#Tw cutting

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[snuffysbox]

more of my dragon age origins mage Neria Surana and her stupid bestie/life-partner Jowan

[going2hell4everythingbutbeingbi]

"they only cut themself for attention" are you aware that mentally well people don't cut themselves at all

[tokintormin]

This one contains serious trigger warnings.

tw self-harm, tw cutting, tw alchohol, tw smoking, tw self-destructive tendencies, tw abandonment

[borderline-puppy-disorder]

everyone in the replies was saying it was coke, but I immediately thought the sky was self harming

[beebones]

support women’s wrongs or else

[forged-in-kaoss]

luffy + self harm

[melis-writes]

AMERICAN HORROR STORY: MURDER HOUSE | 1.1 • Pilot.

[coldmori]

*coldmori is off hiatus due to dommars deactivation from tumblr*

the freak,

heres some passing thoughts ive had of him:

(huge rant) (tw, cutting, hoarding, unreality, and very unhealthy and deranged behavior)

the knife sunny carries around is omori

but in a very odd way

sunny thinks he is omori but can also communicate with omori like another entity, the best way to discribe it is like sunny belives omori is his consious/soul telling him what to do, and is also therefore himself

and that his consious/soul has possessed the knife

this line of thought makes no sense because sunny fucking insane and this is all in his head

-

sunny cuts

when he is unable to sleep he takes it out on himself,

he also does this as an endurence test,

thinking if he can show no emotion during the cutting then that somehow validates him

also in phycosis he cuts to try and make life,

being that any part of omori can create beings, sunny makes very sloppy paper versions of his friends and tires to use his blood to get them to animate

this doesnt work

-

sunny also shaves with his knife

he uses his standard kitchen knife to cut off chunks of head hair when they get too long

and uses a very dulled (slightly rusty) razor along with water-diluted shaving cream (like how people mix water with soap to perserve it) to keep himself hairless

he sometimes gets so anyoyed he'll spend hours nonstop plucking every hair he can find off of his body

he hates the feeling of hair, he hates looking at hair, he hates hair

doesnt seem to mind rw kels hair tho

-

sunny hates taking baths of any sort so he will just soak a rag in water, sit in an empty tub, and wash with the rag, he uses diluted hand soap as shampoo, conditioner, and body wash

sometimes he'll fall asleep in the tub , and upon waking and realizing hes in the tub will start screaming and kicking and flailing in unimaginable distress, thinking hes submerged in water and actively drowning

-

sunny hoards, he hoards anything he can find

he keeps cat food containers and empty bottles, he keeps all the hair he cuts off and all the dandruff that falls from his skull

sunny has always been sort of a hoarder but it was only taken to the extreme within the timespan of his isolation

sunny hoarded beanie babies, and rocks, and cool pens before this, and occasionally would hold onto wrappers

taking any of this from him then would result in crying

taking anything from him now would result in stabbing, unless you take his knife, then he'll just colapse on the floor

-

sunnys phone died a long long time ago, the eletric bill hasnt been payed in a while so chargers dont work

his phone is also sevearly outdated , being he got it at around 10 and was suppoed to get a new one at 13

kel still sends messages to sunnys phone, sunny has looked through all of the ones he could before his phone died, and claws his hair out dying to know what the rest of the messages say

the last thing sunny did on his phone was take an "am i gay" buzzfeed quiz, he didnt get to finish it before the phone died, but he was picking VERY gay options

he only has his house phones which kel does sometimes leave voicemails on

sometimes in an act of rebelion against omori, sunny manages to break free from omoris manipulation and call kel on his home phone

these calls dont last long, and sunny has never spoken throught he phone, just sits and listens

sunny has ocasionally even attempted to call aubrey or hero and even tried mari, theyve never picked up, esspecially mari

-

sunny tries to mimic normal behavior, such as attending school,

he has no idea what highschool would teach him though, so he prestends to have a class in omorology , with a major in stabbing things

-

sunny hates the feeling of clothes, he used to be fine with it but hes grown to absolutely hate pants and shoes, even some shirts

sunny bites his nails eccesively, and his toenails, and bites the skin around them

sunny celebrates his birthdays mainly in headspace but if he so happens to be awake on them he'll make himself a cat-food cake and put pencils and pens in the top as candles

he's also rewarded with being alowed to *very risky* unlock the sliding glass door (not open it) and look outside

do not tell kel this information , he'll be clammering to that door faster than the speed of light

-

sometimes sunny has dreams that do not follow the headspace naritive, some about the real world

in one dream he was kel inside sunnys house, trying to look for sunny, who was outside

in another, sunnys house had a small coraline-esque door that lead all the way to kels home, but in the middle of the hallway connecting the two homes, was a room that had yellow cigarette stained walls, a bowl of fruit, and a small wall-mount tv on the ceiling playing blues clues,

to which then sunny promplty forgot he was going to kels, and just sat eating the fruit and watching blues clues

one had aubrey being the one knocking, and kel being stuck in some baseball court that was also like a food court at a mall, slowly drowning in ketchup, hero was also there but he was inside sunnys house and telling him not to worry about kel because "he has the newest iphone, which has teleportation"

and in another, the entire earth became sentient and was going to kill them all, and the only way to save everyone was to wake up, but when sunny realized this he became lucid,

and when he became lucid it just so happened that kel was suddenly there and cuddling him while they both died, also for some reason sunny was the president of the US

hes had multiple dreams about eating cactuses with the spikes where still on them, oddly, he really really wants to do this but has no idea why

sunny also had a dream that he was just a conecpt inside the mind of some 15 year old on a mystical app called "tumblr",

this dream was so weird he woke up screaming and then vomited and passed out again

[chaotic-orphan]

Would you write another part of June of Doom: Day 19? I loved it!

Continuation of June of doom; day nineteen:

Read part one Here

I am so sorry to whoever asked this, I have had this in my drafts for a while and just didn't have the energy to edit it, but I did now and hope it satisfies ~ enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

“Come on Leader,” Leader heard in a hazed moment of consciousness, hungry, stormy eyes gleaming down at them, “I thought you were more durable than this.”

Leader blinked, eyelids heavy, watching Supervillain lift a hand covered in blood – Leader's blood, they recognised dimly – and run it back through his hair, slicking it back off his face using Leader's blood. He looked feral, unhinged, and Leader wanted to look away. He wanted to move, but his body was as heavy as lead and all he could do was look into those bright, stormy eyes smirking down at him.

Until the darkness swallowed Leader again.

When he woke for the second time he was sitting in a chair. He was vaguely aware that his hands were asleep, tied behind his back, he found out after a jerking, pulling tug. He shouldn’t have moved, he realised in hindsight as the pins and needles set in from being stuck in the same position for too long.

Leader lifted his eyes to get his bearings and saw himself sitting ahead of him. Leader blinked, groggy from blacking out after Supervillain’s welcome. He could see it plain and clear in the mirror, his torso bare just so he could see Supervillain’s handiwork.

Bile crawled thick and hot up his throat. Leader looked away sharply, bending over his torso and only just managing to not get any vomit on himself as he threw up the contents of his stomach. It was grim and vile, but Leader felt a little better after it, spitting for good measure to clear the rancid taste from his mouth in place of mouthwash or toothpaste. He rubbed his chin on his shoulder as he sat up again, dragging reluctant eyes to the full-length mirror in front of him.

Leader only remembered Supervillain carving in two letters to his body, but the bastard must have kept working after Leader passed out.

Leader’s torso still had dried blood sticking to it, but Leader’s eyes stayed on the two jagged letters carved into each shoulder. A crooked S on his right and a ghastly F on his left.

S. Fowl was carved into his body.

A signature.

Supervillain’s promise echoed in Leader’s ears as his eyes lingered on Supervillain’s name: “You I want on display. As a warning and a trophy. A reminder to what happens to those who oppose me.”

Leader wanted to cry. He did, he should have, maybe he would feel better, but he was exhausted. He didn’t know how long he was passed out for, but his body ached from his fight with Supervillain — Fowl — and his struggle when Supervillain dragged him to the medical table.

Leader’s ribs throbbed dully, his jaw hurt from where Fowl’s cane had hit it, a big angry blue bruise the size of Leader’s hand colouring his jaw and neck. Even his throat was raw from all his screaming. He looked like shit, which he could see thanks to Supervillain’s perfectly placed mirror, to remind Leader just how shit he looked. There were lines of purple bags under his eyes, his skin was dry and lacklustre, and his lips were pale except from where the blood from Leader’s nose painted them a faded dark crimson.

The mirror was torture, seeing himself broken and marked and beaten, too afraid to move because his entire body was sore and crying at him to stay as still as he could. Supervillain had cuffed Leader’s hands behind his back, attached them to the chair so his chest stood out in the mirror.

So Supervillain’s name stood out in the mirror, more like. His own personal brand.

Leader didn’t recognise himself in the mirror, this wasn’t – it couldn’t be him. This weak shell of a person who couldn’t fight Supervillain off him. How pathetic. Too powerless to stop himself being branded. His team relied on Leader to lead them; make the plans, do the impossible. All Leader could do at the moment was stare at that fucking name on his chest, written forever…

They’ll die with that scar.

Leader let out a soft sigh.

“Leader…” it was Medic. Leader closed his eyes. He was sitting in a chair in the centre of their circle of cages. The mirror was just a little in front of the door, reflecting the cages back at Leader from behind him.

Medic’s cage to be exact, who was looking at him through the mirror with wide eyes filled with pity. Leader didn’t need their pity; he shouldn’t have let this happen. He should have been ready for Supervillain he should have—

Leader’s hands balled into fists in the cuffs. He couldn’t see that look in Medic’s eyes again.

“Leader… we’re okay,” Medic said softly. Leader sniffed, unaware that he was crying. “Supervillain kept his promise, and he didn’t touch us. He brought us food. Brought us to the bathroom. We have water.”

“In dog bowls,” Rogue muttered in disgust. Leader wasn’t aware that they were all awake. Shame burned hot up Leader’s neck, colouring it red.

“I’m sorry,” Leader whispered. “This is all my fault. None of you would be here if it wasn’t for me, I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Leader,” said Rogue without hesitation. Leader opened his eyes, glancing at Rogue’s cage and saw them sitting at the front bars, expression one of unflinching earnest.

“We’ll get out of here, Leader,” said Medic behind him, determined. “We always do.”

“You just can’t give up hope,” Youngest piped up. “Not with that bastard, Leader. You’re better than him. When we’re finished with him, you can carve your name on his chest.”

“Exactly,” said Medic, a smile in their voice. “You just have to stay strong, Leader. We’re all here with you. Supervillain can try, but he can’t beat us all.”

“How touching,” Supervillain said. Leader’s head whipped back to the door; he didn’t hear it open. Only Supervillain didn’t come in through the door, in the mirror Leader could see him standing behind Leader’s cage, that same horrible smirk in his eyes, face impassive as always, neutral, sending a shiver down Leader’s spine he suppressed as best as he could.

“Do you like your new addition, Leader? I was so proud of it myself, but I thought it was so good it just needed to be shared. You needed to see it for yourself.”

“Kinda weird you kept going after I passed out, Supervillain, I doubt I could have given proper consent.”

Supervillain stared into Leader’s cool eyes through the mirror, the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly, as he said as if it was a completely civil conversation: “Mutilation is hardly ever conducted with consent.”

“You don’t know,” Leader said with an effortless shrug that almost winded him but was glad to see he looked fine in the mirror. “Maybe I was into it.”

“If you like we can go again,” Supervillain purred, walking up behind Leader and putting a hand over his last name. The heat from his hand was enough to make Leader wince, and he cried out as Supervillain dug his fingers into Leader’s chest. “Although… you still seem pretty raw to me, Leader.”

“If you keep doing that, you’re risking infection!” Medic cried, trying to draw Supervillain’s attention away from Leader.

“Oh Medic,” Supervillain cooed, looking at them through the mirror, but Leader didn’t really care what he was doing because as Supervillain spoke, he dug his fingers deeper into Leader’s chest and Leader was screaming. The pain was white hot, blinding and Leader swore he was seeing stars as the world tilted hazily around him.

After what felt like an eternity, Supervillain let go of Leader. Leader doubled over, the handcuffs clanging the only thing keeping Leader in the chair as he gasped in lungfuls of air that his screams had stolen from him.

Nausea climbed Leader’s throat again as Supervillain walked over to Medic’s cage.

“Don’t…” Leader wheezed pathetically, even to his own ears.

“Relax,” Supervillain chided politely, waving away Leader’s concern. Leader could only watch through bleary eyes as Supervillain started unlocking Medic’s cage.

“Don’t… tou—” Leader said but was cut off by Rogue’s menacing:

“Get off them!” Rogue growled, kicking at the bars of their cage. Youngest was quiet, and the silence was a welcome relief to Leader. One Rogue was enough, and Supervillain was brutal.

Supervillain offered a hand to Medic, but Medic stood up on their own and nearly let out a sigh at being able to be vertical for the first time in who knows how long.

“Come now, Medic,” Supervillain scolded, voice playful but behind it was something cold that only promised pain. “Take my hand and I’ll let you look at your dear Leader, hmm? Make sure he doesn’t get an infection.”

Leader swallowed; mouth suddenly dry as Medic took Supervillain’s hand. Supervillain’s fingers closed tightly around Medic’s like a vice and Leader knew something was wrong with the scene, but he couldn’t think of what it was. His brain sluggish and muggy like a swamp Leader’s thoughts were trudging through.

Fuck.

Maybe he did get an infection from Supervillain’s branding.

Supervillain led Medic over to Leader and grabbed a fistful of Leader’s hair yanking his head up to face him. Medic protested, but Supervillain still hadn’t let go of Medic’s hand so all they could do was try and pry Supervillain’s fingers off of them.

“It’s bad manners not to look someone in the eye, Leader.”

“If you want to talk about manners let’s start with your hospitality, Supervillain,” Leader ground out. He just saw the flash of Medic’s exasperated face, before Supervillain’s fist blocked it from view and Leader’s head slammed back, blood dripping from his nose.

“Sorry, Medic, he has a really punchable face,” said Supervillain conversationally, then let go of both Leader and Medic and stepped back. “Whatever you need, Medic, just make sure he won’t die for round two.”

Medic whirled on Supervillain, eyes wide. “Round two?”

“Did I or did I not say that I want Leader on display? He is going to live a long, long life by my side or at my feet, or whatever way I want him. The only reason you’re looking him over, and not another doctor, is merely convenience, Medic, so don’t give me that wide eyed Bambi look when I say I want to hurt him again. Like I said, Leader has a very punchable face.”

“What about us?” Medic demanded, taking a step forward. Leader relaxed back into his chair, craning his neck back to see Supervillain’s face. He was smiling. Like that was exactly what Supervillain wanted them to say.

Wait, Supervillain was smiling?

Leader did a double take and just stared, not believing his eyes.

Supervillain was… Leader didn’t think he knew how to smile, and it looked wrong on his face. Hollow, twisted, hungry and vicious.

That meant nothing good.

The realisation dropped like a stone into Leader’s chest, and he looked over at Youngest and Rogue’s cages, but they were gone. How? Leader didn’t even see—

He was too focused on Medic.

He knew it was too quiet.

“Medic!” Leader cried, shooting to his feet and shouldering Medic out of the way of Supervillain. His head swam but Leader didn’t care as he planted a foot and pivoted the chair’s legs towards Supervillain. They made impact and Leader heard a satisfying oomf from Supervillain as he faced Medic.

Their devil-may-care smile melting off his face as he saw Supervillain's Henchman come up behind Medic, needle in hand. Leader wanted to shout in warning, but the words were too slow.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and yet too quick to wrap his head around.

Leader shot forward like a bull on instinct, Medic dodging at the last second, before Leader collided with Henchman. The pair toppled to the ground, Leader on top snarling at Henchman below but unable to get themselves back up to defend Medic.

A hand on the back of his chair and Leader was dragged back up, all four legs on the ground and Medic was kicking the needle out of Henchman's hand and stomped on their face with a satisfying crack.

Medic looked back up at Leader, eyes bright from the brawl and then they went to Supervillain behind Leader, and they froze. All blood draining from their face.

“Even two of you is enough to cause this much trouble,” Supervillain said, voice cutting through the room like ice. “I’m going to give you two options Leader,” said Supervillain coolly. Then: “Bambi, be a dear and turn Leader to me, would you?”

Wordlessly, Medic turned Leader’s chair and Leader understood Medic’s silence. Supervillain held a gagged Youngest up, an arm around Youngest’s shoulder and his stupid hidden dagger from his cane at their throat. The same knife he used to carve his name on Leader’s chest, Leader realised. His heart lurched and his stomach churned, fear rooting him to the spot. Youngest’s hands were bound in front of them and there were terrified tears spilling from their eyes.

Leader felt winded again, but when he met Supervillain’s eyes he was filled with a powerless kind of hatred.

“Do I have your attention now?” Supervillain asked, voice cool.

Leader’s throat felt like sandpaper, tongue heavy and dry as he replied with a raspy— “yes.”

“I have come to the conclusion, Leader, that there is no chance of getting you to submit to me while you are surrounded by your teammates. You have too much bravado around them, they encourage you too much. To — what was it you said, Bambi? “You’ll get out of here together, you always do? We’re all here with you. Supervillain can try, but he can’t beat us all.””

Leader could see Medic still from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Youngest, shaking in Supervillain’s grip.

“Fine,” Leader said, licking his lips, trying to add moisture to his mouth but it didn’t do anything to stop the raspiness, “you let them go.”

Supervillain smiled and pressed the knife into Youngest’s throat just enough to draw blood. Medic and Leader lurched forward but were stopped at Supervillain’s soft: “ah-ah-ah. Move and the kid dies on the spot, Medic. Do you want to test how good your medical skills are right now?”

Medic stepped back, shaking with anger and adrenaline, but they stepped back.

Supervillain looked between the pair and the hideous, gruesome light returned to his eyes. “Isn’t this nice, huh? Just a nice easy hostage situation with you two too concerned for Youngest’s safety to think of any witticisms? I could do this all day just to hear that silence.”

“It’s not – it’s not silence if you fill it with the sound of your own voice.”

Supervillain’s eyes narrowed in confusion. He was looking at Leader and Medic and they didn’t speak. Didn’t open their mouths at least, but Medic and Leader were staring at Youngest like kids who just talked back to their parents and were waiting for the punishment to begin.

Supervillain took the knife from Youngest’s throat and gently turned them around to face him, the cloth Henchman had gagged them with now loose around Youngest’s skinny neck. Their eyes had that same spark of defiance that made them want to kill Leader on his bad days. Days when he wasn’t in control.

“I should have expected as much,” said Supervillain, raising his chin, turning his nose up at Youngest’s defiance.

“Leader has corrupted you, Youngest, but don’t worry. I’ll fix you,” Supervillain said, grabbing Youngest by the throat and squeezing slightly. Youngest jerked back, trying and failing to fight Supervillain off. He was twice Youngest’s size, and one hand nearly wrapped all the way around their throat, not applying pressure. Not yet, but Youngest still panicked.

“Just— fucking— let me go—” Youngest cried, struggling to wrench themselves free. Supervillain sighed. With a deft flick of their wrist silver flashed through the air and Youngest gasped, screwing their eyes shut bracing for the worst. The blow never came and just when that thought registered in Youngest’s mind they heard Leader grunt in pain.

“Leader!” Medic cried and Youngest’s eyes were open, staring into Supervillain’s triumphant ones.

“Medic, you move, and Youngest dies.”

“You fucking bastard!” Medic cried. Youngest looked over their shoulder and saw Leader with the knife in his shoulder, just above the clavicle and they couldn’t stop the trembling at seeing what Supervillain did because of them.

“Leader will be fine, as long as you all behave. This was a good lesson to learn before you’re all separated.”

“You said—” Leader breathed, voice strained. “You said you were giving… giving me two options.”

Supervillain smiled.

“Oh. I was. Then your subordinates pissed me off and now I’m not letting any of you go. Especially Bambi and Youngest here, they’re just too fun. Rogue on the other hand, well,” Supervillain’s smile widened at the mix of helpless fury and pain twisting Leader’s features into something close to desperation, something close to submission. “Rogue, I could just slit their throat and leave them in a ditch, and you wouldn’t know any better, Leader, would you?”

Leader’s breath was coming out laboured and ragged. This was too much. This was too much, the pain was too much, and he couldn’t move, he couldn’t fight, he couldn’t talk his way out of this. It felt like everything was slipping, and it was all his fault. If he had predicted the blade in the cane, then none of this would have happened.

The blade that was currently imbedded in his shoulder.

He lost focus for a moment.

A moment too long.

And it got everyone he loved here. Trapped. Just as powerless as Leader was to protect them.

“Leader,” it was Youngest. Their voice so quiet, so lost, looking for what they had to do, because Leader always knew.

Leader swallowed the lump in his throat, shaking his head slowly, voice hoarse. “Don’t act out. Don’t rebel, do whatever Supervillain tells you without question or hesitation—”

“Leader?!” Medic cried, panic colouring their voice as they kneeled in front of Leader, trying to catch his eye. “Leader you can’t just—”

Leader looked at Medic then, his eyes pleading and hard, and Medic swallowed the rest of their sentence. It hurt, it hurt more than anything to see Medic have to accept their fate, fighting back the tears gathering behind their eyes.

Leader spoke before he lost his nerve, he refused to crack in front of Supervillain. He looked at Youngest’s lost expression, like a little kid being told Santa isn’t real and remembered how young they were… then he looked at Medic and his expression softened as he gave the orders to protect them as much as he could. To protect themselves when Leader wasn’t there to do it for them.

“Remember when you want to react or scream or fight, that it won't be you that Supervillain hurts, it will be someone else. This is the best we can do for each other now. We're still a team, we're still stronger together, even when we're apart,” Leader said, confident defiance still emanating from his gaze as he met Supervillain's eyes in a challenge. “Even Supervillain can't stop us looking out for each other. Remember that.”

A corner of Supervillain's lips curled up in a half smirk, surprised at the gall of Leader to look at him with that much cocky assuredness that they won't break in Supervillain's care.

Supervillain would prove him wrong.

“We'll see,” Supervillain hummed, smiling eyes narrowed, locked on Leader's.

Challenge accepted.

Supervillain’s eyes turned to Medic, finally letting Youngest go with a gentle shove backwards. Youngest stumbled a step and regained their footing, glaring at Supervillain.

“You first, Bambi, since you seem to love the drama of it all.”

Medic didn’t say a word. They just glanced at Leader who nodded his head slightly. Medic walked towards Supervillain and willingly gave themselves up. It put a spear of fear through Leader’s heart to see Supervillain put his hands on Medic, but Leader forced himself to be still. To not react. That was what Supervillain wanted, he wasn’t going to give it to him.

“Oh, Youngest?” Supervillain asked, voice deceptively sweet. Youngest didn’t answer. Supervillain didn’t even hesitate to slap Medic across the face, eliciting a shocked gasp from Medic. Leader’s handcuffs rattled and Supervillain’s cruel grey eyes got brighter, and said again: “will we try that again?”

“Yes,” said Youngest.

Supervillain’s face settled into one of neutrality. “Yes what?” he asked, voice as cold as the arctic.

“Yes sir,” Youngest bit out, their voice cracking on sir.

“Be a dear and keep Leader company while I bring Bambi to their new cell, will you?”

Youngest hesitated again, but this time Leader nudged them with his foot and Youngest said again, more demoralised now: “yes sir.”

“Good. Sit by Leader’s leg like a good little dog, I insist,” and Youngest sank to the floor, slumping beside Leader’s chair, bound hands still in front of them. “See, Leader? They can be trained to be civilised. I’ll be back soon.”

Youngest and Leader watched scornfully as Supervillain led Medic out of the room. Watched them disappear from view, powerless to stop it happening. Leader just sat handcuffed to the chair, knife imbedded in his shoulder, Youngest tied up by his side and let out a long, shaky sigh.

He didn’t know how they were going to get out of this, or what they’d have to endure, he just had to believe that they would, because… well, to think anything else would be blasphemous and Leader didn’t think he’d be able to survive if he started going down that rabbit hole.

[gothghostiie]

No because I’m such a whore for knifeplay? Doesn’t help that I’m a huge masochist LMAO I NEED ghost to tell me I’m good as he fucks me and carves his name into my lower back

- 🐟

gosh yea honestly

cw: knife play, cutting, praise

ghost is hesitant when you ask him to try knife play. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested or hadn't fantasised about it but actually doing it? christ. the thought alone gives him a hard on. he thinks long and hard before finally agreeing with it, agreeing to try.

he starts rather tame, holding the knife to your neck while pounding into your, even tracing the balde along your skin carefully, never enough to cut. you guys do this a few times, he starts seeking the thrill more and more - honestly, so do you. then when he's taking you from behind, your back pressed to his chest with the knife to your throat, you finally ask him, muttering those sweet, sweet words.

"cut me."

it takes him a moment, but God he does deliver. he pushes you forward, face first into yhe bed while burying himself as deep as possible. "fuckin' hold still." he warns, then you feel yhe slight burn, pain pulling through your lower back when he finally carves his name into you.

[frogs00]

Yellow roses

Summary: Janis has a bad time. It’s hard to explain.

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT- Angst, mention of cutting, use of marijuana, crying, Regina gets hit by a bus, mentions of shit home-life! Swearing! Read at your own risk.

Pairings: Janis has a date to the dance, Janis x Regina (Not really)

Janis heard a bus screeched past her along with a large thud. Her eyes flashed. Thousands of thoughts passed her mind.

Who was behind me last? Cady? Shit! It was Cady!

She swung around, and saw Cady safe, she also heard screaming, and yelling and….

Regina was hit.

Her mouth fell open and she felt her stomach drop. 

She had been praying for Regina’s downfall for years, years of trauma. Years of cutting, crying, hating. Years wondering what she could do to end her.  Because her best friend, her lifeline, the only thing that was ever hers, betrayed her. 

But not like this, never like this. She didn’t want Regina to die, she couldn’t die.

Janis suddenly felt her previously stapled to the ground legs break into a run. Clawing her way through the mass of people, she heard ambulances blaring in the far distance.

“Regina! Gina!” She basically screamed and she pushed through the crowd, she felt tears spring to her eyes.

She was almost there, she saw her, she was laying on the ground, she saw blood…

She felt someone grab her by her waist and haul her back, she thrashed in their arms.

“I need to get to her, she can’t die!” She yelled, but it was no use, “That bitch can’t die!” 

“Janis!” Damian’s voice rang in her mind. Somewhere distant, she realized she was now clutching her chest, holding her breath.

“Janis!” it yelled again.

Focus on the voice.

“Janis!” she went limp in their arms, realizing now it was Damian.

“Janis! Janis, breath!” She exhaled, her eyes glued to the mass that was disappearing among many, many people.

The Ambulance cut through the now dispersing crowd like butter, and she felt herself being dragged out of the way. Paramedics filed out of it instantly.

Thin tears ran down her face, she felt weak, she felt hopeless, she felt numb.

“Janis,” Damian said again, sitting her down on the nearby grass, now holding her face, “Janis are you there?”

She wasn’t, she hadn’t been for awhile, she was blinded by this idea of revenge and now…

“This is my fault.” she croaked. Damian shook his head and brought her into a hug, which she didn’t return. She was frozen.

“It’s not your fault,” she distantly heard his voice whisper, “Regina will be fine.”

It’s my fault.

—

Janis straightened the tie on her suit. She looked good. She looked amazing. Did she feel amazing? Sort of. 

Regina was alive. Thank some deity of some sort for that. 

She was not to blame for her 15 second death. Not to blame for the incident at all. When she thought that during her very public breakdown, she was delirious and grieving… Totally.

(The bags under her eyes said otherwise.)

She had comforted herself with that idea for weeks. She had a beautiful date, and was going to forget it all for the night. The bus-incident, Cady, everything.

She didn’t even want to see Cady, and she wouldn’t see Regina, since she most likely wasn’t going to the dance.

Still, she visited Regina at the hospital for closure, and brought her her favorite flowers. Yellow roses. They were a symbol of friendship. Although, she didn’t think that’s why she liked them so much.

Friendship.

She didn’t want that from Regina. Though she couldn't hate her anymore, completely at least. 

Plus, Regina could never know she was there, when she was there she was zonked on painkillers, and in agony. A state she never thought she’d see the blonde in.

She took half weed gummy to clear her mind.

She picked up the corsage, checked herself in the mirror once more, and headed off.

She would be okay.

–

She wasn’t okay, she was standing in a corner, her date was dancing with another girl at the moment (She didn’t mind so much, though.)

She was having fun, and she had almost gone the whole thing, throughout Cady’s speech and all, without even glancing at Regina. 

Yet, now, seeing the blonde struggle with lifting her glass to her lip was both funny, and heart-aching.

She rolled her eyes, tapping her foot.

Decision, decisions.

Her feet took her before her mind did, walking towards the blonde, and taking the cup from her hand gently. The tall girl looked up at her without tilting her head, confused and surprised. 

The surprised aspect was more evident though.

“Need some help?” She asked, trying to sound playful (and failing).

Regina grunted in response, and Janis brought the cup to her lips which Regina drank earnestly and made a very weird face that Janis snorted at.

Her smile faded instantly when she saw her glazed eyes.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered.

Regina looked at her again, “For what? Why is everyone saying that?” she said, her words slurred.

Janis shrugged, “I should go, bye G- Regina.” She felt a hand grab hers as soon as she turned away, and a hand on her hip pulled her closer.

“Don’t.” Regina huffed.

She froze awkwardly, as Regina pulled her closer to her. All the way to a point she was almost sitting on her lap, which she was careful not to do completely, but let it happen.

She felt a tug on her jacket, her eyes flickered that way before returning back to the high blonde. Janis patted her head gently, the closest she’s been to her in a long, long time.

She felt like a little kid. Which may sound pleasant, but all she could remember was whispering on the phone to Regina while hiding it her cabinet as her parents fought, with tear stained cheeks.

Crash!

She heard, and snapped to attention, pulling out of her embrace, looking around, panicked. 

It sounded like glass was dropped. Like the time her father threw a vase at her mother and it missed her by an inch, hitting the wall beside her.

She saw some idiot had just dropped the punch  and looked down at a startled Regina.

“Sorry.” She laughed and relaxed. Offering the blonde a small, yet genuine smile. Regina acknowledged her with the wave of her hand.

“I got the roses by the way,” Regina murmured, after a moment of Janis standing awkwardly in place, “Yellow, my favorite. Thanks.”

“Yeah, Yellow roses.” She croaked and trailed off with a sad laugh, realizing she had left her name on the tag. She wasn’t supposed to know. 

A song, one she’d never listen to on her own, played, and someone grabbed her hand, “Come dance!”

It was her date.

She froze and looked at Regina as if asking if she could leave, who knows why she did that. The blonde nodded and waved her away, and she left.

Yellow-fucking-roses.

Please enjoy! Tag: @idontplaytrack

[cicutagreninja]

giggles. thinking about violent deaths in double life and their effect on soulmates.

like. if jimmy was strangled to death by an enderman. what was it like for tango? i would assume, he would feel PANIC. much panic. then he would be caught. you could see an invisible hand crush his windpipe. maybe even feeling phantom wings and the enderman tears jimmy, wings and all apart.

or. when joel and etho turned red with the fishing rod shenanigans. etho was never pulled off the ground, joel hit it first. just imagine joel hitting the ground, bones breaking and blood splattering everywhere. when joel was falling etho was trying to rush over to him, so just imagine joel hitting the ground and then etho. still mid-run, and then as joel dies, maybe etho just. blood sprays from his back as his spine shatters. screams.

or. when bdubs is murdered by ren. impulse is right there, but can’t do anything as the sword is thrust into bdubs. can’t do anything as a perfectly similar wound opens on his stomach. blood. helpless as bdubs hits the ground. tasting blood on his lips. eyes clouded with pain.

maybe. ren and bigb’s final. ren gets a dripstone stalagmite through the head, he’s dead quick. now bigb. he can’t help it, has zero idea what the hell happened, before everything’s gone. deep hole through his skull. red staining the bridge of the box. his secret soulmate feels the consequences.

what if. not a death, but just injury. pearl hugging the cactus in an attempt to torture scott. and it works. tiny scratches and cuts slit across his skin and over his clothes and face. or. in the end. scott, clutching cleo without a will to live. tnt in hand. the fuse creeping down the string. pearl watching in horror. “tilly death do us part.” pearl is in agony, every bone breaking at once. her heart hurts as she watches her unrequited love close his eyes in acceptance.

[moni-logues]

Kintsugi 5

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, non-idol!au, angst, smut, tiny bit of eventual fluff

Summary: In a fit of spiteful, post-break-up self-improvement, you sign up to a baking class. Yoongi, in a bid to appease his demanding girlfriend, signs up, too. Determined to make him your friend, you end up with more than you ever imagined.

Word count: 7.2k

Content: depression, self-harm (cutting)

A/N: first and foremost, please read the warnings; there's literally only two and one is a pretty significant one so plleeeeasssseeee take heed!!!!!! And let me know if there's anything else I should be tagging for it. Feels too flip for me to ramble in my usual way here given the content of this chapter, so just to say be safe, and I hope you like it! Thank you to my betas @amethystwritesbts @quarter-life-crisis2 @here2bbtstrash

Chapter Four | Masterlist | Chapter Six

Chapter Five - The other shoe

The sun was shining and birds were singing and you wished you were a character in a musical so you could burst into (tuneless) song and run across a field in a circle skirt. You hadn’t felt this good for a long, long time.  

“Looks like someone’s in a good mood,” was Taehyung’s greeting to you as you plopped down in your chair next to him. “You get laid or something?” 

You had, in fact, got laid last night. It had been even more anxiety-inducing than you had thought it would be, particularly given that Sungbin was a verified Greek god of a man and, well, your body had been through a little since the last time you were fully naked in front of someone new. You had put your body through a lot. The body keeps the score and it also shows the scars. You did not tend to keep them on display and you had hesitated and become awkward and flustered when you remembered them, when you realised he was going to see them, going to see what you had done to yourself.  

He didn’t mention them. He didn’t make it weird. He didn’t avoid them nor did he bring extra attention to them. He acted as if they weren’t there at all. Then he made you come until you were seeing stars.  

“That good, huh?”  

It had been that good. Or maybe it had just been a long time. Either way.  

“I think I’m going to fall in love with him, for real,” you said, all dreamy and moon-eyed, staring at your computer screen and seeing nothing but love hearts. 

“Girly...” Taehyung’s voice had a slight warning note but you let it wash over you. 

“I know, I know, but seriously. I feel happy, Teddy. Legitimately happy. I feel like I can see a future unfolding, a future I might actually want to live in.” 

“With Sungbin?” 

You shrugged. 

“Sure, why not?” 

He didn’t answer, not really. You could feel his reluctance; you could almost hear all the questions he wanted to ask. You let him think them. You weren’t going to let anyone burst this bubble.  

“What are we doing this weekend, chick?”  

You looked up from your desk and took the coffee cup in Taehyung’s outstretched hand. He sat down next to you. 

“What do you mean ‘what are we doing this weekend’?” 

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean “what are we doing this weekend”’?” 

“What do you mean-” 

“No, I’m serious. We always do something, but I haven’t seen you for weeks now.” 

“Teddy, we are together every day. You’re seeing me right now!” 

“That’s not the same and you know it! You’re reserving all your time for Sungbin these days.” 

“That’s not true.” 

Not entirely. He wasn’t being fair. It was true that you had seen Taehyung a little less over the past month or so but it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him at all. You had someone else in your life now; you would’ve thought Taehyung would have been a little relieved to get some time back, to be honest. 

“Well, what about you?” you asked. “You’re spending all your time with the barista.” 

“Hyunjin. And I’m really not. I still have plenty of time for my other friends. For you.” 

“Are you suggesting that I’m not making time for you?” 

He shrugged.  

“I know you’re really into Sungbin right now and things are going well and that’s great. I’m genuinely fucking stoked for you and I hope that it’s everything you want it to be, but I feel a little tossed aside, yeah. Especially because I’m the one who’ll have to pick up any pieces if it goes south.” 

That hurt. Coming from Taehyung, that really hurt. 

“Why do you think it’ll go south?” 

“I’m not saying that it will but you’re honeymooning hard right now and it kind of feels like you’re putting a lot of eggs into one basket. You’re ditching me to spend all your time with a guy you’ve know-” 

“I’m not ditching you!” 

“I’m just saying you’re letting yourself be taken over by this. You haven’t seen me outside of work for ages. I know you didn’t go to therapy last wee-” 

“How do you know that?” 

“I know when your appointments are and you were posting on Instagram with a cocktail in your hand at the time.” 

“What makes you think I didn’t rearrange the session?” 

“Did you?” 

No, you didn’t. You skipped that one. Just one. That would hardly hurt. And you were feeling so happy right now, the need for therapy had receded a little, dipping past the horizon, not entirely out of sight, but almost out of mind.  

“That is exactly what I’m saying-” 

“No, what exactly are you saying? Is this about wanting to see me more or is it about telling me that me and Sungbin are going to crash and burn?” 

You could feel tears burn in your eyes and you desperately wanted not to cry. You always cried. All the time. It was exhausting and embarrassing and you were at work, right now – you didn’t have time for this.  

Taehyung’s eyes softened and this made your tears well even more.  

“I’m saying that I miss you and I’m worried. You are acting like he’s fixed you, like the only problem in your life was that you were single and now you’re not so everything must be perfect. But that’s not how things work and I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“I’m not stupid,” you spat, your voice thick with unshed tears. “I don’t think he’s fixed me. I think he likes me. And I like him. And we are together-” 

“Are you?” 

“What?” 

“Have you had that conversation? Are you together?” 

“Well-… What about you and Hyunjin? Have you had that conversation?” 

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “We’re keeping it casual for now.” 

You didn’t like the sound of that. You hadn’t talked to Sungbin about it because you didn’t think you had to. You thought you were on the same page. Isn’t that what dating was? You dated and then, if you kept dating, you were in a relationship. It was automatic, by default. Why would you date someone if you didn’t want to keep doing it? If you didn’t imagine a relationship with the person, what was the point?  

You managed to blink your tears away but an uneasiness had settled in your stomach. What if you’d got it all wrong? Did Sungbin want to keep it casual? You didn’t. It was already too late for that. You were a goner. 

Maybe Taehyung was right. 

Was he? 

You sniffed. 

“Well maybe Sungbin and I aren’t.” 

“Does he know that?”  

Fresh tears. Anxiety. Your old friend insecurity crawling up your throat again. You should have known that this was coming, that there was a line you needed to acknowledge and either cross together or not at all. It hadn’t been like this with San because you had known each other so well before you got together, it really had been a foregone conclusion. This time, though... And there was so much Sungbin didn’t know about you, so much you knew you would have to share at some point and didn’t want to. The thought of revealing your ugliest self to him – to him, a flawless specimen of a man, inside and out, his parents’ pride, and the person you thought most about – was nauseating.  

You stood and walked off to the printers, pausing there only long enough for you to realise there was nothing you could pretend to print. Then you carried on to the kitchen, making yourself another coffee, even as the one Taehyung brought you was sitting, steaming, on your desk. 

“I’ve been thinking,” you began, sitting across from Sungbin at an outside table, running your finger up the wet glass of your iced latte. “What are you doing for Halloween?” 

He looked a little taken aback. 

“Halloween? In October?” 

“Yeah!” 

You held your palm tight against your glass, the discomfort of the cold playing distraction. You were trying to be casual about this. It was normal. Of course you’d make plans. Why wouldn’t you? You fought off the voice in the back of your head saying that you wouldn’t if you were just ‘keeping things casual’. That was why you had to ask.  

“I... have no idea yet. It’s only August.” 

“That is true, but I’ve been thinking. Teddy always has this massive party for Halloween and does costumes and everything and I would like, this year, to outdo him.” 

The party thing was true. Taehyung did throw one every year. And he did always have a good costume... You also always had a good costume, because he planned and bought it for you, but Sungbin didn’t need to know that part.  

“Wow, if he’s planning it this early, it must be big.” 

“Oh, no, he’s not yet, but I want to get a head start. Like I said, this year I think we can beat him at his costume game.” 

“We?” 

“Yeah, there are so many good couple costumes out there; it’ll make more of an impact if we do it together, right? Two is more than one etc.” 

“Right, yeah, uh... Sure.” 

“We don’t have to decide right now, but get your thinking cap on. I am going to destroy Teddy this year and you’re going to do it with me!” 

He chuckled a little and you thought this was good. Halloween was, as he suggested, months away, but he hadn’t said no. That counted for something. You ploughed on. 

“Also, what do you think to a double date?” 

“Oh. Um, who with?” 

“Teddy and Hyunjin. They actually got together the night we met! Might be fun. Also, to be honest, I really want Teddy to meet you. It’s been long enough, haha; you need his seal of approval!” 

“A test?” 

“Yep. He’s my bestie so he has to approve.” 

“Right. Yeah... Ok. You and he are really close, then?” 

“Yep. And, besides, it gets to a point where someone’s seen you have enough breakdowns that you have to keep them close: he knows too much!” 

There was a pause and you could see Sungbin considering his words. You fought the urge to move it on, to brush over it, to drop a hundred words a second to blow past it. But you also just had to... check, to let him know, to try to drip-feed him the information you, truthfully, didn’t want him to have but knew that he had to have, if this was ever going to be serious. It made you anxious, slowly revealing your brokenness to him, pushing him closer and closer to the threshold at which he might say ‘stop, that’s enough; I don’t want you anymore’. He hadn’t yet, but you’d barely begun.  

“Breakdowns, huh?” 

“Yep. Although, actually, while it was Teddy who held me together after the break-up, it was my ex who really did the heavy lifting before that.” 

Sungbin nodded thoughtfully and you didn’t know if you imagined his eyes flicking down to your thighs or not. Probably imagined. But it wasn’t like the two didn’t go hand in hand. 

“Sounds rough.” 

“It was. Both times, haha.” 

He nodded again. 

That was enough, you thought. That had to be enough disclosure for now. You could feel it pressing on you, like the oppressive summer humidity; you felt stifled by your exposure, almost a little giddy with the force of your discomfort. If this is what it was like, revealing your darkness to someone, you crossed all your fingers, hoped, and prayed that this thing with Sungbin would last so that you would never have to do it again.  

* 

You went home with him that night and there was a background buzz of something in your head, this kind of vertigo-swirling of standing too close to the edge of a cliff, an unsteadiness of foot that Sungbin was able to kiss away but which came back two-fold when you were lying naked in his bed. You tried to look at yourself, discreetly, objectively; what did you look like to him? Was he looking at you differently now, tonight, armed with new knowledge? What did he really know? What had he taken from the things you had said? You didn’t want to ask him, didn’t want to talk about it more, didn’t want to have to explain and elucidate and make explicit things that you hoped he would infer.  

He didn’t seem different, then, didn’t turn off the light or kiss you goodnight any differently from the way he had before. Maybe it was fine. Maybe your brokenness wasn’t fatal. Or so you could dream. 

“Last day, baby!” you cried when Yoongi put his bag on the counter at your very last baking session. 

“So it is,” he replied, cool as ever. 

You shoved him. 

“Be excited! We made it! We’re bakers!” 

He rolled his eyes and grinned. 

“A rather generous term for yourself, isn’t it?” 

You shoved him again. 

“How dare you? Do I need to remind you of last week’s triumph? Or should I say my triumph and your tragedy?” 

You weren’t being entirely fair. Yoongi’s buns had failed because he had taken on the risk of your illicit ingredient, allowing you to follow the recipe correctly. It was gallant, really. He even said that his buns were alright, not that bad, kind of ok which you knew without having to try them was untrue.  

“Should I remind you who is responsible for my tragedy?” 

“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

You grinned at each other and started unpacking your bags. It felt easy between the two of you now. Long gone was your anxiety that used to accompany Thursday evenings, that gnawing embarrassment and glowing shame that you used to feel in Yoongi’s proximity, sure that you were the worst person in the world and that he wanted to get away from you, desperate as you were for his friendship and approbation. You didn’t have to be desperate anymore, because you had it. You were friends. In the spirit of said friendship, you had agreed to celebrate your last baking class tomorrow, so you could get as drunk as you liked without having to suffer the consequences in the office. 

* 

“Generous term,” you scoffed, looking at your layered cake at the end of the session, assembled and decorated and still standing. “How very dare you. Look at what I’ve made! I’m a genius!” 

Yoongi laughed quietly and swiped a finger through the buttercream frosting on top before you could swat his hand away. He put it to his mouth. 

“Yeah, it’s not bad.” 

“Not bad!” 

You swiped a finger through the frosting on top of his cake. 

“Yours tastes like shit.” 

“Well, now you’re just being mean and I won’t let you have a slice.” 

“Fine.” You turned your back on him to put some things in your bag and then turned back. “I didn’t want to eat your shit cake, anyway!” 

“You had better be careful or I’ll bring this as dessert for tomorrow.” 

You gasped. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

Yoongi turned to face you head-on, a smirk on his lips, mischief in his eyes. 

“Wouldn’t I?” 

You mirrored his expression and crossed your arms. 

“I won’t let you in my apartment.” 

“Not even for the booze?” 

You faltered. You didn’t buy the expensive shit that he did. You still fully believed that expensive alcohol didn’t give you such bad hangovers. You didn’t want to lose this spat, didn’t want to come out of the bit, but also didn’t want to say no to booze. 

“You can leave the booze on my doorstep and go.” 

Yoongi broke first and laughed loud, tipping his head back. 

“You’re spoilt,” he said. 

You sniffed haughtily. 

“I deserve nice things.” 

Then he gave you that smile that he did sometimes, warm and soft, that made you feel like a broken open caramel truffle, oozing and sweet and sticky, like the two of you were stuck together, sugary fingerprints on your skin and a brown sugar taste on your lips. It was like a secret smile, for special occasions; you wondered who else got to see it.  

“Yeah, you do,” he agreed. “Which is why I’m bringing this cake to dinner tomorrow!” 

You groaned and pretended to fall, dead, to the floor. Yoongi laughed again.  

“I mean it.” He packed the last of his things in his bag. “I’m going to bring this and you’re going to eat it and like it.” 

“Over my dead body.” 

“If I recall correctly, I do, in fact, owe you a murder, so that can certainly be arranged.” 

You both laughed this time and you could think of much worse ways to go, much worse last things to see before you died. Yoongi picked up his stuff and his cake and turned to leave. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“With bells on!” you called after him. 

You had taken the Friday afternoon off, just to make sure you had enough time to shop and prepare and, gulp, cook dinner for Yoongi who you were expecting that evening. It was a celebration of your finishing the class but it was also a sign of intention, a new set-up for this kindling friendship that didn’t have anywhere else to meet. You’d take turns: one of you would cook and one would bring dessert and you’d alternate fortnightly. You weren’t sure whether you’d got the short straw to be tasked with dinner first or if you’d rather it were this way. You got the feeling Yoongi was a good cook and you didn’t want to have to follow that, but it felt like a lot of pressure being the first to host. You felt a little embarrassed of your shoebox apartment and cheap things and you knew Yoongi would never care—you knew he would understand completely—but it made you feel a little small, that this was all you had to offer.  

Never mind, you said to yourself. He didn’t care and neither would you. It wasn't about the venue; it wasn’t even really about the food. It was about the company. It was about making a space and a time for you and Yoongi to hang out. It was about making a commitment to taking your friendship outside of its bounds and cultivating it. That was what mattered and that was all you needed to focus on.  

You were scrolling on your phone, looking for recipes when a message from Sungbin came in. 

Sungbin: hey I’m wfh today. I'm about to have lunch can you come over? 

Obviously, the answer was yes. You did your best to make yourself look presentable in a rush and hot-footed it across the river to him.  

* 

“I ordered food, hope that’s ok,” Sungbin said as he gestured to the dining table where two bags of lunch had been placed. 

“Sure! I’ll eat whatever.” 

It felt a little strained, like the world had twisted itself into an uncomfortable position, but you put it down to the fact that you had never been to his apartment during the day before. He was also working; maybe he hadn’t shrugged off his focus yet. His job was still new and still stressful and this lunch was interrupting it. He was quiet as he sat down and you felt stifled. He ate a forkful and another. Then he put his fork down. 

“Thanks for coming all this way. I really wanted to speak to you but work is really hectic so I can’t get away.” 

“Yeah, no worries! I have this afternoon off anyway, so it’s no big deal.” 

“Oh right. Good. Um.” 

You thought to yourself that you were getting good at this: letting silence reign. Maybe it was all the time you’d spent with Yoongi; maybe it was all the time you’d spent in therapy. Maybe it was a sign that you weren’t letting your anxiety run your mouth anymore – even if you really, really wanted it to. 

“I thought we should talk,” is how he began. 

“About what?” Your guts twisted as you asked. 

“I know you were talking the other day about all sorts of plans and things and I just wanted to be clear about... where we are. What we are.” 

“Oh, right.” Your voice was airy and thin, even your lungs being squeezed by this cold-creeping fear working through your body. 

“I really enjoy spending time with you and I’d like to continue that but, ah, I’m not looking for anything serious. I don’t want... a relationship, y’know? I just moved here and I’m still finding my feet and getting to know everyone and everything and I don’t want to, uh, settle into anything? And I get the feeling that... you do. I didn’t want, um, wires to be crossed or uh, I didn’t want things to get complicated or- I just thought we should talk before it went on any longer. I wanted to just make myself clear. I would like to keep seeing you but I think you want... more than I do. If I’m wrong, just tell me, sorry if I’ve assumed but I, uh, just, get the feeling...” 

“Right.”  

Your eyes were already blurry with tears. Here it was. The other shoe dropping. Taehyung was right. Sungbin didn’t want you. Not really. He knew who you were and he didn’t want you. You tried to tiptoe into it; you tried to slowly heat the water in the pan but you’d overcooked it. The frog was jumping out. You wanted more. Too much. More than he wanted. He didn’t want you. He didn’t want you that much. He didn’t want your broken parts. He didn’t want your ugliness. He saw your scars and he heard of your breakdowns and he knew that was ‘more’, too much. He didn’t want to carry you. He would have to carry you if you went on for too much longer. You had to be carried because that’s who you were: you weren’t enough, not even enough to lift yourself up. All your good parts, the shiny parts, the parts you thought you had in you somewhere... It wasn’t enough.  

“It’s not-” Sungbin was trying to start again, to explain, to let you down even more gently. “I like you; I think you’re a cool person and we have fun. I just can’t commit to more than that. I don’t want to lead you on or pretend this is going somewhere it’s not. Y’know, I really appreciate you making all these plans and things but that’s just- it's really, well, it’s a bit too much for me right now. Do you know what I mean?” 

You nodded and hummed and bit your lip to stop it wobbling. Your face was burning with embarrassment: that you were being dumped, that you were crying about it when this hadn’t even been real to start with. It had never been what you thought it was. It was just fun. You had pictured parties and holidays and walking off into the sunset but that was just you. It had never been that for Sungbin.  

He didn’t want you. Like a woodpecker pecking at your skull, it hit you again and again: he didn’t want you. He didn’t want you. You tried to show yourself to him and then he didn’t want you. You took him to your water’s edge and he decided not to swim. You should have seen this coming. You should have heeded Taehyung’s warnings. You should have had this conversation before now.  

You could feel yourself spiralling, crumbling, sitting at his table with an uneaten salad bowl in front of you. You couldn’t speak because you didn’t know what to say. ‘Please just love me’? ‘Can’t you change your mind’? ‘What if I were different’? ‘I can change’? Would anything make a difference? You couldn’t be different. Not really. It hit you at that moment: you would always be you. All of these things that you had been doing to try to change, to be better, to grow, to stop being such a mess all of the time. They wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. Couldn’t change who you were. What you were. You’d always just be... this. 

“Yeah, I understand,” you whispered, your voice trapped in your strangled throat. “I have to go.” 

You stood and whirled around, heading immediately for the door, shoving your feet in your shoes any which way, as long as they stayed on long enough for you to escape. 

“No, wait, hold on!” Sungbin called, following after you. “Don’t just go, please. I want to talk- I don’-” 

But you were opening the door and running down the corridor and he was calling, but not running, after you.  

You wanted to break down, just fall to the floor in a heap and stay there until the ground ate you up but you had to get out of his building. The lift was stifling, a too small metal box with mirrored walls that showed you your red eyes and running nose and face contorted with the effort of trying not to cry, with the fact that you were crying anyway.  

You had never felt so stupid. Humiliated. You wanted to scrape your skin from your body with the shame of it. Of course he didn’t want a relationship with you. A man who already loved you and loved you for years didn’t want a relationship with you anymore; why would Sungbin, with the world at his feet, settle for you?  

* 

You were crying on the subway again. You had sworn you wouldn’t do that. Not after the break-up. Not once you’d finally stopped crying over San. You weren’t going to be that person, that’s what you’d said. No one took any notice; no one said anything; everyone averted their eyes, but you could still feel their attention, were still so aware of the way they were not noticing you. You were a weirdo, a pathetic woman crying on the subway in the middle of a Friday afternoon.  

When you got off the train, you considered throwing yourself on the tracks. You would never have done it. Too many people around. A traumatised driver. Delayed and cancelled trains. Compounding your worthlessness by ruining other people’s days? You hadn’t sunk that low, not yet.  

You traipsed home, your feet feeling lead-heavy, your legs feeling weak and, as soon as the door to your apartment closed behind you, you dropped to the floor. You gasped in huge, choking sobs; you couldn’t see for your tears and could barely breathe. Your chest felt as though it were caving in on you, squeezing the life out of you. You dragged your nails across your skin to try to feel something else, something different, some other kind of pain and then a thought came to you, sharper than it had been for months, clear before where it had been vague. A directive, not just a thought anymore. 

There was a reason you didn’t keep razors in the house but your nails certainly weren’t cutting it. Then you remembered the knives Yoongi had bought you, how he had impressed upon you that they were sharp, that they were good quality and barely used so they should still, now, be sharp. You dragged your body to the kitchen counter and ripped open a drawer. You picked one at random – it didn’t matter which – and sat back down. You shuffled to pull off your cycle shorts and there they were, your mosaic thighs, criss-crosses of light, thin lines and thicker scar tissue. You had always taken a weird pride in the neatness of it. You had always cut carefully and deliberately, as though you were creating something other than scars, other than a mess, other than something you had to hide from everyone. You went over them again, re-cutting all the old lines, each sharp slice of pain a relief, grounding, pulling you back from somewhere.  

The relief made you feel hysterical, silly even, the strange, old euphoria of hurting yourself, of being in control of that hurt rushing through you and making you dizzy. It was like coming home. Your breathing came more smoothly and your heart slowed and your tears began to dry and you couldn’t stop, not yet. You had to see how far you could go. A little more. You needed just a little more. You had plenty of real estate; you could make more. You could expand the design, your bloody, little, monochromatic Mondrian.  

You felt empty when you stopped. Drained. Exhausted. Sick to your stomach. You let yourself fall sideways, lying on your dirty kitchen floor. You had nothing left in you. You lay there, unmoving, letting your brain tell you whatever it wanted. You didn’t care anymore. About anything. You had nothing. You had nothing to give and no one to give it to anyway. If you blipped out of existence, well, that would be the best-case scenario. Like Buffy’s key in reverse. Blink, and you had never existed at all. That would have been nice.  

It would still be nice. If you could just disappear off the face of the earth. You couldn’t bear to look towards the future – a future you didn’t want, that you knew wouldn’t be better than this. The thought of it made your soul shrivel, made you dig your nails into your reddened thighs, made you cringe and wince. When would it be over? Why couldn’t it be now?  

* 

You distantly heard your intercom ring but it felt as if it were coming from another world. You were gone. You were out of this world. No one missed you. Your apartment was a glitch, a tiny black hole where no one could go and no one wanted to go. It rang for what could have been a short time or a long time—you'd lost all sense of it. Then you heard knocking at your door.  

Then more knocking. 

Then something akin to thumping. 

“Hey,” Yoongi’s voice rang cleanly through the wood and metal. “Are you in?” 

Your phone started buzzing noisily on your side of the door, rattling against the floor bar in the entryway. Then there was silence for a while. You assumed he had gone away. 

Your door beeped and swung open and there were footsteps, the quiet flomp of shoes hitting the floor, the rustle of a carrier bag. You remembered you had given him your codes in the interest of fairness -- you did have his, after all. You felt so detached from everything that you didn’t know how you felt about that. Yoongi quietly called out for you. You didn’t respond. Didn’t even feel like you could.  

Your apartment was small enough that he could survey the entire space in a few small steps, so he would barely have to enter before he would see you. You knew the moment he did; you felt the way the air was sucked out of the room for a second. You felt him freeze, could hear the seconds tick by on the clock on the wall. Then he came into your line of sight, kneeling in front of you, saying your name. 

“Fuck, don’t be dead,” he whispered.  

He held his hand underneath your nose and felt you breathing. You felt the weight of the sigh that left him.  

“Shit, fuck.” 

He bent over, turning his head to try to catch your eyes; you could see him but you weren’t looking at him. You weren’t looking at anything. He was a blurry approximation of a man in front of you. He called your name for a third time.  

“You, uh, are you alright? ... fuck, fucking stupid. No, obviously not. Fuck. Ok. Uh. I-. Can I... What can I do?” 

You couldn’t give him an answer. It was as if all speech and movement had been taken from you. You really had nothing left. You couldn’t give him anything. You felt like a husk and that was all you wanted to be. 

“Shit, what should I do? I.. I do-. Well. Ok. Can you sit up?”  

You couldn’t even shake your head. You were aware of him continuing to mutter to himself. He stood up and disappeared for a minute or two; you heard the open and shut of cupboards, the rifling through of your jars and bottles and boxes. He returned with a light load. 

“I have to-” he started. “I’m going to. You.. I have to- I'm going to touch you, ok? I have to lift you up?” 

He hesitated as he came closer but was firm when he gripped your arms and lifted your body off the floor, pulled you sitting upright. You tipped your head back against the cupboard and a deep sigh pushed air from your lungs.  

“I still have to- this might hurt. You don’t have much stuff. I, uh, yeah, ok. I have to clean this.” 

You closed your eyes when he pressed a soaked cotton pad to your thigh. The burning sting of antiseptic made you feel a little bit alive but it was so short-lived.  

He was muttering again. 

“Fucking hell. I can’t. You don’t have anything useful. How am I-. What... This is... Fuck, this is going to need stitches. Is it?” 

You’d almost never heard him talk so much, not like this, not to himself, not with all these half-finished, curtailed sentences, this stopping and starting. Yoongi was straight-forward, even when he was feeling chatty. This Yoongi was going around in circles.  

When your eyes finally focused on him, he looked pale, paler than usual. A little grey possibly. His mouth was pulled in a taut, grim line when he wasn’t mumbling himself through the task.  

“Still fucking bleeding? Shit, did I make it bleed again? I can’t- I...” 

He sat back a little and looked at you; his eyes were sharp and focused and you couldn’t look at them. Yoongi took your chin in his hand, less gently than you might have expected, and he held you there until you looked at him.  

“How can you not have a fucking first-aid kit? What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” The anger in his voice registered only dimly. “There’s a pharmacy on the corner and I’m going to go there.” He paused and his eyes were steely and his jaw tight as he worked his brain around how to say what he needed to. “I’m going to go and I’m going to come back and if I get back here and you’re dead, I am going to kill you, ok? I know I promised to kill you but I was fucking joking and you’re not allowed to be dead. Is that clear?” 

His face softened as he waited for an answer. You managed to nod your head. He held you a few more seconds before he stood and walked out.  

* 

It could have been only seconds or it could have been hours until he returned—you neither knew nor cared—but he did return and he dropped a plastic bag on the floor beside you. He tipped it upside down and dumped its contents. He wasn’t looking at you now, not at your face, just at your legs, as he cleaned and tended and muttered to himself some more. He unwrapped bandages and folded over gauze and you let him lift your legs and place them back down. You let him do whatever he needed to, wanted to. It didn’t matter.  

When he was finished, he sat back and sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and you saw his eyes alight on something to your left. You couldn’t read the expression that came over his face. Something like horror, something like disgust, something like despair. He leaned forward onto his hands and grabbed the offending object; he threw it into the sink with a metallic clatter.  

He sat opposite you for some time. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. You felt hollow. You could hear it, the wind howling through your empty spaces. You felt like you were all empty space. Just an echo of nothingness trapped in skin. Every part of you hurt, as if the pain were radiating out from your heart, filling the void inside you with a sharp, persistent ache. You couldn’t talk. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it, to have to hear yourself, hear your existence continuing in the world. It hurt. As long as you were silent, you could fade away, you told yourself. Just disappear. Yoongi would go and you would be alone and you could just disappear. 

“Do you want to eat?” he asked. “You should eat.”  

The thought evidently set him on a path because he stood and opened your fridge, opened your cupboards, looking for food. He stepped over you and then stopped, foot in mid-air. He turned back to you. 

“If I’m going to cook, you’re in the way. Can you move?” 

You blinked. You sighed. You looked down. Then you felt his arms wrap around you as he pulled you to your feet. It was an awkward drag and shuffle to the sofa, your feet tripping over themselves, Yoongi lifting but not really carrying you.  

“Fuck, sorry,” he said on a heavy exhale as you dropped like a stone onto the sofa. “I’m going to cook now.” 

* 

He held a bowl out in front of you and, when you didn’t take it, he picked up your hands and placed them against the ceramic, lowering it all into your lap. Then he sat next to you. 

“Eat.” 

You looked at the food, steaming hot; it smelt nice. You wondered what on earth it was and how he could have found the right ingredients in your house. You were still not exactly domesticated, despite your efforts. Yoongi kicked your foot. 

“I mean it. Eat.” 

You sighed and continued staring into the bowl. Eating would mean conceding to living, to staying alive. You felt defeated but you also wanted to avoid this defeat. Everything about you felt wrong. Hideous. Like things were crawling beneath your skin. You didn’t want to continue that existence. You didn’t want to feed it. 

Yoongi took the bowl from your hands and placed it on your coffee table. 

“Fine,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Absolutely not. You shook your head.  

“What do you want to do? I don’t know what to do. What can I do?” 

You, again, fell sideways, lying on the sofa with your legs still dangling down. It wasn’t entirely comfortable but that hardly mattered. You couldn’t answer; you didn’t know.  

Then Yoongi did something that you wouldn’t in a thousand years have expected him to. Just as you had, in his apartment, weeks ago, he crawled behind you and wrapped his arms around you. You stiffened, convinced for a second you might split and shatter. He was warm and soft and you could smell his hair and his breath tickled your neck and it hurt so much. It all hurt so much.  

You breathed in deep and when you exhaled, you choked, crying again. You didn’t know you had more in you. You had thought you were dry, but just as there was no end to your sadness, there apparently was no end to your tears.  

You lay there, letting him hold you as you cried, letting the sun lower in the sky, letting the stars come out.  

“I’m fucking sick of it,” you gasped. “Sick of it, sick of it, sick of it.” 

“Sick of what?” 

“Everything. I hate it. I hate everything. I hate it. I hate being alive. I hate being me. I can’t stand it. I don’t know how people do it. I just want it to stop. I just want it to stop.” 

“Life?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I get it. I don’t want you to stop being you, though. For what it’s worth.”  

You couldn’t hear that kind of thing. Not now. You couldn’t take it. 

“You just don’t know me,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying and thick from new tears.  

“Tell me, then.” 

“I fucking suck.” 

“How?” 

“Literally everything I am. Fundamentally flawed. I’m broken and stupid and I can’t be normal and no one can ever love me because I’m this. I’m just this all the time and I can’t get better and I thought that I could but it’s just me and my fucking broken head and I ruin everything. I ruin everything for everyone and always will and no one can stand me. No one can and I don’t fucking blame them. I can’t stand me either. It makes me sick to be such a useless heap of junk. I’m a worthless waste of space because what is the point of me? What do I do? I need people, I cling to people, I make myself their problem until they can’t take it anymore. I’m depressed and stupid and I will never achieve anything and never do anything and I might as well just die right now because who cares? Literally who cares. I tried and I fucking tried but I’m still me and I can’t run from it or change it and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be here. I don’t know what to do anymore. There is nothing for me. The future is black and it’s bleak because I’ll be there. I’m always there. I can’t get away from myself. I can’t bear it. I have to live like this? For years? More and more years? Twenty? Or thirty? Forty years of this? It makes me sick to think about. I can’t think about it. I can’t think about having to be alive like this for another day let alone any longer. I hate it. I hate being me and I hate being alive and I just wish I wasn’t. I wish I could just disappear. I’m a broken, useless, fucked in the head piece of shit and no one will ever love me because they can’t. I’m unlovable. I’m this and it makes me unlovable but I can’t change it so I will always be unlovable and I can’t do it. I can’t live like that. I can’t do it anymore.” 

You took a deep, shuddering breath and Yoongi said nothing. He was quiet for long enough for your shame to creep back in, curling its fingers around the door frame and pulling itself in, unbidden and unwanted. You were embarrassed now, again. You felt stupid. Again. You felt pointless and petty and pathetic and you were about to shrug Yoongi off, to tell him to leave, to crawl into your bed and hide under the sheets when his arms tightened around you. You heard as well as felt him take a deep breath. 

“Yeah, I understand.”  

There was a pregnant pause and Yoongi cleared his throat. 

“But I don’t think any of those things about you. For what it’s worth.” 

Chapter Four | Masterlist | Chapter Six

[borderline-puppy-disorder]

poll just because I'm interested. tw for self harm

so this is not meant to promote or romanticize self harm. I'm simply asking if you find scars attractive. obviously don't cut yourself just because someone finds that attractive. this is just a poll that's anonymously asking for your opinions.

imagine someone you are attracted to no longer self harms but they have scars. would you find that attractive, neutral, or a turn off.

[saskiaxblog]

That blade I'm holding is my only friend