#violence ideation mention

[t-s-n]

tw: vent, mental health discussion, bad parents, written in second person for some reason

hi.

let me set the scene for you. you, a 14 year old boy, have always struggled with people. they’re so complex and confusing and you hate most of them. you have two sisters, an older sister, the scapegoat and a younger sister, the naive one. and you. the golden child.

two mentally ill parents in the process of getting a divorce. you find yourself on your mother’s ‘side’. your father…is bad? he wasn’t involved in your life much, or so your mother tells you. you don’t remember your young childhood very well, honestly.

your mother….hm. your mother is a terribly insecure person, and was subject to some form of emotional abuser from your father, as she very frequently reminds you. she relies on you heavily. **heavily**. not just for helping with your siblings, but for…emotional support, often in the form of venting to you about your father. you have a tumultuous relationship, somewhat, at least. often very close, but it can turn harsh very quickly. your mother has few friends, and rarely leaves the house, making you one of her main forms of interaction and connection.

your father. your..father. you don’t know where to start with him, really. not like it’s a dramatic thing, you just….dont have much to say about him. apparently, he is an abusive person and a narcissist (to be clear, i am not a person who thinks ‘narc abuse’ should be a term that’s used). that’s what your mother says. and maybe he is. he probably is. but, as previously mentioned, not much of your childhood can be recalled, so you can’t be sure for yourself. he clearly favors your younger sister, and makes your mother and older sister out to be terrible people. where does that leave you? it’s subject to change. everyone always stays in those positions, but you. you fluctuate in his mind. sometimes he tries to keep you ‘on his side’ and sometimes he sees you as siding with your mother. you haven’t figured out why you were singled out. you may never.

so what is there to do? you are a mentally unhealthy teen who daydreams about violence and spends far too much of his life online and withdrawn. you want to change this, but you can’t. you just have to wait until you can leave your family, or at least distance yourself.

[swollenbabyfat]

Quiet now children

[frothingatthemaw]

god hopes you burn with it.

[daniclaytcn]

but i always knew, that in the end, no one was coming to save me so i just prayed, and i keep praying, and praying and praying

maddie buckley + ‘sun-bleached flies’ by ethel cain

@lgbtqcreators creator challenge — typography

[victoria-vd]

Preliminary Warning

// tw mentions of violence, mentions of death, homicidal ideation

OFFSCREEN POST

Victoria did not care for the winter solstice.

Not only was the stress that it brought insurmountable, but it was also the day of which she had the misfortune of being born. And while the Velascos were not a family of superstition, they were no strangers to weaponizing it when it was most convenient.

Such is the spirit of the holidays. The young heiress let out a small sigh as she cast her eyes across her elegantly-decorated bed. There, on the other side, her best friend sat engrossed in her laptop, tapping away at the keyboard. The setting sun cast orange rays through the windows, cloaking the entire room in a golden glow. Esper’s white hair captured the light of the sun in such a picturesque manner that one might mistake strands of her hair for the finest strings of exquisite, iridescent pearls. Her head was angled in such a manner that it perfectly blocked the sun from Victoria’s view, casting a halo of sunlight around her entire face.

At least Esper’s presence would make it all more tolerable.

“Oh,” Esper suddenly raised her head from her laptop and turned her gaze to the girl beside her, blinding her with light now that her head no longer blocked the setting sun. Victoria squinted but refused to shut her eyes, giving her friend her undivided attention as she continued, “I just remembered, when is your family meant to be arriving?” The girl tilted her head, “I keep hearing mention of them coming, but I haven’t really been told a day?”

Victoria’s eyebrow twitched in irritation. Ah. Right. The greatest source of her ire around this time of the year: her extended family. The solstice celebration had always been a warzone filled with backhanded remarks and underhanded tactics bordering on psychological torture— she had no doubt that her cousins had plenty of new “tricks” prepared for her this year. 

She raised her chin to the ceiling in thought. “Come to think of it, I believe the first batch will arrive tomorrow.” The anticipation of her cousins' arrival added to her dread. It was anyone’s guess as to which of her relatives in Unova would arrive first: her Tia Marina or her Tio Adan. But between the two, Tia Marina cared more about punctuality, so it was more likely that she would arrive before Adan and his son. An unfortunate double-edged sword— while Victoria found her Tia Marina and her daughter respectable, her eldest son Sebástian was… a different story. Frankly, he was the one she was the most apprehensive towards out of all of her cousins— unlike the rest, his disdain for Victoria in particular was much more… personal.

It was then that a dark thought occurred to Victoria. A horrid idea lurked in the back of her mind, planting seeds of unease that began to take root to the already present dread in her brain: she would not put it past her cousins to use Esper as a means to get at Victoria. Especially since there was no doubt that Esper would be present at the party. The girl furrowed her brows and drew her lips into a line. The mere thought of this possibility made her feel apprehensive. She didn’t need visions of the future to predict the many ways they could take advantage of the situation. 

…A very obvious one instantly came to mind.

The sudden sound of a laptop shutting echoed throughout the room, snapping Victoria back to the present moment as Esper shifted closer to her on the bed. “You alright there, Tori?” she asked, brows furrowed slightly with worry. She looked at her with such fondness that it made the girl feel sick to her stomach. There was so much that she didn’t know— didn’t remember— that Victoria was certain her cousins would be more than happy to inform her of. 

Or show her outright.

The last thought made her abruptly sit up and turn to Esper with a sharp breath. “I believe there is something important I should inform you of.”  The words tumbled from her mouth with a forced haste that betrayed her growing anxiety.

Esper gave a small reassuring smile, “Then I will listen.”

Victoria shut her eyes and drew in a long, hesitant breath. Of course she would agree to listen so easily. She didn’t know. She didn’t remember. The young heiress doubted she would give her the same doe-eyed stare once she reminded her. Casting a downward glance to her hands, she silently contemplated where to start. Perhaps it was best to provide context before thrusting her into the horrors of the past.

“As you know, over the coming weeks leading up to the solstice, more of my extended family will be staying here at the estate,” Victoria started. “My brother and I have warned you it will not be the most pleasant of reunions for…” she paused for a moment, casting a sideways glance, “various reasons.” 

The other girl quietly nodded.

“But…” the young heiress met the eyes of her best friend, “I believe you deserve to know something that occurred on the solstice. Something that I’ve refrained from reminding you of thus far.”

 Her friend spoke with an innocent tilt of her head, “If you're comfortable with sharing, then go ahead.” 

Unfortunately, Victoria could think of little that would be more uncomfortable to share! But it was better that Esper heard it from her than from one of her cousins.

“Do you recall the date which Diaz mentioned a few months back— December 21st, 2015?” She didn’t wait for a response. “It was my sixth birthday. You were there that day. As was Diaz. And our brothers. And the rest of my family.”

She stared off into the distance as she spoke, recalling the hazy memory of the event in her mind.

Victoria did not care for the winter solstice. Not only was the stress that it brought insurmountable, but it was also the day of which she had the misfortune of being born. It was tradition to celebrate the anniversary of one’s birth, and it seemed there was nothing more that the Velascos loved more than to celebrate with loud, crowded parties with people who hated one another. Such is the spirit of the holidays. But at least Estelle was there every year to make it all more tolerable.  But frankly, as Victoria sat on the couch with her head tucked behind her knees, she found that today her patience with Estelle— as well as everyone else— was wearing thin. It was as if everyone simultaneously forgot how to keep their thoughts to themselves and unanimously decided to verbalize every single thing that ran through their mind. She didn’t need to hear the dilemma between whether someone wanted cheese or chocolate. She didn’t need to hear everyone interjecting into one another’s conversations before it was their turn to speak. She didn’t need to hear the contents of all of the gifts everyone brought for her before she even had a chance to open them. The fact that no one seemed to mind the cacophony of overlapping voices made the girl want to tear out her own hair. She could barely hear herself think, let alone process anything that was being said around her.  She wanted nothing more than some peace and quiet. But alas, she was trapped in this deafening prison by social obligation. She’s a big girl now, she can suffer in silence for a few more hours.  From behind the couch, she briefly heard the concerned voice of her Tio Paz. Was he talking to her? She thought she heard him mention her name. His footsteps approached her.  Victoria bit back a grumble. She liked her Tio Paz— he was a nice man— but if she had to talk to anyone she might just explode.  She heard him ask her… something. There were definitely words coming out of his mouth. She buried her head further into her knees, feeling a simmering rage bubbling in her veins. He was only adding to the noise. Did he call her name again? It sounded like her name. He sounded closer than before. Oh, he might have said Estelle’s name as well. Victoria forgot that she was sitting next to her. Did she say something back? Her Father’s brother said something to her again. Victoria really wished he would leave her alone and stop talking to her. Her hands clutched at her hair. She wished everyone would just leave her alone and stopped talking. Please stop talking.  A hand suddenly landed on her shoulder.  With a sudden fury, she whirled around and—

“—And I killed him,” Victoria finished, crossing her arms and raising her chin. “In front of everyone.”

“Oh…” Esper blinked, “I—”

“The unfortunate result of a young psychic discovering herself at a party full of people and having an outburst.” 

“Mhm…” The other girl nodded slowly. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she continued, “I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to tell me this.”

Victoria tapped her finger against her arm and waited for her to say something— anything else. For Esper to back away, to grimace, to show some sort of caution around her. But there was nothing— not a word nor a thought in her mind that acknowledged the gravity of what she had just told her. “Is… that all you have to say?” 

“I’m… not really sure how else to respond?” Esper sheepishly smiled, the strand of hair unfurling as she moved to rub the back of her neck, “I don’t think there’s much for me to say, honestly.”

The heiress looked her up and down. “I believe most people would typically have a bigger reaction to being told that they witnessed their friend kill a man with their mind in front of them.”

Her friend shrugged, “I mean— What response could I give that you haven’t heard a million times before? ‘Oh, that must’ve been hard on you’ or ‘I’m sorry that happened to you’. Like… How am I ��meant’ to respond?”

Victoria raised an eyebrow at her, baffled. “With… apprehension? Discomfort? Hesitation? Fear?” How was this a question that needed to be asked? The typical response to being informed that someone close to you had taken an innocent man’s life was an immediate— usually negative— reaction. At this point, she’d be less bewildered if Esper jumped for joy rather than have no reaction whatsoever. 

“If you want fear, I could grab my cane and run for the hills if it’d make ya’ feel better,” Esper playfully bumped shoulders with her. “I wouldn’t get very far but I can try.”

Oh. So she wasn’t taking this seriously. Was that it? “I do not believe you are in a position to joke about the matter, Esp,” the young heiress narrowed her eyes. “I could have easily killed you and everyone else in the room that day.”

The other girl’s brows furrowed in confusion, “But that didn’t happen. I can understand what you may be feeling but don’t you always say ‘What’s done is done’?”

She just wasn’t getting it, was she? 

“I want to kill someone again, Esper,” Victoria stated coldly. “Purposefully.”

That night— the very instant before her Tio Paz died— was the only time she’d ever been able to truly let herself loose. Every moment from then on she had restrained herself to prevent a potential catastrophe of cataclysmic proportions. No matter how much she trained, no matter how many boulders she threw at herself for the purpose of pulverizing them into dust with her mind, nothing quite satiated that curiosity— the temptation…

Esper sat there in silence for a moment. She seemed as though she was thinking over her friend’s words, mulling them over in her mind before nodding. “That makes sense, I think a lot of people would feel the same if they were in your position.” The girl tilted her head as she continued, “You want to know how you’d feel if you did it on purpose, is that it?”

“It would be so easy,” Victoria looked down at her hands. She wouldn’t even have to snap her fingers to do it. No one would really be able to stop her from subjecting someone to the most violent and horrific death imaginable. And in the unlikely event that she were ever caught, unless the investigation knew she was psychic, odds are that there would not be enough evidence to convict her of homicide.

“It would be, ya.” Esper spoke, her voice soft as she reached over and rested her hand atop Victoria’s, “Thank you for telling me, and if you ever want to talk about it I’m always available.”

Oh.

She slowly glanced down at the hand atop of hers, then back to her friend.

“Okay.”

Scene End.

[Esper belongs to @espers-n-espurrs]

[flowersandskeletons526]

"A Tribute" - Warriors Concept Album Fanfic (Part 1/2)

I wrote my happy fic and now we're back to angst! I want to keep this short (even though this chapter is longer than I intended, sorry) so it's only going to be two chapters. Suffer with me. Enjoy! Ao3 link at the bottom

TW: referenced character death, referenced abuse, very mildly implied suicidal ideation

-------

“Stupid decisions?” Rembrandt growled. “I’m the one that makes stupid decisions?”

“What would you call going to that apartment if not a stupid decision?” Ajax shot back.

“What do you call fighting an undercover cop!”

“I didn’t know he was a cop!”

Swan cut in. “Guys, lower your voices.”

It had been three months since the night from hell. Three months since they lost Fox. A month since Masai’s lawyer had bailed Ajax out of jail.

And three weeks of constant fucking fights between Ajax and Rembrandt, something that no amount of gang activity could have ever prepared Swan to deal with. 

It was no secret to anyone that Rembrandt did not handle that night well. None of them did, not at all, but Swan watched Rembrandt rot for two months on their couch because Cleon didn’t trust her to be alone in the empty apartment she shared with the two lost Warriors. In the space of those two months, Rembrandt had almost reverted back to the scared, quiet girl that Ajax had found painting along the boardwalk all those years ago, the one who spray painted a guy in the face trying to defend Ajax and Swan on her first night. That girl, however, still had life in her. It was stifled and cagy and she flinched at even the softest noise but the spark was there and they were able to bring it out. 

The Rembrandt that Swan saw in the months following that night was not a Rembrandt she knew at all. She lost weight, refusing to eat unless Mercy of all people convinced her to, and she’d grown pale and despondent and she wouldn’t do any art and her usually bright eyes were just… vacant. It was like her soul had been wrenched from her body and left there on the Union Square platform. Her body was still there, curled in a fetal position on the couch, but everything that made her Rembrandt was gone.

Swan was so sure that Ajax coming home would fix it. Swan couldn’t fix anything else. She couldn’t bring Fox back. She couldn’t break Cleon out of her thousand yard stare she so often found her in when no one else was around. She couldn’t create the kind of peace Cyrus was so close to realizing. But she thought she could at least help with what Rembrandt was going through. She sat next to her so many times, telling her she didn’t have to talk if she didn’t want to but hoping she would. When Cleon told Swan that Ajax would be coming home, she was happy! That was going to fix Rembrandt! And it did.

For a while. 

Swan didn’t expect her to recover quickly. She didn’t expect Ajax to be okay after being in jail for two months and hearing every awful thing that happened so long after the fact. She didn’t expect anything, but she hoped. She hoped when Rembrandt started talking again. She hoped when she and Ajax went back to their apartment. She hoped when she saw Rembrandt at least have her sketchbook open, even if she still couldn’t bring herself to actually work on anything.

But then Ajax found out about the Bizzies because Cowgirl couldn’t shut up about being bit, and everything went downhill from there.

Swan barely noticed at first. Any progress Rembrandt made with talking again seemed to stall. She and Ajax sat next to each other but she didn’t lean on Ajax and Ajax wouldn’t put an arm around her anymore. When Ajax was getting chewed out for an unnecessary fight, Rembrandt stopped coming to her defense. Cleon had gotten more and more paranoid, even months after the night from hell, and insisted that if anyone had to go anywhere at night, they went in pairs. When Rembrandt and Ajax left together, they didn’t hold hands. Rembrandt hid hers in her pockets and Ajax kept hers balled into fists by her side. 

Even Mercy noticed it. Lying awake in bed one night, she propped herself up on one elbow over Swan. “This isn’t normal for them, is it?” she asked quietly.

Swan exhaled sharply through her nose. “No, it’s not. They’ve been attached at the hip since Ajax recruited Rem. I’ve never seen them act like this before and they’ve been together for years.”

“Should we talk to them? Maybe if we sat them down and-”

“No chance. Ajax would kill me if she thought I was putting myself in their business.”

“I could-”

“Mercy, no.” She reached up to cup Mercy’s cheek, and Mercy leaned into her touch. “You’re sweet, and I love that about you, but they’re still getting over what happened. I’ll talk to Cleon about it and see what she wants to do.”

Cleon had the same train of thought. “You heard some of the things Rembrandt said when Ajax was still in jail,” she said quietly, passing a cigarette to Swan on the roof of their building. “I will not involve myself in y’all’s relationships unless it affects gang business but even I wasn’t going to repeat that. She’s still angry.”

“That’s why we’re worried. Rembrandt doesn’t get angry,” Swan pressed. “Not really. And if she does, she doesn’t stay that way.”

“Can you blame her? I’m still pissed at Ajax for pulling that stunt. Rembrandt had two whole months of being constantly worried and terrified and I know for a fact that she didn’t process shit. I mean, fuck, we can’t… we can’t even mention…”

Fox. They couldn’t mention Fox when Rembrandt was around. The moment she came up, Rembrandt would leave the room without a word, rushing out of the apartment and up onto the roof instead of the stoop after Cleon implemented her buddy system decree. Ajax always tried to follow but after the third time she was told not so nicely to leave her alone, Cleon made her stop.

Cochise was sent after her, then Cowgirl, but Rembrandt threatened to deck both of them if they didn’t back off. It was an empty threat and everyone knew it but the feeling behind it was real. When Mercy offered, Swan quietly requested that she stay out of it for the time being.

“Look,” Cleon said, stubbing out her cigarette, “I’ll talk to her. See if I can get her to calm down a little. You guys give her some space for now.”

“Alright.”

Swan and Mercy eavesdropped from their bedroom door when Cleon talked to Rembrandt in the living room.

“She’s mad at me for a choice I didn’t even have!” Rembrandt cried. She sounded on the verge of tears, and it sent a pang through Swan’s chest. “I had no one backing me up but I’m the one who got them out!”

“I know, honey, I know,” Cleon soothed. “You did a good job. I’m not criticizing anything you did. I just want to know if there’s anything I can do to help what’s going on between you two.”

“There’s nothing going on,” Rembrandt said, which was a bold faced lie. “We’re just arguing. We’re allowed to argue-”

“You are.”

 “-and if she would just believe I’m not some helpless idiot, it wouldn’t be happening!”

Rembrandt’s voice broke. A strangled, ragged sob tore from her. Swan peeked around the corner, peering down the hall, and saw Rembrandt huddled in Cleon’s arms with her hands over her mouth trying to keep everything in. Tears streamed from her eyes as she screwed them shut. Swan’s chest tightened. Rembrandt hadn’t gone back to that habit in years.

The last time Swan saw it, she was out with Ajax and Rembrandt and Rembrandt thought she saw that man and they had to pull her into an alley to calm her down. Ajax talked her down from the ledge back then, but Ajax wasn’t here. 

Swan closed the door. Mercy convinced her to come to bed and try to sleep, not that sleep ever came lately. 

When Swan thought it couldn’t get worse, there was the fight. 

Fox got brought up after dinner. Rembrandt started to leave, Swan tried to shut it down, and she couldn’t remember what exactly was said but Ajax blamed her for that night and she fucking lost it.

In Ajax’s defense, Swan did swing first. 

The room fell into chaos. Swan had Ajax pinned against the table, hitting her over and over again while someone tried to pull her off. Ajax’s hand was crushing her trachea and forcing her back. She ate an elbow to the face but she never let Ajax get out of range. Everyone shouted at them, trying to break it up. Red splattered their faces. Swan’s knuckles were split and bleeding. Ajax’s eyebrow was busted open and gushing blood, blinding one eye. Swan felt possessed. She couldn’t stop punching. She wouldn’t stop until Ajax took back what she said but Ajax never took anything back but this time Swan was going to make her and-

Rembrandt was in between them, a hand braced against both of their chests, screaming: “I said stop it!”

Swan froze mid swing. The punch never connected and she was aiming for Ajax, but everyone saw it. Everyone saw Rembrandt’s arms come up to protect her head. Everyone saw Ajax raise her hands over her girlfriend, palms out to block and deflect a blow instead of returning it.

Swan’s heart shattered. 

She almost hit Rembrandt.

And then Cleon was dragging her backwards in a headlock as Cochise and Cowgirl wrestled Ajax to the other side of the room. Mercy wrapped her arms around Rembrandt, pulling her away from the two brawlers, staring at Swan like she was looking at a complete stranger. Rembrandt wouldn’t uncover her head and Swan wasn’t sure she was even breathing.

“Rem, Rembrandt, I’m sorry!” she rushed out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Shut up right fucking now!” Cleon hissed in her ear. “Mercy, take Rembrandt to my room.”

“Don’t touch her!” Ajax howled, wild and desperate as she tried to go to Rembrandt’s side. 

Cochise shoved her harder against the wall. “Ajax, I will drop you if I need to!”

“Mercy, out! Now!”

Swan and Ajax got read the riot act by Cleon as they were being patched up. Swan still had her hands on ice after Cowgirl checked to make sure they weren’t broken, and Ajax was allowed to drink however much alcohol she wanted after being pinned down so Cochise could stitch her face back together. Cleon stood over them, fists clenched, still as a statue as her face twisted into a mask of fury. Swan had never seen her so angry at anyone, especially not any of the Warriors.

Especially not at her.

“Three rules,” she growled. “I understood infighting was bound to happen with personalities like yours and I only gave you three rules for when you couldn’t resolve things without beating on each other. I said no weapons, no dirty tricks, and above all, you don’t fucking involve-!”

Rembrandt. They were never supposed to involve Rembrandt. She had always made a good tagger because she was good at getting out of fights, good at booking it before she ended up in a brawl because she wasn’t a fighter and Cleon never wanted her to try to be one. Cleon was a friend, a mentor, even a big sister to all of them, but with Rembrandt, it was different. When Swan once commented on it soon after Rembrandt’s initiation, Cleon dismissed it and said simply, “She needs people who are going to look out for her.” Swan didn’t know the specifics of her life before the Warriors - no one did outside of Ajax and Cleon - but she understood enough. Especially considering the state she’d been in since Fox died, Cleon was even more insistent on keeping Rembrandt away from the fighting.

A rule that Swan had just completely broken.

“Cleon, I’m sorry,” Swan repeated for what felt like the thousandth time in the past ten minutes. “I didn’t mean for her to get in between us.”

“And you!” Cleon rounded on Ajax, who was halfway through a battle of gin. “What the fuck was that comment! Actually, you know what, I don’t care right now. You should have immediately backed off the second you heard Rembrandt tell you to.”

“Sorry I couldn’t hear her over the sound of my head being smashed off a table,” Ajax snapped.

“I did not smash your head off the table!” Swan protested. Ajax leapt to her feet and was immediately pushed back into her seat by Cochise.

Mercy appeared in the hall. Ajax’s face crumpled into a mask of seething hate. Swan couldn’t bring herself to look at her. “Cleon,” she said timidly. “She wants you.”

Cleon nodded and gave Swan and Ajax a glare that said I will kill you if you try anything before disappearing into the bedroom. Mercy followed her. The other Warriors waited in silence, Cochise standing over Ajax and Cowgirl standing over Swan in case they decided to ignore Cleon’s unspoken order of peace. Swan kept her head down. Ajax took another long pull from her bottle and glowered at Swan like she was planning a particularly gruesome murder.

Mercy returned first. She moved to take Cowgirl’s place by Swan’s shoulder, resting a hand at the top of Swan’s spine, not to comfort her, but to give the impression of I dare you to stand up right now, you dumbass.

Cleon stepped into the room with Rembrandt by her side. Rembrandt wouldn’t look at anyone, least of all Swan and Ajax. “Cowgirl, Cochise,” said Cleon, “walk Rembrandt and Ajax back to their apartment. No, nobody argue with me right now. Just give me a call when you all get home. Understood?”

“Understood,” Cochise and Cowgirl said.

“Go.”

Ajax set down her bottle and stood to follow Rembrandt as she headed for the door. She reached for her. “Baby-”

Rembrandt pushed her arm away. The room froze, everyone turning to look at them. No one knew what to do, least of all Ajax. Rembrandt had tears in her eyes but she stared at Ajax with such a cold, dejected anger that Swan wasn’t sure she was even looking at Rembrandt anymore. Ajax stepped back, and Swan couldn’t see her expression but her hands flexed and her shoulders drew up to her ears so whatever her face looked like, it wasn’t happy. Rembrandt looked at Swan for half a second, eyes hollow and dead. Swan looked away. Without another word, she left with the other Warriors.

Cleon locked the door behind them and stood in front of Swan. “On your feet,” she ordered. Swan got up. “If that hit had actually connected, I would’ve let Ajax have you.”

“I know.”

“If I wanted a number two whose only job was to crack skulls, I would have chosen Ajax. I picked you for your brain, not just your brawn. That’s what set you apart.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Then act like it!” Cleon dragged a hand down her face and pushed her hair back, and it was as if she’d aged fifty years since the night Fox died. “Go to bed.”

“Let me talk to Rembrandt when they call.”

“To say what?”

“To apologize. Cleon, you have to believe me, I really didn’t-”

“You are not to speak to Rembrandt until I give you the okay or she speaks to you first. And you won’t even look at Ajax until that split in her face heals.”

“But-”

“Go. To. Bed.”

Mercy grabbed Swan by the collar and dragged her to their bedroom with a strength no one would guess she had just by looking at her. She pushed Swan onto the bed, locked the door, and threw her hands in the air. 

“Wanna tell me what the hell that was?” she demanded.

Swan felt like the walls were closing in on her. “I almost hit Rembrandt.”

“Yeah, you did! And now Cleon’s acting like sh-… Swan?”

She couldn’t breathe. “I almost hit Rembrandt. Rembrandt doesn’t get hit. Rembrandt is never supposed to get hit because Rembrandt is never supposed to fight.” She couldn’t stop the words from pouring out of her. “She proved she’s tough and she’s been in fights where she’s gotten hurt before but she’s not supposed to. She’s a tagger, she’s just supposed to run and get out of bad situations, that’s all we ever wanted her to do, that’s all Cleon ever wanted her to do. Mercy, when she came to us, she looked like someone had been beating on her for her entire life and I didn’t even notice she got between me and Ajax and I-I-I just…”

She dropped her head into her hands. Mercy crouched in front of her, resting a gentle hand on her knee. She could hardly get the next words out.

“Fox’s death wasn’t my fault. I tried to protect her. I tried to protect all of you but I… I couldn’t.”

“Swan.” Mercy cupped her cheek and tilted her head up to look her in the eye. “Of course, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but that bastard cop. This isn’t like you. What Ajax said was completely out of line and I really want to punch her for it but you looked like you were going to kill her. I know you two don’t actually hate each other so what’s with you?”

“I don’t know,” Swan whispered. “I feel like everything is falling apart around me. I don’t know how to fix it.”

Mercy sighed. She stood, pulling Swan into her arms, planting a kiss on the top of her head as she ran her fingers through her hair. “Let’s go to bed. We’ll talk about this more later.”

Swan nodded. She changed out of her bloody clothes, her entire body numb, and let Mercy lead her into bed. She wrapped her arms tight around Mercy, burying her face in her chest. She couldn’t cry right now. She refused to. She just let herself drift away.

Despite what Cleon said to her about not speaking to Rembrandt anytime soon, Rembrandt came to her the next night without Ajax behind her. Swan didn’t think too much about her being alone, assuming that Cochise and Cowgirl had walked her over like they had gotten accustomed to doing in the past couple weeks. It helped that all the Warriors lived within ten blocks of each other. Cleon was out, and Mercy stayed in the bedroom to give them space to talk. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, not looking at each other. Or more accurately, Swan wouldn’t look at Rembrandt. She just couldn’t bear to look her in the eye after what had happened.

Rembrandt took a deep breath. “I know you weren’t actually going to hit me,” she began. “I don’t even know why I got in between you two.”

Swan didn’t know, either. Rembrandt had pulled Ajax back before, sure, but she never got in the middle. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I should have seen you sooner.”

“And Ajax shouldn’t have said what she did.”

“Did you guys get into another fight?”

Rembrandt scoffed ruefully. “When are we not fighting lately? I mean, for fuck’s sake, Cleon threatened to send us to couples counseling.” She shook her head. “I asked her not to bring up Fox in front of me. I know you guys need to talk about it to process what happened but I’m not there yet.”

“I know.”

Swan, in fact, did not know. She didn’t know anything about Rembrandt anymore. 

“You guys aren’t breaking-”

Ajax smashed through the front door, the other Warriors half a step behind her.

Oh, fuck.

“Rembrandt, what the fuck!” Ajax cried, breathing hard. “Where have you-” Her eyes landed on Swan, and her face twisted. “Get away from her, you mother-!”

“Ajax, do not start that shit right now!” Rembrandt said, which was probably the only reason Swan avoided getting beat to death.

“Swan,” Cleon said in exasperation, “you didn’t think to wonder why Rembrandt came here alone and maybe, I don’t know, call someone about it?”

Swan turned on Rembrandt. “You walked here by yourself?”

Mercy had come into the living room upon hearing the door slam. “Ajax, why didn’t you say anything?”

“You stay out of this!” Ajax shot back.

“You said you were both at your apartment,” said Cochise. “Didn’t you ask her where she was going?”

“She told me she was meeting you and Cowgirl outside to hang out at your place like she’s been doing every night!”

“Rembrandt hasn’t been at our place in weeks! Why would you think-”

Silence. Everyone turned on Rembrandt.

“You’ve been going out by yourself every night?” Cleon demanded. 

“Fuck my life,” Rembrandt mumbled as she got up from the couch. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“It’s a huge deal!” Cowgirl squawked. “What if something happened to you!”

“Well, nothing did, so if everyone could stop yelling at me for two seconds-”

“No! No, now it’s time for yelling!” Ajax hollered. “You’ve been lying to me for weeks-”

“Weeks?” Cleon repeated.

“-telling me you’ve been here or at Cowgirl’s place and instead you were out doing God knows what!”

“You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”

“Damn right, I don’t understand!” Ajax followed Rembrandt into the kitchen, shouting at her back as she braced both hands against the counter. “What is wrong with you lately? You’re lying, you don’t talk to me, you won’t even fucking look at me anymore!” Ajax had tears in her eyes, howling through the heartbreak. “I don’t understand! I get you’re angry-”

“Of course, I’m fucking angry at you!” Rembrandt exploded. She whirled around and got in Ajax’s face. “You’ve been pissy about the Bizzies situation since you found out when it wasn’t my decision! It probably wouldn’t have even happened if you were with me to back me up but you werent. You had to go start a fight with the damn cop and I was left here not knowing if you were alive or dead until Cleon found where you were and got ahold of you. They have killed so many of us and you-”

“I can handle a little stint in jail!” Because Ajax was Ajax.

“But I can’t handle you being there!” Rembrandt sobbed, tears flowing freely. “I can’t breathe when you’re gone! Don’t you understand that? I was so fucking scared, Ajax, and I needed you that night. We all needed you but you weren’t there. You weren’t there because you were so obsessed with trying to prove yourself that you didn’t stop to think five minutes ahead and realize what consequences it might have. You have a temper, you pick fights, it’s just how you are, I get it. I’ve tried to let it go because I know you’re just protective of us under it all and I love that about you but that was not the fucking night!”

No one moved. No one breathed. Ajax just stood there, staring at Rembrandt with wide eyes. Rembrandt squeezed her eyes shut and covered her mouth, but she said what she said. She curled in on herself, making herself smaller, her body wracked with tremors. Ajax tried to go to her, tried to hold her, to comfort her, but Rembrandt shouldered past her. She grabbed her hoodie and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I need a cigarette.”

“You said you were going to quit!” Because Ajax was still Ajax.

“And you said you were going to stop being a fucking asshole but here we are!”

She slammed the door behind her. 

“Rembrandt, don’t be slamming doors in my - Ajax, Ajax, no! Stop!” Cleon snatched Ajax by the back of her vest as she tried to run after Rembrandt. “Let her go. Don’t make it worse.”

“Cleon, no, she can’t be out by herself,” Ajax protested desperately.

“Apparently she already has been,” Cowgirl said under her breath.

Cochise smacked her arm. “Ajax, she’s just going to the roof.”

“You guys don’t understand! I don’t want her alone, especially not on the fucking roof!”

Oh.

“Swan, go sit with Rembrandt,” Cleon commanded. “Ajax, shut up and come with me.”

“Cleon-”

Cleon cut her off and pulled her out of the room. Swan grabbed her jacket, shared a look with Mercy, and headed to the roof.

------

[ravenzeppeli]

Stained Red |Yandere DIO x Reader Dark Lemon|

Warning: strong/violent language, threats, extreme physical violence/abuse, noncon (forced, violent), dark themes, emotional abuse, verbal abuse. MA - read with caution.

As soon as your fiancé Dio Brando entered your room, you were met with a harsh slap, causing you to fall back on your bed. You could only assume that he was upset at you, his golden eyes holding pure anger as he stared down at you with disgust and rage.

"When I give you an order you fucking listen. I told you to not go outside and you snuck out when I was asleep and you disobeyed me completely," he spoke to you harshly. His undead bare chest heaved up and down, hands balling into fists as his blond locks stood wild and untamed. "How dare you. How fucking dare you!"

You tried to push yourself off of the bed, but you were greeted by his fist crashing into your left cheek, blood spraying out of your mouth as you fell to your right hand side on the mattress. "Y-you.." Tears of pain filled your eyes as blood leaked from your mouth. A deep purple bruise formed on your cheek, his punch almost breaking your jaw.

"Don't you dare fucking move! Stay on this bed and bleed out a little.. I promise you that you'll be in a lot more pain soon." He stood close to the bed now, knees pressing against the mattress as he watched you bleed onto the white sheets, staining them red.

You lifted a shaky hand, ripping the diamond engagement ring off of your finger. You threw it at his face, the ring bouncing off of his forehead before hitting the floor. "I.. I will not marry you!" You screamed at him, taking advantage of the shock on his face as you scooted away from him, making your way down the king-sized bed.

        For the first time in your ten months of knowing Dio, this was the first time that you ever saw him shocked, frozen as he stared at you in utter disbelief. You felt his fingers wrap around your ankle, yanking you down the bed. "I'm going to hurt you.. I'm going to make you regret doing something so foolish! That was the worst thing that you've ever done."

You tried to kick him, but his reflexes were too powerful. He caught your other leg with ease, letting go of your other leg as you felt your dress rip off of your body. "No! No.. I don't want this! Get the fuck away from me!" You yelled at him, making him even angrier.

He flipped you over, forcing your back to arch as your underwear was ripped off and thrown to that side. "You're going to get punished like a whore.. you are not going to get any joy from this." Without warning you felt his hands spread apart your ass, his hard erection forcing its way into your tight asshole. "I wasn't going to punish you like this but you will not throw things at I, DIO!" He yelled at you, pushing fully inside of you as his hands smacked across your ass, leaving red handprints.

"A-ah!" You screamed out, hot tears spilling from your ass as he stretched your tight hole out forcefully. "P-please!" You screamed louder, sobbing weakly as he began to move in and out of you, a sharp pain behind every single thrust. Why was he doing this to you? Hurting you.. it wasn't love.

"Begging isn't going to make me stop or go easier on you.. that ring was expensive, and you throw it in my face?" He questioned, disbelief thick in his tone as he wrapped his hands around your waist, fingernails digging into your side as he moved at a rapid pace, ignoring your cries of pain. "I dare you to try and fight back.. you can even use your stand. I fucking dare you to try you bitch."

He was taunting you.. he knew damn well that you nor your stand could fight him off. Slap sounds filled the air as he slammed himself in and out of your tight hole - you didn't feel an ounce of pleasure. All you felt was pain and a deep heartbreak.. you thought that he was going to change.

Instead of fighting back like he dared you, you pressed your face into fur soft mattress, muffling your screams as you felt blood running down your legs as his nails cut into your flesh. His nails were as sharp as knives, drawing blood from you easily.

"Come on.. fight me you little bitch. I bet this is so painful and embarrassing but you're big and bad, right? Stop me," he taunted you even further, rolling his hips as he pressed your body fully onto the bed, removing his fingernails from your sides. "See? You'll never be able to fight me. From the moment I laid eyes on you.. I claimed you. You are my property."

"I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry," you cried out, voice muffled. Pain shot through your body as he moved faster, each stroke more painful than the last. "I'm sorry.. I promise.. just please," you didn't even know what you were saying. You just wanted the pain to go away.. that's all you wanted.

"I promise that the next time you cross me, this will seem like child's play. Let this happen again and I'll beat you to a pulp and then fuck all three of your holes for hours. I'll tie you to the bed and torture you," his voice was low, warning as he gave you three more painful thrusts before cuming deep inside of your anus.

You felt something press into your anus, plugging up the tight hole and assuring that his cum wouldn't leak out of you. Your cheeks and ass held sore.. blood still pouring from your hips and staining your legs with deep red. You felt so disgusting and you were so embarrassed.. you were never going to forget this day. You fucking hated him.

"That was your last warning.. keep my cum inside of your ass for the rest of the night as a reminder. I'm going to go run you a bath because you're filthy but don't expect special treatment tonight. You don't deserve to be kissed or cuddled." He walked away, heading to the bathroom and leaving you a sobbing mess.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

You sat in the bathtub, red staining the water as tears filled your eyes, rolling down your bruised cheeks. You disobeyed him again.. you upset him, and he attacked you. So easily did he hurt you, and you couldn't stand it anymore. So badly, did you now want to escape his evil grasp, knowing that despite how much you love him, he'll never change.

You felt his cold golden eyes peering at you as he sat across from you on the toilet seat. He didn't take his eyes off of you, and you wished that he did.. you wished that he would just leave you alone. Why you? Out of everyone that DIO has encountered, why did he pick you to be his? You now feel like the unluckiness woman in the entire universe.

"Why must you always upset me? Why do you always force me to hurt you?" His voice called out, tone filled with thick anger. "You have no choice in the matter of staying with me. You are my property, and you will marry me and spend eternity with me."

You brought your knees up to your chest, burying your face in your knees as sobs escaped your lips. These sobs weren't low. They were loud and pained as your body shook in the warm water. You couldn't contain yourself in this moment.. your tears couldn't be silent because you were truly hurt - you finally cracked. He finally broke you.. and it hurt so fucking bad because you thought that he changed.

You felt his cool hand appear on your back, and you flinched away, "Please don't.. please don't hurt me anymore! Please," you cried out, voice cracking at the end as you held yourself tighter. "Just.. kill me. Please k-kill me," you said in a shaky voice. Death was terrifying, but it would end the pain.. you wouldn't have to spend an eternity in fear.

His hand stayed frozen, an unsettling silence filling the air as you felt his eyes peering down at you. "Despite what you may think of me, I would never kill you, so don't you ever ask me to again," his voice dropped to a whisper, warning you. "If you act obedient that I wouldn't have to hurt you. You did this to yourself."

"You.. you beat me, and you force me.. you.. you," you shook your head, tears filling your cloud of vision. You couldn't do this.. arguing with him will make things worse, and having to say these painful truths aloud was breaking you into even more pieces.

"When you disobey me and disrespect me, then you will suffer the consequences. As your man, it is my right to be in control of you. The sooner you fully accept that, the less that I have to hurt you." Oddly enough, his voice was now soft and soothing. He was like a switch, switching from one emotion to the next when it came to you. It was terrifying. "If you want to go outside, then I will go with you when the sun sets."

The hot water was now turning warm. All of the blood was now clean off of your sore body, but you couldn't get up. You were in so much pain that you didn't want to move, knowing that moving would make things worse. "Okay," you whispered, just accepting your defeat. You had no more fight left in you.

You blinked, shock filling your eyes as you felt the bed beneath your nude body, water still dripping off of your body as you sat on the edge of the bed, soaking freshly changed sheets. You don't understand Dio's stand a single bit, but you knew that he could move you without you knowing.

     He stood in front of you, soft white towel drying your body gently. He patted the towel on every inch of your body, ignoring the embarrassed blush that appeared on your lips as he dried your breast. "Don't make me hurt you as badly as I hurt you today ever again.. just listen to me to the best of your ability and communicate with me."

"I'm scared to talk to you," you said in a low tone, hanging your head in shame as he dry patted your back. Your fear of Dio was so strong sometimes that you're afraid that you'll die of fright. Do people die of fright?

"I'm not going to hit you if you ask me for something. As your future husband, I am your provider, and it is my job to provide for you," he said softly, towel dropping to your womanhood as he spread your legs, patting the area gently. He was being extra careful, not wanting to cause you anymore pain.

Did he not realize that you were never going to forgive him deep down? You felt deep resentment at even his soft touch, fighting the urge to flinch away from him. "Okay," you repeated, feeling as if that was now going to be your go-to word for now on. You didn't know what else to say, but you knew that you were ashamed that you couldn't just leave him and escape his abusive grasps.

"I love you. I truly do love you, and I want you by my side for eternity." He finished drying you, tossing the towel casually to the side as he slipped a silk red nightgown over your head. "Tell me that you love me back."

"I love you too," you said softly, gently pulling away from him as you crawled weakly into bed. You rested your head on the fluffy pillow, feeling much too weak to pull the covers over your body. Your eyes met his soft one.. the life in your eyes was gone, and you could tell that he could notice.

The silk sheets were pulled over your body. "I'll be back before the sun rises. Vanilla Ice is currently on high alert, so don't do anything foolish." His eyes lingered over yours, tall form towering over the best and casting his dark shadow over you. "See you soon.. I will miss you."

You blinked once, and he was gone.. his dark shadow that towered over you, vanishing with you. A shaky sigh escaped your lips as you slowly turned to your more comfortable side, a pained groan escaping your lips as pain shot through your entire body. You let your eyes close, welcoming sleep as swiftly as you could in hopes or waking up in less pain tomorrow. You hoped tomorrow would be a better day, but the hope that Dio Brando would turn into a good man completely left your mind.. you were never going to see him the same again.

[sys-confessions]

Wording this like an AITA post because it’s how we process written content that has traumatised us.

Tw: abelism, talks of extreme violence, thoughts of unaliving, talk of hospitalisation and blood

Am I the asshole for wanting to beat up a “friend”?

I, W (personal protector) have recently been watching a situation play out with a “friend” D (singlet). D has spent the past three months demonising us as a system, she has fakeclaimed us *behind our back* and has tried to get our other friend (T, system) to stop being friends with us by saying horrible things (we will not be sharing as we are still processing).

Recently D has started to exhibit some very abelist behaviours and beliefs towards us and T. We have Tourette’s syndrome (we being us and T) and some of our tics happen to be quite loud. We (as in our system) also have some punching tics. And D has started to glare at us and roll her eyes whenever we tic.

Now we suspect that she is doing this due to another friend of hers (J, singlet) as his boyfriend (Z, system) and his friend (S, singlet) has tics and tourettes respectively. J does not believe we are a system, that we have tourettes or that we are autistic.

The more I have watched this happen the more I have realised that these things have been making the system as a whole very suicidal. And because of this I am also seeing lots of us very angry.

In the past few weeks I have had thoughts of fucking decking her, punching her so hard her nose breaks and she bleeds. Or that she has to be hospitalised so she cannot hurt us or T.

So I approach you. Am I the asshole?

(This post is rhetorical. I do not want to know if I am the asshole)

.

[skygent]

Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss Hug It Out Prompts

Today at work I got to thinking about expanding my Hug It Out fics to other fandoms aside from Amphibia and Owl House and decided to start drafting up some ideas! These are all rough concepts right now and could change as they are refined. In case you don’t know, Hug It Out is a series of fics I have meant to be hurt/comfort fics for you! No matter what you may be going through. Some of them are interconnected in their own continuities but they are all meant to stand on their own.

Spoilers for all released Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss content as of 8/11/2024. Emily: Fallen One day while out and about, you discover that the seraphim Emily has fallen into Hell in the aftermath of The Show Must Go On. Acting quickly, you take Emily back to the Hazbin Hotel and try to help her adjust to her new surroundings and come to terms with being cast out of Heaven. Vaggie: Phantom Pain CW: Blood, Panic/Anxiety Attack, PTSD, Death and intense scenes of violence and peril One night at the Hazbin Hotel, you have a PTSD induced panic attack when memories of the night of your death come flooding back. Thankfully, your friend Vaggie is close by and dealing with these kind of episodes is an all too familiar experience for her Beelzebub: Slow Down While planning her next big party, Bee struggles with her self image as the fun party girl who is always in a good mood as the pressure of being helping her friend's escape from their day to day stressors starts to get to her. Verosika: Every Note A reader x Verosika continuity. You are upstart musician who has managed to enter a relationship with Hell's most famous pop star: Verosika Mayday. One quiet night after Apology Tour, you two have a talk about your shared passion for music and the healing power of creating art not just for yourselves, but others. Charlie and Vaggie: Better Off CW: Self-Harm, Blood, Suicide Attempt/Ideation One night, you decide that your parents; Charlie and Vaggie would be better off without you. Thankfully, before your attempt succeeds your parents find out what's going on and stop you, comfort you and start making plans to get you the help that you need. I am open to requests regarding characters and subjects you’d like to see, just let me know! My inbox is open! (I have a lot more time to actually answer now too!)

[purgatory-is-life]

Mechtober prompt 22/day 22-immortality

i keep putting marius through the horrors and i probably won't stop. i swear i love him he's just so easy to make angst of.

@mechtober-2024

Uncertainty and Immortality - Reality666Rift999 - The Mechanisms (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

tw; temporary character death, character death, mentioned/implied violence, Out angst, some minor suicidal ideation, implied/mentioned gun violence, blood, gore, a bit of eldritch horror, probably more than that, please let me know what i need to add!

----

Marius didn’t necessarily know if he believed in immortality.

Of course, the Mechanisms were probably immortal–they died-revived-died all the time. They killed-revived-killed each other all the time. They had forgotten Brian in a star for a century, and he was mostly fine—after a while. Marius had died so many times, had died to become Marius. How could he not believe in immortality? It’d been thousands of years since he’d gotten his arm. Probably more, probably much longer.

But he didn’t necessarily know if he believed in immortality.

Of course, the Music explained to him in sweet symphonies and gentle decrescendos and brassy tunes, over and over again– he was here forever. Always to be its voice box, always to play along. And if he leaves? He would only join the cacophonous chorus, his violin joining all those before him that had been cursed. But the Music didn’t want him to join just yet, as much as it could want anything, and so he was here forever.

But the Music lies.

It always had, and always would.

Marius thinks that’s where he got it from, where every other sentence a falsehood came so naturally from. Marius is the Music’s most recent Voice, and the Music lies, and so Marius lies. Just like the rest of the Crew, he spoke in songs and lyrics and stories, concocted and written out to be nothing but that– a story. True or false, who’s to say at this point. The Music lies, and so Marius lies.

And Marius was pretty sure the Music lied about the Mechanisms living forever.

Whenever one of the Crew died, there was always a spark of anxiety, a spark of fear as that oh-so familiar Song played quietly in his mind, that feeling of, Oh, they’re not going to wake up this time, are they? But they always do. They always wake up, and the Song fades, and everyone goes about their business, and Marius forgets the feeling until the next time.

It’s always different when he’s the one who dies, even though the Song doesn’t change. It’s more of a feeling of, They won’t have to deal with me anymore. Maybe I can rest. And yet he always wakes up. It’s less of a fear, more of a quiet hope. Sometimes he does remember to be afraid, he remembers to worry–will his friends miss him? His friends still needed him, he still needed his friends–

And then he wakes up, and everything goes back to normal. The keening Song fades once again.

That’s just how they worked, they died-killed-died-revived all the time as if it was second nature. Perhaps it was, at this point. They shot just as quickly as they gave kind smiles. Jonny shot more than he gave any sign of kindness, really.

The killed-died-revived so frequently, that eventually the fear and Song just became background noise. He still tried to avoid it, still pushed it down and ignored it when he could, but it kind of just became a fact of his seemingly never-ending life. Every time he or one of the other Mechanisms died, there’d be a little seed of doubt in his mind about whether or not they’d wake up. They always did. It wore on them, Marius could see it so clearly, in their aimless destruction and heavy shoulders and tired eyes. But Marius was always grateful when they woke up. I’m not ready yet, he’d think, for them to disappear. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready, constantly dreading the day their mechanisms finally gave out and they’d die for real. Always afraid, always hesitant to harm because what if it didn’t heal.

He was still much quicker to harm than any average mortal, he still did his fair share of killing and maiming of the Crew–especially when they stole his kneecaps. A little revenge never hurt anyone for too long. Much better than getting Lost in the Music on purpose and wandering the ship with his mournful violin, as that often only led to his kneecaps being stolen again. And getting Lost was never a pleasant feeling.

He still hovered, though, especially when it was their mechanisms that had taken damage. None of the others liked him poking at their mechanisms, despite the fact that he was probably more qualified to work on them than he was on the fleshy bits. To be fair, they didn’t exactly like Raphaella messing with their mechanisms either– Jonny was the most common culprit, but many times the others liked to avoid maintenance as much as possible. Marius never pushed though, it’s not like he didn’t understand. He only let Raph work on his arm every once in a while, preferring to do maintenance himself. (The Music lies like it is the most natural thing to do, every note misread and every string misplaced, but Marius did not want to risk its warnings of what could happen should Raph or one of the others be faced with Marius’s mechanism maintenance. The Music did not like to be Seen, after all. Only heard.)

But whenever their mechanisms were damaged, he hovered off to the side until it was fixed–manually or by their healing factors. Just so that he could be sure that they were alright, that they’d get up again soon. He tried his best not to be clingy, usually, tried his best to avoid taking up too much space around them or invading their personal space when it wasn’t welcome, but his anxiety was never quelled until he saw that they were okay, and that they were going to be alright.

Marius, admittedly, was not a person who enjoyed uncertainty. He was almost sure the doubt of ‘true’ immortality was what made him scared more than anything, the possibility of losing one of the others suddenly and without reason.

And of course, that is what happened, when Nastya went Out.

He and Nastya weren’t especially close, Nastya spending more of her time hiding away in the depths of the Aurora and doing whatever-it-was she did as an engineer and as Aurora’s girlfriend. She only ever showed up for meal times or for Crew Night and concerts, or during the occasional crew-wide tea party hosted by The Toy Soldier. She tended to disappear whenever they were planetside, her own wanted posters popping up without fanfare or loud explosions like Tim or Jonny or Ashes. And besides, half the time planetside, Nastya rarely left the Aurora.

But that changed one day, out in deep space.

And she left, disappearing.

Possibly forever.

Something changed among the Mechanisms, there was a loss that felt… Well, it felt final and it was strange.

Marius found himself hovering more, clinging even though he tried not to. Worrying, heart racing, every time someone died. That fear that had become background noise was almost always present and in the forefront.

One day, while staying in the cockpit with Brian, the brass pilot said quietly, “She’s probably cold out there. It was so cold…”

His voice was tinny and distant, and Aurora creaked sadly in response.

“I hope she’s not cold… I hope we find her soon…”

Marius didn’t say anything, remaining silent. Just climbed into Brian’s lap and purred till the both of them fell asleep.

Marius did not like being uncertain.

Perhaps that was why he latched onto Lyf so strongly.

They were temporary, and it was a guarantee that they were temporary. The system was doomed, crushing Songs and endless Noise and it was fragile and temporary, so very temporary. Obviously, going into something and knowing it won’t last for-probably-forever made it easy to not get attached…

One would think.

But Marius fell fast, and when he fell he fell hard. Always had, probably always would. What started as teasing and making fun of the inspector in charge of the three of them eventually turned into something a bit softer, something a bit–perhaps not kinder, but gentler. Something a bit more akin to care, as close to care as one could get with the Mechanisms.

And then the train arrived, and he and Ivy and Raph left, and Lyf was gone.

And it hurt.

It was awful and Marius could barely think past the pain in his heart and the Songs screaming from the remains of Yggdrasil, but it was expected. He could bury his grief and fear with more, different grief.

And then they returned, Lyfrassir managed to escape somehow and they were back. And they somehow managed to return to Marius’s life, even though they hated him. He didn’t mind, hating him was fine. He couldn’t force Lyf to feel anything. He was content to just appreciate that they were there.

Of course, though, they were still temporary. They were still definitely going to die one day, and maybe it was odd that he found a sense of comfort in that. Maybe it was wrong. But it was true, and that was comforting to Marius. Because it was expected that he’d lose them, that they’d disappear. He didn’t have to deal with that aching fear as much, that feeling of They won’t get up, this is it our luck’s run out, because when they died there’d be no reason for them to get up and start walking.

That didn’t stop the pain when they did die, though. That aching, familiar fear creeping in.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this, after all. This wasn’t how they were supposed to die. They weren’t supposed to die by a bullet to the head, a bullet probably meant for Jonny as he was only a few meters behind them and had done significantly more to anger the people on this planet– they were supposed to die old and withered when Marius was ready. When he could actually look death and eternity head on and say ‘I’m not afraid’. They weren’t supposed to die only a few short years after joining them, after starting to travel with them.

And then… Well, perhaps, the most unexpected thing happened.

Lyf’s dark blue blood that was starting to stain Aurora’s silver floor started glimmering and glowing, turning into a prismatic array of rainbow hues.

Lyfrassir’s glassy eyes widened, and their voice was pulled from their throat without them having to speak.

Y’ai ‘ng’ngah Yog Sothoth hee-l’gleb f’ai throdog

Uaah ogthrod ai’f geb’lee-ee’h Yog Sothoth ‘ngah’ng ai’y zhro

The rainbow blood rose off the floor, the staticky colors making it hard to look at without gaining a headache but Marius couldn’t force himself to turn away as the blood stitched, slowly, painfully, stitched the wound in Lyf’s head closed, the reality warping as the wound disappeared, as if it never existed.

The iridescent blood seemed to stain Lyf’s pretty silver hair, colors seeping into their locks from their roots, most prominent and most vibrant where their hair was already stained with blood. But the blood was disappearing into nothingness but heat auras and steam around Lyf’s forehead quickly, a light returning to Lyfrassir’s eyes.

The wound seemed to stop existing as it was restitched by Lyf’s blood.

What was Marius so concerned about again? Why was Lyf on the floor?

Lyfrassir blinked, sitting up. Their white pupils had taken on a slightly iridescent hue, their hair seemed to move on its own, like there was wind on Aurora that there shouldn’t be. Splotches of their braids and their roots were stained with that same slightly iridescent hue. They looked around at the Mechanisms, who were staring at them with various looks of horror or concern.

“Wh… What happened?” Their voice was hoarse, like they hadn’t spoken for a while.

“I-” Brian was the one who spoke up, voice cracking as he did so, “I think you died.”

“I…” Lyfrassir’s eyes widened almost comically. “I died?”

“And then you came back,” Raphaella agreed. There was likely more said, Marius could see Lyfrassir’s mouth move as they talked, could see Jonny waving his arms as his tail swished and flicked angrily while he paced, could see Tim fiddle with xyr gun and Ivy snapping and Raph’s wings fluttering and Lyf grabbing their hair and Brian wringing his hands– there was likely more said.

All Marius could hear was the symphony screaming and shouting over itself, a Song oh-so familiar to Odin’s Void and the Bifrost’s whippoorwill call.

Lyfrassir disappeared into their room for a few months, and no one did anything to try and coerce them out.

Marius could barely be around them, the screaming Void and Whippoorwills and yelling symphony overwhelming him, only serving to get him Lost.

Marius didn’t know if he believed in immortality, the Music lies and Marius was sure one day their mechanisms would give out and wouldn’t heal anymore.

Whenever Lyf exited their room, they were disgruntled and their braids looked rougher than it ever had in all the time Marius knew them. Their hair was still stained with rainbows and their eyes still shined with opalescent colors, but the keening Void and keening Whippoorwills had calmed down, simply matching their usual background noise.

Marius approached them, after that.

“I think I’m glad you’re not Temporary,” he admitted. “But it scares me more than I’m glad.”

Lyfrassir replied with a confused ‘thank you’. They didn’t look at him. “I didn’t want this, when I escaped. I just wanted to live, but not like this.”

“You didn’t deserve to be Taken by something like our Music. But it probably only let you escape on purpose, for this.”

There was a moment of silence. “I think eternity is a long time. I don’t want to live forever.”

“I’m not certain we will. But at least we’re here, for however long ‘forever’ really is.”

After that, things returned to mostly-normal. It was strange, and everything was different, but it was like nothing had changed, in a way.

Marius just had one more person to hover over, whenever they were injured and whenever they got killed. To make sure that they lived, that they came back.

Marius just had one more person to fear losing.

Marius really hated the uncertainty of immortality. Marius really hated how scared it made him.

But it was something he was going to have to live with probably-forever.

Hopefully Nastya was somewhere warm.

[humming-pokemon-helpers]

//It's also in the tags but to reiterate, major warning for a written description of Pokémon death below the cut. It's not particularly graphic or bloody, but it's written as somebody standing from a distance would see it and with heavy emotional weight afterwards, so do be aware.

[Video after video...

As Reshiram stumbles across the ground, sending Pokémon scattering with each move and attacking with Dragon Pulse those that move too swiftly, Cross focuses not on the two Zor leading the giant dragon's movements with illusions away from the population, and instead towards Vision, whose heels squelch in the rain-dampened earth as she pushes past just about every other combatant to seize Colress by the lapels of his lab jacket. He doesn't do much to resist with his usable hand as she sets into reaming the man out.

"You! You and I both know this isn't how things were supposed to go at all, you sorry excuse for a whelp of a man! We agreed on the Moor of Icirrus! So why are we here, and why am I fighting my brother?! Can you not follow the simplest of directions?! The simplest of boundaries?! Or are you forgetting who the person who controls the Dragon of Truth is here?! Besides, if this keeps going, we're all going to--to die, with how this thing is rampaging! So end this madness already!"

Colress, oddly smug for someone who could have his face kicked in at any given moment, replies in an even tone. "I had told you that Lostlorn Forest was by far the best location to amplify the emotions of those fighting, and thus produce the best data. That includes your own, of course. Even if you are the one who wields Reshiram... right now, Reshiram's will is fully its own. Something you can only accomplish with my help. So even so, I can't let you sabotage my experiment. For both of our sakes. My apologies, Lady Vision."

The half-Zorua sneers at Colress, pulling at his lapels one more time as she roughly tosses his weight to the ground, hard enough to leave skids in the mud. "Watch your temper..." Colress warns sternly as Vision turns to Reshiram. The dragon's steely blue eyes were already locked onto Vision's position. It seemed more enraged by the incessant noise than the skittering creatures Vanilla and Wolfgang had conjured.

"And you! You've been here since that day, you should understand exactly why--!" She slips into snarling at the Reshiram, voice intensifying as she becomes more and more incensed, her screams breaking into an outraged cry at the end. Cross moves closer to Vanilla and Wolfgang, capturing their glimpses at each other, their faces softening as something hits them. Maybe even sympathy.

What Cross is more interested in, though, is the Reshiram's looming posture as Vision continues to rant, its wings rearing upwards and upwards until in a clean motion--

A scream pierces the air, the same in pitch and tone as Vanilla's, as Reshiram seizes Vision in its claws and readies its wings as if to take to the sky, flapping heavily, shaking the nuisance in its confusion. Nobody moves an inch, save Wolfgang, who Vanilla catches by his arm. The microphone picks up a soft "Please," but the wolf shakes his head and snarls in response. Vanilla nods reluctantly. She begins focusing her power, scars glowing red through her clothing. Wolfgang rushes for the dragon's shank, leaping in the air to claw into the dragon's fur as its feet leave the earth and it rapidly ascends.

Reshiram thrashes as the Zoroark claws its way up its body and across the dragon's wing, but Wolfgang's battle-bonded claws hold even when shaken high in the air. Even when his crest finally breaks into energy. It's inaudible, but Wolfgang snarls something at Vision. Her mouth moves as Wolfgang pries her arm from Reshiram's claw, then her body. Below, Dolly the Darmanitan holds out her arms, watching for the soundless cue. And then the girl falls, for what feels like an eternity, until she meets Dolly's arms. They both buckle under the inertia of a 30-foot drop, but Dolly pulls her arm out from under Vision soon enough to give a triumphant thumbs-up to Wolfgang. He roars back.

At the signal, Vanilla reaches out her hand, stretching from it a chilling deep purple aura of malice that wraps itself around Reshiram's leg and tugs it to the ground as hard as she can muster. They scream in effort, their voice cracking with the pressure as they brace their body backwards, but the dragon rears upwards harder as Wolfgang readies a Shadow Claw and is thrown off balance. His remaining claw slips. Vanilla releases the dragon. He reaches for his brother instead. So does Reshiram, grabbing the Zoroark with the sharp talons on its feet. Before Vanilla can reach again, the dragon toys with its prey, tossing Wolfgang above its own head as he snarls something at the top of his voice and just a little further, just reach a little further--

There's a deafening crunch.

Reshiram holds something in its mouth. Something unmoving. It lands gracefully. As if its head had never been clearer. It drops the thing casually. Preens its wings. The thing has the shape of Wolfgang, but it doesn't move.

The malice returns to Vanilla's core. They stand, eyes wide, for seconds or eternities. The thing doesn't move. She stumbles and nearly collapses on her first step. She keeps stumbling as Amadeus rushes over to the thing, some unspoken barrier broken. It doesn't move. Amadeus whines low and hurt and shakes the thing as Vanilla manages to lower himself towards the ground without collapsing. The thing doesn't move. Not to get up, not to mumble something into the dirt, not to breathe. But the thing is, without a doubt, Wolfgang.

Vanilla just kneels. Breathes. Waiting. Even when Amadeus lays her head on her auncle's lap, curling herself into the smallest shape she can muster. Even when Tula rushes over to confirm, as a trauma nurse, what was already known. Even when she tries to meet their eyes, leaning low, but can't. "...I'm... so sorry." They squeeze her hand so tight it hurts when she rests next to them.

Vanilla turns and blinks at the Swords as they approach. He takes in enough to shoo them off with his free hand. He stands roughly when Vision approaches with timid steps. Apologetic. Horrified, from the look on her face. Reliving something. She touches her fur collar again. Amadeus stands to steady her relative, but Vanilla keeps going, speeding until she full-force charges her counterpart, toppling them both to the ground. They draw their blade to Vision's throat wordlessly as Cross readjusts to capture the scene.

"...Do it. You know how I feel, correct? There's no life for me. After this."

His sword hand wavers like it can't decide where the blade's home is. There's a forceful intake of breath as their eyes water, the silence deafening.

Until Reshiram decides there's too much of it, its tail blazing to life. Vanilla glances up, back at Vision, and sighs as she weakly pushes off the ground.

"...But there is. You're going to help me. You say you want justice so badly... then start with yourself. Right your wrongs. And I'll do the same."

The video saves.]

[undersaarthal]

TW : sexual assault, suicidal ideation, psychosis. A very personal story--I've never seen my story told, so I'm telling it. If you were feeling as alone as I am, I hope you find comfort in shared understanding. <3

[vocaloidsongpoll]

do you like this vocaloid song?

(EXTREME FLASHING IMAGES WARNING, SUICIDE WARNING, VIOLENCE WARNING, ANIMAL VIOLENCE WARNING, DRUG USAGE WARNING)

(composed by Pepoyo)

submitted by @raaaamen! thank you so much!!!

[naturalist-doctor]

winston lore post; studies on antidepressants and how i taught myself to die

tw [ death, mental illness, descriptions of blood and gore, suicide and suicidal ideation, guns. ]

Dr. Corvus toiled on the floor. His skull cracked and folded under his skin. Masses of flesh waltzed and crawled loudly begging for help, knowing there was a better way. But Winston is a stubborn man, who dared not to listen.

His abdomen crawled with life--something that wasn't him, something hopeful and naive and loud. He cried out to it, something about how he’d tried every antidepressant and drug and chore and it never worked. The pharmacy and the oils and the stars lied to him, how he couldn’t be cured. A life lived in eternity is a life which he sees no hope in. Not like this. Not like Corvus.

Every cough drew up more bile, decayed crawling remains of morning coffee, beady silver swimming and refusing to bond to the blackened blood draining down the man’s chin and throat and core. He grabbed the lump in his muscles and pulled and tugged and fought and it did not come loose. He didn’t want to live, but he is the plaything of whatever cruel deity lies above. Whoever granted him his birth--one truth--but refuses to grant him one more--his death. He collapses, hitting the hardwood and being forced out of whatever contortion he tried to maintain. He didn’t remember how it felt anyway.

Doktor Corvus was a desperate man ever since that day when he walked home from his studies and put a bullet to his head and his heart, stubbornly, loudly, defiantly beat in his chest despite his brains on the wall and his skull glistening like glass. Broken like glass. And he looked up from his state on the floor, denied death as the poison tore through his body and ran thick in his veins, and he saw a man. Tall, like him. Brown-haired, like him. His messy hair flowed around the cavern in his face where a heart beat, loudly, almost as if he was hearing it in his own head.

The man vanished into Hyde’s mind, and suddenly, he felt different: like his body wasn’t his, and that he wanted to live.

Hyde sat across the counter as Cattie mindlessly chatted with him, the doctor sipping on some fancy coffee. He lamented on how the attempts to clear his veins of the silvery medicine Jekyll had fed Winston when he was whole, and by extent, the masked naturalist, were unsuccessful. But he wasn’t the one searching for a way out of living. He was searching for a way out of living as a passenger in a train, a way to rid Jekyll of this body. 

After all, that man took no issue with throwing his birth given name away, so why should Hyde let him keep it?

[weevilsart]

MASSIVE CW: Vent, suicide mentioned, Drug and alcohol addiction, Caffiene addiction, Accidental Overdose, child abuse mentioned, mental health neglect, medical malpractice, mental hospitalization, police brutality, prison mentioned, AND THIS IS A VERY POLITICAL POST (FAR LEFTISM (I am a anarchocommunist)) PLEASE ASK ME TO ADD MORE CW IF NEEDED,

It really bothers me how I will never relate to or feel nostalgic to late 2000s to early 2010s post about elementary school.. I see picture of the inside of buses, school activities, and all of that, I can’t relate to any of it.. I didn’t go to elementary school and I only did 2 months of 7th grade and 1 week as a freshman and 1 fucking day as a sophomore, the rest of my schooling was at alternative schools that sucked and homeschooling which I can’t remember most of it cause at the time I was still actively being abused, I see my three youngest siblings and how they are still in school, how they got to learn and have friends, and I have none of that.. my two older siblings also have been to and completed high school, I have nothing.. I was too autistic and weird and mentally Ill to have done anything, I had been hospitalized twice and fucking spent my whole summer of 2018 (my last year in my home state) in a fucking residential program that said they were duel diagnosis BUT THEY ONLY FOCUSED ON THE KIDS THERE THAT HAD DRUG AND ALCHOL ADDICTIONS AND THEY COMPLETELY IGNORED MY CAFFEINE ADDICTION AND DOWNPLAYED IT SO MUCH THAT I GAVE UP ON QUITING they had FORCED me go to NA, MA, and AA meetings WHEN I DIDNT HAVE TO GO and they ignored my mental health, I LITERALLY HAVE BEEN STRUGGLING WITH SCHIZOAFFECTIVE DISORDER SINCE I WAS FUCKING 4 YEARS OLD AND IT TOOK 17 FUCKING YEARS TO GET A DIAGNOSIS CAUSE NO ONE WANTED TO DIAGNOSE A CHILD AND CAUSE OF THAT I WASNT ON ANTIPSYCHOTICS INTIL I WAS FUCKING 18!!!!! I WAS IN CONSTANT PSYCHOSIS AND I WAS PARANOID ALL THE FUCKING TIME AND I COULDNT DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT!! AND MY AUTISM AND ADHD WERE NEGLECTED CAUSE MY PARENT WERE TOO FOCUSED ON MY MENTAL ILLNESS AND MY TWO BROTHERS WHO WERE DIAGNOSED WITH AUTISM EARLY ON!!! I WAS DIAGNOSED AT 12 AND THEY DIDNT TELL ME INTIL I WAS 15!!!! I WAS CONSTANTLY DRINKING ENERGY DRINKS SO MANY IN A FUCKING DAY THAT I FUCKING OVERDOSED AND WAS UP FOR 3 WHOLE FUCKING DAYS AND MY MOM STILL DIDNT TAKE ME TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL AND I WAS DOING ALL THAT TO SELF MEDICATE MY ADHD AND I DIDNT GET PUT ONTO STIMULENTS INTIL I WAS 18 AND THEN MY PSYCH TOOK ME OFF CAUSE I DIDNT DO WHAT SHE TOLD ME TO AND I SPENT MONTHS TRYING TO GET A NEW PSYCHIATRIST AND WHEN I DID SHE PUT ME BACK ON THEM WITH NO STIPULATIONS CAUSE ITS FUCKED UP TO DO THAT!!!!AND I MISSED THE LAST 4 APPOINTMENTS WITH HER CAUSE THEY ARE ONLINE ONLY APPOINTMENTS AND I HAVE MEMORY FUCKNG ISSUES CAUSE OF LONG FUCKING COVID SO NOW IVE RUN OUT OF MY FUCKING RITALIN AND I HAVE TO SELF MEDICATE WITH ENERGY DRINKS TO FUNCTION PROPERLY BUT I HAVE A FUCKING HEART CONDITION AND SO NOW MY HEART RATE IS HIGHER THAN AVERAGE (USUALLY ITS 100 AND NOW ITS BEEN AROUND 150) CAUSE I DONT HAVE PROPER STIMULENTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FUCK THE MENTAL AND MEDICAL HEALTH CARE SYSTEM IN THE FUCKING UNITED STATES OF FASCISM CAUSE NOW I HAVE FUCKED UP TEETH AND CAUSE I CANT GET THEM FUCKING FIXEX CAUSD I DONT HAVE FUCKING DENTAL INSURANCE CAUSE MY STATE INSURANCE DOSENT COVER DENTAL OR OPTICAL AND GUESS WHAT? BLINDNESS RUNS IN MY FAMILY AND MY VISION HAS BEEN SLOWLY DETERIORATING AND I JUST HAD TO PAY 80$ FUCKING DOLLARS TO SEE AN OPTRISTION AND I ONLY RECEIVED 628$ A MONTH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FUCK THE SYSTEM FUCK CAPITALISM FUCK CHRISTOFASCISM FUCK THE GOVERNMENT FUCK COPS FUCK THE PRISON INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX FUCK THE MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX FUCK IT ALL

I AM FULL OF SO MUCH FUCKING RAGE I SWEAR I COULD TAKE ON THE WHOLE POLICE FORCE HERE BUT I KNOW I CANT AND THAT IT JUST BE POLICE ASSISTED SUICIDE!!!!!!!

[soft-serve-soymilk]

With me trying to apply, yet again, to get my work exhibited, i'm reminded of the censorship that has gone into Inigo this whole year:

He thinks he's responsible for someone's suicide a bearer of misfortune~ I hope it makes him G-rated enough for public display xD