#tw suicide implied

[hanafubukki]

Death.

That’s what would end this dream.

But it wasn’t fair, this was supposed to be a happy dream was it not?

But someone needed to die in order for Lilia to wake up.

In order for them to stop Malleus.

It would be cruel to have Mallenoa die in front of Lilia, in a dream that was supposed to end happily.

It would be too much if any of you were to cause such a demise.

But any other answer would be just as cruel.

The devoted son? No, that would break Lilia.

The overly loyal prodigee? No, that would add trauma and guilt for Lilia and might affect his relationship with Baul.

Grim had little to no ties with Lilia, his death would not cause him to wake up nor would you allow any harm to come to him.

…so that left only one answer.

Yours.

It would have to be the shock from your death that would awaken everyone from this dream.

Your hands shook.

Will this work?

And if it didn’t, what would happen to you? To the others? To Malleus?

As you stare at Mallenoa and the victorious fae army celebrating their win against the Knight of Dawn.

You had made a choice.

You breathed.

Deep breathes in.

Deep breaths out.

You swiftly turned.

I’m so sorry.

You knew your choice would bring pain to a number of people. Lilia and Malleus, who would lose a sister and mother respectively. They would also loose you if anything went wrong in this dream and reality.

Sebek, Silver, and Grim would feel devastated at not being able to stop you.

But this was the only way and the one least painful.

…you hoped.

You had never confessed your feelings to Lilia. You didn’t have the chance to, especially after he announced his departure.

And you couldn’t be selfish and weigh him down with your feelings.

But you hoped he cared enough about you that it would work. That the fleeing glances from General Lilia was an indicator of his feelings for you.

You allowed your self to be selfish just this once. You hoped that you would be enough to wake him up because anything else would be too painful.

If not, then at least it was just your death and the least painful of the four.

If this doesn’t work, I can at least keep Malleus company…despite his inky self and how awkward it might be.

By now, you can hear voices questioning what you were doing. You can hear the alarms in their voices as you near the edge of a cliff without any falter in your steps.

You turn around, there’s barely any space left between you and the air that would welcome you.

The others are in varying degrees of panic.

General Lilia had noticed the commotion by now, his eyes widening as he took in your form.

Good, he would be too far to get to you in time.

You smiled at them.

It will be alright.

…you fell back.

…only to wake up gasping back in Diasomnia’s lounge.

With several gasps echoing right after yours.

Part 2

[transmasccofee]

the dangers of being God

+

(read left to right)

[bl33ditout]

i should start 2024 with a bang (gun to the head)

[nartothelar]

Lol now you just got us wondering who, or what, is possessing Emmet and why. And since Ingo has just exposed that he /knows/ how they might use the fact that they ARE controlling Emmet to keep Ingos mouth shut.

a warning

[nortess]

mwah💋

[roachisnonbinary]

sorry not sorry 😇 [i spent nearly 2 hours straight on this]

[wreckrinho]

I've been watching a lot of Steven Universe recently.

Gumball doesn't feel alive And his body is slowly looking more and more like a corpse

[thefiresofpompeii]

is it pitifully sad to stay alive just because you’re waiting for the next instalment of your favourite media to drop. because i really don’t have much going for me but i want to know what happens next. fear of missing out is stronger than the loss of a will to live. also maybe i’m a little afraid of the possibility of an eternal afterlife

[borderlinereminders]

We so often see posts along the lines of “you’re amazing! You didn’t give up!”

But the truth is, some of us did and we sometimes feel we aren’t amazing because we tried to give up. The only reason we are here is because we failed for whatever reason.

So, this is to the ones who did give up. Who tried but failed, and not because they wanted to keep trying at the time. The ones who are only around because their plans to give up failed somehow.

You are still amazing. You aren’t a failure because you tried to give up at some point. You still survived that. And you’re still here. You deserve more credit than you give yourself.

[saintluil]

call

[transmasccofee]

Saiki mental health timeline

[sanjipussyindulgence]

something about the way this sanji figurine is stanced just kills me

[tangledinink]

So if they all have the kraang happen, does Leo’s sacrifice happen too?

What’s gemini Donnie’s reaction?

Gemini is my favorite au of yours and i love the twin angst lol

Honestly, I'm not sure yet. I haven't planned that far ahead.

But let's say it does, hypothetically.

I'm not sure what Gemini's relationship would look like that far into the future. But right now, at least, the two of them are extremely co-dependent. As far as they're concerned, it's them against the world. Who else is there that they can rely on and trust besides each other?... Neither of them has ever had friends or peers their own age. They've been fairly isolated their entire lives-- but they've always had each other. They live together. They fight together. They die together.

Donnie has no intention of living as just one part of a whole. Where Leo goes, he will follow, and vice versa. So if Leo sacrifices himself, Donnie will find a way to be wherever he thinks Leo is-- by whatever means necessary.

[danyayeni2]

TW: HANGING, ALLUDING TO SUICIDE

don’t have the energy to color this, so have this.

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Alternate AU: Awake

Mark is alive. Despite everything. So why does he feel...different?

TW: death, suicide themes/implications, blood, body horror

Notes: this is a little over 3000 words long. I wrote something about every other turned alt so. Why not the main man himself?

-----

September 16th, 1992. 3:33 AM

 The silence was deafening.

The cold nipping at his fingers and face like a cold, dead winter night.

It was nothing but darkness for miles and miles.

Was he dead? Was this the Hell he had heard of from all the bible stories he read?

Was this purgatory? Nothing at all?

He hated it. The cold inside his bones.

He wanted to scream. His voice never reached his ears. Muted.

He wanted to cry. Tears never streamed down his face.

He wanted to feel the warmth of his families embrace, but no one came.

He didn’t want to be dead. He didn’t like the silence. The cold. The darkness. He hated it. He hated it more than he’s hated anything in life. He needed out. He needed to get out of this hell he found himself in. He needed out. He needed out. He needed out. HE NEEDED OUT. HE NEEDED—

Mark awoke to the sound of faint laughter and ringing in his ears. He couldn’t move, with even his eyelids feeling heavier than elephants. He couldn’t speak, his mind feeling blank aside from the unimaginable, throbbing pain reverberating in his skull. He could see the ceiling of his bedroom, with the faint moonlight pouring in through the second story window. His eyes twitched, Mark finally being able to process his position.

He was laid across the bed, with something in his right hand, feeling something warm spritzed on his hand. He was on top of a puddle of some sort of liquid, which stained his bed sheets. He was still wearing his light grey sweatshirt and pale pink sweatpants, along with the gold cross necklace lying against his chest. His chestnut brown hair was a mess, somewhat covering his left eye and forehead. He turned his head, slowly, towards his right arm, feeling dread building up in his gut when he saw what he was holding; a pistol. The liquid he felt running down his fingers was blood.

It wasn’t a nightmare.

He was supposed to be dead.

Mark watched as his stiff joints finally began to move, shaking off the rigor mortis and twitching to a sitting position, his head held low. He dropped the gun, it clattering against the floor as he rose to his feet, feeling his legs creak and wane as his weight was put on them. He felt so heavy, yet as light as a feather. He stumbled towards the door, his body moving like a porcelain doll with stiff joints trying to walk.

He reached for the doorknob, pausing when he finally processed that blood was streaming down his face from the hole in his head. He still felt the bitter cold within him, no longer able to feel the beating of his heart. He lifted his hand towards his face, lightly touching the right side of his face. His skin was as cold as ice, feeling as if he had slept in the snow. Where did his warmth go?

A sharp pain hit his face, causing him to snap out of his shock for a moment. A large “crack” stretched from the hole in his head towards his right eye, simultaneously causing the eye to go blind. Mark pressed his hand against his head, feeling more cracks forming from both sides of his head, seeing chips of his skin falling to the ground next to his feet. He used his other hand to grab the doorknob, throwing the door open despite his hesitation and sudden fear.

He stumbled around the hallway, slamming against the walls as he attempted to stand up straight, unable to do so. He watched as his right eye fell out of its now broken socket, falling to the wooden floor. He was falling apart, like a broken piece of ceramic. He walked towards the stairway, all while wanting to scream in fear and anguish, but being unable to find his voice. He tripped over his own feet, falling forward and tumbling down the stairs. His body cracked and broke, his top teeth falling out of his head like a strange dream he once had. He fell hard onto the carpeted floor, lying still as he felt the pain rushing over his now hollow body.

Was this the true Hell he was supposed to be in? Where was his friend? Where was his family? Was he all alone in this hellscape?

Mark slowly and shakily held himself up, looking down to see the new splotch of blood staining the carpet under his head. “…H…Hello?” Mark squeaked, looking around the living room and seeing no more than the furniture inside. Mark pushed himself to his feet, wincing when he once again felt his legs cry out. He wandered around the room, unable to see anything but darkness through his right eye, and feeling a burning, stabbing pain in his head.

He entered the bathroom, supporting himself on the sink. His fingers were turning purple and black, feeling as if he dipped them into ice water. Was he rotting? He wasn’t dead yet. He looked up through his messy bangs, staring into the mirror in front of him. If he could’ve felt his heart, he knew it would’ve felt like it was sinking through his torso. He stared through his tear filled, bloodshot left eye at what stared back at him.

He didn’t have a face anymore. A large hole consumed the right side of his face, breaking through his porcelain-like skin. He no longer had a mouth, or a nose, or even a right eye anymore. He could only see his bottom jaw and teeth through the cold, dark, endless void that was inside of his hollow body. Cracks spread out from the hole, seeping crimson from every crevice.

He backed away from his reflection, refusing to believe it was him he was looking at. He held his hand up to the hole in his head, seeing that even his arm had faint cracks in it from the fall down the stairs. He could feel it; the void inside his form. It wasn’t an illusion after all. He grabbed his head, feeling his headache slowly become unbearable. He shook his head, hitting his hands against it as he hunched over. The lights were flickering, the mirror cracking slightly as Mark felt as if his head would explode from the pain he was in. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He needed to scream.

He let out a loud, ear-splitting screech, hearing that his voice was split between multiple unrecognizable voices. The light bulbs exploded, and the mirror cracked, its shards falling from its base. Outside, even the bulbs from the streetlights began to flicker, shaking slightly. He continued to scream, feeling blood run down from his eye and pour from the holes in his head. He screamed until the lights all went out, the homes around his losing power and even the entire block being plunged into darkness. Mark abruptly stopped yelling, hunching over and holding his head low.  

He slowly turned towards the doorway, shambling out of the room and into the living room once again. He felt something within him; a burning feeling that pierced through the pain and soreness his body was in. He felt immense hatred; the want to kill. But he never wanted to hurt anyone right? He didn’t need to hurt anyone, did he? No matter how much he didn’t want to kill, the feeling bubbled up inside like lava. He looked forward, his pitch black iris focusing on something in the darkness.

A tall figure stood in the corner, wearing a shirt and shorts. He was tall and thin, but vaguely recognizable, even despite the missing mouth and the shadow covering the right side of his face; Cesar. The alternate that trapped him in his room. The one that all but forced Mark to pull the trigger. The one that mocked him, laughing at his futile attempts at escape. However, something was different with it. Through its one visible eye, Mark sensed something emanating from it.

“Why...are...you...here?” It asked. 

Mark continued to stare at it, his one eye wide and full of hatred. He didn’t even notice that he was slowly rising into the air, lifting the weight off of his fragile legs. That…thing was the reason he was like this. He hated it. He hated it more than the frigid cold inside of him. Forgive me, Lord, for I will do what I must.

Cesar’s alternate disappeared through the front door, running out into the night. However, as it moved on, it saw something pass its field of vision; a figure. It glanced to its side, seeing Mark hovering around ten feet in the air outside of his home, his harsh, piercing glare fixed on it. The alternate returned the glare, but couldn’t understand the feeling it felt deep inside. It shifted its face as Mark watched, seeing it turn into the real Cesar’s face. It smiled wide before speaking.

“I’m surprised I put up with you as long as I did.” It stated. “You’re nothing. Nothing but a scared boy with a gun. A coward.”

Mark didn’t give it a response, only inching closer, blood dripping onto the pavement and grass below. Cesar’s alternate felt its smile begin to fade when it felt itself slowly being pulled up into the air, all while Mark’s glare stared deep into its “soul”. Mark approached it, feeling only more rage when he saw it was the real Cesar’s face.

It went to speak before its smile was ripped from its face, feeling something deep inside of it; a sharp, burning pain. It looked into Mark’s eye as it fell to the ground, looking at its bony, misshapen hands to see that they were turning black and falling apart. It scrambled around, feeling its form breaking, his face shifting between Cesar, and its true alternate form without its input. It felt as if it was being torn apart from the inside out, thick, dark blood pouring out of its eyes, mouth, and nose. Its stolen voices echoed through the air, screaming in unison. Its body was turning into nothing but torn flesh, blood, and dust before its very eyes, its atoms and very being torn apart as if it was nothing. It looked at Mark as it finally realized what it was feeling; an emotion it never felt before that very moment:

Fear.

“Help! Please!” It called, as if it mattered. “I-I’m your friend! I’ve always be-en your friend! Mark please! I thought we were best friends!”

Mark only responded with distain-filled silence as he watched it writhe in pain and anguish, screaming discordantly and begging for mercy as if it didn’t ignore Mark’s similar pleas. Mark listened to its screams fade, its convulsing body growing still, leaving nothing but a half rotten flesh covered skeleton in its place, its distorted face stuck as a look of pure horror. Mark continued to stare at it, feeling nothing other than the pure hatred inside himself, realizing killing the alternate had done nothing to satiate it. He looked out into the night, raising himself into the air before looking out into town. He still felt he had unfinished business, unknowing of what it was before his eye widened.

Cesar.

The real Cesar was the one that brought him to his fate.

He knew there was an alternate in his home; the cameras were nothing but a ploy to get him there.

Cesar never really cared, did he? He only wanted Mark to die, alone, scared, and by a monster he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Cesar was still out there, living in blissful ignorance as Mark suffered. Cesar deserved to suffer, just like he did.

When Mark felt his headache spike once again, he grasped his skull, slowly falling to the ground before slamming against the pavement, lucky that his legs didn’t shatter from the impact. He hated Cesar; his only “friend” that decided he was too good for him. Decided Mark would be better off dead if it meant he didn’t have to deal with him. The alternate was the easiest way to do it, with no blood on Cesar’s hands. He was a traitor, and a coward. He abandoned Mark the second he was no longer useful, ignoring his cries for help. Cesar deserved to die, just like Mark did.

Mark looked up, lightly rubbing his cross necklace with his thumb. He wanted to feel warmth inside of him again. He wanted to feel his heartbeat, and wanted to feel whole again. If killing Cesar would bring him anything close to how he used to be, Mark was willing to take the chance.

Cesar would pay for what he did.

All of Mandela will know of Mark’s betrayal.

The officers who refused to answer his cries, his friends and family who decided he wasn’t worth saving; all of them will feel his pain and suffering.

He no longer cared if God would turn away from him, for Mark had turned from God already.

All that was left was him.

 Mark hovered above the gravel road, almost dropping out of the air multiple times as he attempted to figure out how to properly move while midair. He continued moving until he saw something in the distance; a house, sitting in an opening in the trees. It was Cesar’s house, being the very same one Mark went to three days prior to turn on the useless cameras. His brow furrowed, his right hand curling into a fist as he approached the home.

 Cesar sat on the couch, wearing a plain white shirt and red shorts as he stared at the TV in front of him, hearing his mother in the kitchen. He furrowed his brows before sighing deeply, getting the attention of Ms. Torres.

“I just…don’t get it.” He stated.

“Don’t get what?” His mother asked from the archway in between the living room and kitchen. “Is everything alright?”

“…I…I don’t know.” Cesar muttered as he rubbed his eyes with his hands.  

“Do you need anything?” She offered, her brows tilting upwards as she watched Cesar sit up straight.

           Cesar sighed slightly before crossing his arms. “…I…maybe I should go check on him.” Cesar muttered, standing up quickly before grabbing his car keys from the side table. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

           “Check on who?”

           “Mark.” Cesar responded. “He hasn’t called me in over three days. I…I’m afraid something might’ve happened.”

As Cesar stormed towards the door, his mother called from the living room. “But what about the curfew?”

           “To hell with the curfew.” Cesar responded before slamming the front door shut behind him. Ms. Torres sighed deeply, crossing her arms as she heard Cesar’s car back out of the driveway. From the back hallway however, the noise of the glass doors in the guest room opening was heard.

Mark entered the room, his feet a few inches off the ground as he stared through the darkness, being silent before he heard Ms. Torres in the other room. “Hello?” She called, the fear in her voice evident. Mark froze for a second, realizing the car leaving wasn’t who he thought it was. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do, but his anger didn’t let him have any second thoughts. 

Ms. Torres grabbed a knife from the block on the kitchen counter, inching towards the back hallway with it in hand, almost holding her breath as she did so. She continued to walk down the hallway before lightly pushing open the door to the guest bedroom, freezing when she saw Mark’s body, barely visible from the limited light coming into the room. “…Oh…Mark?” She asked, chuckling nervously. “You…could’ve just told me or Cesar you were coming. He’s…going to your house now, actually, he’s been…worried…about you.”

Mark didn’t respond, not even moving an inch. It was as if he was a statue. Ms. Torres swallowed hard, her eyes widening when she saw the blood on Mark’s right shoulder. “O-Oh, are…are you…alright?”

Mark took a step forward, causing Ms. Torres’s heart to drop before she held out her knife, realizing it wasn’t Mark she was looking at. “G-Get away from me!” She yelled as Mark continued to float towards her. “N-NO!”

She ran down the hall, back towards the kitchen before grasping the home phone on the wall, shakily dialing 911 before holding the phone up to her ear. She looked back down the hallway, seeing Mark barely peeking out from the darkness behind the doorway. Ms. Torres felt her blood run cold when the line didn’t connect, hanging up before dialing more numbers; Cesar had his cell phone on him, meaning he could still be warned about Mark.

Ms. Torres spoke a small Spanish prayer under her breath and through her tears as Mark continued to approach her from behind. She held the knife tight in her hand as she waited for the line to connect, but never heard anything before she felt a hand grab her knife wielding arm. She fought against it, feeling it push the knife towards her neck before she dropped it, shoving Mark away before stumbling into the living room. The phone fell, its cord letting it dangle from its base as the line finally connected. Ms. Torres watched as Mark looked at the knife, it floating into the air before being pointed towards her.

“H-llo?” The distorted voice of Cesar came from the phone, its reception being broken by Mark’s presence alone. He couldn’t hear anything from the other side, not even the screams of his mother as Mark slit her throat.

“-ell-o?”

The phone continued to dangle before Mark stiffly walked towards it, grasping it before holding it up to his ear. The phone reception glitched, screams being heard before disconnecting. Mark calmly placed the phone back onto the hook, blood being smeared on the cream colored plastic. He looked towards Ms. Torres’s body, which laid on the living room carpet, a look of familiar horror on her face. Mark used his newfound telekinetic abilities to drag her body away, a trail of blood from her torn throat following her.

Two bodies. Mark had the blood of both himself, and two other bodies staining his clothes and skin. Yet it still didn’t feel like it was enough. He still had one more he needed to add. Perhaps then he’d feel peace again.

             Mark had everything in place. Cesar was almost home; he could feel it. He sat on Cesar’s roof, his eye watching as two headlights grew closer from the gravel street. He watched as Cesar hastily parked his car in the driveway, not noticing Mark at all as he ran into the home. Of course he didn’t. It turned out he never cared about Mark anyway, so why would he start now?

           Mark sat still, hearing nothing but silence as Cesar walked around the home. His blank expression remained unmoving when he heard Cesar’s bloodcurdling scream.

[thedecayingapplefiles]

[⚠️ tw: sewerslide mention/implied ⚠️]

Part Twenty-Two

Sweetiebelle ran, unable to look back as she came to the stop at the edge of a cliff. She was panting heavily, tears pouring down her face.

She just lost everyone close to her. The infected were right. They should have given up hope. There was no way they could win. Sweetie just wanted to see her friends again. She wanted to see her sister. Fluttershy got to see her friends at least.

Sweetie took a step back, one of her back hooves slipping slightly off the side of the cliff.

...This could work. She wouldn't give those monsters the satisfaction of killing her. She'd let them starve.

With a deep breath, she backed up fully, air whipping past her body as she fell. Her eyes closed, images of her best friends and her sister flashing in her mind. She smiled to herself. She'd see them soon.

The infected ponies have won.

But without a food source of magic, they would be forced to starve, just like Sweetiebelle thought. So in the end... Sweetie had found a way to defeat them.