#but then i get overwhelmed w suicidal thoughts and go back to being numb to avoid it

[pedroshotwifey]

To the Flame chapter seventeen

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Chapter w/c: 2.6k

Chapter warnings: physical abuse, mental abuse, toxic behavior, infidelity, reader is suffering some severe depression among many other things, mentions of vomiting (not descriptive), trauma, unhealthy relationships, disassociation as a coping method, victim blaming, angst, hurt/comfort?, suicidal ideation

Chapter Summary: Javi takes something from you, again.

A/N: This should go without saying, but I am so, so sorry for how long it's been since the last update. I'm still not doing very well, but here's this, so. Yeah. Love you all and I beg you to forgive me ♥

****

It still hurts when you wake up, still an overwhelming pain throughout your entire body. Still a sore and swollen throat, throbbing head, and struggling lungs. It’s been almost a week, and nothing’s gotten much better. You’re still you. Weak, useless, aching you. And Javi’s still…Javi. Not Javi from the hospital, or your Javi from Texas, but Javi from the last few miserable months. Not rageful, exactly, but definitely distant and agitated. Enough so that you decide to steer clear. 

You thought—hoped—for a minute that he really did change after that night. But you’ve come to understand that hope is a feeble thing. A foolish thing. 

You mostly stay in bed all day, choosing rest—pretend or not—over facing whatever Javi might try. You think he may still feel a little guilty, and that’s why he lets you stay in bed. There’s no way he doesn’t—not after that. He tried one day to get you up, but you did your best to make it seem like you were exhausted, when really you were just terrified. You know what he was after. He was drunk and hurling names at you left and right. You’re surprised he didn’t take you anyway. No, he just left. Walked out of the apartment and let you shut your eyes again, too worn down to care. 

He’s gone at work right now. You’re still in bed. It’s probably sundown at this point, but you don’t really know because you’ve been staring up at the ceiling for what seems like hours. He’s supposed to be back at nine tonight. 

It’s Friday, which means that Steve and Connie will be coming over for dinner tomorrow. You should be making desert right now so you don’t have to do it in the morning. That would be the smart thing, at least. You should probably eat, too. You’re not sure when you last did that. 

You feel a little sick if you’re being honest, probably from the lack of food and water. Being confined to the dark bedroom for days straight surely isn’t helping that either. You huff a sigh, ignoring the way your throat constricts around the air. You reckon it would feel a little better by now if you’d been using it—talking and drinking some fluids. 

Before you can give yourself the chance to change your mind, you slip out of bed, your feet hitting the cold hardwood for the first time since yesterday morning or so. You drag yourself into the bathroom, leaving the light off as you pee. 

You’re still groggy as you make your way into the kitchen, halfway in a trance as you sit down at the kitchen table. It’s going to take you a minute to fully wake up, but you know you should take your time so you’re not cooking half asleep. The last thing you need right now is another injury. 

You watch the clock as you wait, your eyes following the small hands as they tick away at precious seconds. It probably won’t be long at all before he’s home. It’s already late—later than it should be with the time he was supposed to be off work. You know better than to think he’s working overtime. 

You take a deep breath, pushing unwanted thoughts from your mind, and stand up. Keeping your mind numb has been getting easier as of late. It takes a massive effort, but you would rather have to do that than brew on your current situation. 

It’s hard sometimes, when you get caught up in it, to fall asleep. It seems that night is the worst time for it. Your mind won’t turn off and you end up silently crying until your pillow is soaked and you have to turn it over to sleep when you finally stop. It spirals, your brain wracking up every pitiful thought it can to keep you falling down that damn rabbit hole. Past, present, future, there’s nothing you can think of to comfort you. Only regret and dread swirling around in your dizzy head at every cognizant moment. 

Just like now, as you gather ingredients for PB&J from your cabinets and set them on the counter. You can see now that the sun has indeed already gone down, leaving the dull, yellow, overhead bulb your only source of light. The hue it casts makes you sick to your stomach. 

You glance at the clock again. This may be the latest he’s ever stayed out. A sour taste forms in your mouth as you realize you aren’t worried. It’s a harsh realization. Such a stark difference from how concerned you were the first time he was gone like this. 

But you don’t think about where he is as you make your food. It’s not that you don’t care, it’s just hard to convince yourself of it. He could be down the street or halfway across the world. He’ll come back. And you’ll be here. 

You watch the clock as you eat at the table, the only sound to be heard the ticking of the hands and the occasional traffic in the distance. It’s enough for you to keep your idle mind undisturbed. Enough to keep zoning out. 

It’s not until you’re taking your last bite that the phone rings, making you jump. It’s like you snap halfway back to reality, your vision focusing and your hearing coming back full force. You sit at the table, ignoring the ringing in favor of trying to get back to that safe place. You can feel your emotions knocking at the door, can almost hear them. 

It’s a steady pounding, gentle enough for you to try to push it back, but prominent enough to make it difficult. You think you’re almost there when it suddenly stops and is replaced instead by the sound of metal jingling together. Almost like a set of—

And you’re back, completely and wholly alive in reality, listening to the phone ringing and your husband unlocking the door. Your breath picks up instinctually, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. It’s a lot, but you have to handle it. You think about trying to get back to the bedroom before Javi comes in, but he’s already closing the door behind him by the time the thought breezes through. 

“Sweetheart?” You hear him call out. He must see the light on. The phone is still ringing. You wish it would stop. 

“In here,” you rasp. That name coming from his sober tongue feels like a stab to your chest.

His footsteps start to head your way, steady. Your stomach twists, but you’re not sure why. He doesn’t sound drunk. 

“Javi?” You call again even though he’s almost to you. He walks through the doorway not a second later. 

He stands there and watches you for a moment. You know you must look like a mess. But all you can focus on right now is how clear his eyes look, how present he is. He’s there with you. You feel small as you get up from your seat and walk to him with tears swimming in your eyes. You recognize how pathetic it is as you wrap your arms around him and start to cry into his chest, but you do it anyway. He’s there. You’ll take what you can while you have it. 

He stands still for a moment before reciprocating your affection and holding you back. But when he does, he molds you to him, leaning down a bit and rocking you gently. 

“Shh, it’s okay” he coos, “what’s wrong baby?” 

You open your mouth to respond, but the truth is that you have no idea. It doesn’t matter though, because that’s the exact moment the answering machine picks up. It’s faint from where it’s coming from the hall near the living room, but it’s the loudest and clearest thing to ever hit your ears. 

“Hey, Javi, it’s Melissa. It was so much fun hanging out with you tonight! These last few weeks have been amazing, honestly. Call me back, I’d love to schedule another little date back at my place. ‘Kay, let me know, bye!” 

You’ve stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped crying. Javi’s frozen in place too. You’re just two people frozen in time, standing, embracing each other in the nauseating yellow light of your kitchen. God, you want to puke. 

And then you’re heaving. You’re pushing him off of you, staggering back, trying not to scream and cry. Of everything he’s ever done to you…

“No, no, no, baby, please it’s not what it sounds like,” Javi tries to defend himself with rushed words as he steps carefully after you. You almost don’t hear him through the pounding of blood in your ears. 

“Mm, mm,” you squeeze the sound out through your lips. You’re bent over, hands on your knees with your face toward the floor. Tears drop rapidly, blurring your vision but making clear droplets against the tile. Bile burns in the back of your throat, and you realize you really are about to throw up. 

You head toward the bathroom. You don’t rush, scared of falling down. But you make your way there. Javi follows behind. He’s talking but you can’t hear a thing. He stands in the doorway when you get to the toilet, watching you get on the floor in front of it just in time to throw up all the content in your stomach. 

He flips on the light and gets down behind you, petting your back in what could be a soothing manner if you weren’t trying to push him off. 

“Getoffame” you moan, words streaming together. Everything feels fake again, but not in the way that helps tame the pain. No, this nightmare state is more like watching your husband in the damn yellow light of the kitchen as he takes you, unwilling, for the first time all over again. This time though, he’s taken something you’ll never try to understand, never try to forgive. He wasn’t even drunk. He was there tonight while you were alone and hurting. 

He says something again. You have no idea what. You hear the timbre of his voice, feel it in your bones, and don’t care what words formed from it. You sit dazedly in front of the toilet when you’re finished, staring blankly ahead and wishing you would just die. What did you do? Why do you deserve this? Why is it you living through this right now? 

“Get out,” you whisper. Almost too quiet to hear yourself. You come back again. Not completely, but enough so that you have to feel every ounce of hurt in your veins right now. 

“Sweetheart, please listen to me—” 

“Get out.” 

He comes closer, too close, trying to decide if he should get you up or let you stay down. 

“Baby, please get up so we can talk, I—” 

“Get out! I fucking hate you, get out!” Your tears have dried, but your wail makes it sound like you’re still crying. It makes your heart clench in a way you’ve yet to experience as the words come out of your mouth, but you can’t take them back. You don’t even know if it’s true, but it feels like it is right now. 

Javi stops for a moment, and you think for a second that he may actually listen. But then his hands are on your biceps, pulling you up with enough force to make you stand. He has you flipped around to face him and pinned against the counter before you can protest. It doesn’t stop you though, once you get your bearings. 

Your hands are on him now, shoving and clawing and slapping against his arms, his chest, anything to get him away. 

“Get out, get out, get out!” You’re crying the words again, over and over again to drown out anything that he tries to let spill from his lying tongue. 

When his palm stings your cheek, you don’t even flinch. Your breath hitches, but that’s about the extent of your reaction. He can’t do anything now to hurt you more than he has already. 

“Fucking listen to me,” he booms, taking the opportunity of your brief silence to let his words slice through. You’re too tired to do anything, too gone. You stare at him, ready to listen to whatever bullshit he’s going to try to sell. 

“What the fuck was I supposed to do?” He seethes. “You didn’t want to get out of that bed, much less let me fuck you. I did it for you.” 

At a loss for words, you stare at him. Did he hear the words that just came out of his own mouth? 

“You slept with another woman…for me?” Your anger is starting to show despite how hard you try to quell it. It’s a strange type of anger, though, because you find yourself almost wanting to laugh. “You know, Javier, you told me a while ago that I’m a slut, but I’m pretty sure that’s you.” Your tone is cold, ment to cut through skin in a way you’ve never attempted before. 

His jaw clenches, but that’s the only hint he gives away that shows you affected him at all. 

“Don’t say things that aren’t true to make yourself feel better, carino.” 

“Exept you fucking know it’s true, Javi! You fucked another woman! You put your nasty dick inside of a woman who is not me, not your wife!” You know you sound like a lunatic as you yell at him, but you don’t care. You’ve never been so angry, humiliated, and defeated at the same time. It’s an overwhelming rush of emotion. “And you say it’s because I was sick in bed? You fucking put me there!” 

“Not on purpose, fucking christ! You make it sound like I want to hurt you, but you don’t understand that everything I have done since the day I met you, has been for you! It’s about time somebody tells you how much of an entitled, selfish brat you are. I do everything for you, and you don’t give a shit!” 

Out of everything he’s said, you don’t know why those words cut the deepest. But you feel your cheeks heating with embarrassment. Are you acting like a brat? You look into Javi’s eyes, and you can tell the exact moment he clocks what happened. 

“You act like a child, annoying and immature. There’s a reason I have to do the things I do.” His tone is softer now, soft like the tears streaming down your cheeks. You barely feel them. You think your subconscious is fading again, because your emotions start to go again until you’re simply numb. Maybe this is all your fault. 

Through everything, you can’t hate yourself for it this time when you wrap your arms around him, silently begging him to hold you, to forgive you, to stay with you so you’re not alone. You don’t want him to be mad at you, and you don’t want him to really think you’re a child. 

You want to kill that primal instinct that keeps giving in, keeps wanting comfort. This is wrong, a small voice tells you. You know it is. But the louder voice that says you need Javi over anything, is so much easier to listen to. It loves to tell you that maybe if you forgive these things, you can make everything good again. Maybe Javi can forget, too, and you can be happy again. 

It takes longer this time for him to tuck you to him, but when he does, it feels like you can breathe a full breath again. In and out, in and out. He’s here. You can put everything that happened tonight in a little file in the back of your head, push it away, try to forget it. All you want is for things to go back to the way they used to be, so you let yourself pretend. You aren’t sure you can handle anything else right now.

You have a feeling, though, that you’re going to feel very differently in the morning.

******

Series taglist: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy

@survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @missladym1981 @sofiparallel

@koshkaj-blog @sheepdogchick3 @movievillainess721 @jessie8605 @casa-boiardi

@justlulu @iamsherlocked-1998 @hjzghi-blog @glitterymanboy @letstalkaboutshtufff

@untamedheart81 @1nsommia @joelmillersblog @purple-rain8 @callachloe

@mangoslushcrush

[randomshitwithwinter]

The Aftermath

a oneshot w/ room for expansion, what happened after the ineffable divorce, with themes of angst and its a little poemish

find it on ao3!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50927497

thanks sm to @feralpypyrus on tumblr for the beta!

heres my playlist of crowley songs! good to listen to while crying over your own fanfic ! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wZPfDSO2lOjyAE7Ln33Gd?si=dgL_lI2gRnemlBkuGtMeIA

the song that plays on his radio is love like you from Steven Universe

cw: implied/referenced self harm, implied/referenced suicide, dissociation

———————————————————————

I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you. The words echoed in his head. Echoed in his head. Echoed in.

Fuck!

Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck shit shit shit. The demon banged his head on the steering wheel, the Bentley going somewhere, anywhere but here. Anywhere but here. Anywhere. Crowley's thoughts repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat,

Thinking in half prose

The kind of slam poem that isn't really a slam, just a whimper

The memories, the memories, the memories swirl.

Crowley is suddenly plunged into a fall. Not The Fall, but a fall. As much as he plays cool, he feels stiff, numb. He's crying now, but it's not him. Crowley is not himself, he is some far-off viewer, zooming out as ‘he’ drives .He can see the countryside, he can see what he looks like to passersby in cars, a sobbing, grieving mess.

It's not me

It's not me

It's not me

He is slammed back into his own body, suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer noise of the Bentley, the warm tears on his face, the hair on his neck. He knows that this isn't real, he isn't real. It isn't denial, not necessarily, it's something worse, something intensely different. He's not real in the sense that a hologram isn't real, in the sense that time isn't real. He is here, but not. He is utterly on a different side, our side. But now he is alone. It's no longer the side of us, it's the side of him. Him, and this weird shell of a corporal form, and this fragile shell of him he's tethered to, to the life he carved out for himself, fell apart.

Crowley doesn't know what is happening, he knows he deeply wants something, something he is too scared to name, something he can't come to terms with. It's not Aziraphale. He can come to terms with his deep longing and need for Aziraphale. This was an impulse much worse than loving an angel, one not encouraged by hell, but an impulse tolerated by them. Crowley's fingernails scraped over his wrist, over and over so hard that he drew blood. It was almost calming, in a panicky way. When had he started?

His wrist was sensitive to the slightest wind, a touch bringing pain, but it was a good kind of pain, the kind that was the only thing you could focus on. His brain suddenly cleared, and as the pain receded, became clogged with swirling thoughts. What was happening? In 6000 years, he had experienced almost all feelings, all sensations. He had experienced lust, joy, exhaustion, torture, fame, anonymity, heartbreak, pain, love, all of it. Every human emotion, and some reserved only for higher (or lower) beings. But this one was new.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't think.

He wanted to drive the Bentley off a cliff. In all his years, he had never felt this way, this alone. He always could go to Zira for advice, a drink, or a gentle hand. His thoughts swirled, swirled, swirled. The Bentley sped up, trying to calm Crowley.

Lightning struck outside, when had it started raining? As the demon spiraled onward, a local river developed a whirlpool.

Crashing the Bentley.

Crashing the Bentley.

Driving down a road by a forest like this with Aziraphale, feeling.

Pure feeling.

Memories

Memories

Memories

Crowley didn't let himself get caught up in emotion. He bottled it up, but someone had cracked the glass, and the air was escaping. He sobbed.

Flashes of love.

The look in Aziraphale's eyes when he was rescued from the Nazis.

The look in Aziraphale's eyes when he was kissed.

The pure conflict in his angel's eyes.

Tears start streaming down Aziraphale's cheeks. This isn't a memory, or is it? Crowley puts a hand on the angel's shoulder.

I forgive you,

Whispered, shouted, with every tone and every intonation.

I forgive you

I forgive you

I forgive you

Crowley thinks of going to the nearest church and begging, begging for just one drop, just enough to be freed of this pain. Of this confusion. He understood the wanting holy water feeling. He wanted to defend himself have security, have safety, from his kind and from himself, rather like a human impulse to have a gun. Holy water would kill his very being. But his being was barely holding on to this world. Crowley wasn't in his body anymore, he sure as hell wasn't in his mind.

He was outside of the Bentley, he was a bird on a telephone pole, and suddenly, and all at once he was violently inside his body again, slamming his back against the seat. He tried to open his hands, to grip the steering wheel, to stop somewhere. His hands ripped down his face, trying, and failing to stop the tears. He was getting sick. Not like humans are sick, with the viruses. Like the kind of sickness when you have just upended your whole reality.

When you have done something drastically wrong.

Or drastically right.

This situation was of the drastically wrong variety.

He didn't even know what he was thinking. He couldn't control anything, he was a passenger in his own life. He tried to stop crying, to let up on the gas, to swerve to the shoulder. He opened his hand. Good, at least he had a little control back, his thoughts still going many many miles per minute.

Many miles.

Miles.

How many miles had he been driving? Where was he? He turned on the radio, and sound came out, but Crowley couldn't identify the song. It was slow and melodic and softened his crying a little bit, cleared his mind, and his thoughts slowed. He wanted to stop, to get out, the Bentley still smelled like the ginger travel sweets from Zira’s trip. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. The Bentley got it anyway. It turned into a forest-esque place, he's too tired to identify where they are. The demon gets out, and sinks onto the grass, his back to the Bentley. Tried to miracle some alcohol, any alcohol, to drink away the pain, but his miracles wouldn't work right.

They were fuzzy, a blurry polaroid, a memory. He miracled a bottle of alcohol. It was the champagne from the Ritz. Crowley instantly snapped, and the bottle disappeared. He miracles himself a simple thing, nothing complex,

A cardboard box. It's Jim's cardboard box. No.

Snap.

A ring. It's the gold ring with stars, the ring that he gave to Aziraphale in the 18th century.

Snap.

A different ring, this time the metal rings from the magic shop in 1941.

Crowley sobs, but nothing comes out. Holding the metal rings to his chest, the swirl of emotions came slowly, but then all at once. The waves finally hit, and Crowley is back in his own body, feeling the tears drying on his cheeks, the cool metal rings that he holds to his chest. They are the only reminder of aziraphale that doesn't hurt so much that he feels like he's breathing in holy water. He remembers. He remembers. He remembers.

He remembers until he forgets what happened, where he is, he falls asleep next to the warm Bentley, clutching the rings in his hands. Night falls. He lies down, and he miracles nobody bothering him till the morning. He gets cold still, so Crowley miracles himself a blanket. The demon doesn't open his eyes to see what it looks like, but he knows anyway. It's the same tartan as the blanket on Aziraphale’s bed. So Crowley falls asleep, remembering, remembering, remembering, the Bentley softly playing music, wrapped in a tartan blanket that feels so much like angel hugs. He falls asleep under his stars. He can't see them of course, but nevertheless, they are there, and so is he.

[ssa-sugar-tits]

queen of hearts // chapter four

summary: y/n y/l/n was crushed when she found out about maeve donovan. heartbroken, she left her entire life behind. what happens when she becomes the most prolific serial killer the bau has ever seen?

prologue + series masterlist & taglist

content warnings: swearing, angst, implied/mentioned sex, restraints, blood, head injury, kidnap/hostage, alcohol, gunshot, murder

a/n: reader is a psychotic murderer. this is purely a work of fiction and if you or someone you know are experiencing homicidal urges, seek professional help immediately.

-

The room was filled with tension and an overwhelming sense of despair but no one said a word. No more hellish arguing, no irritatingly random facts, not even discussion to solve the case. Everyone worked on their angle of the case and despite the fact that no one would dare admit it, they all somewhat hoped that Y/N wouldn't be caught. Some hoped more than others but deep down they all felt a twinge of it. JJ walked into the room and spoke, startling the team and ripping them away from their thoughts and guilt.

"I've given a picture of her to the media, it's being circulated."

It pained her-- almost physically-- to have to hand over a picture of someone who'd been like family for so many goddamn years. She felt that she was betraying Y/N and that made her feel indescribably horrible.

"Now what? We just wait?" Morgan seemed to be the only one that really did want to stop her. Maybe he was angry that he hadn't seen the signs. Maybe he was angry that his best friend had just... left. Maybe he was angry that she lost herself so much. Maybe he blamed himself.

"What else is there to do Derek? Call me bad at my job- Hell, call all of us bad at our jobs but we can't profile her. Admit it, we're all biased. Too biased to think straight but there's no way we can give this case to another unit." Emily had always been so close to Y/N and was able to open up to her. Something she couldn't bring herself to do with most people. But you weren't most people, were you? Even with what Y/N could be doing, Emily doesn't have it in her to hate her. The sadness she was feeling must have shown because JJ squeezed Emily's hand and gave her a weak smile. And for the millionth fucking time, everyone stayed silent. Not even Spencer was saying anything and he is not the type to stay quiet this long. Believe it or not, that was actually one of the things Y/N had loved about him. Everyone rolled their eyes or cut him off but she loved to listen to him ramble. To everyone's surprise, she was always genuinely interested in what he had to say and that was one of the first things that made him fall in love with her. She never invalidated him or called him strange. Sometimes when she had a nightmare or experienced anxiety she'd even ask him talk to her about a random topic so she could focus on his voice until she calmed down. 

"Your voice is like... honey. In my ears." Spencer wanted to scream with emotional torture building up as he remembered how she'd laughed when she said that and how he'd had smiled at her with nothing but adoration and love.

"That seems unsanitary Y/N."

"You're such a smartass."

"Am I?"

"Definitely. But it's ok. I love that about you. I love you."

"I love you too."

She'd planted a sweet kiss on his lips before laying her head on his lap and listening to the rest of his topic rant. Still basking in the memory of Y/N, a sharp pain entered his hand and he realized he'd dug his crescent nails into the palm of his hand. And in that moment, he couldn't help but think about how much he'd love to be holding her hand right now.

"Guys!"

They all turned to Garcia, the source of the exclaim, who was walking in with Hotch.

"A bartender downtown says he just saw a woman matching Y/N's description leave with another man."

"She's chosen another victim? Here?" Rossi asked with confusion written on his face. "Up until now she's only killed 2 people per state and knowing the BAU has been called in, why is she staying here?"

JJ stepped in,

"This place is special to her, she has history here. Y/N must have an endgame but what is it?"

"The profile says she'll take as many people as she can with her. Probably suicide by cop."

Derek had accepted the situation. So why did that hurt to say?

"Rossi will go to the bar and talk to witnesses. Reid and Prentiss, stay here with Garcia. JJ and Morgan, PD is surveilling the radius around the bar and setting up roadblocks, come with me to help them."

"There's no way I'm staying here." Spencer objected.

Stay here and do nothing? Like hell.

"Neither am I, what the hell Hotch?"

"Reid, Prentiss that's an order. You're not going."

They both started to argue again but Hotch had already left. JJ and Derek followed and Rossi stood up with to leave for the bar. Apologetic looks were shot at Spencer and Emily because they all know why they have to stay behind. They're the two closest to her, the two that wouldn't be able to keep their emotions from affecting them on the field. And with that, off they all went.

-

Y/N's POV

-

The second you get to his hotel room, your lips crash against the handsome stranger. Your next victim. He pushes you against the wall and you moan loudly. His hands roam your body and you pull back.

"Hey... Go lie on the bed and wait for me."

Panting and staring at you with lust, he complies. Of course he does.

For God's sake. This man doesn't even know your name.

To be fair, Spence didn't even know Maeve's last name. And he still chose her.

You walk over to the eager man on the bed. Your hot breath on his neck, you lean close and whisper to him.

"We're going to do things my way."

He moans and you fight the urge to roll your eyes at him in disgust.

"Yes ma'am."

Taking out a rope, you tie him up and you know he thinks you're just a kinky slut. That's what they all see, isnt it? Suddenly something roars inside of you. Forgetting your usual routine, you pick up the lamp on the bedside table and smash it against him. Crimson stains the bed and you drop it, shocked by yourself. Yes, you've done worse. But it isn't the act that's sending regret and nausea through your body, it's that you're devolving. You're losing control.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Starting to panic, you take the unconscious man and check for a pulse. He's still alive.

Giving him a shower (much to your disdain) and change of clothes, you put his arm over your shoulder and walk out of the room giggling as you pass one of the housekeepers.

"Baby, you're such a lightweight! Let's get you out of here."

The housekeeper barely gives you a second glace but when she enters the room of the man you've taken, she starts to scream and you know you're running out of time.

Run. Drag him. Just hurry the hell up.

Finally at his car, you take him to the small studio you own downtown. No one can find you here. It's been yours for nearly a decade and you aren't stupid enough to have told anyone about it or put it under your name. Granted, you'd never thought you'd have to use it to hide out from the feds, it's still useful. After taking a look at the brightly colored wall in your basement, you feel a sense of sudden pain race through your veins. You used to be normal. You used to have a life.

-

The man is chained up, gagged, and bleeding but you can't even remember doing anything to him. What you need is numbness. They thought the other bodies were bad? Wait til they fucking see what you do with him. Pain shoots through your skull again and you wince and fall to the ground.

"Fuck. I- I need a drink." you stammer to no one in particular but yourself.

A wig and sunglasses make you look different enough from the woman being circulated to take the bus to a nearby gas station. Walking down the liquor aisle of the store, you hum a song to yourself and let the AC blow on your skin. Vision blurred, you bite your lip and taste the unmistakable strong metallic taste of your own blood. Still humming that fucking song. The song you'd danced to with Spencer in your living room before you'd made love for the first time.

"You cannot be serious!"

"Y/N! I can't dance."

"Oh come on. How bad can you be?  Seriously, the songs going to end and it'll be too late."

"Yes, that's what I'm hoping for."

"Psh. Don't tell me Doctor Reid is scared to sway around a little."

"Shut up."

"Make me." you laughed.

With one playful look, you dared him to shut you up in the most passionate, sensual way he could. But instead he put his warm hands on your hips and swayed to the song. You melted into his touch and your breaths synced as you laid your head on his chest. His heart beat was steady and calming. One hand reached for yours and intertwined before twirling you and pulling you back in to dance. He'd held you until it was over and brought your chin up to his face. The kiss was so intense, so loving. He tilted his head and pulled you tighter to get as close as he could to you. His tongue met yours and your mouths bathed in each other's taste. Running a hand through your hair, you'd started to unbutton his shirt. He'd been taken aback at first but then picked you up and placed you in the bedroom ever so softly. Placing gentle kisses all over each other's bodies and undressing for the other, you made raw, breathtaking love for the first of many times.

"Hey lady! Get out of the way!"

"W-What?..." You tremble and realize you're crying on the floor of the aisle.

"I said get out of the damn way, some of us got places to be."

The man is clearly batshit drunk. Probably here to buy his next fix. Shaking and letting yourself actually feel your emotions, you stand and use the wall to balance yourself.  The man that yelled at you curses to himself as his phone rings and he picks it up.

"Hell do you want? Thought you were still mad about Andrea."

Andrea? Mad about Andrea. Another cheater. Another liar. Right? It has to be.

Before you can process what you're doing-- how irrational it is-- the gunshot rings through the store and everyone turns to see the man before you on the ground, screaming and spitting blood. A mix of a laugh and a sob escapes you and you scream.

"Everyone on the fucking ground! If I see any cellphones, I'll shoot you just like this dickhead. Got it?"

Frightened people drop to the ground and you start to yell, incoherent bullshit again. You smash the freezer glass behind you and open an expensive bottle of bourbon.

You practically whimper having to take deep gasps in between words, but in a somehow still confident, fearless tone.

"Now let's have some fucking fun."

-

But what you didn't know was that the cashier in the front had sent a text 5 minutes earlier.

Call 911! The girl from the news, the Queen of Hearts. She's in the store.

What you didn't know was that the woman that recieved the text had called immediately.

911, what's your emergency?

What you didn't know was that the BAU was on their way.

-

[evilhiddeninplainsight]

oh nice nice. yeah my tests today have gone pretty well

do u remember that time u ate an onion cause what was it like? im so curious

onion

hey!!! long time no speak

[tavecincertum]

Last Night I Accepted Death W Open Arms

Pairing: RK1K | Markus X Connor (Detroit: Become Human.)

Rating: PG-14

Genre: Angst, Psychological, Hurt/Comfort, Whumpfic

Heavy Trigger Warning. Attempted Suicide. Detailed Depression. Heavy angst.

Length: Short/Drabble (1408 words.)

Markus misses a ‘final’ text from Connor. Hopefully when he gets there, it’s not too late.

You ever get so desperate to write you’re willing to go wherever your brain takes you? Me too. This is the product of that. I started listening to a station for IamJakeHill and stumbled upon the song ‘Last Night I Accepted Death W Open Arms’ by Lil Revive & Darko. So I went with it. Whatever my lil tortured soul wanted to make.

I’m sorry for doing this to us friends. Hold my hand if ya wanna.

-

Fear. It was all that clenched Markus’ chest when he finally turned his phone on outside the theatre, barely able to see the screen from the flashing marquee lights. 

17 missed calls. 4 new voice mails. 32 unread messages. 

The longer he scrolled through the texts, the more he felt shimmering tears collect across the surface of mismatched eyes. Adrenaline was the next closest feeling and his lungs seized in a tight clench. He couldn’t run to his car fast enough and all safety was ignored when the engine was cranked up and the tires screeched against pavement from his departure. 

Neon lights became a blur and even as traffic lights turned red, quick swerves took him neatly through the hesitating vehicles. Turns were taken recklessly and the back of the old cruiser struggled to keep traction on freshly wet asphalt. No matter how many times he dialed his lover back, the line went straight to voice-mail and that factor only added more pressure to the race to cross the city as quickly as he possibly could. 

‘Always know it wasn’t your fault.’

‘I just can’t take it anymore, please forgive me Markus.’ 

Connor sat limply in a bathtub full of cold water; lukewarm, bare shoulders pressed against icy tile in slump and hands idly clenching the sides of the porcelain tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. His arms trembled from the stressed tension and body shook in response to the stagnant bath-water chilling his core. 

He stared at the cellphone between his knees in the water, bubbles still breaking the surface every now and again as the liquid compromised the air in the device. It had long stopped lighting up the screen and showing him the list of messages he’d sent as testament of his suicidal thoughts. 

There was no way he could back out now that he’d been so dramatic. There was no way he wanted to. 

His eyes ached in response to the blinding white shower-wall he’d been locked onto for what felt like an hour now. He wasn’t blinking often enough and the sting went ignored; traded for a fog over his vision. Acid washed the lining of his stomach and left the burning taste in the back of his throat in the tight seizes that clenched his abdomen. 

Brown eyes shifted to the bathroom door and if not for the fatigue in his entire being, he had half a mind to lock the doorknob. Instead, he only made the decision he needed to act quickly before someone came to stop him and he lost the opportunity. 

Wet fingers scraped the floor near the side of the tub and when they met cold steel, they coiled around the gun without hesitation and pulled it into the space with him. A sort of admiration took a moment from his flighty mind, watching the incandescent lighting catch the shiny edges of the lethal weapon. The only distraction was the welling of tears behind his eyes that spilled down his cheeks without consent or effort. 

The overwhelming sadness that clenched his heart and chest and brain; it made everything in his body hurt. Everything in his form was tired, down to his very spirit. It felt heavy, too heavy to carry anymore. 

His mind took him many places as he stared down his final destination, flashes of all reasoning assaulting his brain and desperately trying to find something, anything to entertain him. Every face, every memory, pain was wrapped around the borders and packed into the edges. Hurt contorted his face in a deep grimace and he hadn’t noticed the slowly piquing emotion as he used his numb-feeling hands to cock the pistol and ready a bullet. 

A high pitched, zoning screech rattled his ears and deafened him as anxiety flooded his veins. Pure panic from his own intentions pricked his skin with sudden tingles and he couldn’t contain the heaves of breath that took everything he had to control. 

His body rocked in the water and one hand pulled tightly on walnut curls, yanking them roughly in attempt to collect the spasming sobs that choked him out. When had he started crying again? He hadn’t even realized it. 

A final burst of resolve and his teeth grit tightly, the barrel pressing to his head and the sound of the bathroom door slamming open being drowned out by the click of metal getting locked against metal. 

It jammed.

“Connor!”

Water splashed all over the bathroom floor in a wave, a loud collision being made as Markus none-too-gently pinned his lover against the tile and left the pistol to sink into the remaining bath. Hands frantically held wrists to the wall and Connor was left staring at the semi-soaked male, looking back at him with tears vividly streaming down his reddened cheeks. 

“Why did you come?” The only question the brunette could manage in emotionless words, sight barely able to focus on the image that was his visibly distraught lover. 

At first the inquiry speared him but after a moment, he peeled the male off the tile and instead, pulled him to his chest so tightly he could feel his muscles trembling from the hold. “Because my baby was trying to leave me.” 

All bets were off the second Connor felt the secure wrap of Markus’ arms around him and the heat the others body seemed to pour out in offering to his chilled exterior. He couldn’t manage a sound other than hiccupping sobs that were muffled into Markus’ neck and they only furthered when a hand started to pet the back of his head in soft sweeps. 

“I love you, I love you so fucking much.” Frantic kisses were placed on his exposed skin, from his temple to his cheek and forehead; wherever Markus could reach from his hold. “Please, please, please... Don’t leave me baby, don’t leave me, please.” 

The way Markus’ voice cracked and finally broke at the end of his plea, snapped Connor’s heart along with it, his dead-feeling arms doing everything they could to latch onto the male at last. 

“I’m sorry, Markus, I’m sorry.” The brunette male murmured and was immediately hushed with a closer cradle of his head. 

“It’s not your fault, you can’t help it, none of it’s your fault.” Markus soothed, doing his damnedest to reign in his own emotions with quieted, shuddering sniffles. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” 

When silence finally thinned between them and both bodies started to shiver, Connor was scooped out of the tub in a sturdy hold and tediously dried off with a fluffy towel. His form sat on the bathroom counter when his lover tended to himself and as soon as he was back in arms reach, he was quick to accept the hold that transported him with ease. 

Plush bedding surrounded his being soon enough and the surprising part was another body joining him, pulling the blankets back and burying deep into their warmth. Markus’ seeking hold didn’t stop there and he wasn’t satisfied until Connor was tucked under his arm and had a leg wrapped around his hip in clinging comfort. A warm hand grazed across the thigh that curved close to his side and the opposite found itself lost in sweet brown-sugar curls. 

“Are you sure you can stay...?” A gentle, worried question. 

“I’m sure. There’s no way in hell I’d leave you to sleep alone tonight.” Markus gave a pull forward and met Connor’s forehead in a lingering kiss, letting him tuck back to his neck shortly after. “I’m right here and I’m going to be right here.” 

The only response he received from the brunette was a tight grip on his form, a squeeze bringing him closer, if that was possible. Rhythmic touch ran itself up and down Connor’s back and whether he wanted to or not, his body was urgently demanding sleep against all of his wishes. 

Markus started to feel small increases in Connor’s weight and merely kept himself busy as tension started to leave his beloveds body at last. Soft breath puffed against the side of his neck and for the first little bit, he counted them in gratitude. It was hard not to be grateful when he’d already imagined a hundred visions of the gruesome scene he had been about to walk into. 

In that moment and from there on, he thanked whomever was listening for the best possible outcome of the night. Having Connor in his arms alive.

The time goes by, I close my eyes

I drown my mind, don't want this life

Can you take the pain away? I'm so sick of everything

I don't want another day.

[formalmess]

For Your Entertainment ~ Chapter Twelve

Summary: Luigi is faced with his worst fear. 

Warnings: Gore, Character Death, Murder, Suicide Implications

“Hello?!”

Luigi screamed out into the silent manor, running forward in search of Peasley and Polterpup, calling out their names repeatedly. 

Nearly slamming into the wall as he dashed into the main corridor, he desperately called out for any signs of life. With every second that passed and the further he went, he only felt hope slipping further and further from his grasp.

His stomach began to twist as he pushed open doors, every room leading to more broken clues and signs of distress. The streaks of dried dark splotches along the wall, looking much like blood, only hastened his anxious heartbeat as he looked around feverishly.

“Please, answer me! Is anyone here?!” Luigi screamed, whirling around as he searched the main hall. “Peasley! Polterpup!”

Luigi scrambled to find anything- some clues someone might have left. He investigated under the stairs, trying to steady his breathing as he backed up and looked around him.

Maybe he was overreacting! 

Maybe Peasley was fine, and he had just gone out to take Polterpup on a walk, like last time. Maybe Polterpup had just gotten a bit antsy waiting for him to get back, and that's why the manor was in such disarray. 

Maybe nothing bad had happened while he was gone!

He mentally scolded himself for acting so optimistic, knowing full-well what had happened while he was away. He knew it was his fault, but he didn’t want to have to admit it.

His thoughts only served to make things worse as he continued forward with shaky steps.

Hugging his sides, Luigi pushed open the old wooden door leading to the downstairs corridor. Peasley HAD mentioned he wanted to explore the manor a few nights after their initial arrival. Maybe he just hadn't heard Luigi come in.

“It’s okay... You’re okay… E-Everything is going to be okay…” Luigi whispered to himself, tears still streaking down his face.

The door to the corridor creaked slowly, whining with age as he entered. He turned, trying to glance around in the faint light provided from the deep nighttime.

"H-Hello?"

Turning slightly, he perked up with wide eyes as he noticed one of the nearest rooms had it's lights on, unlike the other rooms in the hall.

He recognized it as the lab, the same room he'd spent plenty of time in before, as per E. Gadd’s request during his ghost-hunting days.

Hesitantly, Luigi approached the small sliver of light coating the floor beneath his feet. He reached for the doorknob with a quivering hand, slowly turning it before pushing the door open, cautious. 

"Hello? Is anyone in here-?"

As his gaze adjusted to the room's bright lighting, Luigi froze. His eyes widened in complete and utter horror as he felt his heart clench in his chest.

Lying dead before him was E. Gadd, strapped down to a chair, his head having fallen to the side and his glossy bloodshot eyes staring down. Saliva dripped down his chin, burn marks covering the rest of his paled body. Dried blood stained his tattered lab coat, his wispy hair lying in damp strands on the sides of his grotesquely rotting face.

Luigi released an ear-shattering shriek as he began to violently sob, hitting the wall behind him and crumpling to his knees.

His mentor was dead. The man who had once been like a father figure to him, was sitting dead right before him.

Luigi’s pained screams soon attracted the immediate attention of the ghosts lingering outside throughout the valley. They phased through the lab's walls only to find Luigi huddled up against the wall and staring forward, the ghosts soon being faced with the reality that their professor was dead.

As the ghastly specters, horrified, wildly entered and swarmed the abandoned lab, Luigi struggled to stare up at them as they tried to help him to his feet.

He just continued to hold the sides of head, crying and sobbing harshly. “No, Grambi, n-no...”

Luigi mumbled inaudibly to himself, scooting back and further up against the wall, trembling and sobbing.

“This is all my fault, this is all my fault, this is a-all my f-fault...” Luigi’s words repeated like a maddened mantra, syllables breaking and cracking as he wept into his knees, trying to steady himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut, messily drying his tears with his gloves, but the streams did not cease.

“This is all my fault, t-this is all my fault... w-why...”

He made a mistake, he left them alone, and now he was facing consequences.

But, that’s just what Dimentio had intended. He had won already.

Why couldn’t he just leave him alone?

E. Gadd had been murdered, and Luigi knew it was no coincidence or accident. It was deliberate. His old friend had been brutally killed against his will.

Dimentio HAD been here.

And wherever Peasley and Polterpup were, there wasn't a doubt in Luigi's mind that they’d be suffering an equally horrific fate.

The overwhelming thoughts of death grew to be too much, making his vision grow hazier by the second as exhaustion took over his already fatigued mind. He felt numbed, shaking with fear as he watched the ghosts within the lab now begin to surround him with grunts and worried squeaks escaping their spectral forms.

His thoughts were tangled up with painful thoughts of Dimentio’s smiling, two-toned face, amused with the torment he caused. The mad harlequin’s laughter echoed in his mind, cruelly twisting in with his already horrific thoughts.

Every last whisper lingered and clung to the back of his mind, telling him the same thing over and over again, without stop.

This was all his fault.

Exhaustion soon took over, Luigi’s eyes rolling into the back of his head as several ghosts now feverishly approached to try and help.

The last thing Luigi saw was the ghosts’ concerned expressions before his vision went dark, his eyes shutting.

                                               - - - - - - - - - -

Luigi woke alone.

His eyes opened slowly, squinting as faint streams of sunlight brushed past the curtains. He turned over, realizing he was atop something soft and comfortable, soon coming to the conclusion he was in bed.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his head as he yawned.

He tried to think back to the night prior, only remembering the ghosts… 

They must have put him here. But, why did-?

Luigi froze, feeling his heart pound against his chest as he turned his head to realize Peasley wasn't sleeping at his side, and Polterpup wasn't dozing at the end of the bed by his feet.

Everything came crashing back at once, Luigi starting to sob before he could even comprehend his emotions. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders heaving as he shook his head and cried, alone.

He recalled E. Gadd, worriedly glancing up as he clutched his chest. He had not a clue what had transpired while he slept, and he had to make sure nothing had gone awry with the ghosts. He had no idea how they might have reacted.

He jumped to his feet, the pillows and blankets shifting as he threw them aside to stand up. He stopped, however, upon noticing something crinkling softly beneath the blanket.

He peeled away the covers, revealing a crumpled note upon the bedspread. Lifting it up hesitantly, Luigi scanned the lines with misty eyes, hiccuping and coughing as his sobs intensified the further he read.

Peasley's handwriting, messy and shaky, was almost entirely obscured by black globs of ink. The splotches looked almost like dark and dried bloodstains, a smiley face drawn at the bottom of the stained parchment.

In addition to Peasley's desperate last words to Luigi written on the letter, Dimentio had added his own little touch to the note.

'See you soon...'

Luigi wanted nothing more than to tear the note to shreds, hatred and malice filling his chest as he glared down at the jester's flouncy handwriting, written just below his husband's own. He sniffled, gripping the sides of the letter as his knuckles went white, intent on ripping it in two.

He paused, scornful expression softening as he read over the letter once more. Peasley's quivering scripture upon the note made his hands relax.

'Please never forget how much I love you.'

He couldn't destroy it.

It was the last physical memory he had of Peasley. He couldn't destroy it, no matter how vandalized it was.

Wiping at his eyes sorrowfully, Luigi held the letter close to his heart as he finally sat up and exited the bedroom, heading toward the stairs to face another day.

The next few days and nights were barely recognizable to Luigi. He didn't register their passing, only brought back to reality by the occasional ghost checking in on him.

The ghosts had carefully gathered E. Gadd's corpse the night they’d discovered him, intending on holding a memorial and proper burial for the old professor. Luigi agreed with the idea wholeheartedly, but he could barely communicate nowadays, mostly breaking down in sobs whenever the ghosts tried to suggest something to him.

Luigi didn’t eat or sleep often. He only rested when he passed out from fatigue, and he only ate when his stomach cramped so much that it started to harshly bite away at him, screaming and begging for him to eat something for sustenance. He was extremely dehydrated, constantly crying, mouth dry. He could barely talk. 

He spent days sobbing to himself in silence, the lights in the manor turned off and Peasley's letter held up close to his chest.

Without knowing his husband’s fate, he simply mourned every night and every day. He mourned without knowing. He cried for hours, lying up against walls and sobbing into his palms as he curled up close to the letter his spouse had left him. He gathered up the dead yellow roses in the main hall and kept them safe, not letting them wither away. He had to hold onto every piece Peasley had left for him. 

He didn't like completing any sort of activities anymore. The time only reminded him just how alone he was, and he hated feeling lonely. It hurt more than anything.

At night, when he lie alone in his bed under freezing blankets and against a pillow untouched by warmth for every night the love of his life was gone, he only wept more. Or when he sat alone at the kitchen table without a soul to talk to. Or when he woke in the morning to find no one lying beside him. 

No one was there to comfort him when he had a nightmare, or to hold his hand when he was cold.

He was sure, wherever Dimentio was, that he was very much amused with Luigi's current state. Should he be watching right now, he'd most likely be in uproarious laughter with seeing Luigi curled up on the floor as he sobbed in the total darkness of the empty gloomy manor.

Luigi kept himself in a fetal position, knees tucked close to his face as he read over Peasley’s letter for possibly the hundredth time in the past few days, ignoring Dimentio’s additions.

He perked up, heartbeat hurriedly racing as a knock sounded at the front door.

Standing up, Luigi straightened his shoulders with a jolt as the knocking continued. He shakily exhaled, limping toward the main entrance through the corridor.

He didn’t know who was behind the door. The ghosts had the ability to phase through walls, they didn’t have to bother.

And everyone else he knew was…

He gulped as the sharp knocking sounded yet again.

He had only one idea of who might be out there, and the thought scared him. Or perhaps, there would be something on the porch that that same individual had left. He didn’t know if he was ready. 

Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, Luigi reached forward to grip the doorknob, throwing the main doors open.

He froze.

It felt as though time had stopped.

"...M-Mario?"

"Luigi?”

Luigi practically tackled his older brother to the ground as he pulled him into a desperately tight embrace, hugging him close. He clung onto Mario, digging his paled and thin fingers into his brother's back as he buried his face in his shoulder, holding back harsh sobs. A few whimpers still escaped his lips.

"B-Bro?" Mario chuckled, almost nervously as he pat Luigi on the back. "You okay?"

"I-I'm..." Luigi sniffled. "I missed you s-so much... Y-You're okay...

“Yeah, of course I’m-a okay. What did you think happened?” Mario’s tone softened, trying to pull away from Luigi’s tight embrace. “Are YOU okay though, bro? You look… uh…”

“I’m fine.” Luigi quickly assured, jumping back and brushing himself off. He ran a hand through his hair at a quick attempt to look slightly presentable. He couldn’t exactly cover up the dark shadows under his sunken eyes, trying to avoid eye contact. “...J-Just tired.”

He couldn’t tell him.

Luigi knew, no matter what, he couldn’t tell Mario what had happened. No matter how much it hurt, Luigi knew he couldn’t provoke his big brother.

Mario would just jump straight into danger, blindly going after Dimentio without a thought. He’d get himself killed in the process.

Luigi didn’t want to lose him too. He couldn’t lose him. He was all he had left.

“Peach told me about Dimentio, Luigi.” Mario’s voice was firm. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“I… He…” Luigi still didn’t make eye contact, terrified of lying to his brother. He didn’t even know how much Mario knew, carefully choosing his words before he finally choked out a reply. “He just�� he just meant to scare me. J-Just to mess with me, f-for some reason. He’s left me alone lately, t-though.”

Mario skeptically narrowed his eyes, glancing up at his brother as he scanned him from head to toe. “Really? I-a mean, the Princess kept things rather vague in her letter to him, but she seemed really scared, bro. Why was that?”

“W-Well, I don’t exactly k-know what he’s up to… and I don’t know how he’s s-still alive. But, it’s been okay!” Luigi reassured desperately, hoping Mario would just drop the subject.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Luigi sniffled, wiping at his eyes quickly. “Nothing t-to worry about.”

“Do you know where he is now?” Mario spoke sternly, his gaze fiery. “If he’s been messing with you, then I-a don’t want him to ever come back. What he did to you back during the void incident was pure evil. I never want him to get that chance again.”

”Bro… I-I’m fine.”

“Well, Weeg, I have to protect you, you’re my family. Just let me-“

“NO!”

Mario was taken aback at the outburst, stepping away from his younger brother. Luigi breathed heavily.

His gaze flickered momentarily, fighting to hold back tears as he bit his lip. 

“Mario, p-please. Don’t.” He shivered, moving to cover his mouth. “I don’t want you to get into danger...”

“O-Okay. As long as you’re alright.” Mario gently smiled, walking back toward his frazzled sibling yet again. He pat him on the back. 

They stood in silence for a moment.

Luigi sighed, staring back at his brother before motioning down the main corridor. He buried the letter he’d been holding at his side in his pocket, exhaling.

“D-Do you want a snack or anything? I can make you tea.” Luigi tried to act polite, attempting to remember back to what common hospitality usually entailed. “Y-You’ve been travelling a lot, r-right? You need any time to cool off?”

“That’d be nice, bro. Lead the way.”

Luigi did as prompted, walking down the main corridor and gesturing for Mario to follow. He was just glad Mario hadn’t questioned the mess littered throughout the manor.

“I guess I just feel bad, bro. I haven’t been here for you.” Mario suddenly spoke up with a sigh, crossing his arms. “See, I would’ve been back much sooner, but… there was some complications. Cappy insists it was just technical issues, but I coulda swore it was something else… Like, someone was deliberately trying to keep us from getting home.”

Luigi perked up at that statement before Mario continued casually, waving a hand.

“And our stop at Bonneton to drop him off took a lot longer than I would have liked… but, I’m here now. No more excuses.” Mario grinned. “I came here right away, hadta see you first. And I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon, bro.”

Luigi forced half of a smile. “I’m just happy you’re back.”

The two found themselves walking toward the kitchen, entering through the entrance just off of the library.

Mario walked in first, Luigi lingering behind as he noticed a cup of freezing dark liquid on the table beside an opened book. He wanted to stay and investigate, but continued on to be with his brother. Mario began speaking once more.

“So, are you staying here for a reason or… what?” Mario inquired, glancing around the kitchen. “Doesn’t it bring back bad memories?”

“Not really.” Luigi tried to sound confident, going into the pantry. “I’m not scared of the ghosts anymore, it’s just King Boo who spoiled things. But he’s gone for now.”

“Right… Hey, thanks for saving me again.” Mario laughed. “I’m sure I don’t play the role of damsel in distress very well.” Mario paused, leaning up against the pantry door. “Speaking of which, I haven’t seen the Princess yet…”

Luigi’s heart stung, but he still didn’t have the heart to tell him.

“I didn’t stay long, but things were kinda hectic in Toad Town, from what I saw.” Mario continued, sighing sadly. “All I heard about was Toadsworth’s passing and-”

“What?” Luigi glanced back over his shoulder, standing up with wide eyes. “W-What happened?”

“I don’t know. There were rumors it was because of health issues.” Mario shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t-a know the whole story, but he was old… It makes sense.”

Luigi tried to steady his breathing and not let his mind wander to conclusions. He exhaled, nodding. “Y-Yeah. I hadn’t heard about that…”

Mario glanced back at the kitchen, tilting his head. “So, are you planning on staying here for awhile?”

“I j-just needed a change of pace, bro.” Luigi chuckled nervously, searching through a few boxes before tossing them aside. “I-I’ll probably move back to my place in Toad Town soon.”

“Well, I’d be happy to help you pack up your stuff, if you need it.” Mario offered, smiling. He paused momentarily before glancing back at Luigi. “Hey, where’s Peasley, bro? I thought you guys were living together-”

“Beanbean Kingdom.” Luigi answered immediately without thinking.

“When will he be back?”

“D-Don’t know.” Luigi hoped, somewhere to Grambi, that Mario didn’t notice his hands shaking and the tears pricking at his eyes. He knew he’d have to tell Mario eventually, but he couldn’t tell him now. Not now.

“And I know I already asked, but have you heard from the Princess at all?” Mario gently inquired, holding a hand over his chest. “I missed her a lot while I was gone. Mayor Pauline wanted me to tell her hello.”

“She’s...” Luigi trailed off. “I don’t know, b-bro. She’s...”

Mario straightened his shoulders, tone turning stern. “...Did Bowser do something? I thought he’d realized at this point that-”

Luigi abruptly stood up.

“I’ll be right back, bro, I n-need to go... c-check on something.”

“Are you okay, Weegie?”

“I’m f-fine, Mario. I-I’m just really tired and I... I’m...”

Luigi didn’t finish as he clutched his stomach, leaving the room and running outside onto the patio, finally allowing the harsh tears to escape his eyes. 

Despite his best attempts to keep them subdued, the memories flashed back through his mind, blood splattering his mind and death hazing his coherent thoughts.

His shoulders heaved as he cried alone, knowing Mario would be wondering why he was so upset.

He couldn’t say, he couldn’t tell him, he couldn’t, he couldn’t…

“Weegie?”

Luigi froze, hastily wiping away his tears as he turned back to his brother.

“You okay?”

“I-I’ll be fine, M-Mario.” Luigi attempted to assure, smiling sadly. “Just needed some fresh air… I-I’m sorry for worrying you. I just… really missed you.”

Mario smiled too, folding his arms. “Heh. Missed you more, Weeg.”

Walking back into the manor, Luigi shut the doors behind him with a sigh, Mario at his side. The two brothers settled back into the kitchen, Luigi going back to search through more of the cabinets.

“What kind of tea do you like, bro?”

                                             - - - - - - - - - - -

The evening that followed from there was tranquil.

Mario and Luigi chatted over tea for hours, catching up on everything. Mario told wonderful stories of the adventures he’d gone on, Luigi having to make up a few of his own. It took plenty of willpower for Luigi to not break during the conversation, but he managed. Sometimes, his vision would become misty or hazy, but it didn’t take much to hide it.

At the end of their talk, as day soon turned to night, Luigi led Mario back out to the main entrance.

“I’ll come back soon, Weeg. I just have to catch up with stuff, first.” Mario stood by the door, reaching for the handle. “I’ll be staying at our old place for a bit. You can come visit me anytime, or invite me back over. Like I said, I’d be happy to help you move out of here.”

Luigi nodded.

“Oh, and before I forget!” Mario dug into his pocket, removing a small keychain with ‘New Donk City’ written on it in bright colors. “Mayor Pauline suggested I bring you back a souvenir. I know you don’t usually like surprise gifts, but… I thought it’d be nice!”

Luigi smiled warmly, holding the keychain close. “T-Thanks, bro.”

“Well, I-a better be going.” Mario stretched his arms, opening the door. “I’ll see you later, Weeg. Don’t hesitate to come get me if anything bad happens, or that sorry clown decides to show his face again. Stay safe.”

“Mm. You too.”

Luigi saw Mario off, shutting the door behind him as his brother disappeared into the shadowy veil of Evershade Valley.

And when the doors shut, Luigi burst into tears yet again, the cruel reality of the moment assaulting his already-fragile subconscious. He fell to the ground, crouching down and weeping loudly. 

He knew Dimentio was watching. He knew he was probably planning something right now.

He couldn’t protect his brother. He hadn’t protected Peasley. He failed. He’d failed all of them. He was weak.

Everything hurt.

He didn’t want to feel this way anymore.

                                               - - - - - - - - - -

It had been weeks at this point.

Weeks, since Peasley and Polterpup’s intial dissapearance.

All Luigi wanted at this point was some closure. If what he feared was true, he wanted to know. He couldn’t keep living like this.

He was alone, only having Mario for occasional comfort. And Mario wasn’t in the best shape, either, with him finding out the Princess had apparently “gone missing”. He swore he would find and rescue her. It was a pity he didn’t know what had transpired, and Luigi didn’t have the heart to tell him.

But, Luigi had still gone through with his idea of packing up and leaving the manor. He promised the ghosts he’d be back for E. Gadd’s funeral, telling them he needed some time to himself for a bit at his original home.

In truth, he just wanted to be far away from the nightmarish manor as possible. It’d only brought him misery, and he feared it would continue to.

Packing things up had been rather easy.

Luigi carried out his bags to the main foyer, dropping them off by the front door one by one. He packed Peasley’s things too, just in case, at some chance of a miracle, he was okay.

He stopped momentarily as he glanced around the emptied silent manor before turning to go collect the rest of his things.

He stopped, however, as a knock sounded at the door.

Luigi turned back slowly, expecting Mario to be on the other side, as he had been for the past few weeks.

“Bro? Is that you?”

There was no response.

Luigi hesitantly reached forward, gripping the doorknob shakily before pulling the doors open with a creak.

And lying on the porch was a small box, yellow in color, with a green ribbon tied around it. Luigi felt his heart pounding, clawing at his ribcage, as he reached to pick it up. He shook with anger as he examined the box, tearing away the ribbon.

Slowly, Luigi lifted the top of the box, revealing the seventh tape placed neatly underneath a wilted yellow rose.

Mechanically, almost without thinking, Luigi removed the tape from the box. Tears spilt from his eyes and splashed atop the rectangular tape as he sniffled, wiping away at his hazy vision.

He gathered the box in his arms, carrying it down the main corridor to one of the nearest rooms. He crouched down beside the television inside, pushing the tape into the player. 

It was closure.

The screen flickered alive.

The tape opened with Dimentio's smiling face directly in front of the camera, his grin stretched abnormally wide.

He was obviously pleased with himself.

“Good evening, and welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming! I’m your host, the ever-so charming magician and pleaser of all types of crowds, Dimentio!”

He bowed, the bells on his hat jingling.

“Unfortunately, I must inform you that my assistant for the evening is still not quite ready for his big debut. He’ll be up soon, but until then…”

Dimentio shifted the camera, gliding offscreen.

“I actually have brought a live animal for tonight’s show! They’re a little hard to tame and keep under control, but I think I handled it well… especially with a dog. And one that’s already dead, at that!”

Luigi felt his heart skip a beat.

“Now, trust me, folks. I did my best to do away with this miserable ghastly pup, but to no avail! I simply cannot kill a ghost, no matter how many tricks I’ve got up my sleeve… Oh, what a shame.”

Dimentio then lifted up a picture frame, turning and showing it off to the camera excitedly.

Polterpup’s familiar face, lowered and whimpering, was plastered on the painting. Paints and oils swirled sorrowfully to illustrate the picture of the unfortunate ghost dog. Luigi held back tears as he realized that was his loyal pet, locked within the confines of a painting prison, much like the one his elder brother had endured numerous times before.

“This is a little tribute to all my ghost-hunters in the audience this evening… Trapping ghosts in frames certainly is lovely, is it not?”

Luigi held back a sob as Dimentio tossed the frame aside lazily, throwing it somewhere offscreen without another care.

“H-Hello…? L-Luigi…?”

Dimentio turned his head, the bells on his hat jingling as the magenta smile on his face widened.

“Ah, it appears my assistant has finally awoken! Perfect timing, I must say! There is quite a bit of promise in this show tonight!”

Dimentio moved the camera once more, revealing Peasley groggily awakening. He was tied down to an ornate wooden armchair, blackened cords wrapped around his chest. His ankles and wrists were tied securely.

Immediately upon recognizing his surroundings and captor, Peasley began to fidget and struggle, trying to tear his limbs free.

“I wouldn’t try that, if I were you.” Dimentio wagged a finger, grinning. “You’ll only tire yourself out, and my, your sad attempts at escape would be absolutely embarrassing for our audience at home to watch!”

“Release me!”

“Ah, ah, ah! You already lost our game of hide-and-seek. T’was fair and square!” Dimentio chided playfully. “No more chances.”

“I know your game, jester.” Peasley lifted his head, glaring defiantly at Dimentio as he began circling him. “I know you want a reaction out of me. I refuse to break for your twisted show.”

Dimentio stopped, facing away from Peasley.

“Ahahahaha…”

His laughter, cold and chilling, rang out in the crackly audio of the tape. It was enough to send a shiver down Luigi’s spine.

“Is that a challenge, then?”

Peasley didn’t answer, pursing his lips as he tried his best to lean back and further away from Dimentio. Luigi could tell he was terrified. 

The jester, meanwhile taking the stubborn silence as a sign to continue, fidgeted his thumbs before clapping his hands together. He continued forward, floating around Peasley as his sinister tone lowered.

“I have plenty in store for you, princey. But, the real fun comes from the anticipation! Oh, but where to begin?” Dimentio lifted his gloved hand to his chin, tapping his porcelain face as he mused aloud. “Now, let’s see… I could pluck your eyes out and send them back home to your husband... I could break every bone in your body to dust... or maybe I could decorate your face in bruises and burns! It’d certainly be an improvement from what you have now…”

Peasley shivered, but still tried to maintain an defiant expression.

“Or perhaps I could tear you apart, limb...” Dimentio abruptly leaned forward, grabbing Peasley by his arms. “...by limb...”

The jester abruptly laughed, smiling as Peasley’s eyes widened in horror.

“I’m sure you have many adoring fans who would just loooove to have a piece of you!”

“I-I’m not afraid of you. You don’t scare me.”

Dimentio scoffed, holding back laughter. “Oh, please. As much as you try to keep up that attitude, you’re still clearly terrified. You must know you’re absolutely helpless, like a wounded deer caught in between a pack of ravenous carnivores!”

Peasley glanced away, trying to avoid eye contact as he bit his lip, frowning.

”Ah, come on, princey!” Dimentio gripped Peasley’s cheeks, trying to force his dull gaze up. “Smile! You’re on camera, after all!”

Peasley huffed, narrowing his eyes.

"Why do you still scowl? This is an honor, after all, being onstage like this! It's demonstrating your love and admiration for your dearest husband." Dimentio laughed cruelly, now perusing some of his tools with a hum. Metal and steel clinked somewhere out of the camera's view. "I only gathered the closest of his friends, and a few who I had to, let's say, tie up some loose ends with!"

Dimentio's smile suddenly brightened, narrowed eyes widening jubilantly. 

"A-ha! There's my favorite blade..."

Peasley attempted, to the best of his ability, to not make any signs of reaction to Dimentio's apparent macabre joy. He straightened his shoulders, glaring forward.

"You refuse to smile, then? Still angry and pouting, like a whiny toddler in timeout? So be it.”

Dimentio raised a purple-ish tinted blade with a flourish, lights twinkling and faint glitter sparkling in his movements, now creeping toward Peasley with his masked grin twisting upward.

"I can fix that."

Peasley leaned back as Dimentio got closer, pressing the tip of the cold blade up against Peasley's cheek. He looked about ready to press down before suddenly stepping back, turning.

"I'd hate to make any unnecessary marks... so..."

Dimentio reached behind him, producing a small thin marker. He removed the cap upon it, quickly drawing thin lines over the sides of Peasley's mouth, smearing purple ink over his face.

He carefully drew on the curved lines meant to represent a smile. He grinned, pleased with his intial handiwork and guidelines before he reached back over to grab the same multicolored blade from before.

"Now, let's see if I can make this look nice... You have to sit still though. Wouldn't want to mess up your face anymore than I want to, hm?"

Peasley's already-terrified gaze widened more as he tried to pull out of the tight restraints wrapped around him, very noticeably shaking.

"Wait! Don’t do this...!” He attempted before Dimentio suddenly grabbed his chin, lifting his head. “You’ll regret this!”

"Quiet now. We wouldn't want to ruin your sole performance on the stage, now would we? Your only stage direction..."

Dimentio raised the blade, digging past Peasley's lips and tearing the sides of his mouth open, right along the lines he'd drawn.

"Is to scream...!"

Peasley attempted to grit his teeth, but Dimentio's agonizingly slow movements only served to hasten his desperate attempts at escape, his struggles getting more frantic. He glanced up, tears streaming down his face as he whimpered in pain, Dimentio continuing to carve a morbid smile on his face.

“Now, I’m quite sure your people would prefer you go out with a defiant smile, and not like some sobbing child who has lost their favorite toy…”

Peasley began to screech in pain, struggling and shrieking as Dimentio tore his mouth open. The cuts from the sides of his mouth, leading almost halfway up into his cheeks, bled profusely. Blue trickled down his face, coating his tunic.

Eventually, after several painful minutes of slicing a smile onto Peasley’s face, Dimentio finished. He smiled, setting the blade aside.

“There we are. A permanent grin is much better than a mopey frown, wouldn’t you agree?” Dimentio mocked with a high-pitched laugh.

Peasley glanced down in horror at himself, breathing hurriedly as he tried to maintain some sense of his composure.

“Hm... While it is an improvement, I think your smile could be a bit wider!” Dimentio turned around, digging through his tools, much to Peasley’s apparent horror. “Give me a moment, won’t you?”

“No, don’t-! Stop!”

Peasley watched with a terrified gaze as Dimentio searched. The jester threw back an empty syringe during his search, Peasley immediately recognizing it from Dreambert’s tape as it rolled across the floor.

Dimentio hummed absently as metal scrapped against metal, throwing aside knives and blades that had been previously used, stained with blood.

He made a soft exclamation of excitement, standing with a jubilant grin on his masked face. He waltzed back over to Peasley, kicking the syringe on the floor away with a snicker before lifting up a cleaver to the camera.

“Let’s make that smile of yours just a little bit bigger, why don’t we?” Dimentio chuckled, reaching forward to grab Peasley’s left wrist.

Peasley’s hurried breathing only grew hastier as Dimentio held down his fidgeting hand, looking at his fingers.

”My, my, what’s this? What a pretty ring…”

Luigi clutched at his clammy hands at that statement, holding his shaking fingers over his own silver wedding band. 

Peasley’s terrified stare soon sharpened to a glare at Dimentio’s comment regarding the golden wedding ring, breathing shakily as he stared at the maddened harlequin.

”You bastard.” Peasley spat defiantly, not paying any mind to the blood trickling down his cheeks anymore. “You should be rotting in the Underwhere. Luigi never deserved any of this. You’re a monster. And you’ll never get what you want.”

Dimentio’s eyes flickered for a moment, his happy smile twisting into a frown.

He lifted the cleaver high and with a sound THWACK, Peasley’s left hand was severed from his arm. It fell to the floor with a thud.

Peasley sat, petrified in horror for a moment, until he finally screeched. Blood poured from his open wound, coating the wood of the armchair and floor beneath him. His screaming refused to cease, the pain unbearable as his shrieks grew louder.

Dimentio’s smile returned, watching in delight as Peasley tore his carved smile further. The cut almost led all the way up his face now, making his permanent smile bigger the more he howled and screeched in pain, muscles and skin tearing bit by bit.

”There it is! The perfect smile for the camera!”

Dimentio bent over, reaching to pick up Peasley’s fallen hand. He giggled, waving it mockingly toward the camera’s view. The jester laughed at Peasley’s protesting and pleas for aid, removing the wedding ring from Peasley’s left hand, examining the golden and emerald band.

”So, I suppose you’re truly the best Luigi could do, then?” Dimentio chuckled, tossing Peasley’s wedding ring aside and out of the camera’s view. “Hilarious. Until death do you part, indeed...”

Peasley’s screaming ceased, having fallen to pained sobs.

“I’m sure the audience at home is very pleased with the performance thus far! What do you think, princey?”

Peasley could barely respond, choking up clots of dark blue as they slipped down his sliced-up cheeks.

“Might as well get to the final trick, then. Wouldn’t want you to bleed out, now would we?” Dimentio scoffed. “Can you imagine what a let-down that would be?”

“L-Lu… Luigi… I’m sor… s-sorry…”

“Hm? If you want a last few words, be sure to get them out.” Dimentio returned to his tools, tossing a few aside as he searched for something. “Everyone you love will be seeing this… it’s always fun to show off such a magical performance to as many people as possible!”

Dimentio snapped his fingers, turning back to Peasley.

“Here we are!” Dimentio lifted something, the soft shing of metal sounding. He lifted a familiar-looking rapier to the camera before showing it off to Peasley. “It’s your sword! Hope you don’t mind that I nabbed it back at the manor… I mean, I already had this idea from the start, but to use your own beloved tools against you? Ah, what a fun and ironic way to go!”

Luigi’s chest ached, barely able to watch anymore. He felt the urge to throw up as he watched Peasley stare toward the camera, his face stained with dark blue blood.

Dimentio harshly yanked Peasley’s head back by his hair, mismatched eyes staring right into the prince’s terrified ones.

“It’s time for our final trick.”

Dimentio held Peasley’s sword at his side, approaching the camera and standing with his hands raised dramatically. He grinned.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, presenting to you for the first and very last time… Prince Peasley! The world-famous sword swallower!”

Dimentio burst into laughter as he turned around to watch as Peasley shook his head, eyes widening in petrified horror.

”The art of sword swallowing requires such precise skill to avoid injury…” Dimentio moved to stand behind Peasley, reaching to tear his mouth open. “Performers often have years of practice, but unfortunately, we don’t have an eternity…”

Dimentio lifted Peasley’s sword, positioning it over his head.

”The show must go on.”

Without any further warning and despite Peasley’s desperate screams for mercy, Dimentio stabbed the sword straight through his mouth. He forced it down his throat, slicing through his internal organs without a care.

Peasley fidgeted, the rest of his body writhing and his eyes horrifically wide as tears streamed down his disfigured face. His fingers twitched and his legs trembled as the sword was driven deeper.

And it didn’t take long before his body ceased all movement, his wide eyes glazing over.

Peasley was gone.

Dimentio stepped back, leaving the sword plunged through the prince.

“And with our assistant’s departure, that concludes this evening’s show!” He tried to wipe some of the blood from his mask, smiling. “Be sure to tune in for our finale, coming quite soon...” Dimentio’s tone, laced with poisonous contempt and amusement, lowered ominously. “It’s going to be a show-stopper. And it will require a bit of... audience participation...!”

He left the camera’s view on Peasley’s corpse as the jester teleported out of sight.

The tape shut off as Dimentio laughed once more, the single sound the only accompaniment to Luigi’s pained sobs.

He was just left to stare at his own pathetic reflection against the empty screen.

Luigi stood instinctively, rushing out of the room. He bounded up the stairs and to the second floor hall, rushing up into the attic from there.

There was nothing left. Dimentio was going to take everything from him. He didn’t want to live to see the finale.

He passed by a collection of rope gathered in the corner, facing toward the windows within the attic. He kicked away some of the rotting wooden boards and glass, pulling himself outside and up onto the roof of the manor. He crawled outside over the shingles, shakily standing up as he made his way to the edge of the roof.

He stared down at the ground below, exhaling. He shivered from the cold air of the darkened evening, quivering as a few last tears slipped down his paled cheeks.

He inhaled, and then shut his eyes.

Luigi let his body weight fall forward, letting go.

And he fell.

                                                 - - - - - - - - - -

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

Luigi’s stomach dropped as he was suddenly grabbed at the wrist, being pulled back on top of the roof. Harshly thrown back to safety, he whimpered and winced as he stared up at who saved him, wanting to scream at them for ruining his attempt.

He froze, instead, his breath hitching in his throat.

”N-No... You...”

Dimentio stood proudly right before him, smiling.

“Why, dear man in green... The show isn’t over yet…”

[elenatria]

You are going to write Pacho smut? God bless you!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah. Working on it. .__.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407543/chapters/48722309

The first rays of light shone over the deserted land as a reminder of a long-lost normalcy, a glimpse of how life ought to be everywhere else on the planet but there, on that barren landscape, that unique, eternally poisonous spot on the map.

The man and the boy drove through fields and farms where Pavel spotted many places they hadn’t visited before, the so-called “dirty villages” as opposed to the ones they had already cleaned of the lives and life forms humans had left behind. Bacho was keeping stubbornly silent refusing to make any stops, driving on until Pavel realized they were going around in circles.

He was about to ask why when the brooding man on the wheel broke the silence.

“I’m not supposed to be alone with you,” he grumbled, eyes staring straight ahead.

“Why--”

“You know very well why,” Bacho snapped. “I’m not gonna spend the rest of my life in a Gulag because of you.”

Pavel sighed. “I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

“What are you here for then?”

“Stop you from killing yourself.”

“What?...”

Pavel swore he had never seen a funnier grimace in his adult life. Suppressing a giggle he hoped his mentor was as good a lover as he was a driver: for all the shock in his bulging eyes, his experienced hands and feet were keeping the two of them steady and safe on their course to nowhere.

“I saw a dream,” Pavel explained, “we were at the opera, you were blowing your brains out with my toy rifle.”

“Jesus Christ, and you’re here because of a fucking dream?” Bacho huffed.

“I guess...”

The truck took an abrupt turn on the road between two fields.

“I have no intention of killing myself,” the veteran assured him. “And I still have no idea what you’re doing here.”

“I told you, it was my dream,” Pavel insisted.

“Start having different dreams, will you?” Bacho rumbled. “Try sex dreams, that’s what I do.”

Pavel licked his dry lips gathering up all the courage he had. “Who… who do you dream of?”

“What…?”

“Who do you--”

The brakes’ screeching sound smothered Pavel’s last words as Bacho pulled over on the side of the road. He released his seat belt and turned to the boy.

“You’re gonna get us both shot, you know that?” he pointed a threatening finger at his face.

“But Garo said you--”

“Never mind what that dickhead said,” Bacho spat, “this is Soviet land, not Afghanistan. If they caught us--”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--” Pavel stuttered.

“You’re sorry? Sorry?” Bacho laughed. “You have no idea what being sorry means, boy. No fucking idea.”

Pavel frowned; the last thing he needed that moment was being reminded of his inexperience.

“Maybe you could explain…?” he suggested timidly. He knew this was no time to have an argument with the man on the driver’s seat but there was an unchartered depth in Bacho’s eyes that was both horrifying and pitiful.

Bacho pursed his lips, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening in painful memory. “You weren’t the first to come to me you know,” he rasped. “Lost, wagging his tail for protection, sad puppy eyes…” He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm as if to fight off a lingering migraine.  “JESUS fucking Christ…”

“I… don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Bacho growled. “It never got serious, it was nothing, but the others could smell it on us, the potential, the… need. They thought they’d make him tougher, make a man out of him before it was too late. See, it was just a game to them, it was just…” Bacho squeezed the wheel until his knuckles went white. “They… They hazed him to death.”

“What…”

Pavel felt his heart sinking. It was unimaginable - the strongest, toughest man he had met since he had arrived in that god-forsaken place had stopped the truck in the middle of nowhere to show him the gaping wound in his soul. His only friend, his protector, drowning in an ocean of regret.

He lowered his eyes as if he had been there, as if he was responsible somehow. “I’m… sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Bacho chuckled bitterly like someone who had heard a million sorries in his life. “I assure you no one will ever be as ‘sorry’ as he was when he was gulping down water instead of air. So don’t try acting sad, you’re not him. And you’re not me.”

“I wish I were…”

Bacho turned to contemplate Pavel’s face. “You might want to take that wish back, boy,” he grumbled. “You are nothing like me, you’ll never be like me. Thank God for that.”

“But I want to.”

“You want what, to become an expert in merciful killings?” Bacho roared jutting his face toward him. “Fine. I’ll teach you how.”

He kicked the door open and walked around to the back of the truck. Pavel followed him with fearful eyes as he pulled the back of the stakebed down and grabbed a riffle. Before the young man could turn, Bacho opened the door, grabbed his arm and pulled him out, almost dragging him to the ground like a rag doll. Pavel had barely stumbled back on his feet when the rifle was hurled at him, punching the air out of his lungs.

“I’ve taught you how to shoot,” Bacho panted. “Now shoot.”

“W-why?” Pavel stuttered, his lips white as a sheet.

“BECAUSE I’M TELLING YOU, YOU FUCKHEAD,” Bacho roared. “Can’t you obey a simple fucking order?”

Pavel’s lips were trembling. “You… You told me never to point this gun at you. That was my order.”

“That was a rule, not an order,” Bacho corrected him, raging fire lighting up his eyes. “And I’m changing the rules now. Are you an idiot?”

“N-No…” Pavel whispered lowering his head, looking for a way out of his living nightmare among the rocks and pebbles under his feet.

“Then SHOOT.”

“I…”

For all his numbness and terror Pavel was trying to figure out a way to blow Bacho’s head with the back of his rifle so as to bring him unconscious back to the safety of the camp. Trying to talk him out of suicide would be pointless. He wished Garo had come with them, he wished they weren’t alone. He wished--

“I can’t.”

Bacho grabbed the barrel with both hands and stabbed his own chest with it. “Do a man a favour,” he snarled shaking the gun, digging it deeper into his flesh. “Isn’t that what you want to be good at? Merciful killings? C’mon, no one will know, you’ll tell them you heard rustling leaves and you thought it was a dog.”

Pavel was gawking at him wondering if it would be a good idea to let go of the rifle, leave him with it. They weren’t supposed to be doing this, fighting. They were supposed to be on their knees with prying hands all over each other.

“Why don’t you shoot me, Pavel…” Bacho pleaded, his gaze softer now, broken, welling up with agony. “Shoot me before I… Before anyone knows, before anyone suspects. Before you get killed because of me… Please, Pavlunya, do this for me… Please…”

Pavel felt Bacho’s grip on the barrel loosen for a second – that was all he needed; with one long terrified grunt he ripped it from Bacho’s maddened clutch and flung it beyond his reach. The gun made a circle in the air and landed a few meters away raising a cloud of dust.

Bacho, chest heaving, eyes of a lunatic, dragged his steps toward Pavel glaring down on him, clenching and unclenching his fists on his sides.

“That was a mistake, boy,” he groaned menacingly.

“No,” Pavel said. “You’re not gonna die, not on my watch.”

“You forgot rule number two,” Bacho snarled, his nose inches away from Pavel’s shivering ghost-like paleness. “Don’t let them suffer or I’ll kill you. I didn’t mean just the poor buggers we’ve been shooting down.”

“No,” Pavel shook his head pressing his lips shut. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I’m not shooting you down. Kill me, I’m not shooting you down.”

The unexpected blow that landed on Pavel’s jaw turned the world black as he fell flat, chest on the ground, hands scratching on rough pebbles to soften the fall. He sucked in a gasp filling his lungs with dust but before he could turn to face his attacker Bacho rolled him on his back, straddling him.

“Why are you doing this?” the dark-haired man roared “Why? You wanna die?”

“We’re dead anyway…” Pavel muttered with a calmness he didn’t know he had.

Bacho searched his face, his piercing, unreadable stare. Drops of sweat were sliding down his temples, falling on Pavel’s cheeks. Pavel wasn’t panting anymore, he was blinking slowly, his gaze patient, serene and fathomless.

“You don’t understand,” Bacho said with growing despair. “The things I want to do to you, the things… I would have you do to me, they’re not just illegal, they’re immoral.”

“I don’t care,” Pavel breathed as vivid images of his tongue doing sinful, wonderful things to the man riding him played behind his closed eyes, his throat dry as the soil beneath them. He repeated the words softly hoping the Georgian would finally realize his need for him. “I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care…” He raised his head and nuzzled against the tip of Bacho’s long hawk-like nose, his hot breath tickling the waiting, half-open mouth. “I don’t. Care.”

“Fuck—”

Before Pavel knew it Bacho’s hands were all over him and under his clothes, angry lips crushing against each other, eating each other out, a powerful, overwhelming tongue breaching his mouth, ravishing it, fucking into it. Never before had Pavel felt so many emotions at once; he was hard and desperate and longing for a hug and a good fuck, fearing for his life and Bacho’s life and it was all too much, too strong and he was losing his mind as he felt the veteran’s hardness swelling against his, hips rolling softly against his growing manhood, rocking back and forth, yearning for friction, for him. For his warmth, his adorable ignorance, his virginity. He knew it then, the answer to all his questions, to his loneliness; he knew and he would smile the happiest smile if Bacho wasn’t giving his lip a savage bite sucking on his juices, swirling his tongue around Pavel’s hotness, thirsty for more, thirsty for everything he had to give, every trace of his innocence, all of it. Every single drop.

He knew it and spread his legs to let Bacho’s weight sink between them, welcoming the intruder, giving in. He finally knew the answer to everything.

He was loved. He was free.

[sugarkitten-mamahoney]

Life Update ✨

Post: # 6

Date: Monday — August 12, 2019

Time: 11:21 PM Mtn Standard

Topic: My Life As Of Today

Greetings lovely flowers. 🌹

I'd like to start off today's post by saying I'm terribly sorry for not keeping up with my entries and for disappearing for weeks. A lot has happened in the span of the beginning of this blog up to today & I'll gladly fill you in.

TW: mental health issues, PPD, medication, depression, alcohol ab*se, self h*rm, s*icidal thoughts, bullying, body image, loss of a family member

Well back in the ending of May, I came to the realization that I was in fact suffering with PPD. I fought to keep it all bottled up in hopes that by not speaking about it and my ugly feelings, that it'll eventually solve itself and just go away. I was wrong. It came to the point where getting up to take care of my baby was a struggle, my relationship with Daddy was being affected, I was angry and irritated as soon as I woke up, and I felt really alone, ugly, worthless, and I honestly was dying to sleep all day and to be left alone. I didn't want to take care of myself and I had to force myself to be there for my baby. It truly affected my relationship with Daddy and of course our son and other family members, so I was pushing away those who I care about most.

I ended up talking with my boyfriend about how I was feeling and what has been going on in my head. I cried to him as I explained how ugly, pissed off, numb, and annoyed I felt. He held me. He kissed me. He told me he was glad to hear me speak up. He said he noticed the change. He wanted me to know that he is here for me always and that he loves me. I'm so glad I opened up to him and trust him with all my heart. I really don't know what I'd do without him. I love him.

I got the support, comfort, understanding, and love from Daddy. He was first. Then it was a couple of family members, my mom, aunt, sister-in-law... some understood, others didn't. They just agreed to disagree. It's hard opening up to those you love and trust when it comes to mental health when they do not understand or believe you. But I did it anyway and let them feel however they wanted... it's not my fault PPD affects a lot of young, 1st time moms. It's not my fault my seratonin levels are unbalanced and low.

I've had my battles overcoming depression a couple of times in the past. I've dealt with being cyber bullied to the point of feeling suicidal. I've self harmed and abused alcohol to forget my feelings and who I was. I even started lying to my parents and sneaking off to drink and black out with people I could not even trust. I was spiraling out of control because I never felt comfortable and safe to tell my parents how I felt when they rejected me at first for telling them that I was depressed. So I secretly suffered, I did.

But I'm getting help. I have talked with my doctor, and also seeking help from the mental health facility and will hopefully be paired with a wonderful therapist. I've also been started on a low dose of anti-depressants. My doctor and I went over all the options, twas ultimately my choice, and she always has my best interest at heart. So we went forth and started the medication as part of my treatment. I'm hoping I get better before Halloween, but only time will tell.

Another thing that's been going on is of course the fact that I'm struggling with my self-esteem and body image. I'm no longer body positive towards myself and feel nothing but resentment, disgust, and hatred towards my body. I should not feel this way at all but I do. I overeat. I eat when I feel bored and lonely. I'm over 210 pounds and I feel like shit. I hate my body.

Soooo, I am talking about this with my doctor of course AND also getting lots of support and love from Daddy. He is supportive of me and does his best to not get frustrated with me when I happen to down talk my body and he is encouraging me to eat better, drink water, and get active. Baby steps. He gets me. Daddy is truly helping and without him here, I know I'd be an even bigger mess than I am now. I was honest when I told him how I got skinny and lost weight and he promised me he will help me but the RIGHT & healthy way. I love him.

And well... my best friend of 11 years basically said she is kind of done being my best friend. She said that I am "emotionally exhausting to talk to" and that she "did not know what to say to me any more because she doesn't know how to talk to me." Whatever that means right?? I'm so tired of being hurt and abandoned. I promised her I would never do that to her and kept that promise but she writes me a sad letter in an unfinished notebook (which is unlike her, it never happens) and basically said she's calling it quits. I lost a best friend. What does one do when her best friend dumps her?? I've been ignoring that with everything else that has been happening....

Another thing is I recently lost my grandfather. It hurts talking about. I can't help but to cry and breakdown. I was very close with my grandfather, and my grandmother. We were all raised to be a close-knit family and we were all connected... what we have is special. But now my cheí is gone, he is reunited with my grandma... it just hurts. I seem okay but really, I still feel so overwhelmed with emotions yet empty at the same time. I'm also still in shock... i can't believe he is gone. It hurts so much.

So anyway, this was all that's been going on and my life just got a bit too out of hand for me to be active on here with my personal blog. I am hoping to get back into that to keep me busy. My son keeps me busy for the most part, and with the recent loss of my cheí, I was swamped and stressed since I'd take my baby and I up to the hospital everyday just to visit him. Also was making time to spend quality time w Daddy and re-bond with our baby. So it's been a hell of a ride. But here is a list of good things that have happened in between so I don't end this on a shitty note:

✧ Daddy, Baby, & I are doing better

✧ Baby turned 5 months old

✧ Baby melon also started rolling like a pro & is starting to crawl backwards

✧ I'm drinking more water

✧ I'm on top of taking my medication

✧ Daddy bought me a lot of great books

✧ My nails are growing back

✧ I watched some new movies w Daddy from RedBox (should I do mini reviews of the movies?? Hmm... maybe !!)

✧ Baby melon chews on his toes

✧ I've been wearing one of my grandpa's shirts

✧ I'm becoming more responsible with the money Daddy gives me

✧ I started reading more books more often

✧ I've been tracking my feelings lately & keeping a diary

✧ Daddy, baby, & I went a 3 hour road trip and had fun

✧ I wrote a nice caption for my next serious Instagram post and to me, it's super welcoming, helpful, safe, and inspiring (???)

✧ My mom is sleeping more

✧ I'm doing my best

[satans-my-spirit-animal]

This a segment from my obey me fic

Content warnings: gore, blood, suicide, excessive drama, spoilers for my fan fic

Background: so this is my take on the Belphie attic scene from chapter 16. Also Kieran is my other OC who is cursed to be stuck in the form of a cat. This is only part of the chapter but I wanted to post it because I haven't seen anyone else write it this way. Anyways here it is.

She quickly made her way over to the attic stairway. She listened for a moment before silently making her way up, making sure to stay hidden in the shadows. She reached the top of the stairs and waited in the shadows. After several minutes had passed she stood up, confused. It was almost time for her to tell Lucifer about Belphie and yet no one had appeared.

"Help... Me..." She could hear Belphie's voice from inside as he talked in his sleep. She moved over to the door and placed her hand on it. To her surprise, it swung open easily.

Her mouth fell open as she stood there wide-eyed. Had she missed the other person? Could they still be inside the attic? She went inside the attic and looked around.

"W-what!? But how?!" She choked out seeing no one there. There was the rustle of fabric and she turned to see Belphie stirring in his sleep. His violet eyes snapped open and meet hers.

He blinked confused as Cassandra froze on the spot. "...Wha? What's going on? How'd you get in here?" He looked over at the door and gasped, quickly sitting up in excitement.

"I don't believe it! The door... It's open! Did you do that?!" He smiled at her as he climbed out of bed.

"I- I don't know." She stammered at a complete loss at what to do. She was in a potentially dangerous situation now, being alone with Belphegor. His hatred of humans could cause him to turn on her at any second and his brothers were all watching her other self downstairs. She had no way of calling for help. Though for the moment he seemed genuinely surprised and happy.

Belphie seemed confused at her response. "But you opened the door and came in here didn't you? So it had to have been you." He let out a joyous laugh. "Amazing! You actually came through for me. There's no way Lucifer or Lord Diavolo ever thought this would happen. To think that I'd be saved by a human. " At the word human his eyes darkened slightly and she was overwhelmed with dread. She noticed he had positioned himself so he was between her and the door.

"It's really ironic! Now I can achieve what I set out to do." He spread his arms wide as if inviting her for a hug.

"Kill me you mean?" Cassandra growled backing away. It was no use, she was trapped. Despite all of her training, she knew that she was no match for a demon. Even her boot knife probably wouldn't do much damage if any. But regardless she wasn't going to let him have the satisfaction of killing her even if it meant taking drastic measures.

Belphie's eyes went wide and then he laughed. He transformed into his demon form, horns curling out of his head and a long tufted tail swished through the air. "So you saw through my ruse and still decided to help me? How foolish of you stupid hu-" he stopped when she swiftly pulled out her boot knife and let out a roar of laughter as he stalked towards her.

"Do you really think you can hurt me with that?" He sneered at her as she gripped the knife in her hand.

She smiled back at him serenely causing him to pause in surprise. "It's not for you. I refuse to let you have the last laugh." She looked him dead in the eyes as she jerked her hand up and plunged her own knife into her neck, slitting her own throat. Belphegor's face twisted in total shock as she sputtered and staggered back, collapsing slowly onto the floor.

She managed to smile at him mockingly as her blood poured out of her throat, soaking her shirt and spilling onto the floor. Her extremities started going numb and cold and her hand fell away from her neck. Her vision started going dark and Griselda's words echoed in her mind as everything went black. "You will die at the hand of your own pride."

She was drifting in darkness until a sudden warmth spread around her and she felt as if she was lying on solid ground again. A gentle voice was telling her to wake up.

She opened her eyes to find she was back in the sun-dappled forest once again with the woman with white hair. The woman smiled warmly at her as she sat up.

"You're Lilith aren't you?" Cassandra asked and the woman nodded.

"You are a clever girl. I've been waiting so long. For you to come find me." Her violet eyes shined with warmth as she looked at Cassandra affectionately.

"You were an angel turned human right? What happened to you after you died?" Cassandra asked her wondering why Lilith was there. She wanted to ask her where her mother and grandfather were.

"I see my brothers have told you about me. Thanks to Lucifer I was reborn as a human. I lived out my life, a happy one as a human, never knowing who I was. But after my death, I remembered who I was. Now I'm worried about my brothers. Ever since becoming a soul I've been watching over them... Cassandra, please... I want you to help them." Lilith gave her a pleading look.

"I can't now... I died." Cassandra said looking away. What would the brother think when they found her dead? What would happen to Kieran? Would he be ok?

Lilith held out her hand. In it was a small, crystal bottle filled with a clear liquid. "I've been watching over your family for centuries as well. I've been safekeeping this for your father, he will know what to do with it." She placed the bottle in her hand with a gentle smile.

"Wait what? I never knew my father. Why have you been watching over MY family?" Cassandra was now even more confused.

"Because you're..." Lilith's voice faded away as everything went white.

Mammon pressed his ear to the library door as he listened in along with his brothers and Kieran to Cassandra and Lucifer's conversation.

"Move over Satan! I'm trying to figure out who Cassandra has a crush on!" Asmo said shoving Satan aside so he could hear better. "Ooh, she's certainly dodging the question! She likes one of us!" He said excitedly.

"Well, it's obviously me not you!" Mammon snapped at him and Asmo shot him a glare.

"What would a clever girl like Cassandra see in an idiot like you?" Asmo hissed at him and he cringed internally at his scathing remark. He opened his mouth to shout a comeback but Kieran shushed him.

"Shut up all of you! They'll hear!" Kieran hissed at them.

"Hey... Did Cassandra just mention Belphie?" Beel said looking surprised.

They all grew quiet as Lucifer started to go off on the other side of the door. ".... You went to that room...AND YOU MET BELPHEGOR!" He roared and there was a loud commotion. Mammon quickly threw open the door and everyone rushed in behind him.

"STOP!" Mammon shouted throwing himself between Lucifer and Cassandra. Lucifer's face was twisted in rage and he was in his demon form.

Suddenly there was a flash of light and a shattering sound, like something made of glass had broken.

Mammon turned around to see that Cassandra had vanished and that Kieran was glowing and growing larger in size.

"Wh-?" Mammon said backing away with his brothers as Kieran transformed into a man in front of them.

He had his long black hair tied back in a ponytail and wore a long black military-style coat. His ears were pointed and his eyes were a golden yellow.

"K-kieran?" Satan asked stunned as the glow died down.

Kieran's face changed from shock to pure horror. "No... This isn't possible... WHERE'S CASSANDRA?" He raised his voice in panic.

"Cassandra vanished and Kieran's curse broke?!" Asmo gasped in shock.

"B-but how?" Levi stuttered wide-eyed.

"Who cares?! Where's Cass?!" Mammon said looking wildly around the room.

Kieran's eyes fell on Lucifer. "My curse could only be broken after the death of a blood relative... So where is she Lucifer? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" Kieran was shaking with rage as he took a step toward Lucifer.

"What?! I have no idea what's going on! I didn't do anything!" Lucifer seemed genuinely confused.

"Blood relative?" Satan said with a frown. "You and Cassandra are related? You've never mentioned it before."

"She doesn't know! Don't you get it?! She's my DAUGHTER! Lucifer! Where is she?!" Kieran shouted and everyone went pale. In the brief stunned silence that followed, the sound of footsteps descending the stairs echoed down the hall and they all turned to look.

"Cassandra?" Kieran called out hopefully but there was no answer. He ran to the door and out into the hall and let out a heart-wrenching scream.

Mammon and his brothers quickly rushed after him and ran out into the hall to be greeted by a horrifying sight.

Belphie stood at the bottom of the stairs with Cassandra hanging limply from his arms. Kieran was on his knees trembling in shock.

Asmo let out a scream from behind him as Mammon slowly stepped forward not wanting to believe want he was seeing.

"Belphie? This is a joke, right? A-a prank you and Cass came up with right?" He started to shake, and the smell of her blood filled the air. It felt like his heart was being torn to shreds inside his chest as he watched in horror as her blood ran down her chest from the slash in her throat.

There was a clattering sound as her boot knife fell out of her hand and Belphie tossed her body unceremoniously onto the floor with a sneer on his face.

Mammon darted forward and scooped her up in his arms cradling her. "Hang in there Cassandra!" Tears streamed down his cheeks as he tried to stop the blood flowing from her neck.

Belphie let out a cold laugh. "Too late for that Mammon. She slit her own throat before I could get my hands on her."

"NO! WHY?!" Mammon screamed as sobs tore out of his lips.

"Belphie what have you done?!" Beel said horrified. Asmo was sobbing next to Levi and Satan who both appeared to be in shock. Lucifer glared furiously at Belphie.

Kieran leaped to his feet with a wild look on his face. "YOU BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!" He screamed and charged full force at Belphie, punching him in the face, and then wrapped his hand around Belphie's neck. Beel ran forward and pried Kieran off him.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Belphie coughed, rubbing his neck as Beel held Kieran back.

Belphie narrowed his eyes. "Wait, that voice... Kieran? Well, this IS rich. Cassandra dying broke your curse! Looks like she did you a favor." Belphie sneered as Kieran screamed and thrashed in Beel's arms.

"Belphegor!" Lucifer roared, silencing him. "Satan is she really...?" He then turned to Satan hoping that Belphegor had been wrong.

Satan sighed and shook his head. "There's no way she could survive losing that much blood..."

Asmo let out a loud wail and Levi started tearing up as the situation hit him. "No... She can't be..." Levi choked out.

Mammon held her tightly as tears streamed down his face. "Cassandra... I never got to tell ya... I should've been there..." He choked out burying his face in her golden brown hair that still smelled of roses.

Beel finally let go of Kieran who came over and knelt beside him. He picked up her hand that was balled into a fist and held it to his cheek. "I never told her I was her father..." He whispered hoarsely, tears falling out of his golden eyes.

Suddenly Kieran stopped and looked at her hand with a frown. "What's this?" He opened up her fist to reveal a small, crystal bottle filled with liquid.

"What?! But how?! Where did she get this?!" Kieran shouted grasping the bottle tightly in his hands.

"What is it?" Satan asked looking up from where he had bowed his head.

"Dryad tears! I stole this bottle over twenty years ago! It's why I was cursed. It can grant a mortal eternal life..." Kieran trailed off and looked at Cassandra with hope in his eyes.

"C-could it bring her back?" Mammon said lifting his head and seeing the excitement in Kieran's eyes.

"I'm willing to try anything." Kieran said pulling the stop out of the bottle. He grabbed her chin and pressed the bottle to her lips. The iridescent liquid slid into her mouth.

They all watched in anticipation for a few seconds but nothing happened. Lucifer came up and placed a hand on Kieran's shoulder. "Kieran, the chances of it working after she is already dead are..." Lucifer trailed off as Cassandra started to glow.

She glowed bright white, so bright that everyone had to shield their eyes as the light filled the room. After a few seconds, the light died down and Mammon opened his eyes.

Her neck was fully healed and her hair was now snow white. "Her hair!" Asmo gasped, opening his eyes as well.

"It's a side effect from using dryad tears." Kieran said looking intensely at Cassandra. "C'mon Cass..." He whispered as she remained limp in Mammon's arms.

After what seemed like ages, Mammon felt Cassandra stir in his arms. Her blue eyes fluttered open and meet his and he felt his lips stretch into a wide smile. "She's back!" He cried out happily and pulled her into a tight hug.

[newhologram]

2016 diary of a spoonie

Rereading my diary from 2016 for some perspective (not ready to open my 2015 one, I know it’s going to be even more difficult). Remembering some mental places I've been and that I made it through them and I’m still here.

Here are some parts I'm okay with sharing, hopefully it will help someone realize they are not alone and that as difficult as things get, there is so much more to life than being sick even if we have to deal with it often in isolation.

It’s also good to keep in mind that when we have illnesses that affect our brain/mood, it can drastically warp our perception of the world, our lives, and ourselves. That’s why I started trying to keep a diary, to record these moments when I’m not myself, when my illnesses make me think things that aren’t true, makes me have horrible tunnel vision, and then be able to look back on them when I’m not in that mental state and try to get an understanding of it.

(warning for suicide mentions in some excerpts because Mr. Brain can be kinda bananas sometimes, it’s pretty heavy and a lot of it is me scribbling when dissociating pretty badly so I say some weird things)

This is also probably a cautionary tale to NOT BE LIKE ME, I’m a bad spoonie. I can’t believe I forced myself to have such a full schedule, no wonder my body broke down by December.

1.5.16 8:49 PM: Everything in my life is so turbulent. Why? I feel like someone cut and pasted me here.

1.19.16 2:51 AM: I barely slept. Puked a little, dry heaved a lot, sweated so much. Cried my eyes out in the shower. 

I have to leave for work in 2 hours. I hope it's not a long day.

I don't know where this mood swing came from. I feel so weak. I was just crying and crying because I can't stand myself. I can't stand being me. I feel so alone and lost. I feel so stupid.

3:18 AM: Dry heaved again. I'm shivering and I feel horrible. Why does this happen to me? I thought I was done with this. I feel like I'm shriveling up. 

What's going to happen to me?

1.20.16 10:56 AM: Yesterday was rough. First depressive mood swing of this year. I suddenly felt like no one would ever love me. That I’m just an immature slob. A burden. A loser. Dirty. 

I don’t even have a best friend. I’m not close with anyone. I can’t organize my room or my life. I just sort of work, play games, and sleep. I’m so lonely. I’m stressed and overwhelmed. I don’t have anyone to talk to. I live in a fantasy world but really I’m just alone here in my room. 

I feel so pathetic. I feel so stupid. Who could ever love me? 

1.26.16 4:59 PM: Wow! Worked 7am-3:18pm. Didn’t see Miss Piggy. Again!

But since I got out so early I was able to run and errand, do yoga, aerobics, read, and stuff. 

Now is definitely meditation time but I’m worried I will fall asleep. Too tired to bathe/eat. 

Going to open my heart chakra! Yay!

1.31.16 5:57 PM: Holy stress. Still no word about the shoot. Aaand there was some asshole. 

Gotta let it go. They don’t dictate my day. I do. Only me. I am in charge. No one else.

2.3.16 10:48 PM: No spoons for laundry or putting clothes up. I desperately need to do that. My room is overflowing with clothes.

BAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(drawing of a newlamb)

たりないよ　(it’s not enough!)

2.5.16 10:54 PM: I feel so strange. Like I’m a thousand lifetimes apart from New. I don’t know who that person is. 

I guess it’s okay not to know. 

Right?

2.14.16 1:15 AM: よふかししてるの (I’m stayin’ up late)

Um... too much mental energy. Body is done and tired but my mind all よ～～～～～～～～～～！

Kinda woozy today. But I got FFX-2 running so I’ve been doing that. Maybe too much. 

2.21.16 10:30 PM: Oops, 4 days of not writing in here. 

I didn’t work Thursday. Friday I went to Hollywood w/ ______. We saw Frozen, she gave me my presents, we had tea and a chicken burger at Chado tea room and we goofed around doing touristy things. Had so much fun, I really missed her. 

I was so tired I fell asleep at 8pm. I woke up at 3am but I was having so much fun sleeping that I just went back to sleep until 8am. 

2.24.16 8:22 PM: I was having an okay day. I was doing okay. Right now I want to not exist. Two auditions tomorrow. What am I gonna do?

I wish I was never born. 

I don’t feel much. Now would be a good time to do it. But I don’t want to hurt my dad. 

Wish I had someone to talk to. 

I’m so done. So done. So alone. 

If I died a lot of people would be really sad but it wouldn’t change much. 

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be me. I hate who I am. I hate me. I’m too stupid to work retail. I can’t do math. I can’t edit, I was too stupid for editing school. My body can’t work or I get sick. 

I don’t know how I’ll be able to support myself. I can’t rely on my dream. It might not come true. I’ll be 30 in 4 years—will I still be living here, relying on my dad? I’m a joke. I’m not a real adult or person. 

My cats would be sad if I died. Would they understand? I don’t want to hurt them either but I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. 

I’m not okay right now but I have no one. I’m all alone. 

A few tears came out. 

That’s all I have. 

2.25.16 1:12 PM: I’m so sad right now. The pain is already bad. I don’t have money for more edibles. I had to cancel one audition because I was too sick. Too depressed. Too much anxiety. 

I went to Sprouts and very nearly had a freak out. I tried to meditate. I can’t focus on editing. I feel trapped. I feel like the walls are caving in. 

How am I gonna get out of this one? I’ve done it before. Time is crawling. 

Bad pain spreading. Bad thoughts. bad urges. I need distractions but the problem is that I’m too depressed to actually focus on anything fun. 

I can barely cry. It’s like a blockage. 

FUUUUUCK!!!

(lots of scribbles)

2.26.16 12:05 PM: Much better today. Body is tired but I’m not depressed. Nope! Had a shoyuu tamago. Mm! It’s still really early but I think it’s time for a meditation nap.

3.2.16 10:03 PM: It’s March wtf... okay.

3.11.16 1:46 PM: I soar. I am worthy. My dreams will come true. 

3.13.16 2:51 PM: It’s Nikki’s birthday. 

I feel like all I do is edit, play games, RP, watch cartoons... :( 

Even though I love that stuff, it doesn’t make me money. It makes me happy, so happy, but. Where am I going in my life?

I just feel so fragile I’m worried that if one day, my family snaps at me and says how they hate having to support me, that I won’t be able to take it. That I’ll run away, or worse. I’ve had some suicidal ideations lately. I feel like my family hates me. I know it’s silly but. Maybe at the very least they resent me. 

:( I wish I wasn’t like this. 

3.21.16  1:42 PM, Monday: It’s so hard not to feel like he [my dad] hates me. I keep having horrible dreams about fighting with him or other family like my sister. :(

Things will work out. Things will pay off. 

Lots of pain right now. I have so much to do always. Always trying, always in pain, never have money. 

Caught int he swirl. 

I am something and someone.

3.28.16 1:19 PM: If I get that job it’s going to be really difficult to balance with bg work but what choice do I have? I can’t afford my bills right now. 

(written out weekly schedule with a drawing of Bill crying and saying, “you can do it”)

I can do this. I can make it happen. 

4.4.16 8:37 AM: Bad morning anxiety again. I kept waking up with my heart pounding. Dry-heaved a bit at 7am. 

So much going on in my head. Wish I could stop it. 

4.29.16 8:45 PM: Ugh!! MOOD DOWN, CAN’T FOCUS!! SAD!!

5.29.16 12:25 PM: Wow. Really been in la la land. Mood crazy. My period came 11 days late and I am 900% sure I felt a cyst pop.

I haven’t been meditating... I really need to get back into it so I won’t fall apart. also I lost out on 3 bookings, ugh. :( It’s just a dry spell. It will get better. 

I just want to cry in bed. A lot. 

6.13.16  8:52 PM: Whoops. I have no memory of actually writing that last post. 

Still having a hard time with this summer depression... Trying to hang in there.

I had 2 insane customers stress me out the past 2 shifts. Shoots are still only about 1/week... 

I’ve been keeping busy despite my health though. Been editing and stuff a lot, though rest breaks get me down. 

BUT SO. I moved my room around. Don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner.

(drawing of my room before and after)

So much nicer. I think I’ve been sleeping better. And now there’s not all this junk space under my bed or to the side. Love it!

Well so... Friday I had a bad audition. It sucked so hard. Had to cry, tried to prepare, couldn’t cry... fuck. 

Whatever. Life goes on. My confidence has sucked lately. 

Sigh (drawing of New in lamb hat with eyes full of tears)

There was a bad shooting. Worst in US history, at a gay club in Florida. 49 dead. The whole world is crying. I feel numb. 

6.14.16 11:45 PM: I love my dad more than anyone in the whole universe. He has done so much for me and other people. He deserves the best love. He deserves to be happy. 

I’m so sick of women hurting him like this. He tries so hard to make things work. 

I hope he’ll be okay. 

I just want him to know how special he is. 

6.28.16 1:11 PM: Colonoscopy and upper endoscopy in an hour. Period started. Depressed. 

Keep making mistakes at my part-time job. Worried. Stressed. 

Tuesday now, been eating nothing but jello since Saturday. 

Just feeling really down about my situation. My health, work, school, friends. Everything. 

I hate the snarling monster inside of me. I hate who it makes me. I hate myself for yelling at my dad yesterday. 

I just really don’t like myself.

What can I do?

7.1.16 1:20 PM: Shooting a chronic pain thing in my room right now. 

Camera in my face. 

Feeling tired but pretty good. 

7.24.16 10:38 PM: There’s so much to say but it’s late, gotta take my meds, and I got a shoot. 

I release pain. I release guilt. Namaste. 

8.11.16 2:22 PM: Why do things have to be so hard? I’m trying my best. I really am. But it’s not enough. Will it ever be enough? Will I ever live alone, be independent, be happy? 

I feel like my dad resents me. I know he loves me but I just have so much pain and guilt for existing. I know I am capable of so much more and that life has so much to offer me... it’s just so hard. 

9.3.16 8:17 PM: Hooey, it’s September. 3rd week with no bookings, taking an extra day at part-time job. 

Since I’ve had all these days off I have been dividing my time to get things done, rest, play games, better myself. Even just a little at a time is good. 

9.11.16 11:13 PM: Finally got work. Which means I worked 5 days. Yay. 

I’m still trying to improve my writing. My problem is I never really have a plan—or I get stuck at words, instead of just writing. 

9.12.16  10:49 PM: Oh, hell... My agent called today, I got booked on some shoot. But it’s for tomorrow, so. I can’t since now I work Tues as well. So last week I worked SUN, TUES, WED, THU, FRI... hooly shit. No wonder I feel awful. 

Of course when I tried to talk to ___ about it they made me cry. Fuck. Been depressed all fucking day. Fuck fuck fuck.

I’m okay. I have distractions. I have coping methods.... I have myself. Soon is paychecks. I’m okay. 

Tomorrow is... let’s see. 

7 AM wake, meditate, yoga 8 AM tea, tumblr 9 AM edit 10 AM read 11 AM rest 12 PM ?????

I can do it. 

9.23.16  12:27 PM, Friday: My body is struggling to keep up w this schedule. 

I worked Sun Mon Tues Wed, had yesterday off, now I have to be at a shoot in a few hours. I’ve had to seriously up my self-care game to be able to do this. Tomorrow is school and acupuncture. I’ll be wiped out. 

But... money! Also I’ve been meditating a lot with amethyst and rose quartz. 

(a row of crystals)

On Mon my shoot was so hard, I was having such a rough time but then I met two cool Japanese women. One is Michiko Nishiwaki, a famous stunt woman. She and the (other) Michiko seemed really impressed by me and want me to get on TV. Yay.

Okay, I feel woozy so it is time to read. 

10.11.16 12:12 pm: Last week was two kinds of intense. 

SUN-WED: bad depression. bad pain. bad bad bad.

TH: Doc, got dmv handicap parking placard, bloodwork, x-rays, narcotics.  FRI-SAT: pain so easy, feeling happy.

SUN: pain back after good massage

Now I’m feeling depressed again. 

I’m so scared for my future. I just can’t bear the thought of still being in this situation at age 30. 

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. 

10.20.16 12:30 PM: I booked a short film. Happy about it but feeling depressed about my health again. 

It’s like a merry-go-round. 

(sad crying face) 

10.31.16  11:46 PM: (arrow pointing to previous entry) I don’t remember writing that. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Well. Tomorrow is November.

Yikes. Where was I last year around this time? Only doing bg, no vlogs to edit. No Overwatch. 

What did I do during down time? How did I keep sane?

This year has brought a lot of change, but ti’s easy to see it only as the same because my career is so slow going. 

Just keep swimming. 

11.25.16 4:15 AM: I start my hostessing job in 5 hours. New job. 3rd job. 

Idk. I’m so sad rn. Anxious. Woke up w racing heart. Pukey. I wanna cry. 

I didn’t do anything wrong. 

12.1.16 9:48 PM: I threw up a lot, just now recovering a week later.

Things: 

New job: shift got cut Tuesday 

Universe made up for it by having casting call me with work. Cult member. Very far but this should be interesting. 

Doc today gave me gave more tramadol + xanax ☆ Nice.

it’s December wtf

Made a Patreon

12.12.16 10:02 PM: Energy is focused. Going to set up 2017 to be a great year. 

12.16.16  3:07 PM: I intend to heal. I feel terrific. I love myself. I release guilt. The universe supports me. Today I expect that something wonderful is going to happen.

My Dharma is to guide, inspire, teach, and help. 

All is perfect. All is well. 

[wonwoomi]

SILENT NIGHT.

📅  23RD DECEMBER, 2016.

( tw !! death, graveyards, death threats, murder, suicide, child abuse, child neglect, strangulation, starvation, funerals, violence ) 

there’s a distinct bitterness to the winter air tonight. this close to christmas, wonwoo wouldn’t ordinarily be anywhere besides bed, but after finding himself with empty pockets at the beginning of december, overtime had to become the norm in order to afford his favourite holiday. the days become longer — at least, it feels that way — the nights shorter, and he longs for five more minutes every morning to stay where he belongs and craves to be, tangled up between sheets and warm limbs, room barely lit because even the sun isn’t awake yet— why must I be? 

the change in direction is almost automatic; he barely has to think about the site before his feet are already carrying him there, steps careful against icy pavements. the open gates invite him in, familiar sight of one particular gravestone almost comforting at this point. he sits down before it, reaches out to throw away a few fallen leaves littering the display. “don’t say I don’t take good care of you, asshole.” he mumbles, drying his fingers on his jeans. they’re already soaked, after all. he should’ve known he’d get his ass wet plonking it down on the grass in the middle of winter, but it doesn’t matter. he can just throw them in the wash when he gets home, whenever that will be. he doesn’t plan to stay long, but god knows he gets talkative in the presence of his oldest brother. 

“jeongwoo, jeongwoo, jeongwoo. can you believe it’s just passed three years since you left this world?” he brushes his hair back with slender fingers, laughs quietly. “three blissful years.” a long breath is drawn in, sighed out. “you probably hate when I visit; all I talk about is how dead you are, but I can’t help it— it brings me so much joy.” a plant pot sits upon the gravel, in the same spot as always. this time, it’s zinnias, white, and wonwoo runs his thumb over a few petals, one by one, and smiles. “life is really good right now, like— I thought there was nothing more satisfying, more pleasurable, than watching the life drain out of your eyes, but this, oh man— everything I dreamed of as a child... it’s all coming true. I have everything I’ve ever wanted—” he’s cut off by happiness. it overwhelms him in the best way, warm giggles bubbling up his throat and spilling out from chapped lips. he thinks of mingyu at home, curling up together under the covers for the night, taking an extra half an hour to fall asleep because kissing, pressing cold hands against warm skin and vice versa, are far more important.

he doesn’t think anything can really wipe the lovestruck grin off his face. he doesn’t really consider the possibility of anyone. 

“w-won-wonwoo?” 

his bones click as he twists, a soft hiss leaving his lips both at the stinging pain and the sight in front of him. the older’s build has always been larger than his — whose isn’t — and whilst very little (and certainly not any of them), scares wonwoo, he is at least glad it’s this bastard and not the other one. (he bitterly notes that he should’ve killed all of them, but he knows it wouldn’t have felt nearly as satisfying as just the one.)

“what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” fair. wonwoo grunts, massaging the back of his neck with numb, frozen fingers. “you—.” 

“are you going to sit down, or are you going to fucking stand there and pretend you don’t have a million dumb ass things you want to say to me?” 

silently, he sits. wonwoo can tell he’d given the gap between them a lot of thought, shifting his weight between each foot before deciding he was a ‘safe distance’ away from the youngest jeon. he hits the ground with a soft thud, and collects his hands together in front of him, nervously rubbing his thumbs against one another. on the flipside, wonwoo slouches comfortably, arms stretching above his head to will away a little fatigue. 

“this is weird.” 

wonwoo scoffs, “three years and you haven’t gained even a shred of maturity; incredible, hyunwoo. I commend you.” 

“three years and you haven’t gained even a shred of manners; inc—”

“you really make this far too fucking easy for me.” interrupting him feels natural, an action a younger wonwoo would have been met with a hard punch for. hyunwoo twitches, and wonwoo muses that old habits die hard and smiles smugly as shaky fingers retreat. “how does it feel knowing I’m right here? right here in front of you, arms length away, and you can’t lay a finger on me? I can understand now, why you loved to hurt me. pain, suffering... they’re so fulfilling.” 

hyunwoo swallows hard. “I’m not going to touch you; you can fucking breathe. don’t ruin everything I worked for by forgetting to breathe and killing yourself, you piece of shit.” 

“you’re the real scum here, you know that?” the older’s words are laced with venom, but wonwoo’s dealt with poison far too much by now for it to make any difference to him. instead, he laughs wholeheartedly, head thrown back in delight, eyes twinkling. 

“wow, you got me. I don’t know how I sleep at night knowing that I’m scum — you’re such a fucking wet paper towel. I think it’s clear who the real disappointment to the jeon family is here. swear at me, asshole. how can you spend fifteen years pummelling me and then sit here, unable to say the word ‘shit’ to my face without cowering? are you really that scared of me?” the other says nothing else, but the silence speaks for itself. it’s broken by more laughter, the kind that crinkles wonwoo’s nose ever so slightly, and that has his hand reaching up to cover his grin. “fucking hell. life just keeps getting better and better. alright. lay it on me. ask me why I’m here.” 

he hesitates, but eventually sighs, forcing out through gritted teeth, “what are you doing here, wonwoo?” 

“why! that’s an excellent question, hyunwoo, I’m glad you asked— I am here to talk to the jeon’s little star, their pride and joy, golden boy jeon jeongwoo! loved by all!” 

“you’re still bitter after all these years? he’s gone— because of you, and you’re still hung up on the fact that you could never be their favourite?” once wonwoo meets his eyes, it’s easy to tell that he regrets ever opening his mouth, but wonwoo only raises an eyebrow. it’s almost reassuring to see him bark a little, instead of sit with his tail between his legs. 

“if you think I give two shits about being the favourite son, then you really are as fucking stupid as I remember.” it’s hyunwoo’s turn to grunt, and wonwoo matches it with an ungentlemanly snort. “I didn’t deserve the treatment I got, but jeongwoo being the favourite had no effect on that. they could’ve still loved him the most and not neglected me until I starved half to death and beat me until my skin was more purple than anything else. all of you could.” he sucks in a sharp breath, leaning back on his hands until he remembers the moisture in the ground, shuffling to arch his back instead, wiping his palms on his jeans once more. 

“you think I regret anything I did after what you did?” 

“no,” wonwoo answers, smoothly, without a moment of hesitation, “and I don’t regret anything you did either, because I am a billion times better off now than I could ever have been if you hadn’t all turned out to be vile scum — yes, I’m mocking you.” the older tuts, and wonwoo laughs, soft, breathy. “I still hate you, by the way. just because I don’t have my hands around your neck doesn’t mean I don’t still think you deserve to die. I just think that that would be too easy. being alive is far more insufferable. knowing you’re all out there, suffering, missing him— you wouldn’t believe the satisfaction it gives me. karma is a bitch.” 

hyunwoo clicks his tongue, wriggling a little further away. his eyes widen as wonwoo reaches out to the stone, breath held as the younger traces his fingers over the death date. 

“you know, the funeral was the first time — that I can remember, at least — that those two bastards didn’t go all out for jeongwoo. I was expecting them to invite the whole city to mourn with them, with fucking-- horses delivering the coffin and a fucking brass band or something.” 

“mother wanted to grieve alone—”

“oh, please, don’t be fucking stupid. that bitch loved to be drowned in attention. she was fucking embarrassed because she knew she was responsible for what happened. she killed her golden boy. the both of them did. you did. seungwoo did.” 

“you did this.” 

“you did this,” he counters, long finger pointed firmly at himself, “and you’re naive to think otherwise.” 

the silence between them is almost stifling. wonwoo tugs at grass, sprinkles it back down to the ground absentmindedly as he stares at the night sky. how long have I been here now? mingyu is probably worried. his ass and the back of his legs are soaked through to the bone, and a shiver wracks his body as he breathes out heavily.

“you gonna tell anyone what you saw here today?” he asks softly. he’s not worried if he does. after all, this interaction has only proved that his birth family are still petrified of him despite three long years passing. he’s more curious than anything else. 

“no.” hyunwoo pauses, “I don't know what you're capable of doing to me if I do. you said you wouldn’t kill me, and I don’t know if I can trust that, but even so, I dread to think what you could do to me alive, still.”

“oh, the things I could do.” he draws in a deep breath, bright smile playing on his lips. “don't tell anyone about this,” he picks up the small flower pot and cradles it between his hands, “either. I take it the bitch buys them.”

“mother buys them.” he answers firmly.

“she has good taste in flowers, at least. these are zinnias— a member of the daisy family. in white, they mean ‘pure goodness’, which is ironic as hell, actually.”

“jeongwoo wasn’t a bad person. neither am I. neither was seungwoo, mother, father—”

“oh, fucking spare me, hyunwoo!.” he groans, finally losing the temper he’d done his best to repair over the past month. it’s been a while since he felt this much rage— since the day mingyu burnt himself, actually. he flinches at the memory as his fingernails dig into his palms. “you all spent seventeen years beating me almost to death, leaving me locked in a room filled with reminders that you never wanted me— you kept me around just so you’d have someone, something, to blame for all the shit that went wrong in your lives. you kept me around for your own entertainment, to fuel your egos and to feel powerful. good people don’t fucking do that. I’m not a good person either; I never claimed to be, but you can’t possibly sit there and tell me you, them— child abusers and power hungry fools — are good people.” 

“you deserved it.” 

“do you want me to fucking bury you right here next to him? hell, I’ll put you in the coffin with him. don’t fucking test me.” hyunwoo gulps once more. “I don’t know why I’m wasting my time here with you. it’s like talking to a fucking brick wall— I dread to think what talking to seungwoo is like nowadays. although, he was always the smarter one, and even then, ‘smart’ is generous.” he begs his anger to subside, takes even breaths and thinks of the things he loves; mingyu, noodles, sleeping, and it works, at least enough that he doesn’t scream when the older opens his mouth again. 

“you still haven’t told me exactly why you’re here.”

“I like talking to him.” he admits. it’s not difficult; wonwoo has no shame, no regrets. hyunwoo clearly hadn’t changed, still believed that being a mistake meant he deserved to suffer, so wonwoo wouldn’t be anything but brutally honest, too. “I have a lot of difficulties managing my anger, and being able to freely express my hatred and my worries, and to tell jeongwoo how fucking beautiful my life has been ever since he fucked off to hell is really, really satisfying.” 

“I hope you pay for the things you’ve done to our family. I hope one day karma finally catches up to you— for ruining our reputation, for wasting our time, and our efforts, for—”

wonwoo shakes his head. “I won’t pay — not anymore. you did a great job of making sure I paid when I was young. now it’s my turn to live. it’s my turn to put you assholes behind me and live my life the way I want to; to be more than the mistake you never wanted. and it’s your turn to move on. it’s time to accept your losses — I’ve accepted mine — and get on with your lives.” 

“you—”

“no.” he interrupts sternly. “I’ve been paid. you made sure I regretted ever being born, and I did. I hated myself so much, believing that it was my fault I ever existed. the most dangerous parts of me blossomed in the darkness, and I became the man I am today — the man I’m proud to be. I’m glad you beat me, even if I didn’t deserve it. I accept my punishment. it’s about time you accepted yours. losing jeongwoo made us even. now it’s time to get on with our lives. we parted ways three years ago, and I shouldn’t have sought solace in a place I knew you could find me, and for that, I’m sorry.” he can’t pinpoint where it’s come from, but slowly, his body begins to tremble and his heart begins to race, and he can feel all the hits on his skin all over again. facing this, talking about the past with someone who was part of it isn’t as easy as he expected it to be — as he’d been making it look. he tightens his grip on the plant pot, moves to rise to his feet, but doesn’t quite push himself up just yet. “I won’t be coming back here again, so the bitch can sleep easy knowing no more of her plants are going to disappear. it’s good to see you again, to be reminded why I could never regret what I did. thanks for being the shittiest brothers in the world. without you, I wouldn’t have the life I have now, and I can’t think of any reality where I could be any happier. I hope one day you can find a little happiness, too — just... not until you’re like eighty or something; I still want to you to suffer for a long time yet, even if I don’t care to be around to see it.” he hums, standing up. dizziness hits for a moment, and he rubs his temples gently to keep it at bay. “fuck, I’m getting a headache.” 

“I hope you ge—”

“yeah, yeah, I know. you hope I die, or some shit. don’t worry. one day, I will, just not for a very long time. I have things to live for now. you should find some of those, too, instead of living bitterly in the past.” he turns away, ready to leave, patting down his jeans until they hang a little better on his thin legs. “goodnight, hyunwoo. I hope I never see your ugly face ever again unless it’s in the obituary in the local paper. don’t tell anyone I was here or I will stuff you all into jeongwoo’s coffin. that’s a promise.” (and god knows wonwoo never breaks his promises.) 

warmth fills his body the moment he steps through the apartment door, and he’s kicking his shoes off when he feels familiar, warm hands on his pink cheeks, concern etched on the older’s soft features. it’s easy to tell, at least to mingyu, that something isn’t right with the smaller, and it’s not long before they’re tucked in a cocoon of blankets on the sofa, wonwoo’s ear against mingyu’s chest, matching his breathing to the rhythmic thump of his boyfriend’s heartbeat. 

“I’ve been visiting jeongwoo’s grave since last summer.” he mumbles in the silence, “I saw hyunwoo there today. he... hasn’t changed. none of them have.” mingyu’s right thumb rubs against wonwoo’s back, his left hand buried in his hair, massaging gently. wonwoo’s far past the shakiness, slight panic even, that he’d felt as he realised it was time to leave — how couldn’t he be when he is right where he feels safest, held in a way that makes him feel most content? “he told me I deserved everything they did. he didn’t say much else. I tried to... tell him the truth. make him see that what he did to me wasn’t right, wasn’t fair, but he didn’t listen. and the longer I stuck around, the more I realised that all this time, I hadn’t had any closure. I felt like I had achieved what I wanted in the long run, but I had no proof. but seeing that he hadn’t changed, that they still suffer every day just like they have since the day I was born, gave me that. but also... seeing him was difficult. I didn’t make it known, because I want him to continue to fear me— I want them to stay away from me, but it reminded me of how it felt to spend such long hours feeling nothing but the numbness inside growing with every fist that made impact and—” he sighs contently, unable to do anything else when mingyu starts pressing kisses all over his face, lingering ones meeting his nose and the centre of his forehead. 

“you’re safe now.” 

“of course I am. my big, strong boyfriend wouldn’t dare let anything happen to me.” he smiles, wriggling to shyly tuck his nose into mingyu’s neck to hide the way it crinkles. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. also, all those flowers that I kept bringing home were off his grave— the zinnias I brought home today, too.” 

“wonwoo.”

“what? they’re pretty!” 

[prismpom-moved]

Christmas Song Story *TRIGGER WARNINGS IN TAGS*

I had a weird thought when I was lying around listening to Christmas music the other day. So I listened to these songs in this chronological order that I will list below. And a story formed in my head. Here we go.

We start with Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.

So there are two best friends (let’s make them both girls, to be honest if you see them as girlfriends that’s cool too!) that have had a horrible, absolutely terrible year. We’re talking severe clinical depression. You’ve heard of SAD right? Well one of the girls has that and instead of her depression being worse in the winter it is worse in the summer (summer depression.

But the other girl has SAD with wintertime depression.

It’s almost Christmastime now so the winter depression girl (we’ll call her W and the other girl S) is trying her best to be supportive of S, who struggles daily to survive. However, every day gets harder and harder to get through. The girls are in so much mental anguish.

Sometime around the middle of November, they decide that enough is enough. S suggests a suicide pact. She was distraught and hated doing this to W and to her family. She just realized how terrible her life is going and she’s just lost all hope. W is appalled at first that their best friend would want to go through with something like this. W says no and instead tries to encourage A to keep living. She reminds S how much they love Christmas and the wintertime, although W hates it because of her illness.

She writes a song for S where she wishes her a merry Christmas and pleads with her to keep living. She explains that next year, if she chooses to stay alive, will be better and their worries from this year will be gone.

The song renews a little bit of hope in S and she begins to progress a little bit. W is starting to fall down now, and starts thinking about S’s “idea.”

Next song is Christmas Time.

S realizes that W is getting worse and, using her newfound Christmas spirit tries to being some new perspective into W’s views of Christmas.

She sings a soft tune about the peace that’ll come to them when the day comes and how they’ll be together, free from the daily struggle. Which she wants to believe will happen.

However, W, who is absolutely stuck in her depression only sees this as an invitation to accept S’s suicide pact from earlier.

Silver Bells

They celebrate Thanksgiving separately with their families and temporarily have to conceal the hell they’re going through.

Sadly for W, because of her illness and the added pressure of faking for her family she is put under the impression that they don’t really care for her. That if she just died they wouldn’t care.

Meanwhile S goes into town with her father who enjoys Christmas just as much as she does. She explains her anxieties without revealing who she is talking about. Making W out to be a friend of a friend. Her father suggests to take the girl out to town and have her experience the city during Christmastime.

He sings about her favorite sound of the season; silver bells. How on Christmas day everything will come together. To enjoy the Christmastime senses that are all around her.

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Upon returning to each other S plans a special outing for W. She has a bunch of things planned; christmas light viewings, Christmas tree shopping, hot cocoa, and finish it all off with a sleigh ride.

S wakes up W on the day of their outing, helps her get ready and reveals beautiful outfits she bought for her and W. She promises her that they will have a wonderful day.

In a frenzied rush S sings joyously and loudly about how wonderful Christmastime is. However, she does so obliviously while W is becoming more and more overwhelmed. At the christmas light viewing there is a giant crowd surrounding them and W becomes very anxious and uncomfortable. At Christmas tree shopping W is jumpy at the sounds of all the people talking, S singing, and the saw buzzing from the tree-cutting station.

The last straw is at the coffee shop where S orders the two of them the biggest cups of hot cocoa that they can drink. In a flourish of childish unadulterated joy, S takes W into a short dance that is interrupted by S knocking W’s cup out of her hand and spilling it all over W’s brand new shirt.

W, overwhelmed and on the verge of a panic attack, shouts at S about how she hates Christmas time and that no amount of singing will change that. She cries about how their relationship isn’t for everyone to hear, that the songs they sing aren’t for everyone to listen to. They were special and she ruined them. As she gets up to leave, her anxiety peaks as well as she suddenly moves, she passes out.

S is mortified and comes to her side.

The coffee shop calls for an ambulance and the girls end up at the nearest hospital.

As W is unconscious in the bed she contacts her father. She sobs profusely, feeling like everything is her fault. She made her worse. She lets everything spill. Her Dad listens and then explains to her that he knows she meant well, but she might have been overbearing and overwhelming. He reminds her of what he was singing about before. The gentle things of the season, not the rushed enjoyment of a entertainment-hungry world. Before she hangs up he suggests that when she wakes up that they do something to destress before going home, or else there will be tension.

W awakens a few hours later. She is silent at first but tearfully apologizes to S about her behaviour and she didn’t mean anything she said. S only smiles and accepts her apology.

After many tests and a post-care appointment made with her therapist, W is let go and the two girls leave the hospital.

Sleigh Ride

As they walk the streets, it begins to snow lightly and W shivers causing S to feel guilty. Just as they turn the corner towards their street, she remembers something.

The sleigh ride! Perfect!

She takes W lightly by the hand and leads her into town. By then the snow has sped up a little and W is getting colder and sadder, thinking of her actions from earlier. S stops next to a horse-drawn sleigh. By now the snow has piled up and ice is forming on the roads as well. Everyone is either leaving or entering a shop. The way is clear.

S pays for a ride but the coachman says that since the snow is a bit thick, it may take a while. S agrees anyways and helps W into the sleigh. S picks up the blanket that’s on the seat and wraps it around the both of them. They hug each other, warming each other up.

As they become more comfortable and the sleigh ride slowly drifts them through the empty streets of a colonial-style town S hums a bit and W picks up on her. Together they sing about the sleigh ride they are experiencing. They imagine their in a small country town where there a farmers and close-knit parties. They take comfort in their little imagined world and spend the rest of the time singing about it even coming up with names.

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

Although they could have some time of peace and good mental health days, W continues to become more and more depressed as the days become darker and colder. At this point she rigidly clings to the thought of suicide.

Her therapist realizes this and suggests a hospitalization if it gets worse. Having known her for quite a while and knowing how bad her depression can become he gives her a card for an acute care center. He lightly presses towards residential. She reluctantly agrees but only agrees to go after Christmas.

Secretly W takes this as a last straw. She believes that even her therapist has given up on her. She can’t stand the thought of being locked up somewhere without S nearby. She finalizes the pact to herself, wholly believing that S is with her on it.

She sadly reminisces on the happy times that she was promised by S on Christmas, now with much doubt. She sings about how she hopes it all happens in her dreams when she dies.

S is also deep in depression and as she hears W singing she comes into a trance, enveloped by the thoughts as well.

They sing at each other from different parts in their house, ultimately locking in their fate.

Merry Christmas Darling

They chose the date.

They plan to do it a week before Christmas, before family becomes too involved in their lives again. It falls on December 18th.

WARNING: SEVERE SUICIDE TRIGGER AHEAD

(I’m not going to be super descriptive in how they die as to not trigger someone.)

On the day they are supposed to die, S messes something up in their plans. As S goes unconscious she realizes this is a mistake and tries to tell W but finds that she’s already gone. Before she can do anything, she is taken under and completely blanks out.

She awakens in the hospital, disoriented and calls for her friend, forgetting that she is already gone. The hospital staff try to break the news to her as gently as they could but the fact that W is gone breaks her and she grabs the nearest sharp object and violently attempts again.

The staff holds her down before injecting her with a sedative. And she goes back under.

The next time she awakens she is told that they view her is very unsafe and she has to stay for at least two weeks in acute care.

Numb by everything that has happened she agrees and they ambulance her there.

A week later up in her room on Christmas day with a tiny pencil and a therapy assignment worksheet S writes and sings about how she hopes W is having a Merry Christmas wherever she is. That even though they’re apart she dreams about spending Christmas with her. She falls asleep on her bed and dreams about opening presents and reuniting with W.

Fast forward a year later

S went through intensive daily therapy while she was in the hospital. Because of the severity of her case they decided to keep her in residential for a few months into Summer. During that time she was convinced into taking medicine, which along with her therapy helped her achieve daily goals she though impossible during the summertime. She learned how to not only tolerate Summer but also enjoy it a little. They released her around September and she restarted school, a different one from where she and W went. Her time back went by decently, without the pressure of answering questions from people about W.

Then came the holidays.

To be continued on a separate post!