Broken Boy (Septiplier [Discontinued]) ↫ m.f + s.m ↬

ⅅiscontinued

What's up fam ☀

I just wanted to thank you all so so much for your support on Broken Boy. It means the world to me to know that this book has proved meaningful to others.
Unfortunately, I have been stuck for months on how to go about continuing it, as you've probably noticed from how slow my updates were. I've honestly lost interest in this book and the Septiplier ship in general, so I won't be posting any more updates on it. Consider this the final chapter.
I have, however, included a super shitty, drafty ass version of what this chapter could have been below so you guys get a better idea of where this book was heading. I hope you'll accept it as my apology for discontinuing it.
When I began writing this woeful tale, I never intended for there to be a happy ending. Everything would become too much for Sean in the end, and he would leave Mark even more shattered than when they'd first met. Because that's just what happens. For me, there is never a happy ending. And those we hold most dear turn their backs and leave behind a tangled mess of fallen tears and broken hearts and forgotten memories.

I love you guys ♡

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ᏖᏒᎥᎶᎶᏋᏒ ᏇᏗᏒᏁᎥᏁᎶ
This chapter contains abuse and references to self harm.

❝ωнαт ∂σεsη'т кιℓℓ үσυ
мαкεs үσυ ωιsн үσυ ωεяε d͏̧͍̼̮͎̺̫̗͕̗̣͉̬̬͓͜͝è̛͍̖̞͕͚̫͈͍͉̮̣͡á̵̧̱͍̮̬̹̥̬͚̕ͅd̶̢͈̹͚̻͙̲̮͜.̶̢̣̻̲̥̦̘̰͇̗͙̜͍̦̖̗͠ ❞
» Bring Me The Horizon

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Mark's POV
My mind was a constant poison that filled me with venom, a wound weeping crimson onto my wrists and shadows into my heart, cobwebs of black tangling between my ribs and cutting each breath short as I drowned in a soundless oblivion.
Ragged nails and a battered face and bloodied tears, purple flowers blossoming beneath my skin; I was a distortion of what I once was, unable to find my way back, my sense of self in tatters.
• • •
The man was a parasite, feeding off the weak like an aphid on new spring growth; his soul vapid, commanding of transitory external crutches. He crept below the shadows of the earth, a slug creeping between the bricks of the path, between the lines of the broken. He remembers a wintry night, escaping out to the porch to let the bitter wind bite at his skin as his father drowned the memories of his mother in gun powder and blood.

Her screams echo in his head.

He needed an outlet for his pain.

He broke others and stole their fragments to rebuild his shredded soul.

One after another after another... until Mark Edward Fischbach.
• • •
His stubby fingers tangled in my brown tendrils, nails leaving crescent indents in my scalp, purple welts scattered across my body like a disease.
I screamed but my lungs were heavy with a thick dread and the sounds escaped my throat strangled and inhuman.
I felt myself fading into the darkness of in-conscience and I stared down at my wrists, scarred and deformed, and figured this must be what I deserved.

Over time, the bruises faded like the last petals of summer, kissed purple and yellow as the natural hue of my skin returned. But my soul was as battered and bloodied as the night it all happened.