Monday, March 12, 2012

The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

asktouceyirl:

“Don’t care.” The response was quick and hard, Sanders finding his fingers feeling thick as he fumbled at the keys of his phone. “Gonna… taxi. Walk. Something.” He shook his head, legs guiding him outside without his knowledge. His world was so very small at that moment, focused on the phone and Toucey and nothing else. Drive? Fuck that, he didn’t care. He was getting to his brother. He only looked up - wiping his eyes when did he start crying fuck that he didn’t care - when a familiar horn sounded.

Lily was waiting in his car outside, looking panicked herself, leaning out the window. “Frank texted me too and I knew you boys weren’t going to be sober. Get in.” In these moments it was easy to see how the petite girly little woman with the short hair was a Toucey, the words so utterly commanding it was as though being able to take charge of a situation were a hereditary character trait.

Worth sat in the backseat. He said nothing. Lily said nothing. Sanders said nothing.

He remembered when he was young how much he hated sitting in the back. He sat in the back with his family, with his friends, and goddamn was it hard to feel cool while doing so. He had always felt as if he had no control when he sat in the backseat, and now, having no control over anything including himself for the entire day, he felt stripped of any power, any life-force, any will to endure that he had once had.

Lily screeched the car to a halt just past the sliding emergency doors and the three of them spilled out of the vehicle. They were running down the halls, shoes slapping against the sterile linoleum, shoving nurses and patients alike out of the way. Worth skidded to a halt behind Sanders with Lily coming up behind the both of them. He looked over the top of Sanders’ dark hair to see a doctor walking briskly towards them. Worth could feel himself pale at the sight of the white lab coat and calculated expression. He briefly thought about how glad he was that this never became his job.

(Source: ask-luceworth)

The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

asktouceyirl:

“If… ya wanna.” Sanders shrugged. “I just… y’know…. we care about’cha.” He gulped down a seventh drink. “‘Cause… faggy ‘r not, yer with m’brother. He likes you fer some reason.” Sanders giggled, hiccuped, and took another swig.

It was then that his phone went off, and he fumbled with it, squinting at the screen to read it. It was all of ten seconds and the phone left his hand, dropping to the floor from his limp, shaking hands. The look on Sanders’s face was one of pure terror, unmasked and unabated, fueled by alcohol. Shaking hands grabbed for his phone and Worth’s arm, missing the arm and landing on the collar of his shirt. He pulled Worth close, quickly, mouthing words he couldn’t get out.

“We gotta go. Gotta… go.” He managed. He gulped, swallowing thickly and quickly flashing Worth the screen instead of trying to say more. It was from Frank, and it was brief and hard to read from the shaking hand, but it was enough.

Come quick. Toucey dead. Need you here.

There were no words: no words and no emotions and no thoughts. His mind was blank but for the words on the screen. This had to be a joke. A sick, twisted joke. They would go to the hospital and everything would be fine and Lamont would be out of surgery and sleeping and Frankie would say it was their dad playing tricks to get Worth away from his family, and in all honesty, Worth would rather have that than have Lamont be dead…

Worth’s arm itched. The cuts were healing. He wanted to rip off the bandages and tear the wounds open again; break down the process. Break down the positive:negative flow of the world. There had to be a give, a break, anything at all to prove to him that all of this was a sickening nightmare; a joke.

He stood slowly with Sanders, hand latching to his bandaged arm, squeezing tightly, forcing blood to well and lightly spot the perfect white of gauze. He glanced at the empty beer bottles.

"Can’t drive." Was all he could think to say.

(Source: ask-luceworth)

Saturday, March 10, 2012
[[ ahahah i’m posting this so i can use it on my personal blog B| it needs an image host
I’LL BE READY TO RP TOMORROW NIGHT HOPEFULLY ]]

[[ ahahah i’m posting this so i can use it on my personal blog B| it needs an image host

I’LL BE READY TO RP TOMORROW NIGHT HOPEFULLY ]]

Friday, March 9, 2012

mintfish:

i know a weenie man

he owns a weenie stand

Thursday, March 1, 2012
onefangedwondergirl:

friendlyneighborhooddeliveryman:

You can almost see Conrad butt.

ASDFGHJKL


[[ not only is this hot but(t) YOU GUYS. CREDIT.  ]]

onefangedwondergirl:

friendlyneighborhooddeliveryman:

You can almost see Conrad butt.

ASDFGHJKL

[[ not only is this hot but(t) YOU GUYS. CREDIT.  ]]

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

URGENT: Google privacy policy change

mumbling-mice:

fuckyeahfeminists:

Just got this in an email

In just a few hours, new policies will take effect at Google, endangering your privacy.

Tech publication Gizmodo reports, “things you could do in relative anonymity today [like your web searches], will be explicitly associated with your name, your face, your phone number come March 1st.” And this applies retro-actively if you don’t act today.

You can protect yourself in just 1 minute! Click here for a step-by-step guide to protecting your privacy from Google’s changes.

sharing with my followers because your privacy matters! They had searches from 2008…even showed which pages of which Google Books I viewed and when…spooky.

I paused my web history a few days ago—everyone should do this.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

asktouceyirl:

The first few drinks were also had in silence, the only sounds the chatter around them and the clink of glasses as one ran into another and one drink ran into the next. However, as the alcohol began to flow, words began to spill from Sanders. They started out making sense. He talked about what he dared not say sober - he talked about Michael, about how Michael had been like Worth, had cut, had chewed his arms to death. He talked about how Lamont had been shattered - that his older brother, someone he looked up to, could break so easily - and how he guessed Lamont had been projecting that onto Worth. He started telling stories - stories about how Lamont would hurt himself, or do this, or do that, and even with the beginnings of slurs and the occasional hitch as the man held back tears speaking so about the brother that now sat in surgery for yet one more thing, his voice maintained a heartfelt affection that belayed all gruffness. And as the sixth drink reached his hands, Sanders started another story, face now somber beneath the haze of alcohol and worry and heartache, wiping his nose roughly.

“But back t’the… the cutting thing.” He muttered, having veered from the topic a while ago. “I was… gonna tell you… in the drive, I kept… seein’ this one memory of me and Toucey… when we walked in on Michael. He was… covered in blood. Covered in it. Sitting on the toilet with a razor in his fingers and just… sitting there and his arm was this mess ‘n he just… looked up at us with this face and he was gigglin’… and he looked manic… ‘n like he just wanted us to stop him.” He shook his head, eyes closing as his mind rushed back to the moment, the sound of half crazy giggling and the wide, insane eyes of his brother, the blood smeared on the toilet and the floor and the walls, the razor shaking, and this clear look in Michael’s eyes as though he were sitting there asking them to help because he couldn’t. “He just looked so powerless… Always ask Toucey if he remembers, he says no. But I know. For the longest time he would wake up screamin’… had to check Mike’s bed before he could sleep again.” Sanders finished his drink.

With his seventh drink is his hand, Worth sat silently, listening to Sanders talk just like he had in the parking lot. The world seemed more distant than he could ever remember it being. It was like it was flitting in and out of his peripherals but he could never catch it and look at in the face; never ask it what the fuck was going on and why. He hummed softly at Sanders’ recounting of what was obviously a very dark memory. He couldn’t remember if he had ever looked like that. Come to think of it, he couldn’t even remember what Lamont had looked like the first time he found his friend sitting in the locker room with a razor pressed to his wrist, with blood on the floor, with a blank expression on his face. Worth couldn’t even remember what he was thinking or what drove him to do it, all he could remember was the pain and how it made him feel like he was flying, that it was so much better than the pain he got from fights and burns he got from stoves.

"Ya wan’ me t’talk ‘bout it don’ ya." It wasn’t a question. Worth knew Mickey was okay and that Sanders was relaying memories to him because he was worried. It seemed almost dumb to Worth that the kid cared. He’d only just met him after years of hating him and now suddenly he cared. Now, suddenly, his whole damn family cared. Worth gulped down the rest of his drink.

(Source: ask-luceworth)

The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

asktouceyirl:

And then came the awkward chuckles, the characteristic Toucey giggle that betrayed the hard look on Sanders’s face. “I… figured he had.” He said. “Mikey…” He paused, stopped himself from saying anything more, and rerouted the thoughts. “Bandages. Right.” He made his way back to the house, quietly climbing in the first floor bathroom window and returning with a roll of bandages for Worth. “Don’t want the bar staff getting worried…. or anything.” He chuckled, clearing his throat.

Long fingers gently grabbed the roll of bandages and made quick work of wrapping the gauze over the stained set. Worth swallowed thickly. He needed a few drinks before he talked about any of this, before he was even able to say Lamont’s name without choking on the memories it brought up.

Once he had finished, Worth followed Sanders across the street and down a few blocks to a small dimly lit bar. They took their seats in silence.

(Source: ask-luceworth)

The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

asktouceyirl:

For a long moment Sanders said nothing, just stood there. His expression went hard, though, almost like he might punch someone, but without the fire in his eyes. Eventually, he sighed, putting his head in his hands for a moment. “Let me grab you that bandage.” He said, though no smile came to his face. He couldn’t help but keep glancing at the blood with a sad sort of expression, a haunted display of his features that just wouldn’t leave. And neither would Sanders. He stood there, and stood there, and after a moment his lips formed another question, softer.

“…He ever ask you to stop?” The man looked at Worth with honest eyes, haunted, honest eyes, and quickly looked away with a grimace. “Nevermind, it’s not my place to ask that.”

Worth grimaced slightly at the pain on the man’s face. The hard, sad look in his eyes like someone who had seen too much, who had grown up too fast. He knew that look. He knew that feeling. “S’fine… He said somethin’ a couple times, yeah.”

The Hospital:

asktouceyirl:

ask-luceworth:

Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

“No problem. We can walk to the bar from here, it’ll be easier that way.” Sanders stood, and with a final goodbye to his wife, led Worth from the house. He was down the drive before he said a word. “Your arm is bleeding through the bandages.” He eventually said. He didn’t look at Worth, nor did his voice have any sort of tone. It was just a statement. A statement that understood. “You need me to run get you another? I can hop through the bathroom window real quick so no one will know.”

He turned, and his face was taught with a frown, eyes buried in distant memories. He paused. “Does Toucey know you do that?” The question was simple, but honestly curious and honestly worried.

Worth’s steps faltered and he looked at his arm. Damn it, he didn’t wrap it tight enough. “Yeah, sure.” He shrugged. “If ya wanna.” Worth looked up to see a distant, concerned yet passive expression on Sanders’ face. “He knows.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of the too-big jeans and produced the pack of cigarettes he had taken out of his coat, tapping one out, lighting it, and taking a deep drag. “He knows.”

The Hospital:

asktouceyirl:

And then Sanders was retreating from the dark room with a soft murmured declaration of love cast behind him. He closed the door, smiling softly. “Sorry if she got in your way.” He smiled. “You want to wash up and go? …You’ve got blood on your pants.” The smile faded as he stepped away from the door. “You want to borrow a pair? They’ll be a bit big, but whatever.”

Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

Somehow the pants fit him relatively well (just one miracle after another) and only required that Worth roll up the hem slightly and use a belt to hold them to his skinny hips. He sighed and leaned on the sink as he looked in the mirror. He was tired. He looked more strained that he usually did and it had only been a few hours since learning about Lamont’s condition. Worth felt his jaw. He remembered Lamont made him shave and looked at him like he’d just seen the second coming of Christ. That was the same night he… confessed, if you could call it that. Worth hung his head. Damn it. This was too much. He banged his fist on the sink, causing a straight-razor to clatter to the floor. The blade looked sharp, solid, clean. He crouched and slowly plucked it from the floor, turning it over in his hands. He stood, heartbeat quickening, and rested his elbow on the edge of the sink, arm poised above the basic. Worth swiped the blade quickly over the giving flesh of his wrist, hissing at the sharp tug of the metal. Blood welled quickly, slithering over the side of his arm like Lamont’s blood had slithered through the rubber tubing. He made another cut, another, and another; each one leaving him feeling more lightheaded and distant than the last…

Worth finally emerged from the bathroom wearing too-big pants and a fresh set of bandages on his left arm. He nodded to Sanders who sat at the kitchen table with his wife. “Thanks,” he tugged at the side of the worn jeans. “Fer the pants.”

(Source: ask-luceworth)

Monday, February 27, 2012

The Hospital

asktouceyirl:

“M’not tired.” Laura murmured. “M’not, promises.” She yawned despite herself, snuggling against the soft fur. Sanders stood, stepping to the sink and wiping at his face softly with the bloody towel, finishing his cleaning.

“Heh, you know what’s funny?” Sanders said, leaning against the sink. “Toucey suggested that name. Laura.” He chuckled. “You want me to remove her from you, or you want to carry her?” He gestured to the fact that the little girl had fallen fast asleep against his chest, one little hand clutching his coat.

Worth chuckled. He looked up to catch the soft look on Sanders’ face. So it had been Lamont who had suggested the name, it wasn’t just a coincidence. Son of a bitch. Worth shrugged. “Not so good with kids.” He said softly. Sanders stepped forward and hoisted a whining young girl from Worth’s lap. She clung to his coat, forcing Worth to stand and walk behind Sanders as he carried her to her room. He lingered in the doorway after softly prying her small fingers from his coat, telling her he would be back later, he promised. In the dark room, Worth could see the outline of Sanders hovering over little Laura. In the quiet, the was a sweet, barely audible murmur… something that sounded oddly like “Uncle Worth.”

(Source: ask-luceworth)