#tw self blame

[bnha-more-like-bnh-gay]

Izuku isn't one to keep grudges. He'd rather bury the hatchet & move on. But when word got out that Bakugō's past as a bully & an abuser got exposed at the latest annual Hero Gala, where he just got promoted to the #1 Hero no less, Izuku couldn't deny the small feeling of satisfaction within him. Soon, Bakugō lost the respect of his fellow Class 1-A graduates, former UA teachers, most of Japanese citizens & the whole world. His Hero license got revoked. He becomes what Izuku used to be. An outcast. A social pariah.

:))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

TW: this will discuss bakugou’s abusive behavior towards izuku, internal conflict, self blaming, social media harassment and bullshit, etc.

When I tell you I love karmic retribution

Izuku had kept quiet about the abuse he had faced at the hands of bakugou (and previous classmates and teachers) for so goddamn long

He had guiltily hoped that someone would fucking realize. Understand. Believe him. Stand up for him. Anything.

He had felt so selfish about wanting this, but it was such a deep and intrinsic feeling

He’s a goddamn kid, he just wants someone to tell him that what he’s gone through isn’t fair. That he didn’t deserve that. That no one, including he, deserves that. That he is worth kindness. That he is worth care. That he is just fucking accepted.

And lord knows he has had his daydreams of revenge. So many. Like so fucking many.

Spiteful revenge is a very helpful way to get through the day.

So, when it eventually came out about what bakugou had done to him for so long. He did feel vindicated.

Somehow, videos from Aldera had surfaced online.

Those who hadn’t liked bakugo prior to seeing them came out of the woodworks. They were loud and everywhere.

Bakugou asked izuku to speak out on it, stand up for him. Only then, did izuku break

He had been quiet on the issue for months. Decades, really.

He made a short and concise post on whatever social media platform people use in bnha essentially saying that yes, bakugou had done those things. Yes, bakugou’s behavior was unacceptable. He never spoke out about it because he did not have reason to think that he would be believed and that he doubted any change would be made.

He does not discuss his personal feeling about bakugou. He does starts up an anti-bullying campaign.

Bakugou quickly falls from the fickle grace that is social media

People reach out to izuku left and right apologizing to him and asking if he’s okay and good fucking gods does it suck

Because they only care now that he’s useful to them

He is so conflicted and he really just does not want to talk about it. It quickly becomes known that it is a touchy subject and one that hero Dekiru refuses to speak on.

Does that stop people from asking about it? No.

Eventually, things settle

Eventually, bakugou ends up making a large donation to the campaign izuku started.

They never become friends. Izuku doesn’t even forgive bakugou. That’s okay, it’s not needed. They do get to a point where they can see each other walking in the street and acknowledge the other. No words, just acknowledgement.

I hope you liked this!!!! If bakugou is your favorite character and you think this is stupid, that is fine!

Thank you for the ask!!! :D

#bnha #mha #bakugou critical #tw bullying #tw abuse #tw self blame #midoirya izuku

[3mutantsinatrenchcoat]

ALRIGHT JUICY JURY UPDATE!

It is cut because this is a very mentally aaaaa update

Warnings: blood, torn clothes, mental breakdown, implied abuse, on screen bone snapping (three does this to himself so BE WARNED), half nudity? (Does mostly burnt clothes count?

Anyway, everyone takes care of yourself, I am very mentally exhausted and emotionally about making this one because it hits myself hard (I have way too much care for these characters I swear to you)

Too long didn't read: warnings and a shortened version of the update, Eugene discovers evidence about Three's disappearance and second life and has a mental break down

Owww owiee ow

@angelpuns @friskebits

The siblings OWIE OW

Also the little ball things are trackers

#three draws #juicy jury lore #tw blood #tw implied abuse #tw mental health #tw gore #tw angst #tw self blame #tw self inflicted wounds

[just-a-soft-kid]

“It’s okay. Everyone hurts me. It’s my fault.”

Back to making fanart for my friend @floofanflurr's beloved fic, Heart on the Table!! This one is from chapter 16.

This is my first time trying to create digital art that has a more traditional art feel. I think I might be finding something that feels really good for my style! :D

ALSO - for this drawing, I looked up the sign for "hurt." I especially referenced this video! However I haven't learned sign language myself yet - if anyone has a correction, please do feel free to tell me!! I want to make sure I communicate it properly!! <3

#heart on the table #undertale fanfic #undertale fanart #undertale #tw self blame #tw child abuse #my art

[monsieur-neuvillette]

[Wriothesley stirred slightly, the first thing in his vision being Neuvillette with some rather obvious red eyes. He reached his hand towards Neuvillette's.]

Neuvi... I'm okay. It's alright.

[His attention flicked to Wriothesley, gently grabbing on to his hand and lifting it up to his lips, closing his eyes as he pressed a kiss against Wriothesley’s palm, frowning softly]

“You are not okay. You could’ve.…”

[Neuvillette trailed off, pressing another kiss against Wriothesleys palm]

#interactions #⛓️ mon amour #tw self blame

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Purple doesn't suit him anymore

I had always thought purple suited him. That specific purple shirt... not elaborating, in case kids read this, but let me tell you... it did things to me.

And again... purple on him does things to me. Bad things. Initiating gut-wrenching guilt, which causes nausea, mental and physical pain. I want to bend over and throw up. But I don't deserve that kind of relief. I don't deserve to cry. I don't deserve to be even close to him. How could I deserve that... when I - me, John H. Watson - am the very reason for this distinct purple colour around his eye. When I am the reason he got broken ribs... and more purple bruises hidden behind this light blue shirt.

I am supposed to be his doctor, not his tormenter. I've failed, and if I could tie my arteries and veins to knots to make my heart start turning purple... I would.

~~~

prompt "purple" by @notjustamumj

thanks for the tag @meetinginsamarra and @lisbeth-kk

tagging @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @gregorovitchworld

#turtely writes #angst? anyone? #sorry #tld john is my biggest enemy causing me heartbreak every single time #NOW SUFFER JOHN!!!! #tw violence #tw self blame #??? idk what to tag this #happy about reblogs 🥰 #sherlock ficlet #johnlock ficlet #bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #johnlock angst #tld #notjustamumj may prompt

[houndoom-a]

Arceus, what if Lance thinks less of me because of this...? What do I do then? He will inevitably find out now... I do not know what to do...

#tw implied csa #tw self blame

[dying-weeds]

#mine #vent #trauma #ventcore #traumacore #actuallytraumatized #actually ptsd #remember #traumacore vent #trauma vent #actuallyabused #tw self blame #spilled thoughts #spilled feelings #my feelings #tw sa implied #vent tw

[annaraebananawriter]

For the angst drabbles (idk if you're still doing them) maybe Passive Nighty's ghost following Dream around? Sorry I don't really have any cool ideas...

Hey! Don't say that! I love this idea, and I know you have many other cool ideas. This idea is definitely one I've thought of before, and I even have a couple fanfic plot ideas lying down somewhere using it.

One involved Palette and him being the only one to see Passive Nightmare's spirit, and he decides to somehow give his uncle his body back and reunite him with his papa (Dream).

The other is similar, but involves the Bad Sanses and then finding Nightmare's crown, and Passive's ghost is attached to the crown, and so they have to catch this ghost up on things and keep it a secret from their boss and figure out how to take Passive to Dream without being killed along the way.

But that's enough about me (though if you want to hear more about these ideas, feel free to ask!). I did this prompt a little bit differently, but still the same type of deal. Also, Nightmare tells Dream a story in this one, which is The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde, just so you know ahead of time.

Happy reading!!

~oOo~

It was raining again. It came down in sheets, the sky rumbling angrily and streaks of white light glowed for a second before fading back to black. Wind made the few trees left bend, a few of the weaker ones snapping in half and flying away to a better place.

Nightmare shifted away from the drops, more of a habit than anything else. In his transparent state, everything around him treated him like he was dead and buried, slipping straight through him.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since the incident. No matter how many times it snowed or rained or the sun shone, nothing changed. Nothing new grew. The land Mother was on was dead, frozen in time. The village was no better. He preferred to look the other way, however; you could only look at corpses and rubble for so long before you felt sick. Physically, he couldn't move very far, so the most he could do was stare at Mother's remains and mourn what could've been.

He looked away. Dream's pained expression, gray stone weathered overtop, bore into him, accusingly. Well, probably not accusing him, his brother was too kind for that, but he knew when he was at fault for something and since no one else was around, it was up to him to hold himself accountable.

It wasn't your fault, Dream would insist if he wasn't a statue. Stop blaming yourself, Nighty.

Nightmare shook his head. "It is my fault, though, Dream," he said, responding like his brother could hear him. "If I hadn't eaten that apple, none of this would've happened. The villagers would still be alive. You wouldn't be petrified. That...monster in my body wouldn't be doing who knows what to people."

If you hadn't, how long would it have been until you broke completely? Imaginary Dream murmured. Things might've been worse.

Nightmare frowned, drawing his knees close to his chest. No, that was too harsh. Too fast. Dream would've made sure he knew it wasn't his fault before suggesting alternative ways things could've happened. Wouldn't he?

If he's honest with himself, he'll admit that he didn't really know what Dream was thinking anymore, not recently, and that's including before the incident. He stopped being able to read his brother the longer he kept his secret of abuse. It's hard to pinpoint when exactly, but he remembered when he realized it, a horrid moment of clarity as he watched Dream talk about his day before going to bed.

He had watched his brother's smile and couldn't tell anymore whether it was real or not, if his tone was genuine. Zoning out, a voice whispered at the back of his head, furthering his distress.

When had Dream gotten so good at lying?

Another round of thunder shook things. Nightmare flinched, glancing up, feeling guilty as he looked back to Dream, remembering the first night they witnessed the sky get angry. Scared at first, he had quickly gotten used to it, curiosity over something new taking over, being replaced soon by worry as he looked over and saw how his brother cowered in fright, eyes wide.

Helpless, he tried to comfort him, but Dream stayed that way, fear coating him more than their blanket did. He had started telling a story to fill the silence as he thought, just a silly story of something that happened to him a couple days ago--exploring the forest and encountering a frog, examing it and noting his observations, only to eventually startle as the frog jumped on his skull, making him tip backward and fall in the river. He had been pulled out of his thoughts by a giggle, abruptly realizing his story had helped Dream forget about the storm for a bit.

The thunder had sounded again and Dream jumped, quieting. Nightmare had smiled, tugging him close. "Don't worry," he had said. "I'm right here. Nothing will happen as long as I'm here. Want to hear some more stories? I have lots of embarrassing moments I never told you about."

Dream had nodded, but quickly spoke before Nightmare could start another story. "And you'll be here forever?"

Nightmare blinked. "Of course! What brother would I be if I wasn't?"

"Promise?"

"I swear it." Nightmare had held up a pinky finger and hooked it around his brother's. "Now, as for a story...well, another time I was exploring the forest and..."

Since then, whenever there was a storm, Nightmare would cuddle Dream and tell him story after story until they both fell asleep. In the morning, the rain would be gone, dew lingering in the air, and they would splash in the puddles together and laugh. It was fun.

This should be no different.

But Dream was a statue right now. Nightmare had no physical form. He wasn't even sure if his brother would be able to see him. There's no way a silly story could help things. Still, he couldn't help imaging his brother cowering again, this time unable to move an inch, eyes trained on the sky. He couldn't even cover his ears to block out the sound.

Nightmare had to do something about that. He couldn't let his brother, imaginary or not, be scared like that.

He shifted until he was leaning against his brother's legs. "It's okay," he said, patting Dream's statue, hovering uncertainly over the hairline cracks around his waist. "I'm right here. I told you I wouldn't ever leave you and I intend to keep that promise. Tonight's story is a bit different than usual. I only read it recently myself. I thought it fit, though."

He might just be talking to himself. Maybe this was the first sign that he was cracking from being alone for so long. Maybe this was a bad idea, a waste of time. His brother was a statue, after all, and statues can't hear or talk or react in any way.

And yet, didn't the statue in the story had a conscious? Wasn't he alive?

"Our story starts in a kingdom. In this kingdom, a beautiful statue of a prince stands on a pedestal, gazing over his subjects. He's made of gold plating, shining jewels for eyes, and his sword. Everyone admires him. One day, the birds are meant to be migrating, winter fast approaching. One sparrow, however, seeks shelter at the prince's feet. He notices the prince is crying. He asks why and the prince explains that he is sad because of the suffering his poor subjects face."

If the Prince in the story was alive even though he was a statue, then why couldn't Dream be alive? Or, well, conscious, anyway. He knew his brother was alive. He wouldn't be here if he was dead.

If that was true, though, then he could imagine his brother relaxing as the story unfolded, calming down. He could imagine him closing his eyes and trying to sleep, focusing on his voice and letting the images free in his mind for his dreams to shape as they please.

"The prince asks the sparrow for a favor. He asks the bird to take the ruby from his statue and give it to a poor mother and child. And although the bird needs to fly south, already late, he agrees to help. The next night, the prince asks another favor. One of his sapphire eyes needs delivering to a poor writer. The sparrow is upset, not wanting to blind his new friend, but he agrees after the prince insists. The next night, the prince asks for his other eye to be delivered as well, this time to a poor girl."

He made a promise, after all. Nightmare will keep it, invisible or not. And if he can only provide stories for his brother to sleep to during thunderstorms, then...that's what he will do.

"The prince asks for the sparrow to take his gold plating and give it to the poor as well. Feeling sorrow for his prince, the sparrow cancels his plans to fly away and stays with his friend, being his eyes for him, and delivering his gold as instructed. The prince is blind. Seeing his riches are gone, the people of the kingdom call the prince ugly. Only the sparrow knows otherwise, that the prince's heart is pure. Unfortunately, not being meant for the cold, the sparrow dies from the cold, and shortly after the prince dies as well from a broken heart."

Because what else are brothers for?

#my writing #ask #ask prompt #fanfic #drabble #my fanfiction #prompt #utmv #undertale #dreamtale #dream sans #nightmare sans #passive nightmare sans #tw mentions of death #tw self blame

[watchthemshow]

He keeps telling me to tell him when I hurt myself. He says it hurts more if I lie about it then it does if I just tell him up front.

I pinky promise to tell him.

What a dirty little liar.

I know I’ll never be able to tell him the truth. So why do I lie about it?

I cant decide whats worse.

The guilt of feeling like a bad person, a liar, dirty for relapsing, a person that foils his trust, or the guilt of telling him, watching the disappointment cross over his face, making him upset, making him wonder why i cant stop, and worst of all, making him wonder if it’s his fault.

Either way,

How could I ever live with myself?

#self h@rm #selfharn #tw self destruction #tw self destructive behavior #made of styrofoam #cvtt1ng #baby cvts #tw cvts #cvtaddict #fresh cvts #tw fresh cvts #tw s3lf harm #tw self sabotage #tw self blame #beanstwt #beansblr #tw self h4rm #self mutilator #self mutalition #tw selfhate #self h@te #sh relapse

[idiotic-puppy]

Vent Post!

Tw: SH, Self blaming.

Fuck.. why do I have such a loud mouth.. I shouldn't have told her everything and now she's even more mad and I ruined her day even more !! Fuck fuck fuck !! I wanna just sew my mouth shut and tie my hands together so I can't say or do anything stupid again! FUCK... WHY DID I SAY ANYTHING!!!

#tw sh implied #tw self blame #vent #vent post

[snowcandyz]

The Letter Under The Shoes

Genre: Dark, Heavy Angst

Main Characters: Satan, Lucifer, Solomon, Simeon

Summary: MC felt responsible for what happened in Lesson 37.

Warning: Contains spoiler for Lessons 37 & 38. Also contains heavy themes like self-hatred, self-sacrifice, suicidal attempts, depressive themes, abusive and negligence relationships, toxic relationships and a major character's death. Please proceed with caution. AVOID READING IF THE TW MADE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 [Heavy contents ahead]

Part 4

Epilogue

#obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me lucifer #obey me simeon #obey me dark #obey me angst #obey me masterlist #tw self blame #tw self sacrifice #tw sui attempt #tw depressing thoughts #tw abuse #tw toxic family #tw toxic parents #tw character death

[kimetsu-chan]

*kicks down your door*

i was wondering....

can i have a fanfic request for ✨IlonaYui✨/✨YuiLona✨? (•̀ω•́)✧

*gives you ✨SmEgZy GiYuU✨ and runs away*

꜀( ˊ̠˂˃ˋ̠ )꜆

you mean… THIS SMEGZY GIYUU!?

He’s so… so…. ISHDAHDIWBZ

Anyways— onto the request!

Tws ⚠️: panic attack, mention of death, and self blaming

~Panic~

Yuichiro was just passing through the frost hashira’s mansion, at least that’s what he’d tell you if you asked. He just happened to pass by Ilona’s door when looking for her and he saw she was curled up into a ball. Yuichiro would’ve thought she was asleep if it weren’t for her erotic breathing.

He stared at her through the doorway and called out her name.

“Ilona?”

No answer. So he tried again.

“Ilona.”

Yuichiro was starting to worry something was wrong so he decided to take a few steps closer. He took notice of her defensive state and erratic breathing as he moved closer. He lightly rested his hand on Ilona’s shoulder and she jumped at the contact.

Yuichiro was taken aback at her complexion. Her eyes were red and puffy and there were tear stains coating her cheeks. She looked terrified, yet shameful at the same time.

Yuichiro shoved his pride and everything else aside and wrapped his arms around Ilona.

“Shh…. Whatever you’re thinking about can’t hurt you…”

It seemed like the wall that kept Ilona’s emotions in came crumbling down as she began sobbing loudly. She turned to bury her face in Yuichiro’s shoulder as she cried.

“I saw them die… I saw them die and I did nothing.”

Yuichiro finally understood what this was about. Ilona was having a panic attack over not being able to save someone from a demon. He rubbed her back in an attempt to calm her down.

“Hey it’s okay… you did do something, you did your best to save everyone. But we can’t always save everyone”

Noticing that her breathing was calming down, he continued.

“You shouldn’t beat yourself up every time there is one person who you can’t get to in time… I’m sure they don’t blame you in the slightest.”

Ilona’s tears had stopped for the most part when she pulled away. She looked Yuichiro in the eyes with a hesitant expression.

“You really think so…? You think that even though I failed them… they would not be mad at me?”

Yuichiro nodded and Ilona just sat there for a moment, processing what he just told her. Yuichiro stood up from the floor and walked towards the doorway.

“C’mon, let’s go do something not boring”

When he was about to disappear from sight, Ilona called out to him.

“Yui?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you…”

”… No problem ‘Lona.”

~La Fin~

I HATE HOW I ENDED THIS. BUT ALL THE OTHER TIMES I WROTE IT, IT WAS EVEN WORSEKFBSIS

I really hope you like it Ilona 😥

here, have a frog to add to your collection :D

His name is blurb :3

#🍁 #tw panic attack #tw self blame #tw death mention #Ilona x Yuichiro #YuiLona #cannon x oc #oc x yuichiro #oc x cannon #Yuichiro x oc #Yuichiro Tokito

[here-we-rise]

Should Have Done More

TW: Suicide Attempt, Cutting, Self-blame, Guilt, Angst, Bad ending, Drugging, Lack of Self Care

Summary: Y/N attempts suicide. Genji's mind reels in an attempt to make sense of the world.

Word Count: 5848

Author's Note: This took me two days to make. Pukish-Saint is a big inspiration for me. If you see any similarities in our headcanons on Genji, that is why.

– – – – –

“WHAT THE FUCK- Let- GO! I’m gonna… fucking kill you. You sonuvabitch…!”

It was instinct, really. But with everything going on in his mind right now, he wasn’t sure what instinct he was fighting. There’s an odd, rushing calm.

Ha… What an odd contraction. It fits.

He caught your arm before the elbow could jut into his stomach, hands snaking under your shoulders and catching you unawares when your body twisted and was thrown off kilter. Your face smashes into the cement, already red from pain and tears, eyes squeezed and an awful whirring noise stirring up in your vocal cords. He grabs your wrists-

Blood.

-and twists both arms against your back in an armlock. This only served to turn the chortles into full fledged, ear piercing screeching of frustration.

“GET OFF OF ME!!!”

He wanted to.

He wanted to.

He wanted to.

He’s scared.

You’re scared.

But if he doesn’t do this, he doesn’t- doesn’t know what else to do.

His breathing is fast. The dragon- it’s stirring in his chest, the love and internalized fear of danger threatening to release a fury unknown reserved for those close to him, to devour and shred whatever was causing his love pain.

But there’s no one here. Noone but him, and you.

Him, you. These awful, awful sounds.

And the blood.

So much fucking blood.

You hit an artery, had to have. The screeching was agony not only to him but in response to your own. Genji’s grip shifts down your forearm, and your bite-back screams when the metal in his joints beyond the synthetic skin digs into your muscle in a desperate attempt to keep it shut, to stop the blood.

His hands are shaking. He’s going so fast that he wouldn’t-

“Genji!”

He doesn’t look up. He knows it's Angela. His brain doesn’t take into account how she got here- when she got here, why she got here. He doesn’t process anything but the death grip, the pressure faint and far away due to more than the sensors in his body, subpar to actual living flesh.

It takes eternity for him to even notice the sound coming from outside his focus, let alone process it.

“-JI, LET. GO.”

It’s Angela. It’s- but it’s you who’d say that. Right? But- it’s Angela- but it’s you who’d say that- it’s-

It’s not making any sense-

His head snaps up when pale fingers latch onto his wrist and yank in a futile attempt to get him to let go. Angela’s eyes sheen, and for a moment, her pupils seem bigger. She’s holding in tears. Her stress lines are on full display from her concerned, raised brows. He sees only a still face. He sees only Angela, and not the logic in his mind that says she’s talking, she’s moving, she’s feeling this, she’s doing that.

And… He stares. He stares at the medical equipment, and suddenly it’s the only thing in the world.

Suddenly the world comes to a halt. The screams come back. The dragon threatens to burst. Angela is yelling now.

He lets go and drops back, sitting on the back of your knees. He needs- he needs to focus. He’s hearing but he’s not listening because he can’t when he has to.

“You’re a disgrace.”

The elders were right.

The elders-

His mind snaps to the present. There’s a ringing in his ears, and it takes him a moment to realize yes, it’s not silent.

He understands he needs to hold you down. But- he just did that…?

“Genji, HOLD. Y/N. Sit up and HOLD Y/N! I can’t work with all this thrashing!”

Thrashing. Danger. The dragon is at his fingertips. The dragon wants to do the same as he- kill whatever was hurting you. But there’s nobody here, and so the voice of reason is forced to wrangle two souls, two bodies. Himself, and you.

It’s cold. So cold. For a moment he thinks you’re dead, but really it’s the Gibraltar air.

He registers Angela sitting on your legs, particularly the knee caps just over your thigh to prevent them from buckling and kicking. Her hands are red. So red.

His fingers gain a faint, bright hue. The dragon thickens the air. He needs to help. He needs- the dragon’s demands to-

“Genji.”

The leveled voice brings him past the screams. Angela’s face gives nothing away. There’s only two thin tears, one freshly dropped and another well on its way to break off from her chin.

“Bring your right hand under the laceration. Hold the arm still.”

She’s speaking clearly as day. It’s as though he were in two places at once, or wearing two separate headphones over each ear. His hands obey, a slave to her will. He reels the dragon back. His fingers tremble inside, the metal and internals creating this piercing ache in the joints. He’s simultaneously clenching and trying to relax and it-

“Good. Now, raise your left hand and do the same for the left arm. Wrap your legs around the waist. If it’s not enough, bring one arm over the through and criss cross your arms so that your left arm holds the right and your right arm holds the left. I need stillness to work with.”

-And… and… and He needs to listen. He obeys, resituating his hold in favor of the near sleeper hold he now has over your arms, throat, and chest by proxy.

You’re bucking against him. He’d been so caught up in doing that he hadn’t even noticed your movements. You can’t do anything. He’s too strong.

He’s not grateful toward the cybernetics, but he’s aware they’re helping.

With your body squished close to him, muscles taught, he’s silent. He’s breathing fast, and he reflexively goes into a meditative state. Still, nothing seems to calm his heart.

He’s able to focus now. Only on singular things, but now he knows what he’s looking at and can think.

Two dark, wide marks bloomed purple. The inflammation from the diagonal slices was dominated by the deep plum spreading in the indents.

Did he do that?

He did… he- he was only trying to stop the bleeding, he didn’t mean to hurt you!

Shame coils around his heart, squeezing the vitality right out of it.

The suicide wasn’t his fault. But, this is.

Your cheek burns against his left shoulder, one of the few parts of his body capable of almost meeting the standard sensations a man should feel. It’s inflamed, too. He’d scraped your face enough to bleed against the concrete. Did you have a concussion, too?

Warmth. Liquid. You’re bleeding. Not just from the arms.

“-om. Genji?”

Angela’s voice barks. “Genji!”

Right. He’s at attention now. You’ve stilled, and he’s grateful.

“Genji, you must listen to me! Are you hearing me? GENJI!-”

“H-hai,” (Y-yes) he says.

“The medical wing, Genji. The. Medical. Wing. BITTE.” (PLEASE.)

“H-hai.” He stirs. In a second’s notice he’s at attention, snapping to his feet with you in toe. “H-h…”

“SKYNDA, Hurry. Hurry now! NOW!” (HURRY)

There’s a tourniquet at your elbow, but not both of them. The smeared blood had been wiped, leaving room for more to take over.

He should have-

His feet are swift. Your body is accommodated. He does not trip, and he does not hesitate.

Somehow Lucio knows to meet him halfway, eyes wild and hyper focused. Genji doesn’t stop to listen, only barges in the door and-

Which gurney?-

It takes until both doctors rush past that he realizes he’s got a death grip with you in his hold.

Curtains swing with loud metal clasps and Lucio throws on the nearest scrubs. Angela tries to take you-

“NO.”

She flinches back. The sudden hostility disappears in an instant.

The first to meet the gurney is your feet, the rest steady in following suit. Your calves filled in the space before your thighs, then your hips, your chest…

With one arm free from your lower body, his free hand ghosts your abdomen as he gently, reverently brings your head down, terrified through the numbness of hurting you.

So pale…

Something shoves him back. His feet obey. The bulkhead spins shut and locks. The glass tints, and he’s able to see Angela throw on a plastic poncho for sterility.

And then nothing.

He’s numb.

Numb.

He should feel more. This isn’t right.

None of this is right.

So there he is. Standing there, stiff as a board. He’s suddenly aware of the ringing in his ears, loud and demanding. It reminds him of waking up in his new body, how he hated the world, how… how…

Rage. He doesn’t know what it’s towards. His feet carry him, and everything seems taller. He sat down- right, he sat down -back against the wall. His legs are up, elbows resting on the knees and hanging arms.

“Haven’t seen yer eyes like that in… Hell, what’s it been? Feels like yesterday!”

The source frowns when he doesn’t so much as twitch. Cole tosses aside the charade. Didn’t think it’d work anyway.

So, he joins him. They sit in silence, backs against the wall, only Cassidy’s head lays against it too and one of his hands sports an old, wrapped cigar. It’s hard to find those with the electronic stuff, and he makes his own.

This isn’t an act of comfort, Genji knows. He’s been in this position, sitting with Cole without a single word between them. It’s solidarity.

He just wishes he could hear something.

Anything.

“Hey.”

Genji’s chin raises almost unseen. Acknowledgement.

“Don’t do anything stupid, alright? Y/N’s gonna be fine. I mean,” Cole takes a long drag out of his cigar. The smoke is thick, and Genji hates the taste and smell. “Angela fixed you up. I’m sure she can pull a miracle with two doctors.”

It does nothing to help. The red pupils do not waver in the glow against the hyperactive cybernetics roused by the anger in his veins.

Ting, ting tingtingtingting

His eyes go half lidded. For the first time in the infinite silence, he turns his head to find Cole’s Peacekeeper directed toward the ceiling. All six bullets met the ground, and all but two rolled.

Cole picks them up, twisting the six shooter to the side and setting it in the holster. It’s then Genji notices the waver in his voice, the concern unveiling with each word.

“Shimada,” Cole says, and his breath hitches when Genji’s eyes meet him in a slow drag. The man brings his left arm over to clasp Genji’s, external metal meeting with internal. “I mean it. When you… When- IF, you do something, you don’t have to go alone. OK?”

He finds himself considering this offer, not even taking a moment to think, no, I won’t do that. It’s a genuine debate. Cole sees it, too. Doesn’t say anything.

“... Arigatou.” (Thanks)

The trembling worsens. His voice wavers, but gives nothing else away.

Cole nods slowly and repetitively as if to no one. “Yeah… don’t mention it. Hey!-”

Genji pauses from where he’d gotten on his feet. He catches his mask thrown to him reflexively and clicks it on without a second thought.

“Figured you’d, uh. Want it. Y’know, privacy. Athena kind of… well, she didn’t mean to I don’t think, but…”

Genji’s teeth bare in frustration. He says nothing, and the numbness briefly allows more fury through his heart.

That’s how Angela knew.

That’s how Lucio knew.

That’s how Cole already knew.

“Winston’s uh… messing with something so she doesn’t announce these things to anyone but medical staff and close relations. So if you’re thinking about- Jesus fuck!”

In a split second, Genji was gone. Cole put a hand over his racing heart.

“That’ll never not freak me out…”

– – – – –

The whirring of cleaning bots never before seemed so loud. Too loud, like the footsteps and faint breathing through the halls. He’s alert, as is the dragon, both searching for a danger that wasn’t there.

He hates the raised stares and quickly averted glances. He fucking hates it. The reasons lay under the pressure in his chest, but he’s not going to dawdle on worthless-

Something bumps into his feet. His head snaps to the culprit, a tiny little unit equipped with a rag and small cup of bleach.

A bloody rag.

Your blood.

It snaps under the sheer force of the slam when he picks it up and throws it.

Someone’s approaching him. He shoves them away, only seeing the garden he wanted to get to and throwing up his hood, yanking the string so that he only sees his feet.

To their credit, nobody says anything.

– – – – –

This rage isn’t healthy. It needs to go.

But it’s JUSTIFIED-

Maybe. But it’s just going to get in the way.

He needed a clear head.

Needed to be there, and fully there, when you-

His heart aches, shoulders tremble like he’d bit back pain. His visor blurs. Tears threaten to breach and pool in his helm. But he can’t have that, and reflexively straightens again for the fifth time.

The pink, pink trees…

“You’re a disgrace.”

“Useless boy.”

Genji doesn’t say anything. He instead greets the floor of the dojo with a blank expression found in the youth who tuned out what they could. Hanzo, on the other hand- his brother meets the Elders reviewing their progress halfway, stopping just below their feet.

“Do you refuse archery, or simply are not capable of it?”

He imagines telling them to shut up.

To leave him ALONE.

He’s going to sneak out tonight. Wake up with a hangover and in bed with a girl his age, like he often does. Yagamani-sensei stands straight, face firm, silent in wake of the accusations and chiding remarks. She wasn’t spared from them, either. Normally he does enough so that the blame falls on him.

He’ll have to redouble his efforts. At least so that Kiriko doesn’t whine to him about getting her mother in trouble.

Oh, how he’d forgotten those big eyes. He remembered twisting his neck to get a look of Asa-sensei’s stoney face and catching Kiriko’s. Even so young, her head wrinkled when she was concerned.

“-USELESS BOY, DO NOT IGNORE ME-”

So he thinks of something else.

“Bit on the nose, Shimada-san?”

Genji’s wide grin threatens to break with the rest of his face as it all dissolves against chuckles. “No. In fact… I think it needs more.”

Kiriko rolls her eyes. “Alright. Stand straight.”

In a moment’s notice, the girl had balanced on his shoulders and scampered a few feet up the wall, fingers locking around protruding wood and allowing her to gain more distance from the ground.

Genji couldn’t do that anymore without being too loud - which, while silent to him, must not be the case for some of the Elders - and Kiriko needed help to get that high. Her hand reaches out when he can barely see her from the dark spurned from the hanging chime-roof of the uchi-deshi, and he throws one of the spray cans she needs. There’s a “shhhhhhhhhhhh” and some muffled coughing.

He’s not really sure how she can see better than he can in the shadows, but maybe her eyes were adjusted more than his.

There’s a scuff of a sliding door, and Genji freezes. Kiriko seems to have heard it, too, and he catches her, clinging her close to his chest and sprinting off at mach 10. There’s footsteps behind him, and he’s absolutely certain that even without seeing him, they were determined to see his face to find out who exactly had just vandalized the Elder’s claimed quarters.

“Hurry, Shimada-san! Hurry!”

She crawls on his back and clings for the life of her. He wastes no time- his hands dig into a sakura tree rough enough to litter his fingers with splinters, and next he’s curled up on the highest branch in the deepest recesses of the cherry blossoms he can find.

He sits there for an eternity. Kiriko’s nose brushes air into his shoulder blades, and with the close proximity he can even feel the twitch of her eyelids when she blinks or how her face shifts when she looks around without moving out of fear of being caught.

He’s certain the elders were still looking. He doesn’t want to move. But, Kiriko’s loud whisper “My mom’s gonna notice I’m gone!” drew from a jar of special circumstances and he wrangles his way down onto a branch stretching toward the nearest wall and pulls himself up and over-

-and right into five very, very angry Elders, with his father standing behind him after being roused from his slumber. The screaming - oh, the rage. They never laid a hand on him, and especially not Kiriko, but both had to endure the screeching coming from the Elders’ mouths.

Not his best act of deviance. Some of the spray paint had rubbed off on his, and Kiriko’s entire upper face was a deep cerulean blue.

He remembers Asa-sensei whacking him on his back with a wooden sword the next morning. He remembers looking over at Kiriko with a red mark on the back of her wrist that implied she’d gotten an earful from Asa-sensei and spotting her upper face still had a faint coat of blue. It’d be days before she could scrub it off, and until that happened, Asa-sensei's promises to make training grueling.

It did him good. It really did. Made him more… careful, in setting up his trickery prior to carrying it out. Kiriko had leaned against him lazily when it came to lunch, and Genji put a ball of rice on her tray as a sort of compensation.

“Whatever for, Shimada-san?”

“You know…”

“Ah, but I asked to join you!”

“Eat. Your mother is very angry with me.”

“She’s always angry with you!”

“She is not!”

“Is too!”

“Quiet!” Hanzo barks, and Genji rolls his eyes. “Have you no respect for the silence meant for this hour?”

“Eating isn’t always silent, Hanzo-san!” Kiriko protests. Her eyes sparkle. “I chew loudly all the time!”

As if to emphasize, she stuffs her mouth with the rice ball and chews with her mouth open.

Hanzo’s nose curls and he looks away in disgust. Genji admits, he’s not a fan of the sight, but he shoves as much food as he can in his mouth until his cheeks are inflated with dumplings and both make a point to annoy the elder son until lunch ends.

He remembers Kiriko pinching his arm. “You really showed him, Shimada-san!”

Only, it’s not Kiriko who says that. He sees you, hears YOU.

Reality comes crashing back down. The sounds are different. The light is different. His mind is boggled trying to process the how and why because hadn’t he been acutely aware of his surroundings the whole time? Why was the sun in the east? It’s supposed to set in the west, what has happened?

He looks around, heart lurching in confusion, and is shocked to learn Zenyatta had sat directly at his side.

Slowly, Genji lets out a shuddering breath. Then another. His lips part and the breathing stays shaky. His temple is coated in sweat, and he’s acutely aware of the slick warmth on his cheeks and pooled at his chin.

Someone’s watching him. He can tell.

“My pupil,” Zenyatta says gently. “Do not be ashamed to express your anger.”

Genji’s heart and brain latch onto the familiar comfort. “Master,” he chokes out. “Master-...!”

Gentle arms wrap around him. A hand settles on his side, another wrapped around his chest, and Zenyatta is silent, hesitant in what to say. Genji’s chest keeps up a steady rise and fall, deep breaths the only thing standing between him and the brink of no return.

There’d been many a night like this. When his anger cooled, he’d be left with shame. Shame for-

For…

“You must drink. It is important to hydrate when one is tearful.”

He doesn’t pay any mind to the golden arm that’s manifested from thin air, nor to the one unclasping his face mask. Steam shoots out briefly, pressure escaping and freeing his face to the frozen world. The tiny bowl is brought to his lips and he drinks, gulps tiny.

When it’s pulled away, he is gasping for air like a dying man granted something he’d needed for a long time.

You’d like the dawn. It’s dawn. Yes. That’s why the sun is in the east. He almost smiles, but he can’t. A choked sound comes out and a snot bubble pops, lips trembling. He licks over his lip so it doesn’t get in his mouth, salty tears catching in the mix. He spits it, phlegm catching on the toe of his boots.

It seems for hours he’s hyperventilating. The numbness is still there, but now it’s parting to allow other feelings to break through the broken dam.

“Let the discord troubling your soul flow freely,” Zenyatta gently advises. This isn’t a suggestion, or simply a warm word, and Genji is reminded of sitting at the highest pique of Nepal in nothing but a loincloth and taking every which word to heart.

There’s a serene calm blooming in his chest. And yet, he still seems to cry. The orb at his shoulder gleams gold, and Genji cannot for the life of him hold back the tears.

“Good… I am proud of you, Genji.”

He breaks down in full, body wracking sobs.

More arms wrap around him. All of them gold.

He lets out a scream.

He screams and screams and lets out slurs and obscenities, he rants in a pitch that cannot differentiate words from each other, the anger and weeping melding into one in a sick unyielding combination and all he knows it the despair rushing from his lungs until his throat is too hoarse to hurt his own ears. So still he screams, and screams, and screams, and this lasts until he breaks down in sobs thick enough to make snot drain down his throat, leaving him gargling and forcing it out so he can breathe. The grass directly in front becomes an abominable mess, his master’s pant leg joining in the harsh amalgamation of bodily fluid.

He’s in a daze. He doesn’t know when the screaming stopped.

Cool metallic digits press against his eyelids, and he’s acutely aware just how tired he is.

“M-... m…. Master…?”

Zenyatta speaks warmly, and it does everything to bandage his heart. “Yes, Genji?”

He wants to pass out.

“H-... How long have I-?”

“Two moons. Now please, allow yourself to rest.”

Two days?...

…Yeah….Seems about right…..

– – – – –

When he wakes up, he’s not alone.

The room forms crisp and clear. In the dim flickering light, no matter his brother’s shadow, he can make out every which detail he knows by heart.

He knows what time it is- he can feel it in the air. For years he’s woken up at exactly 5AM like clockwork during his time in Blackwatch. He’d curl around you right about now…

His fingers squeeze the empty spot in the single bed. You’d both have to sleep on your sides or one would lay on the other, and he liked it that way. He’d done it like that in Nepal with some of the other monks, but it hadn’t been quite the same as when he’d met you while traveling the world. Even at the beginning it’d never been for sex. His libido had seriously tanked when his body took up more machine than man, and the mentality he’s gone through certainly didn’t help.

With how he’s still coming to, he knows everything happening without seeing or hearing. The careful carving of an arrow, the blade freeing miniscule and seemingly unneeded shavings from the body. The dip in the cookie-cutter matching mattress in every living space in Gibraltar and curling of the sheet. The specs of dust and old skin flakes, impossible to see and yet, it is as though he had each and every one under a microscope.

He knows his brother knows that he knows that Hanzo knows he’s awake when the blade is sat down and the arrow along with it.

Hanzo’s voice is awkward. Hesitant. “How… are you doing?”

His brother doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what to do.

Funny. Neither does he.

Regardless he tries to speak, only to cough and his throat to ache like a picked scab. Genji gasps deeply, desperate to ease the pain, and he welcomes the water given and tries not to choke on it. Instantly the pain is numbed, though the lingering dryness remains. His brother must have obtained some droplets from Angela-

The first to meet the gurney is your feet, the rest steady in following suit. Your calves filled in the space before your thighs, then your hips, your chest…

With one arm free from your lower body, his free hand ghosts your abdomen as he gently, reverently brings your head down, terrified through the numbness of hurting you.

So pale…

-to soothe his throat. He flinched, and his brother breathed deeply.

Hanzo remains seated, knees making imprints in the old Gibraltar carpet Genji had salvaged from a storage closet so he could eat alone. Genji sits up, shoulders curved and legs crossed, eyes dry. He lowers himself onto the floor once the low wooden table is unfolded and Hanzo places something he’d kept in a folded cloth knapsack. Genji doesn’t bother to check what it is, chewing silently.

How he wishes this was with you…

“I… Your love will survive.”

Genji laughs bitterly. Dry, flat. Then how come no one has told him you’re awake? At least now he knows the unanswered question he’d been terrified to speak of as though he’d cement your fate.

Hanzo’s tone firms. “I speak truthfully. I have… experienced worse. And have survived.”

Genji’s hands slow at grasping the food offered on his side. His brother’s eyes don’t meet him, but it’s out of a different kind of shame. Hanzo doesn’t look up, eating silently, and slowly Genji returns to eating his own portion.

Now he recognizes what it was. Rations.

When it’s gone it’s like his mind blanks. He’s not really sure what to do. It’s as though he were a robot, only acting on the commands given to him.

Both brothers freeze when a different voice breaks the silence. “Genji Shimada, I apologize. I had only acted under my standard protocol so that proper medical attention could be administered post haste. Please, forgive me.”

Athena.

For a split second, his pupils flash crimson.

Then they return to normal.

She hadn’t meant to tell everyone. She’d meant to help you, just as he had. Only, the AI wasn’t frozen in what to do.

He should be grateful. Instead he’s hateful, and shame builds up in him.

Hanzo exhales deeply. He takes a moment to speak. “... Thank you, Athena. Now leave us be.”

“I understand.” A pause. It’s as though the AI is hesitating. “Genji, Y/N is conscious. Angela Ziegler demanded my silence on the matter, but I believe it is wise to inform you of Y/N’s wellbeing so as to ensure your wellness.”

 Genji’s shoulders are stiff. He’s tense like a string on an instrument left wound up for far, far too long and about to be plucked.

“I will take my leave now. Please undergo subtlety in the event you wish for visitation.”

Genji’s at his feet in an instant.

Hanzo does not follow.

He follows through the halls as if in a dream, automatically finding his way to the medical wing and numb to the flashes he gets of rushing you into the gurney.

As expected, he finds the bulkhead locked. He stands there, stiff and unmoving, an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

The locks ping off.

Athena.

Angela’s voice flies through the air in an instant, accent thick. “Who in zheir RIGHT MIND forced zhe door open vhen I ztrictly ztated no vizitorz unless in zhe event of a medical emergenzy!?”

He steps in. The door twists and shuts behind him.

Sterile smells and cool air mix with bright, blinding light. A tinted holographic window hovered over a different gurney than the one he’d sat you in.

He remembers this. He remembers laying there as his body is rebuilt, bolt by bolt, sheath of synthetic skin by sheath of synthetic skin…

A pale hand throws the curtain open and Angela’s eyes are wide with fury. When she sees him, she freezes. “Genji-”

He doesn’t care. He looks past her, through her, unto you.

You’re on your side, food untouched, the thin hospital gown and subpar blankets surely not providing you with the warmth you needed. He wanted to scream at her - was it not obvious you were cold by how you curled away from the world in favor of the cubicle wall?

“I do not wish to speak to you,” Genji states. It’s flat and without room for argument, the formality giving away the anger hidden away, and Angela picks off her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose.

The stress lines are deeper than usual. Her eyes are bloodshot. Has she even slept?

Angela tugs the curtains closed. He goes to yank them open. She grabs his wrist, and the air thickens with tension. He doesn’t look at her. She doesn't look at him. Both are glaring ahead, though for different reasons. He tries to yank his arm free, gently albeit in warning, and she doesn’t let go. When it becomes clear if she doesn’t give a good explanation that he’ll knock her on her ass, she breathes deeply.

“Y/N specifically requested solitude.”

“I am the exception.”

“No, you are not.”

His arm yanks free. “By what standard?”

“Y/N’s standard.”

He paused. Angela takes another deep breath. “Y/N does not wish to see you. Lucio and I have been forced to practically stand guard so as to prevent direct interaction because you are not supposed to be in here.”

“What… why-”

“Genji, bitte, please.”

Angela’s pleading eyes do nothing to deter him, although he does think about it.

She glances back at the curtain, voice hushed. “... I’ve… had patients like this before. The lacerations were deep to the point we considered replacement. We salvaged both arms by sheer luck given the blood loss and trauma to the veins, muscle, tendons, and bone. Y/N fully intended to die, and when patients have this escape interrupted… they become quite angry.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve only been able to talk to Y/N because I managed to explain myself as not the one to interrupt-”

“So. It is my fault.”

Angela shakes her head. “It’s no one’s fault-”

“It is my fault,” Genji repeats, steady and low, “because you did not wish to take responsibility, and so the blame is centered on me.”

“That’s not what I said-”

“Move.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but he’s already at your side.

You look lethargic… anemic, even. Were there no matches for your blood type? Have you seen the sun? Shouldn’t he have been there the very moment you’d woken up?

His fingers shake an inch from your shoulder. Ever so gently he touches your skin, jerking his hand back with you slap it away.

He can hear Angela scoff in frustration. “Five minutes! If you are still here, so help me God I will have Winston throw you out!”

He bites back, “And contaminate the hospital with an animal?”

She stiffens. He sneers, “Didn’t think so.”

After that, his only focus is on you.

He should have done more. Logically, he already knows it’s not because of him. But… he’s tried, and it wasn’t enough. Did he really give it his all?

You’d join him in meditation per his request. Shared meals, spent late nights talking to or with him. Pressed against him, loving him, and he returned that love. You’d never harmed yourself, and maybe, he thought, that if it doesn’t get better, at least he managed this.

Genji whimpers. “Please… my love.”

He reaches over your side, clasping your hand in his. You tried to yell at him to leave you alone, cursing him for your survival, swearing and trying to pull away, and he’s fairly certain Angela is demanding he let go but he doesn’t.

He can’t.

When you break down crying he buries his face into the mattress, squeezing your hand. You’re squeezing back, and he can’t even tell if it’s for comfort or to get him to leave you alone. He’s pleading, my love, let me in. Let me help. I can help, I can, if nothing else let me know what I can fix, let me-

Someone’s yelling at him again. It’s not Angela, it’s not Lucio, and something sharp is jabbed into his neck.

Genji snaps back with a shout, yanking out the foreign object.

A dart. His eyes snap open, vision blurring. Ana stares him down, face hard and giving nothing away.

Angela made due on her promise.

Genji’s head meets the floor with a harsh ‘thunk’. Were it not for his cybernetics, Angela would’ve been concerned about a concussion.

She snakes her arms around his side, flipping him over onto his back and grunting with the effort to move him even an inch. “Ana- c-urrrrrgh, dispose of the- the needle-”

Ana didn’t need to be told. She’d already picked it up and sealed it in a lonesome baggy, snapping shut the translucent container meant for disposable hazards before she got to ground level and hooked her arms around Genji’s knees. His limbs hang limply, and though her age wore down on her back, Ana offers to switch sides.

When they finally make it to his quarters, Hanzo peers up with furrowed brows. “What has happened?”

Angela, exasperated, demands Hanzo take him. He gets his arms under Genji, setting him right back down in his bed. Angela leans against the doorframe, panting heavily, and Ana sets her hands on her hips, stretching straight. “Ohhh…. I’m gonna feel that in the morning….”

“I… apologize. I did not know he would interfere with-”

Hanzo loses his voice. Angela’s death glare softens, and briefly her eyes flicker to Ana wandering off.

“Keep an eye on him,” she commands. “I understand the need to be close to loved ones, but he is not to enter the medical wing again without proper justification. Understood?”

“Yes.”

Angela brushes her shirt down. “Good… good. And tell him!” Her finger is held up as though to get the last word in. “That if he does it again, I will make sure to have several tranquilizers at hand. And Lucio will too, so don’t even think of sneaking in! And if that doesn’t work, I will personally compensate Captain Amari to sit at Y/N’s side 24/7!”

The door is forced shut.

Hanzo stands at his lonesome.

Gently, he brings the blankets over his brother’s form. And for the first time in days, he sees a blank, untroubled sleeping face.

#overwatch imagines #overwatch #genji #genji shimada #genji x reader #genji shimada x reader #taking requests #fanfic #one shot #maybe idk i might continue this #suicide #tw suicide #tw attempted suicide #tw suicide attempt #tw self harm #tw self destructive behavior #tw self blame #tw guilt #tw angst #tw heavy angst #tw cutting #tw blood #tw drugging #angst #attempted suicide #suicide attempt #self harm #self destructive behavior #self blame #guilt

[hangingbymidnight]

Vent

You know what? I refuse to get better. I refuse to listen to anyone who gives me advice or telling me “sUiCiDe Is A pErMaNeNt SoLuTiOn To A tEmPoRaRy PrObLeM” or some “iT gEtS bEtTeR” bullshit. You fuckers only say that so you can gives yourselves a trophy or a pat on the back so you think you did something and helped someone (side note: you didn’t). If it supposedly gets better, when? When will I wake up every morning wishing I didn’t die in my sleep? When will I have a love for life like everyone else? When will I love myself for who I am and not hate everything about me? And honestly, if I wasn’t meant to be a toxic, selfish asshole all my life everything that’s happened from me being born up until now, it wouldn’t have happened at all, idk just a thought

#asp.txt #tw sui ideation #tw s3lf harm #self h@rm #tw self blame #tw self destructive behavior #tw depressing thoughts #bpd vent #vent post #vent page #self destructive thoughts #bpd thoughts #su!cidal #I wish I had killed myself