#tw: referenced suicide

[hunterwritesstuff]

What about a sibling coming across Mark post-encounter or Mark's alternate? Yk,,,angst >:3

Gonna try to do this as a oneshot, feel free to send in again if you want hcs for the same thing! Not gonna go fully in depth here, but Mark's death is mentioned here, and I'm combining the two prompts, so, uh, y'know, be careful reading ahead, it could get a little much. Take care of yourself!

Tw: Referenced suicide, self-blame for suicide, Alt!Mark being an ass to the reader, potential implied bad parenting, and the baggage that comes with this kinda thing, don't read if you're in a bad headspace.

You woke up that night. That horrible, dreadful night. You looked at your clock. It read "10:58 PM". You grumbled as you trudged to your brother's door. He was why you were woken up after all.

"Maaarrrkk..." You yawned, walking over, knocking where the door SHOULD have been closed, but you were too tired to notice the door was open. "It's ten at night, why aren't you asleeeeppp...?" You asked sluggishly.

No answer. This frustrated you. "Mark, come on, man...why aren't you answering me? Come on...don't give me this attitude this late at night...go to bed, nerd..."

Still no answer. "Mark, come on, go to-" You finally opened your eyes, finding Mark's door wide open. Not to mention the bullet holes in it. "...Mark?" You gasped softly.

You walked in, looked around, jumping as you stepped on something. "Ow!!" You looked down, finding you stepped on..a...shell casing. "Mark, come on, man, mom and dad are gonna kill you, what the heck is-" You started, eyes drifting to his bed, jaw dropping and eyes widening in horror at what you saw.

Shell casings were strewn on the bed-how did you not hear him fire off his .50 cal?! You just heard him yell and then-Oh God.

You rushed out of his room, hurrying into the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet. Soon, you stood up from the floor, rinsing out your mouth and signing yourself with the sign of the cross before returning to your brother's room.

On your way back, you realized Sarah might have heard Mark and you went to go check on her, finding she was out of bed. "I heard Mark yell...is he okay...?" She asked, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Get back in bed, sweetie, I'll handle it." You hushed, tucking her back in.

"What's wrong?" She asked worriedly.

"Nothing, sis, just..." You muttered, kissing her on the forehead. "...I love you...so much..."

"Y/N, did something happen to Mark?" Sarah asked.

"...you won't understand..." You lamented.

"What happened to him?!" Sarah demanded, now wide awake.

"Sar-Sar, please..." You frowned, tearing up. "Just go back to bed..."

After a bit more begging, Sarah eventually gave up and went back to bed while you went to deal with the situation with Mark, grief heavy on your shoulders.

You didn't understand. Mark seemed fine two, three days ago. He promised Sarah he'd play hide and seek, take her out to get a treat, he was Mark, he was FINE.

Was it something you said? Mom? Dad? You shuddered to think of what could've driven Mark to do such a thing. All you knew is that you now had that image burned into your head. That awful, TERRIBLE, HORRID IMAGE burned into your head.

While you were in his room, you found a note in his reassurances book. "I have no choice anymore. The cops never came for me. NOBODY CAME FOR ME. Whoever is reading this, please stop it before it does this to anyone else."

Then it spiraled into deranged ramblings, all just the words "Who have I been praying to all this time?" until it became an unintelligible mess. To say this fucked with you was an understatement. You started to cry.

You slid down the door. God, how were you gonna tell Sarah? You couldn't. It would break her little heart. You sighed, looking up at the bed, again getting the horrible image burned into your head.

Your brother was dead, and you never went to check on him to make sure he was okay. You just assumed he was okay.

Sure, he was a bit of a mess when he came home...from...Cesar's house...

You froze, reading over the note again and again, pretty much DEDICATING IT TO YOUR FUCKING MEMORY.

Then it clicked.

Mark was a victim of an alternate encounter.

You TOLD him going to Cesar's late at night was a bad idea, you TOLD HIM to listen to the broadcast, you TOLD HIM THAT HE COULD ENCOUNTER AN ALTERNATE, but Mark being the stubborn man he is refused to listen.

You didn't hold it against him, though. He just thought he'd be helping out his friend.

You hold it against YOURSELF, however, that you didn't bother to ask him how he was doing afterwards. If you just reached out, he probably would've been fine, but you were selfish and just wanted to go to bed. That's what you told yourself, anyways.

You hoped, against all hopes, that maybe...just MAYBE, if you shook him, he'd wake up. You shook him, ignoring how cold his body was. "Mark...?" You rasped out.

He offered no response. "Mark...! C...Come on...!" You shook harder, still no response. You were in denial. BAD.

You shook harder, stepping back when he rolled over, "looking" at you with his glassy, lifeless eyes.

You ran back to your room, quickly packing your bag. You needed to get out of the damn house. You didn't know if or when you'd be back, you just knew you needed to go.

"Mark isn't okay, is he...?" Sarah asked.

"Sarah! You're supposed to be asleep...!" You frowned.

"What happened to him? I heard his friend, Cesar talking to him, saying something about a gift or present...did they have a fight...?" Sarah asked.

You started tearing up. The Alternate took the form of Mark's best friend. That was the last straw. "Sarah, I...I'm gonna be going away, for a while..." You sighed.

"When're you gonna be back?" She asked, face full of worry.

"I dunno...I'm just...not feeling too good, y'know? Feeling kinda yucky..." You said, trying to beat around the bush.

"Please...what happened to Mark...?" Sarah begged, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes.

"...Sarah, you're...too young to know exactly what happened...but...just know...it's something bad...really bad..." You explained carefully.

"Really...? I-Is he gonna recover okay...?" Sarah asked worriedly.

"...no...he's...mhh..." You frowned. "I-I need to go, I love you, don't ever forget that, you know my phone number, call me if you EVER NEED ANYTHING, okay?" You requested.

"Wh-Why...?" Sarah asked, confused.

"I know you're really confused, and I know this is probably really scary, but I need you to be a brave little girl for me, okay?" You asked.

"I...I'll do my best..." Sarah nodded sadly.

"Excellent...call me whenever you wanna talk, okay? And I mean WHENEVER."

"Okay..." Sarah smiled softly.

"Good." You smiled, giving your little sister a kiss on the forehead. "Now, don't go into Mark's room, okay? Remember how he NEVER allowed any girls in because he thought they were icky and gross?" You asked.

"Mhm, I 'member." She nodded.

"That rule still holds up now and until otherwise stated." You explained.

"Can I kiss it better?" Sarah asked. "Like he always did?"

Your face darkened. "No...I'm sorry, Sarah, this time, kisses won't make it better...I wish they could..."

"Oh..." Sarah frowned, looking down at the floor.

"Okay, I love you, I'll talk soon, okay?" You asked, Sarah nodding.

"Okay..."

"If mom and dad ask where I am, tell them I'm staying with a friend. Doubt they will though." You sighed.

You quickly ran into Mark's room, grabbing his car-keys and hurrying into his car. You didn't know where you were going, but you needed to go somewhere that wasn't here.

[Winter Break, 2009.]

You groaned, rolling over in bed, looking at your clock. 3:33 AM. You dragged your hands down your face. You'd been struggling to get to bed for the past few hours now.

You grumbled, getting up to go make yourself some tea. Trudging out to the kitchen, you rummaged around through your drawers, grabbing some lavender vanilla tea and a mug to put it in.

You knew why you were having trouble sleeping, but you would never admit it. You knew you should've been over it by now, but it was so sudden, you couldn't get over it so quickly.

You shut the cabinet as you grabbed your mug, putting water on the stove to boil. "Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y/N..." You grimaced. He was back. "How-w-w-w's my favorite-e-e-e wo-o-o-o-orthless si-i-i-i-ibling-g-g doing?"

You ignored him. It was your best choice at this point. You tried stabbing him, that didn't work, you tried locking him out, he still found ways in, you tried locking him in the basement, but he used your brother's voice to guilt-trip you into letting him out.

You were stuck with him. "Da-a-a-amn, gi-i-iving your bi-i-ig bro-o-other the silen-n-n-nt treatment-t-t-t? How ru-u-u-ude."

You groaned, hoping the water would boil faster. "A-A-A-A-Are you li-i-i-istening-g-g to me? Ne-e-e-evermind. You-u-u-u ne-e-ever di-i-id tha-a-at in life e-e-either-" It started, but you cut it off, snapping at it.

"YOU LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT, YOU AREN'T MY BROTHER AND NEVER WILL BE. HE WAS A KIND, CARING INDIVIDUAL AND YOU'RE A SHELL OF WHAT HE WAS. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE." You yelled.

It narrowed its eyes, going to speak before it slammed its hands over its ears, blocking out the loud, high-pitched whistling sound of the tea-kettle. "...you can't handle high-pitched noise." You gasped.

"SHUT UP." It growled.

"I can get rid of you now! Eat it, bit-" You started.

"THIS IS EXACTLY WHY I NEVER TALKED TO YOU AND KILLED MYSELF!!!" It yelled at you in an exact imitation of your brother's voice.

You froze. That was the first time it was able to perfectly mimic his voice.

The tea-kettle's whistling got louder and higher-pitched, driving the alternate away for now, you getting snapped out of your trance from what the Alternate told you. "h....hello...?" You asked, sounding, honestly, quite haunted.

"Sorry, did I call at a bad time?" You sighed in relief. Thank Go...no, there wasn't one. Thank goodness.

"No, not at all, Sarah...thanks...uhm...yeah, no, I-I'm fine, what's up?" you asked shakily.

"You okay? You sound like you've seen a ghost." Sarah commented.

"Don't worry about it, what's up, are you alright?" You asked.

"Well, I was gonna ask if you've heard anything about the group I'm in or heard anything from anyone else in it."

You paused a moment. "That's with, uhh...Marshall and Murray, right?" You asked.

"Mhm. That's the one."

"No, I...I haven't. Why? Did something happen?" You asked, tilting your head in confusion.

"Adam and Jonah went out for an investigation and I haven't heard from them since. It's been three days and I don't know where they are." Sarah sighed.

"Where did they say they were going?" You asked.

"Uhm...6999 Ark drive, why?" Sarah asked.

You choked on air, sliding down the counter to the ground. "Y/n? Y/N, are you okay?!" Sarah asked.

You shakily brought the phone to your face again, nodding. "Sarah...does that address ring a bell to you...?" You asked, shaking fairly badly.

"No, should I?" Sarah asked, confused.

"That's Cesar's old house." You breathed out shakily.

[mikodrawnnarratives]

i think i blacked out and made this in the span of a month roughly um...

I wish i had this much productivity with my other creative projects welp

I thought about sifloop a lot while making this so....... its not NECESSARILY a sifloop animatic...... you can interpret them how you'd like to here.... but i will tag as such in case i drew them yearning for each other a bit TOO much.......

anywayy I used @remxedmoon 's BEAUTIFUL color palettes for everyone here (and took inspiration from their human loop design too) and u should go gawk at the beauty like i have on several occasions, i loved coloring the characters like this

anywayyy youtube link below the cut and an image of the thumbnail cuz i like how it turned out

(for the record Ik what caused the island to be forgotten is different to what caused colors to disappear i just wanted to make both happen cuz the lyrics made me think of those things happening at the same time ok? ok cool)

[threepandas]

Bad End - Chosen: Part 2

Back <- | -> Next

When I remember the game, I mostly remember the outfits. The frills and ornate designs. In another life, I adored them. Now? They disgust me.

They disgust me because I know EXACTLY what it takes to make each and every dress the heroine so thoughtlessly runs through. Flinging herself through mud and climbing up trees in the name of be "plucky". Tearing them for bandages, as though she is not a SAINT with the power of the very GODS at her finger tips. All manner of so called "cute" actions that... that in reality?

Are thoughtless.

Needlessly, cruelly thoughtless.

It takes months to make even a single one of those dresses. Months. Heavy magic is involved. They defy gravity, are delicate and soft in ways no normal cloth could ever BE. The jewels on them? Ha. You think those came from earthly mines? Who could AFFORD that? No one. Not a single soul.

I once worked on some. For the daughter of a Duke. Awkward little thing. In turns, arrogant and insecure. More lonely then anything else. I was the first girl her age that WASN'T trying to use her for family or stab her in the back. It flustered her terribly. She kept coming up with reasons the dress "wasn't right" just so she could delay having to go home.

Never did admit to wanting to be friends.

But she DID graciously allow me to send her letters. Visit, on occasion.

I... I truely hope she made it out alive, when her Dukedom fell. Her family guarded the western front for generations. She was so stubborn. I... I doubt she fled. But in my heart? I hope she did.

I hope she was selfish.

Everyone else gets to be. That BITCH, gets to be. So why not her? Why not that insecure child? Bratty and bold? Why not Cordelia, who only ever wanted to make her bastard of a father proud? Why... w-why not me?

My anger isn't gone, when I open my eyes. But my exhaustion and sorrow are far stronger. I can't feel my magic. It would be a suprise too. What fool, after all, captures a Mage then let's them keep their access? Even a mouse is dangerous, given enough time, as the saying goes. And I was no mouse.

I hang in a remarkably pretty room, for a dungeon. My arms do not even strain. I suspect I am partially floating. Not enough for leverage, but enough that my weight is not hanging from my arms. I am merely anchored by them. It has the added benefit, I suspect, of keeping me from using the floor to aid in any escape plans.

There is a comfortable chair placed in front of where I hang. Ominous. Is my suffering going to be a show then? Some amusement? They'll be disappointed. I refuse to give them the satisfaction. I know people break. But I'll bite my tongue long befo-

My dark musings are cut off, by the quite sound of a door opening on well oiled hinges into a dead silent room. The crisp step of a powerful man, assured of his place, his path. The door is behind me, yet I already know who has just entered the room. Fear, rage, and confusion have already SEARED that scent into my brain. I will die knowing it.

I grit my teeth and refuse to acknowledge him.

"Awake and already in quite the mood, I see. Understandable, I suppose, Grandlearner." The MONSTER who has me, muses, his voice terribly pleasant. "You were in quite the wretched state. Still are, unfortunately, but we will be fixing that."

I want to hiss like a cat. It is beneath me. Would probably do nothing but amuse him. But I suddenly understand the animal more then I ever have before. If he gets near me, I will BITE. I swear to the very gods I DISPISE. I will do it!

He strolls into my field of vision holding a silver serving tray. Little dishes of finger foods. I have a sinking suspicion but immediately shove it away. No. No, it is probably for him. The tray is placed upon a side table, next to the chair. He hasn't looked at me directly yet. Merely fussing as though hosting a guest.

He stands up, finished. Turns. And SMILES.

The fear I have been so desperately trying to control breaks from of my desperate hands. I jerk back in the chains, as far as I am able. Cold sweat beading up across my skin. I can't run. Even if I could, this close? I'd never make it. But primal instincts do not listen to reason. Run, run, RUN! It HOWLS in my brain.

There has never been a more dangerous man.

He is not even threatening me.

He's just not hiding.

He hums, amused as I shake. Gentle steps forward. Gloved hands I can not escape. They cup my face as my lungs feel like they are burning with panic. Brain certain he is moments from tightening his grip, brutally, and snapping my neck. It never comes. His hands dangerously gentle. Stroking my cheeks possessively.

"Look at you... so malnourished. Barely trained at all. My poor Grandlearner," he all but sighs, as though he is looking at the proof of some great crime. Some failing against him. "Look how useless that boy has been. Dropping you in battlefields to do his job for him, while he goes panting after children a fraction his age. A lecherous failure at every turn. More a temple's dog then a mage."

The air has slowly turned to burning ice, as he grows angrier. But his eye flicks down to meet mine, no longer staring through me, but AT me. And his smile warms. It is a manic, mad man's warmth. Like the burning of a city. He slides his hands down to cup my neck, cradle my head. I freeze. Too afraid of the hands on my neck to protest as he leans forward to press a kiss to my forhead.

"Mmmm, but enough of that. No more bad thoughts. Let us focus on the now. You, my dear child, need to eat. And I have so much to LEARN about you! So many years lost between us. I have brought several dishes for you to try."

An incredulous laugh found itself trapped in my throat. Is he serious? He has me chained up like a trophy, has BUTCHERED my men, unknown intentions towards me, and he... what? Wants me to eat adorable little snacky treats?

He is completely serious.

And, I find out, has no problem forcing me to open my mouth. If I "can not behave myself", that is. I see, all to clearly, what his plan is. Stockholm Syndrome. Brainwashing. But... but being AWARE of something does not stop it from WORKING on you. How long can I hold out?

Longer then this cycle? Will he remember, as I do? Try to find me again? I don't know. Without my magic, I can not fight the fear. Even with my magic... he is the dragon to my ant. I can not even hope to match my Master, much less HIS Master. And the legendary Arch-Mage of Red? It would be easier to drain a lake with a spoon. Move a desert handful by handful.

Hands that have slaughtered countless, card themselves through my hair, as I am once again forced to eat some little decadence that tastes like ash and ruin on my tounge.

"See? Isn't this so much better?" He croons, too close and triumphant. A mockery of doting grandfather's everwhere. "With Grandmaster here, you'll never have worry about a thing. We'll correct your training, get you back where your supposed to be, and together? Fix this broken world. Be GODS. You'll be such a shining little God, sweet one. Spring, perhaps? We can pick the domain you want together~"

"I'll help you kill them. Take their heart and devour it. Then? Nothing will ever be able to take you from me ever again. No, not ever, ever again."

[alchemistc]

what the agony had been for | bucktommy 3/5

Do you mind if we stay in tonight? Buck doesn’t see the text until his shift is almost over. It’s been a long day, long enough that he and Chim have spent half of it accusing everyone at the station of saying the q-word in the spare moments they’ve had between calls. He’s been regretting making such an ambitious plan for a date night when he’ll be back at work in like twelve hours, so at first the text just eases some of the tension in his shoulders. He sends back a quick affirmative, and sends a thank you out into the world when the next twenty minutes pass without a call. His overnight bag had taken a permanent vacation the day Tommy had presented him with a cleared out wardrobe drawer and a toothbrush still in it’s packaging lying next to the bathroom sink, so all there is to do is change out of his uniform and send a quick goodbye to the team before he’s out the door. The drive gives him some time to decompress. It’s been a while since they’ve had such a chaotic day, and Buck misses his boyfriend who he hasn’t seen in almost a week because of the brush fire in the Hills. He’d spent his last night off at Tommy’s, curling under the duvet and staring at the dog-eared bodice ripper laying on Tommy’s bedside table, remembering exactly what had led to Tommy laying it spine open and face down, with his reading glasses perched on top, two nights earlier.

read chapter 3 on ao3

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Day 5

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” | Bite

<<< previous | next >>>

Contains: lady whump, magical restraints (cursed jewellery), suicide mention, magical forced contraception, forced labour, captivity, reference to dubcon/noncon sex as well as consensual sex

WC: 910

Docile as a lamb

As always, the maidservant tried to conceal the garish bites and bruises on her skin. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said, not for the first time. “They don’t hurt.”

As always, her friend—her only friend, a fellow servant with wispy yellow hair and kind golden-brown eyes—prodded her with a tone gently teasing, yet with an expression full of sorrow and concern. “I should hope not.” She carefully, tenderly positioned the maidservant’s hair so it partially masked the marks. “Otherwise, I’d fear that  . . .” She paused. “That whoever you’re using to make me jealous hasn’t the faintest idea what they’re doing.”

The prince, the maidservant thought bitterly, had known exactly what he was doing.

She sometimes wondered if he knew or cared that the girl who shared her bed was, many nights, more than a mere friend. If sometimes he took petty revenge by branding her the way he did. “We should be off,” she said, trying not to let too much gloom creep into her voice. “Shall we go?”

Her friend sighed, letting the topic drop, moving on to lament the dawn of another long, ordinary, mind-numbing day of work.

Or so the maidservant thought.

After supper, when work was done and she was ready to tumble into her cot, nestled against the warm, welcome body next to her, a knock sounded on the door of the servants’ quarters.

A guard, trimmed in smooth leather and glinting steel. “You’ve been summoned,” he said, jerking his head. “Come with me.”

Of course, the prince made her wait. Not in his bedchamber, but a counsel room—hollow stone, dark and windowless. Stomach twisting with nerves, she stood with her head bowed, wondering what he wanted.

Had she displeased him? It took very little, most days. Spoken out of turn? Left a stain on a priceless silk tunic? Did it have to do with his secretly harboured jealousy that he was not the only one she bedded? What if it had nothing to do with her at all, but her brother? Had he tried to kill another guard? Escaped his chains? Tried to flee?

The possibilities swirled relentlessly through her head, biting and snapping, until the prince finally appeared.

She dropped to her knees when she saw he was not alone.

“You see?” the usurper prince crowed to his mother. “Obedient as a little pup. Docile as a lamb.”

The maidservant bit her tongue.

“It certainly seems so,” said the queen, her voice harsh and suspicious. “Look at me, girl.”

Despising herself for proving him right, the maidservant obeyed.

It had been a long time since she’d laid eyes on the queen at such a close distance. There she stood: the woman who had ordered a whole family slaughtered and then stolen a crown still steeped in royal blood. Jealously, the maidservant observed that unearned power suited her well: her locks were glossy hazelnut-brown, streaked with elegant grey, and she was resplendent despite the late hour in a gown of silver and cream velvet, trimmed in dainty pearls and hand-stitched lace. Her cold moonlight eyes, matching her son’s so perfectly, swept over the maidservant, cruel and unimpressed.

The sharp, disapproving line of her mouth twisted ever so slightly. “How can you be sure she won’t run? Or squawk?”

In a few surefooted strides, the prince stood beside the maidservant, jerking her roughly to her feet with a hand on her elbow. “Get up.” To his mother, he said, “Please. Give me some credit. I’m good at what I do.”

As if she were a puppet, built of long-dead timber and manipulated by fine, invisible strings, he lifted one wrist, showing off the tiny charm hanging off her bracelet-shackle.

“This one keeps her inside the palace boundaries.” Fondling carelessly the one at her throat, making her wince as the chain cut into her skin, he added, “And this ensures she cannot reveal her true name.”

Despite the mistrust clear on her face, the queen smirked. “And the others?”

“Oh.” He snorted. “So she can’t kill herself.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot that was a necessity with this one.”

“Both of them,” said the prince, and the maidservant watched, numb, while the two of them laughed.

He didn’t explain, or perhaps didn’t need to, that the charm in question also prevented her from harming not just herself but anyone else, even in self-defence. Even if her life depended on it.

Nor did he bring up the last charm, the one she both loathed and was grateful for, which meant there would be no unwanted bastard heirs growing inside her as long as the cursed ornaments remained.

“Please, Your Highnesses,” she said, twisting her hands and staring at the floor. “Why . . .” She paused, thinking better of her phrasing. “How can I serve you tonight?”

There it was—that slow smile she hated more than anything in the world. It crawled over the prince’s face like an infestation of insects, dreadful and sinister.

“Not tonight, little lamb.” She blanched, fearful of whatever malevolent promise those four words held for her. “Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow—the festival. The ball. “I—But—?” She choked back a protest. “Your Highness?”

Surrounded by strangers—visitors and courtiers who would look right through her. Unable to plead for deliverance from this hell. Unable to even whisper her own name.

“That’s right, pretty thing. You’re going to make yourself useful, finally. Really earn your keep. I have a job for you.”

June of Doom Masterlist

<<< previous | next >>>

@juneofdoom

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

[sentientsky]

hey so did this part of evolution of the daleks make you absolutely fucking lose it or are you in a good place emotionally?

part two of a segment i like to call, "scenes from dw that make me feel like flying into the sun icarus-style” (part 1)

[kasparovv]

very sketchy illustration for the latest chapter of my bipper thing

[paenling]

they couldn’t bear to let him sleep, but he came back Wrong

(happy halloween!)

[fitzrove]

These people are all freaks djhhdjskalkdksks oh god

[enjoytheglow]

Pinterest has sent me an email kindly asking me to please remove any Pins with references to suicide and self-harm on all my boards

And that's a whole section of my Mae board, including the title

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

I Can't

I wrote this while listening to What Was I Made For? from Barbie, and I think it's very fitting. If you saw the original title for this no you didnt.

CWs: bbu, ocd, referenced noncon, blood, suicidal ideation, grief, jesse makes a choice, immediate follow up to this

Masterlist

———————————–

Mrs. Perez looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her hands flew over her mouth before she quickly looked every which way, eyes wide.

Heat flooded Jesse’s cheeks. He swallowed, pushing himself into a crouching position. It was the best he could do. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Perez,” he said hoarsely. His throat ached. “I’m so sorry. I’m -- I’m going home now. I’m sorry to bother you.”

He didn’t even take one step before Mrs. Perez was out the door, arms around him and practically holding him up.

“What happened to you?” she asked, horrified.

He shook his head, trying to pull out of her grasp. This was a huge mistake. “Nothing. Her grip on his arm tightened and he froze instinctively, lowering his head.

“Jesse,” she said urgently. “Look at me. What happened to you?”

Tears blurred Jesse’s eyes as he looked at Mrs. Perez. He felt his face crumple slowly, chin dimpling and eyebrows furrowing. A huge sob escaped him at the same time his knees gave out. He felt Mrs. Perez struggle to shift under him and take on more of his weight. An apology was at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t speak around his cries of heartache and pain.

Once inside, Mrs. Perez set him softly on the couch. He winced, gritting his teeth as he adjusted himself.

Mrs. Perez left and then appeared back in his line of vision with a glass of water, which he drank hungrily, gasping for air. She sat next to him, taking the glass when he tried to stretch and set it on the coffee table just out of reach.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, exhaustion taking over.

Mrs. Perez said nothing, just looking at him up and down. She sighed. “Okay Jesse. Do you want to talk first, or get cleaned up first?”

“Cleaned up?”

“Well, honey, you’re clearly in a lot of pain. I can see some injuries, but I can’t see them all. Can I run you a bath and fix some of them?”

His eyes welled with new tears, and Jesse tried his best to wipe them away. He twisted his collar around four times before answering. “Yes please.”

Luckily Mrs. Perez had a guest bathroom on the first floor, not far from where they were sitting. She helped Jesse up from the beige couch, and he paled when he saw the blood stains he left behind.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Perez,” he rushed. “I -- I’ll clean it for you. I can clean it, I’m so --”

“Hush,” she ordered, helping him take the steps to the bathroom. He stopped his protests, only because he had to grit his teeth to keep quiet.

The bath was already full, the water steaming. Jesse kept his eyes on the ground. He slept through the morning, so now he had to avoid mirrors the rest of the day to ensure the girls’ safety.

“Can you undress yourself?”

———————————–

“Can you even undress yourself?” Mrs. Bakeman laughed. Jesse tripped over his pants, hands shaking. 

He preferred when she did it. When she ordered him to, it felt like he was being marched to his own death. An unseen force forcing him to his own demise, laughing at the humiliation of making him strap himself to the electric chair.

He hesitated for a moment, hands hovering over the waistband of his boxers.

“Stop stalling,” she demanded, suddenly angry, “and get over here. Now.”

Jesse closed his eyes and pushed them to his feet, closing his eyes as he felt her gaze wash hungrily over him. The shame never went away, no matter how many times he’d done it.

“Yes, Heather,” he breathed.

———————————–

“Please,” he begged, eyes shut tight.

“Jesse,” Mrs. Bakeman said. “You’re right here with me. In my bathroom.”

He hated when she took him in the shower. The shower was his only safe space afterwards, and if she was there... it was ruined. He had no safety afterwards. Nothing helped.

“Okay,” he whispered, stealing himself for what was bound to happen.

“No. Jesse, open your eyes.”

He would cry if he opened his eyes. She got so mad when he cried. Couldn’t she wait until they were in the shower and couldn’t tell the difference? He repressed a sob.

Be good. Be good. Be good. Be good.

Jesse opened his eyes. To his horror, tears fell immediately, blurring the brown walls and beige tile.

But the bathroom wasn’t brown, it was white. Gray walls and white tile. He took comfort in the gray, staring at it when he was being hurt and used and reminding himself again and again that there’s color, look at the color, it’s not just white, you’re not there. Just be good be good be good be good --

Mrs. Perez smiled in front of him. “It’s me Jesse. You’re in my house. Can you hear me?”

Jesse felt himself nod.

“I’m sorry I said something that put you off. Do you want to wait on the bath?”

He shook his head. The blood was drying and sticky, reminding him with every movement what had happened. He wanted it gone. He wanted it all gone. He cleared his throat, pushing aside his overwhelming anxiety. “Help me please.”

He looked at the walls, at the patterned shower curtain, at the aged brown hands gently easing him out of his sweatshirt. Anything to remind himself who he was with.

Jesse’s face reddened with shame when she pulled down his pants. He knew he was covered in bruises. Blood. Everything the guests left on him. His repulsiveness and lack of worth was on full display. 

“Into the bath.”

It was near agonizing, lowering himself down that far and then sitting on the hard porcelain. He waited for the heat to relax his tense and sore muscles, sighing in relief when Mrs. Perez began to pour water over his chest and back.

Jesse craved this. This tenderness. The mercy, the compassion. Everything inside him ached and yearned for this very thing, and he had no living memory of ever receiving it. His heart twisted in grief.

———————————–

“Okay, messy boy. Tilt your head up and close your eyes.” He did, but a protective hand still worked as a barrier on his hairline, ensuring no stinging soap got in his eyes.

“Mom, look! I’m an old man!” he announced, holding his wrinkled fingers in the air.

“You’re the cutest old man I ever did see!” she laughed. “Okay, one more time.”

“Mo-om! I don’t want you to wash it again!”

“You should’ve thought about that before you swam in the mud. Come on, close your eyes.”

———————————–

Jesse gasped and opened his eyes at the sharp pain in his head. Tears streamed down his face. He blinked, wiping away his tears. His fingertips were wrinkled.

“Are you alright?” Mrs. Perez asked. He nodded wordlessly. “Come on.”

After his visible wounds were taken care of she helped him dress in a too-large pair of pajama pants and hoodie that she explained belonged to her late husband. It was strange. No one had ever helped him put clothes on before.

Jesse sat on a couch in the den this time, insisting she put down a towel first.

She sat across from him, hands in her lap, unspeaking.

Jesse twisted around his collar four times. He sang Abi’s favorite song in his head. Did he turn off the oven? No the oven wasn’t on today. Did he knock into it when he was in the kitchen? Is the entire house burned to the ground? He took a deep breath.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asked anxiously.

Mrs. Perez shook her head. She pursed her lips. Jesse took another deep breath.

“I’m not letting you back in that house,” she stated.

Jesse’s chest flooded with heat. Cold, icy hot heat. It burned. “What?”

Mrs. Perez leaned forward. “Jesse. I know what happened. I -- I’m sorry to say that I know it’s been happening. And I’m ending it. You’re not going back.”

Jesse shook his head as she spoke, panic starting to claw at his insides. “No. No, I have to go back.”

She knitted her brows, her gaze holding so much sympathy and pity it almost hurt to see it. “You don’t.”

“Yes, I have to!” he begged

“Then why did you come here, honey? If you wanted to go back?”

He put his head in his hands. “I don’t want to,” he wept. “I don’t want to go back at all. But I have to.” He heard Mrs. Perez stand, her sure footsteps thumping dully on the rug. Her weight settled next to him, an arm wrapping around his shoulders.

“You remember what I told you before.” It wasn’t a question. “The children will be okay.” She ignored his trembling shoulders and shaking head. “You can’t keep living like this. You can’t go back there to be tortured and I won’t let you. You don’t owe those people anything.”

Jesse wiped his face, looking at Mrs. Perez with red and stinging eyes. He was so tired. “No,” he relented. “But they’re all I have. All I have in the whole world. I -- I was made for them. I told you that I’m all they have, but that’s not true anymore. But they will always be all I have. All I will ever have. They -- they’re my girls. I love them more than anything, Mrs. Perez, and that’s not just -- just because I’m their boxboy. It’s because they’re the only thing that’s been keeping me going ever since I arrived in that forsaken house.” Jesse sobbed, taking the hand that was offered to him and clinging to it like a life line. “I can’t leave my entire world behind,” he whispered. “I can’t leave them.”

Mrs. Perez held to him tightly. “Jesse… I understand. Now please try to understand me. You came here because you know that I can help you get out. You want help. You need help. I cannot send you back into that house to be abused. I cannot send you back to be tortured. Because this,” she indicated to his suffering body, healing scars and bruises, “this is torture. What they did to you is torture. And it’s my greatest heartbreak that I couldn’t end it when I knew it was happening. But you came to me. And I’m ending it now.” 

She slowly raised a hand and wiped a stray tear from his cheek. Jesse didn’t know why either of them bothered.

“I understand what you’re saying about the children. I really do. But please. They are not all you have. Especially not if you trust me enough to do this. I know you don’t want to continue the life you’re living. If you let me help you, you will lead a new life. One worth living. One free of pain. One that you make yourself. One where you have more.”

He swallowed, gasping for air. It hurt to cry. Everything throbbed, inside and out. Jesse’s misery was suffocating. His suffering never ending. It would never get better for him. The only people that made his life worth living were so fleeting in their presence. Every other moment alive only made him want to die.

“I don’t know how,” he choked out mournfully.

“You won’t be alone.”

“I’ll miss them.”

Mrs. Perez rubbed his shoulder where she knew it wouldn’t hurt. “They’ll miss you. And you will both carry on, knowing the other is safe. It’s worth it, Jesse.”

He was being crushed. He wanted to be crushed. Living was too difficult. Being him was too difficult. And the thought of going back inside that house was the worst part of it all.

Jesse nodded. “Okay.”

———————————–

Taglist: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @boxboysandotherwhump @hold-him-down @winedark-whump @melancholy-in-the-morning @castielamigos-whump-side-blog

[titsmasher69]

MY FUCKING SISTER DREW THIS IM CRYING

[sunbeamah]

Deleted Scene from Trouble in Tokyo #3

i wrote this scene before chapter 1 of TIT and wanted to put it in the whole time, but it didn't make the final cut!! it's just a short one this time, please enjoy! and please check out TIT if you haven't! ch8 is coming soon :)

TIT deleted scenes 1 and 2

“Yuuji! Your boyfriend’s here!” Kechizu shouted back into the house. His eyes sparkled in what felt like anticipation as he watched Megumi’s face carefully. All he gave the man was a flat stare, too used to man-children at this point in his life to be surprised. 

Megumi listened closely to Yuuji’s distant footsteps, no longer having to exchange small talk now that Kechizu had decided to go on his phone and leave him at the door. Before he knew it, that pretty head of blossom-pink hair was in front of him, and Yuuji was looking up at him with his beautiful golden eyes filled with tears–

“Hey,” Yuuji said, his voice cracking a bit. It snapped something in Megumi’s mind.

His body moved on its own, cupping his boyfriend’s cheeks and thumbing one of the tears that rolled down them. 

“Yuuji,” He said, coming closer, crowing him. “What happened?”

Yuuji swallowed and broke his gaze, and Megumi felt so violent he almost wanted to take his hands away from Yuuji out of fear his anger might translate into his touch– but he would never hurt his boyfriend like that. He would never be able to. 

He dropped his hands anyway, grabbing one of Yuuji’s own and pulling him into the bedroom he shared with his twin. 

“Who did this?” He asked when the door shut, his voice dangerous and cold.

“H-huh? Oh– sorry!” Yuuji said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m not sure if I texted you about it– I just watched this American movie, and the guy at the end, he committed suicide, and it was just really sad…” 

Internally, Megumi felt relieved. Yuuji was okay, it was all a misunderstanding. Externally, he scrunched up his nose and tch’d, flicking Yuuji’s forehead viciously.

“Oww! Hey! Am I not in enough pain already?!” Yuuji said, covering the spot with both hands and pouting up at him. Cute.

“If you’re crying– tell me why immediately. I thought something bad happened. It stresses me out…” He said firmly, frowning down at Yuuji to make sure he got the point. 

Yuuji straightened up a bit, letting his hands fall and looking him in the eye properly.

“Sorry, Fushiguro.”  Yuuji said. “I’ll let you know next time.”

“You better…” Megumi turned away and surveyed the state of his room, unwilling to express this much vulnerability all in one go. “And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Megumi?”

[serickswrites]

C-can I ask you one more about whumpee fell into a coma and his soul follows caretaker as he see the other suffering, hear them talking to him even when they knew maybe he couldn't hear them, but he probably did, and taking care of him every night on the hospital bed like wiped his face, hands, etc... Then he even saw them try to hurt themself in many different ways to be in pain exactly like him because they were too hopeless and he doesn't know anything to do to stop them from suicide.

Ask as many as you like friend! I hope this is what you were looking for!

Warnings: coma, referenced accident, referenced self harm, hospital, suicidal ideation

Caretaker hadn't left Whumpee's bedside at all today. Hadn't stopped holding Whumpee's hand. Hadn't stopped crying. "I need you, Whumpee. Please. You can't leave me. You promised."

I'm right here, Caretaker. I haven't left you.

Whumpee had woken days ago. Had woken and stared down at themself. Stared down at their unconscious, comatose body as Caretaker sat by their side. They were there. But they weren't.

Whumpee had followed Caretaker throughout the time. Had learned about the horrible accident that left them in this limbo state. Had learned that it was unclear if they would ever wake up again. Had learned of Caretaker's pain.

Caretaker hadn't stopped sobbing from the moment Whumpee had woken up. I'm here. I'm right here. I'm here. Don't cry. Whumpee had begged Caretaker. Had tried to get their attention.

But Caretaker couldn't hear them. Couldn't see them. Caretaker could only cry. Cry and hold Whumpee's hand. Cry and wipe Whumpee's face with a cool cloth. Whumpee had felt the ghost of a sensation of the cloth. They could almost feel Caretaker's hand brush their cheek.

And they could hear Caretaker.

"I can't live without you," Caretaker sobbed. "I need you," they whispered in Whumpee's ear.

I'm here. I haven't left. I'm here. Caretaker, please!

Whumpee had followed Caretaker home. Had followed and watched as Caretaker did unspeakable things to themself.

Please. Caretaker, don't. I'm here! HERE! Whumpee had shouted and shouted. Had tried to stop Caretaker from harming themself.

But they hadn't been able to. Caretaker couldn't hear them. Couldn't see them. Couldn't feel them.

And so Whumpee was forced to just watch. And hope that they would wake up.

"They.....they say this is it," Caretaker's voice broke. "That this is all you're going to be. You're alive because of machines. I need you to be alive. I need you. Please. I can't live without you, Whumpee. I don't want to live without you."

I'm here. Please, Caretaker. HERE. You have to live. You can't leave me. Please. Caretaker.

[pygmalisms]

BABY'S FIRST DOCTOR WHO FIC!!!!!

[ritzcrackee]

figured this swordtember drawing deserved its own post too :3 sunshine 2007 you will always have my heart...