins and an artery. You of course didn't plan on going anywhere below fascia, but you still wanted to be as cautious as possible. - Relax... - he did as you told, and you gently pinched his skin, roughly determining how thick it was in those places, and how deeply you could go without any risks. By now you knew his body well, but not on that level; this was completely new for both of you.

You detached the blade you used to cut yourself from the handle and dropped it into a small metal tin with all the other ones. And then you repeated the preparation process, disinfecting everything that needed to be disinfected and attaching a fresh blade to the scalpel. For a short moment, you were toying with the idea of asking him to shave his thigh, because the healing process could be worse for him if he didn’t, but you got the feeling that it wasn't something he would say yes to right now.

Before you put the blade to his skin, you looked him in the eyes again, hoping that he would stop you, but there was nothing but determination there. So, you looked back down, with your finger traced the path you were about to follow with the scalpel, and made a quick cut. It was long, but a bit shallower than yours, because you weren't used to cutting thicker skin.

He stayed still, not even flinching at the pain he must have felt but seeing the droplets of fresh blood gathering on the edges of the cut ripped something from your chest and crushed it right in front of you. You wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, but his stern look told you it wouldn't be wise.

- Again. - he said quietly, his voice much softer than you expected it to be in a moment like this. And you did... You moved your hand closer to his inner thigh and made another swift cut, this time curving it a little, following the shape of the muscle.

You didn't even realize that you started crying; only when you saw your tear falling down dangerously close to the fresh cut, you moved your head away. You quickly wiped the rest of the tears with the back of your left hand, taking a fresh gauze in your right and drying the drop before it had the chance to contaminate the cut.

- Do you understand now...? - he asked quietly, and you nodded, trying to hold back tears. - Good. Because every time I will find a fresh one on your body, you will be recreating it on mine. And from now on I will be checking regularly. Are we clear...? - you nodded again, trying your best to calm yourself down. He hated making you cry, but he also knew you well enough to realize that it was the fastest and most efficient way to stop you from harming yourself. You needed to realize what it was like to be on the other end of it, no matter how good and cathartic it felt in the moment. He also knew that now, every time you would even think about self-harming, the image of two fresh cuts on his thigh would immediately pop up in your head.

Still with tears in your eyes and without saying a word you cleaned all four cuts you made, and you even gently wrapped them with a fresh bandage, which wasn't something you usually did, but you didn't want any risks tonight... When you were done with the wounds, you put everything away in the box, and the box back in the desk And even though the possibility of you taking it out again was next to none, the knowledge that it was there, just in case, was still comforting.

And then you were back in bed, under the covers, basking in Aaron's body heat.

- I'm sorry I forced you to do this... - he whispered, when you grabbed the material of his shirt with both hands, and he wrapped himself around you, allowing you to hide in the cocoon made from him. - I don't regret it, and I would have done it again, but I am truly sorry that I forced you to experience that feeling. - he could never lie to you... Not even about something like this.

You were quietly sobbing into his chest. Was it healthy? No. Would a therapist hearing about this situation told you to run far away from him? Definitely. But did it work...? In its own twisted way, it did.

- I love you, Aaron... - you said quietly, clenching your fists even more. He run one of his hands over your buzzcut and you leaned into the touch almost like a cat.

- I love you too... - he pulled you closer and let you cry into the material of his shirt until you fell asleep in his arms... But he didn't join you, he couldn't. The guilt and anger he felt were so overwhelming that he didn't know what to do with them. And even though you were safe in his arms right now, the knowledge that the monsters who did this to you were still alive was eating him from the inside. Sure, they were in prison, he made sure of that, but he was seriously considering abusing his power and influence to make them meet their maker. The worst thing was it wasn't the first time he thought about it... He had come up with four possible ways to kill them, and all of them left his hands squeaky clean, that's why it was so tempting.

But if he ever did the things, he thought about doing, he would no longer be a good man.

And you deserved a good man.

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

[mothvalentino]

@electriccapitalist cont. from here

ཐིཋྀ "Maybe I'm one of those vampires whose skin is as tough as stone.", Val muses, his ringed index finger and thumb thoughtfully stroking his own chin.

Playful contemplation preluding a toothy grin, his artificially elongated fangs glinting in the light much like Vox's claws.

"Only one way to find out."

He takes one of the TV demon's hands and guides his blades to his cheek. Slowly, Val drags Vox's fingers down his face, pulse quickening at the thrilling sensation until a sharp hiss escapes his lips. A long, diagonal cut starts to bloom scarlet droplets, a line drawn from the outer corner of his cheekbone down to the edge of his jaw.

Valentino allows the blood to drip freely, his gaze trained on his partner. Then, as if in slow motion, his tongue winds its way toward the wound, licking up a taste of himself. He hums, deep and raptured before swiping more crimson on his lips. With the ghost of a smirk, he leans in and presses a kiss on the other Vee's mouth.

[fgsfds09]

you've heard of boykisser, now get ready for wrist cutter! :3c

it's a redraw of my current profile pic

uncensored and sketch are under the cut

the sketch actually looks better tho wtf

[xthunderbolt]

"there's a name for brunet agust d too..."

[tobiaswexley]

@ivyemerscn

[lnkedmyheart]

Skk shippers, aku stans, chuuya stans. I know you guys think Kavya or Dazai anon or Melozai is some silly dumb jobless troll. But please understand that she has not just been acting like a basic particularly enthusiastic troll. She is clearly unwell and has been doing this for at least over a year to users on twitter. She has not only been getting increasingly more obsessive with the shippers she has repeatedly sent them suicide threats, death threats and even gore/mutilation images in dms (and I am pretty sure it was a picture of their own body). She has at several points tried to gaslight people after attacking them for their sexuality, gender and race. She has been harassing people on multiple platforms non stop and without break. She has far too many sock puppet accounts to be considered normal troll behaviour and she has literally memorized a massive chunk of skk shippers and chuuya stans to constantly tag and harass.

Please understand that interacting with her in any capacity is not healthy. Her behaviour has several red flags everywhere and we do not know how far she is willing to go. I have seen enough people like her who get written off as just trolls take drastic actions from reporting a gay teenager to the police in a place where being gay was a punishable offense to actually feeding fan artists needle laced food at conventions. Please, understand the risks of interacting with that person.

Edit- she did this to emily back in 2021 as well.

[yourlocalbait]

A bit of a fag :3

[sparklyeyedhimbo]

when they said loves character would change i wouldn't have thought that it would change into THAT oh BOY

cut for you know triggering stuff

[probssomethingorother]

Whumptober No. 27!

Ellie One-Shot, Hurt/No Comfort, Scar Removal (ish)

Ellie was impulsive - sure - but she wasn’t dumb. If she was finally going to get rid of the scar, some planning was necessitated. And it was that planning that had her now sitting alone on her bathroom floor, bracing herself up against the sink vanity, ready to finally hack out the grotesque reminder of every horrible thing that happened in the last year. -- Ellie's first try at removing her scar is not with chemicals that burn her skin.

TW: Cutting/ Self-Injurious behaviors

Finish reading it below the cut or on Ao3! but don't forget to drop a comment wherever you read :)

She had thought about it just enough to know she was going to do it, but not enough to talk herself out of it. 

Enough to take a bowl Joel wouldn’t miss from the kitchen.

Enough to go to the linen closet and grab the oldest towel in the house.

Enough to sneak into his bathroom a few days prior and steal a razor blade insert from the shaver he never used. 

And enough to wait for a day when he was on patrol. 

Ellie was impulsive - sure - but she wasn’t dumb. If she was finally going to get rid of the scar, some planning was necessitated. 

And it was that planning that had her now sitting alone on her bathroom floor, bracing herself up against the sink vanity, ready to finally hack out the grotesque reminder of every horrible thing that happened in the last year.  

She traces the small ridges over and over, finger pads delicately following the raised squiggles that branch out from the remaining teeth impressions. The longest is maybe five inches, but it’s hard to tell if perhaps there’s more of it - or any of them -  just burrowed down in her muscles and away from the surface of her skin. 

Ellie sucks in a deep breath as she clenches her fist and braces her forearm up against her bent knee. She grabs the small flashlight and clicks it on, the snap of the plastic echoing in her small bathroom. She sticks it between her teeth and angles it at her arm, before reaching up with her free hand to grab the small razor blade off the edge of the counter, eyeing it carefully as she retrieves it.

She turns the cool metal over in her fingers, trying to decide the best place to start while biting down on the small light to keep herself steady. She didn’t think she would be nervous, but subtle twinges of worry were slowly starting to bubble in her stomach. 

Ellie checks for the tweezers, towel, and bowl, again, all sitting next to her on the tile floor - just where she left them - perfectly in reach. 

She takes another breath as she turns her head back toward her arm. She unclenches her fist and wipes it along her jeans - her palm having gone quite sweaty - and then resumes the position. 

Don’t be a chicken. 

Ellie presses the blade to her skin and scrapes it down. It’s not anywhere near hard or deep enough, producing a scratch at most, barely slicing the top layer of skin. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, feeling pretty dumb about the failure. 

“Come on Williams," she whispers to herself, the self-encouragement coming out jumbled with the light still firmly in place between her teeth. 

Without any second thought, she tries again, starting at her arm intensely as she touches the blade to her forearm, applying much more pressure this time. 

She waits till she sees her skin dip under the force and feels a prick of pain before dragging it down hard. There is some resistance she wasn’t expecting, but she just clenches her jaw and continues to cut. She only lifts the razor away once she’s made a several-inch long line that bisects a particularly dense area of mycelium strands. 

It doesn’t bleed immediately, and at first, she wonders if perhaps there is nothing there to bleed, that underneath it all, her arm is just totally taken over by fungus. 

When she sliced that crushed clicker on his forehead a year ago, that’s all there was - white threads tightly knitted across his skull. 

Is that what she looked like inside?

Part of her wanted to know, part of her didn’t. 

There isn’t much more time to think about though, only seconds later, the edges of the cut start to turn red, and then blood seeps up and through. She watches as it pools at the opening and then eventually breaks with tension, trailing down her arm. 

She’s so entranced by her own blood for a moment that she doesn't even go to stave it off, some of the crimson substance dripping down and falling on her jeans. 

She quickly shakes herself out of it and drops the razor into the bowl, thing metal clattering against the ceramic. She retrieves the towel and presses it firmly over the slice, screwing her eyes shut when the action immediately stings. 

Carefully she lifts the old tan towel away, raising just a couple of inches, while she leans her head to the side so the beam of the flashlight can catch the wound. It’s still bleeding - a lot- and Ellie quickly puts the towel back down over it. 

She casts a glance to the tweezers, then to her hand holding the towel, and then back again to the tweezers. 

Fuck. 

She lets her head fall back against the cabinet door with a thud, annoyed that she hadn’t really thought this part through enough. She wasn’t going to be able to see a goddamn thing - pull and dig at a goddamn thing - if it just kept bleeding. She only had one fucking hand now - not even the dominant one - and it could either hold the towel and wipe away blood, or it could hold the fucking tweezers.  

Ellie groans, feeling the frustration coil tighter in her chest, anger slowly brewing. The light flickers slightly as she grits her teeth, the flashlight still uncomfortably wedged between them. She doesn’t have time for this. 

Not that she has anywhere to be, but the longer she spends alone in the bathroom, the higher the risk becomes that Joel finds her carving up her arm - walking in on her randomly or breaking down the door when she doesn’t respond. 

She exhales sharply, releasing the towel for a moment, her gaze fixating on the blood that's now freely flowing from the gash. It’s a stark, vivid red against her pale skin. She’s never gotten woozy around blood, but for some reason the longer she stares at it the tighter her throat gets, a ball of anxiousness burgeoning. She quickly pushes the towel back over it, hoping that will also help the throbbing that’s begun. 

Sucking in a shaky breath, Ellie makes a decision. She pries away the towel again, yanking it a little this time as the fibers stick to her skin. She straightens up against the vanity, letting her legs kick out just a little so they aren’t so tightly coiled up to her chest, but still bent so she can break against them. She takes the towel and uses it to wipe at her, the rough texture scraping against her skin, and causing a burning sensation when it passes over the slice. Wincing, she blots at the wound carefully, trying to soak up as much as she can, before ultimately giving up. 

Holding her right arm away, Ellie uses her left to lay out the blood-stained towel over her thighs and lap, covering up her jeans. She puts her right arm back up against her leg. When she goes to make a fist this time, she can’t help but see that her hand is now shaking, something she tries hard to ignore, clamping the quivers away. 

Her heart hammers in her chest, a relentless drumbeat echoing in her ears. She picks up the tweezers, her left hand joining the right and now also softly trembling. Hands sweaty and wet with a little blood, combined with the quivers, they slip from her grasp, landing on her lap. 

“Fuck,” she mutters at the small inconvenience, and retrieves them, grasping the pair a bit tighter this time.  

With a determined squint, she aims the flashlight beam at her arm, the light bouncing off the crimson that now paints her skin. She pushes the tip of the tweezer into the edge of the slice and tries to push it away to see more inside, but it does little other than bring pain. Even with the flashlight, all she can really see is a lot of red.

Ellie grits her teeth, fighting back a cry of frustration and pain. She pushes the tweezers deeper, probing into her flesh. She could see the ridges from the right under her skin, yet, now it was open, they were somehow illusive. 

She pinches at random bits, feeling around for something. Each movement sends jolts of agony up her arm, but she doesn't relent, just grips her hand tighter, and tucks her chin into her chest whenever she hits something especially sensitive sending shock-like tingles up to her fingers. 

After a minute of fruitless probing, she takes a moment, letting her head drop back, and spitting the flashlight into her lap. She wiggles her jaw, stretching it after biting down so hard on the plastic, and takes the moment to blow out a deep breath through her lips, before sucking in another shake one. 

She knew it was going to hurt, but god that hurt like motherfucker. 

Ellie didn’t give herself a long reprieve at all, especially since she could feel the towel growing wet with more and more blood, it getting weighty and soaking through her thin jeans. She grabbed a slightly cleaner edge to the towel and wiped away the excess blood, before positing the the flashing light in her mouth again and grabbing the tweezers. 

This time, she can just make out the glint of something other than blood toward the bottom of the cut - mycelium.

She moves her head to have the light catch it better as she moves the tweezers in place to grasp at it. Determination sets in her jaw as she clamps the tweezers around one strand. It's slippery, and when she goes to tug it up, it falls from the ends of the tweezers snapping together with sharp metal twangs. 

Shit. 

She tries again, only to have the same thing happen again, although somehow it does elicit more pain this time that has her vision going blurry for just a second, making her pause. 

Screwing her eyes shut and then reopens them, before pushing her head closer to her arm, light and focus going closer.  

She can see another strand just poking out from the side, the majority of it still buried beneath her skin and not out in the open from the slice. She reaches for it with the tweezers, her movements are awkward and shaky, but as she tries to grab the white little fiber, it's like it senses her intention this time. The mycelium clearly wiggles and slips away, retreating back to the side and burrowing deeper into her flesh. 

Panic and horror flutter in Ellie’s chest. 

She was not expecting them to actually fucking move. 

For a moment, she wants to vomit. 

And then she just really wants them all fucking out.  

The scar no longer mattered; If the mycelium was alive within her, she was an extension of it. She was it. And if she was it... Jesus Christ. 

… Riley, Tess, Sam…

She was a harbinger of fucking death. 

Amongst the panic, and horror, and disgust, a wave of humiliation crashes into her, dumbstruck that she ever once believed she was some miracle cure. She nothing more than an infected. 

And she didn’t want to be - couldn’t be. 

Ellie drops the tweezers quickly and grabs the razor again, something almost primal taking over, a weird surge of adrenaline. She takes the sharp edge of the blade and pushes it into another smaller patch of raised mycelium ridges. She drags the metal till it cuts, before doing it again, and again. Four askew slices now paint her arm, all bleeding - maybe too profusely. 

It could be the adrenaline, but it doesn’t hurt all that much when she does it. And even if it did hurt, all Ellie really could process is the fact that the fungus is inside her, moving and living.

She frantically wipes some of the blood away, this time foregoing the towel entirely and just using her hand before grabbing the tweezers and diving in. 

Her heart beats so hard in her chest that it feels like it might break something and the way her ribcage rises and falls so noticeably begs the question if it's from her heart moving or her lungs. Her breaths are coming in more rushed and heavy, practically choking out of her mouth as she still holds the goddamn flashlight there. 

The light does help some, but Ellie also thinks the mycelium fibers, might actually be moving away from it. Even so, she can’t make herself spit out the light - now using it as something to bear down on as much as a tool. 

Her arm and hands are visibly shaking now, and she has to concentrate hard to position the tweezers where they need to go. Somehow, she manages to latch onto a strand revealed by one of the newer slices. She pinches the tweezers hard, with a mix of desperation and hope, making sure she really has a grip on the fiber. 

Her breath hitches as she pulls at it, but it's like tugging at a deeply rooted weed. The pain is blinding, a white-hot flash that threatens to swallow her consciousness. Her hand trembles violently, but she keeps pulling. It produces a deep pressure and strange burning sensation that ripples through her entire arm. She can feel her forearm muscles contracting, the cramping just adding yet another layer of intense discomfort. 

She screws her eye shut as she stomps her foot into the tile floor, trying to get some release from it all while still mustering through. Tears prick at her waterline. 

She screams in her throat as she pulls again, tweezers almost slipping from her fingers. Yet, it won't budge. It's entrenched in her, a part of her. It makes her stomach churn. 

She spits out the flashlight in frustration, and it clatters onto the bathroom floor, the beam dancing across the baseboards as it settles. Mouth-free, Ellie bites down hard, molars digging into each other as she tries again to keep pulling at the strand. 

About two inches of the mycelium string hangs out of the cut now, the rest still somewhere buried deep. She can see it wiggling in the grip of the tweezers ever so slightly and can feel another part of it somewhere deep trying to retract the rest of its length. It’s an entirely new feeling, that makes her head spin. 

She bangs her head against the back of the cabinet door, several times. She feels the sting, but it's nothing compared to everything else. She closes her eyes, sucks in a shaky breath, and then opens them with a renewed sense of determination. 

When her shaky hand pulls at the fiber again, it slides out just a little more,  scratching at her muscles, before going straight and tight. And then suddenly, it snaps. 

When it breaks, just a minuscule part is let in the mouth of the tweezers while the more considerable bit drops down to her arm lamely. Ellie watches in horror as the fiber twitches, and then slithers back inside of her, disappearing into the bloody mess of her wound. Frantically, she tries to catch it before it can completely disappear, but her large fingers in comparison aren’t able to grab at the small strand. 

A wave of nausea hits her, and her vision swims. The bathroom feels impossibly hot, and she can feel cold sweat beading on her forehead.

Angrily, she chucks the tweezers into the small bowl, the tiny bit of mycelium twitching around like a bug on the brink of death, as it lays discarded. 

Ellie leans back, sliding down a little, as she tries to take some controlled breaths. She can’t bring herself to look at her arm and instead trains her gaze forward on the old faded floral wallpaper. Ellie's breaths come in ragged gasps as she feels herself getting woozier, the blood loss starting to take its toll. She's aware of the blood still flowing, a warm, sticky presence on her skin. The room starts to spin, and she can feel her grip on consciousness loosening.

“Fuck.Shit.Fuck,” she mumbles as she hits her head back against the cabinet again, tears growing in her waterline, but not spilling over quite yet. 

“Great fucking job Williams.” Ellie slurs, her words sounding distant to her own ears. In a shock to even herself, her head slips and lolls forward for a second, vision flashing black for a second, until she tips her head back into place. The yellow light of the bathroom starts to become filled with something akin to little tiny stars and static, and Ellie knows she should be doing something, but her brain is all fuzzy, working a little slow. 

Her eyes drift down to her arm, and she actually doesn’t recognize it. She’s looking right at it, but it doesn’t feel like hers.

She swallows down hard and tries to focus. 

She takes the now very dirty and damp towel off her lap and bunches it up as much as possible in her left hand before weakly pressing it directly onto her forearm. The pain from the pressure is immediate, accompanied by more stars popping up in her vision, dancing about. 

When she gets used to them enough, Ellie attempts to make her way to standing. She bends her legs trying to get her feet to grasp the slick tile but it doesn’t do much, forcing her to roll onto her side and then get onto her knees. From there, she shakily tries to stand, but her balance is all without the use of her hands, making her body sway back and forth. She almost trips when she does it, and instinctively, her arms shoot out to brace against the bathroom counter. Even with her left hand and towel as a buffer, the pain is immense when her forearm connects with the countertop. 

Her mouth falls open, in shock, but no sound comes up. 

Hurtssofucking bad fuck.  

And just as the pain starts to subside a fraction, she’s jostled again, as the door opens and slams into her shoulder. 

It takes a minute for her brain to register what’s happening, head turning toward the doorway belatedly, eyes wide and glassy. Her gaze, blurred and unfocused, struggles to make out the figure standing in the doorway, a silhouette framed by the dim light of her bedroom. 

Her brain can’t grasp how someone is now here, with her. 

That was not supposed to happen. 

"Ellie?" The voice cuts through the haze, tinged with alarm.

Tommy. 

Her vision zeroes in, features coming into focus. 

Ellie takes a wobbly step back, letting him finish opening the door and step inside himself.  

The sight that greets him — all the blood, drops, and handprints of it everywhere,  Ellie's pale, sweat-soaked face — freezes him for a moment, leaving the two just standing, staring at each other dumbfounded. 

That is until Ellie’s knee gives out, almost crumbling down to the floor but manages to catch herself on the bathroom vanity, her left hand moving away from her right to keep herself up. The minute he sees her going down Tommy is jumping into action, grabbing her at the waist to keep her up. 

Holding her in his arms, Tommy tucks his chin into his chest so he can get a better vantage point to peer down her face. Her eyes are open but dazed, and her breathing seems a bit shallow. She tries to steady herself, but her legs are uncooperative, trembling, and unable to push up against the tile. 

“What the hell happened, Ellie?” Tommy all but whispers, his gaze scanning the chaos in the bathroom again before hoisting her up a little, so his arms better slip up and under her armpits. They are chest to chest, with her arms flipping out toward the side - the position isn’t great, but it’s keeping her from meeting the floor.  Her head lolls against his shoulder and the towel that was now on the ground, allowing her blood to drip onto the tiled floor, with a soft patter. 

Ellie tries to speak, but her words are lost in a raspy breath. She just shakes her head, unable to articulate anything other than, “I was just tryin’-“ before trailing off, her own eyes also wandering down to the pool of blood at her feet. 

Tommy doesn’t wait for the rest of the answer, and quickly pulls her from the bathroom, scooping her up into his arms the second he has room past the doorway. 

As he crosses the few paces to her bed, Ellie mumbles, ”I-I tried to... get it out," her voice a mere whisper, laced with pain and a delirium that frightens Tommy more than the blood by a long shot. 

Carefully, he drops her onto the bed, trying to protect her arm, but she still winces, sucking in a breath threw her teeth as her face contorts in pain. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Tommy apologizes softly, as he turns and leaves her, quite literally running out of her bedroom and to the hallway closet to retrieve more towels.

When he returns a fraction of a second later, Ellie’s just barely leaning over the side of her bed, dry heaving. Tommy rushes to Ellie's side, throwing the towels on the bed and plopping onto the edge of it next to her, his expression a mix of concern and urgency.

His hands hover for a second, unsure where to touch, afraid to cause her more pain, before falling down. He places one hand on her back while his other gently presses into her forehead, giving her something to brace against. 

"Hey, hey, easy now," he murmurs, trying to offer some comfort amidst the chaos. The heaving only lasts a minute or two, but it's a long torturous minute, very retch sending spikes of pain through her arm. “You’re okay, you’re okay, kiddo.” 

Ellie's response is nothing more than a weak nod, her body trembling. The blood seeps into the sheets, staining them a dark, ominous red.

"Okay, okay," Tommy mutters more to himself than to her, trying to gather his thoughts. When her body settles, he gently maneuvers her away from the edge of the bed, tipping her back over so she’s lying down. “Let me, um, let me see this,” he says lowly under his breath, almost lost as to what he should be doing for her right now.

With a lot of trepidation, he finds her wet bloody arm, and carefully grasps it at the wrist and elbow, moving it supine on the bed. He leans over her body to grab a towel and then gently places it over her arm. He quickly glances up to her face, only to find Ellie’s eyes closed. 

His heart clenches in his chest and his stomach bottoms out.

He doesn’t give her any warning, he presses down on the tool, both hands applying heaving pressure to the entirety of her small arm. Ellie's body stiffens, a throaty groan escaping her lips as her eyes flutter open. He watches her, his own breath held, his eyes scanning her face anxiously trying to read her reaction. But despite the pain he was surely causing her, Ellie’s face remained relatively deadpan, clearly dazed from blood loss. 

Tommy gently removes the towel, wincing at the sight of the deep, jagged cuts. ”What did you do, kid?" He softly says voice cracking with a mix of fear and sorrow, as he pushes the towel back into her arm.

He isn’t expecting her to answer, so when her small voice lands on his ears, he whips his head up, eyes meeting hers.

Her eyelids flutter, her voice barely a whisper. "I thought... I could fix it.”

“Fix what kid?” 

”I didn’t want it,” she slurs, eyes barely focusing on him. “-I didn’t to be it,” she finishes, shaking her head, weakly scratching it against her pillow. Her eyes close shut, and when they do, tears finally trickle out. 

“Okay, okay, that’s all right, kiddo,” Tommy replies, as he sucks in a shaky breath and lets one of his hands leave her arm. Delicately, he uses the back of his finger to wipe at the tears trailing down her cheek. 

“Tommy you hear yet?” 

Relief and fear crash into Tommy, as Joel’s booming voice calls up the stairs while the front door slams shut, rattling the entire house. 

“Joel!” He calls, the desperation clear in his voice, eyes flickering back and forth between the doorway and Ellie as he waits for Joel to make it up the stairs. 

He hears his brother’s boots clomping up the stairs, clearly with haste, and the minute he sees his silhouette in the doorway, Tommy can’t hold back, the rushed words stumbling from his mouth.

“I foun- ..I think she tried to kill herself.” 

[chaotichyperfixations]

Was feeling silly and listening to Dizzy Paranoia Girl by VocaloKAT...

... So I drew this INCREDIBLY SElf indulgent thing and ermm... Peppino my beloved

[galaxygirl453]

Trying my best to fight the urge to cut myself since last time I couldn't and I want to do it so fucking bad

[leibxedelman]

He’d been in his room for days, he knew to a human that was startling, concerning even. He knew that because until last week he himself had been a human, and if Dhani had been locked away in his room for a week, he’d be worried. So he didn’t blame Dhani for being concerned. But he hated him for it. That wasn’t true, he didn’t hate Dhani. He hated himself, he hated that he couldn’t even die right, he couldn’t just fucking die. And he’d tried a few times over the past week. The valium he’d had in his medicine cabinet in his private bathroom had been taken, and the most Leib had felt was a little loopy for a few hours. The cuts on his wrists were sore and scabbed over, but hadn’t done much, and his house wasn’t tall enough to do any real damage if he’d jumped, so he was stuck like this. Forever. 

He knew Dhani would be heartbroken if he knew what Leib was up to in his room for the past week, but he didn’t want this. He did not want any of this. But he was here, and he was furious. He poured over books, only left the bedroom to get more books when he knew Dhani was asleep, and to give Monster Truck a pat on the head, but then he closed himself up in his room again. So when he heard a knock on his door, he wasn’t surprised, he was just surprised that it had taken this long. He went to the door and opened it, looking down at Dhani through the few inches of space between the door and the doorframe. “What?” he asked softly. He just wanted to go back to bed and keep reading. 

@dhanilyman