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the-amazing-boop · 2 months

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This is the first I'm hearing of this today so I'm waiting for news outlets to confirm his death so I'm still looking for more information.

Regardless, Aaron Bushnell, thank you for your sacrifice. Self immolation is the most severe form of protest. I'm sorry it came to this.

First, the man in Congo, now this. Every single day, I feel ill.

Edit: several reports confirm Aaron has passed. I don't know if I'll stop crying before I go to bed. I may need day to take a break and sit with this. We haven't seen this much self immolation protests documented so forwardly since Vietnam.

#aaron bushnell #u.s. military #palestine news #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #israel #israel embassy #washington dc #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #gaza genocide #tw: death #tw: self destruction #tw: sh #self immolation #protest #congo #congo protests

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character-estudio · 2 months

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Lemme tell ya, nobody in that hotel cares who you are! How famous, how hot, so you might as well just... cut the act.

Hazbin Hotel | 1.04 - "Masquerade"

#angel dust #husk #hazbin hotel #1.04 #1x04 #masquerade #vivziepop #vivienne medrano #blake roman #keith david #huskerdust #angelhusk #tw: abuse #tw: drugs #tw: addiction #tw: self destruction

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hunterwritesstuff · 2 months

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Adam x fem sinner reader, Adam(angel) being insecure about his tummy and face, so reader basically just with body worship! (Suggestive!)

Sure!! :D Hope you enjoy! :D

"Why do you call me perfect?"

Adam groaned, gently pinching at his tummy. God, today was NOT being nice to him. First, his robe had to be put into the laundry, so he couldn't exactly cover up like usual, THEN his mask had to be fixed/remade, so his face was all out in the open, today just fucking sucked.

He straight up took down all the mirrors in his room at this point. He hated how he looked, and he knew if he went out, he'd have to put on the typical confident persona he always put on.

Hell, he didn't even want to fucking leave his room until he could cover up again! He sighed frustratedly, just resolving to get back into bed until he could wear his robe and mask again.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, hidden under his blanket for, he just knew he heard someone come in. "Adam?" He heard his partner call softly.

He grimaced. You were gonna see him at his most insecure, at his lowest, at his WORST.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the blankets got pulled off, ready for any insults or wayward comments to come his way about his appearance.

...

...but they never came. The only thing that came his way was a soft hand running through his hair. He slowly opened his eyes, looking up at you, tears starting to well up in them. "...you can go ahead, y'know...everyone else has already done it multiple times...you don't have to be different." Adam sighed.

"What do you mean, love?" You asked, tilting your head in confusion.

"Just LOOK at me!! I'm not conventionally attractive, I'm fat, I've let myself go, my face isn't attractive-" He started, pausing as you hushed him.

"Adam, you're perfect to me. Besides, even if you weren't-which you AREN'T-you were the first human. If you have any imperfections-which you DON'T-it's because God didn't really have humanity figured out fully." You reassured.

Adam frowned. "I'm SUPPOSED to be perfect. But I'm not."

"But you're perfect to me. Isn't that enough?" You asked. "I love you for all of you. No matter what."

"Nobody could. Two people already threw me away-People just want me for my dick! Not me as a person! Just my dick!" Adam ranted. "Nobody likes how I look!! I'm a mess, I've let myself go, and you should try to find somebody better for you!"

You furrowed your eyebrows in worry. How bad had this man seen himself? You looked down at your pocket, pulling your phone out, searching something up.

"Adam?" You asked.

"Just go find someone else." Adam frowned.

You shoved your phone into his face, showing him a photo of a baby seal. "What does this seal look like?" You asked.

"....it looks fat. Why?" Adam chuffed.

"How do you feel about it?" You asked.

"...it's cute." Adam sighed.

"That? I see you as that baby seal." You said softly. "Yes, you may be bigger, but you're still cute to me. I love you for YOU. Your face, your tum, your wings, all of it. All of you is perfect to me."

You turned to Adam, finding he was tearing up, clearly on the verge of breaking down into tears. "You think I'm like a baby seal...?"

"Mhm! And just like a baby seal, I wanna pick you up and snuggle you and love you and cuddle you until you realize just how lovable you are!"

Adam sighed, melting into your embrace. He felt happy. "I will say, the dick is a plus." You joked.

"Well, you've earned it, babe~" Adam grinned.

#hazbin hotel adam x fem reader #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #suggestive #slightly anyway #tw: self loathing #tw: self deprecation #tw: self destruction #ask to tag #Adam goes through it-

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chaoticace2005 · 2 months

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The angst potential of if Winners don’t remember those who didn’t go to Hell…

Imagine Angel finding Molly. Finding his twin. Finding his other half. Finding the person he regrets hurting more than anyone else. One of the main reasons he’s even trying to get into Heaven.

Imagine him finding her and she just looks at him blankly.

“Oh, hi, what did ya say your name was?”

“Uh, Ang— Anthony. Molly, it’s me.”

“Who??? I’m real sorry have we met? I don’t rememba an ‘Anthony.’”

The idea that she completely forgot about him. The idea that for her to truly be “happy”, for her to truly be in Heaven, she needed to erase “Anthony” from her mind. The idea that everyone in his life was right, as he was just a mistake. The fuck up. The twin that weighed his better half down. That the one person who always told him that wasn’t true doesn’t fucking remember him so maybe that was a mistake too?

“Oh… yeah. Sorry, I.., thoughtcha was someone else.”

Imagine him pushing himself away from everyone again, because maybe they’re better off without him too. Imagine him relapsing because if nobody wants him to be here he certainly doesn’t either.

#I woke up from a nap and chose violence #but also if any artist wants to draw this 👀#hazbin hotel #angel dust #bonus points if it incorporates human Anthony and molly #angel dust hazbin hotel #molly hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel blurb #tw: sui thoughts #not explicitly but they’re definitely implied #tw: self loathing #tw: self destruction

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tommykinard6 · 5 days

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I love your headcanons!

Why do you think Tommy has a difficult relationship with sex and how does that show?

Also do you have any more ideas about the emergency contact one? Like the first time they get a call from the hospital...

Yessss thank you so much for asking about those headcanons! I’ve been wanting to talk about these.

I actually just got another ask about the emergency contact and I’m going to go super in depth for that, so stay tuned!

But why do I think Tommy has a difficult relationship with sex? I’m so, so glad you asked. This is one of my biggest headcanons.

However! Please read with caution. TW: for a form of self h*rm involving sex, self hatred, and internalized homophobia.

Tommy was extremely closeted for most of his life. When he was at the 118, he couldn’t even accept himself. But at some point, he stopped being able to ignore it. For me, this might be when he realized he liked Sal (see my other post).

Now for some people, exploring your sexuality includes a *ahem* wild phase. To me, Tommy had two parts of this phase. The first one was…not great.

Tommy was a self loathing closeted man. He hated himself for being gay. He wanted to be “normal”. So when he stopped being able to ignore it, he thought he could “get it out of his system”. So he went to bars outside of LA (he wasn’t risking bumping into anyone he knew) and hooked up with any man who showed interest. He wasn’t picky. He was just more focused on getting out of this “phase”.

So he hooked up with a lot of men. And he didn’t care about himself at all. In fact, he out right hated himself every time. So it devolved. If something didn’t feel good, Tommy leaned into it because he saw it as punishment. He used sex to punish himself and to hurt himself.

I’m not quite sure about how he pulled himself out of it, but we’ll go with this. My idea is that he had a sexual partner who caught onto what was going on, that Tommy secretly hated something happening but refused to stop on his own. The partner shut down the event and when he called out, gently, Tommy on what was happening, Tommy broke down. The partner held him and listened to his garbled story and talked him through it. Instead of the hookup, they spent that night just talking, with the partner trying to get Tommy to see what was happening and get him out of the slump.

And it didn’t fix it. Tommy continued this pattern for a couple more hookups, but he started to get discontented and uncomfortable. Around this time maybe, the 118 got Bobby Nash and the dynamic started changing. Sal was gone and working with Hen, an openly queer firefighter, started to shift how he looked at himself.

So Tommy stopped the hookups and started working on himself. He couldn’t quite face himself still, but he worked on liking himself outside of his sexuality. He started laying down boundaries when he hooked up. And then he left the 118 and started therapy. He was ready to start over. He was tired of the pain and the self hate and the cycle he’d been stuck in for so long. He wanted what he’d seen others have. He saw Hen with her wife and he wanted a bond like that and he knew it could never be with a woman.

Skip forward all this time and he’s learned to be gentle with himself. He finally loves himself. He has embraced his sexuality. Maybe he’s still friendly with that past partner or maybe they never spoke again, idk. He’s had some relationships but nothing’s really stuck. Then he meets Evan Buckley.

He meets Evan Buckley and he feels the sun for the first time. And Evan is still figuring himself out and Tommy not only really likes him, but also wants to make sure Evan doesn’t make the same mistakes he did.

Does that answer the question? Let me sum it up.

Tommy used sex to punish himself and those were his first real experiences with guys. So even now, in healthier relationships and with better mindsets, he doesn’t do the hookup game anymore and is very shy of having sex too soon. He doesn’t have sex without knowing and trusting the person.

Y’all I have no idea if this made sense, but this is literally the premise of a story in my brain.

#911 abc #9-1-1 #911 show #tommy kinard #911 season 7 #lou ferrigno jr #bucktommy #evan buckley #911 spoilers #tk6 answers #tk6 muses #911 meta #tw: mental health #tw: self loathing #tw: self destruction #read the tws

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thedwarventradesman · 20 days

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Hollow — Tech x GN!Reader Batcher

Description: Tech x GN!Reader Batcher, established relationship; POV is 1st person so there's no use of gendered pronouns (: Warnings: Angst, major character death, grief, very vague allusion to suicidal thoughts and self-destructive tendencies Word Count: 916

A/N: This is the first time I've really written any fandom content since high school. Or at least, with the intention of letting others read it. Tried to balance the mix of recounting the past while also shifting to how reader/oc is in the present which can be tricky so I hope it reads well.

Image Credit: @ilcuoreardendo-fic

Everything happened so fast.

It was like any other mission gone bad — shots from grounded enemies, shots from the sky, and having to problem-solve on the fly amidst the chaos. Then… it was very different.

There was a violent shake as the rail cars were hit and then I was looking down at my husband hanging far below the car. Momentarily, all sound became an indistinguishable noise, garbled voices of distress mixed with ringing and roaring in my ears, as you struggled to climb up to the car.

As I moved to help you, the car creaked and, snapping back to reality, I heard you shout up, “Whoa! Don't! Any shift in weight could send both of these cars over. You must sever the connection hinge. Now!” Wrecker and I immediately exclaimed our rejection of that idea. I could feel my panic rising, my desperation increasing. There must be something. There HAS to be something. Anything to fix this mess and save you.

Your next words, spoken so calmly and matter-of-fact, slammed into me. “There is no time, cyare. Plan 99.” “Don’t. You. Dare, Tech.” My voice cracked on your name. Gently, desperately, I repeated my words, punctuating them with “please”. Your eyes locked with mine — soft, sad, and full of love. “I love you, cyar’ika, but when have we ever followed orders?”

When you shot the connection and began to fall, a deafening scream ripped out of me. “NO!” My body automatically lunged for the side with my hand outstretched before Wrecker grabbed me and held me firmly. Thrashing to escape his grasp as the car began to move, I screamed, “TECH! No! No no no! Go back!”

As the car got further and further away, the shock of the situation overtook me — numb, unseeing, unmoving with that same mix of indistinguishable sounds in my ears. My body went into a survival autopilot – moving as prompted but I wasn’t there – and the team had to help drag me back to the Marauder through the attacks.

Once aboard the Marauder, standing in the middle of our quarters, my knees gave out as I crumbled. Ripping off my helmet and goggles, my agonized sobs finally broke free and echoed through the ship. So full of grief, my body shaking, I leaned forward on my hands for support, fingers digging into the metal floor. One hand reached up, taking my chained wedding ring from underneath my undershirt and I clutched it so hard a mark was left in my hand.

At some point, I had stopped crying and left my body. I didn’t even know the ship stopped. Feeling a gentle hand on my shoulder, the only acknowledgment of awareness I could give was a hoarse, emotionless mumble, “You should have let me go with him.”

From there, I don’t truly remember much of anything. There’s a blur of being dragged to my feet and out of the ship, and of having wet hair and clean clothes while AZ checked me over with no memory of cleaning up or changing. I’m ashamed to say that I don’t even truly remember Omega being taken. All I truly remember from the past month and a half is waves of soul-crushing pain surrounded by numbness as I attempted to lose myself in my work. I keep crying and feeling flashes of disbelief and anger. I’ve lost my appetite… and my desire for self-preservation. All this while moving on autopilot to complete my tasks and finish the mission. Find and save Omega. That is all that matters right now.

Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo are concerned for me, often pushing food on me and otherwise fussing. Up until now, there were eyes on me almost all the time, it felt like, and I hated it, but I understood why they hovered. Echo left a couple of weeks after the events to rejoin Rex, but I still hear him comm Hunter every so often to check in on me and find out how the search for Omega is going.

The days are often easier than the nights since I’ve taken on most of Tech’s tasks alongside my own. Hunter and Wrecker have tried to take some of them, wishing to lighten my load, but I adamantly refuse. I need them. I need the memory of helping with and hearing about them from him by doing them. They’ve let the situation be, but still intervene to make me sleep.

That’s when it gets unbearable.

The emptiness beside me screams, his scent got fainter with each passing day until it disappeared, remembering the quiet moments we shared in this space, and hearing his final words on a loop in the silence. Once the exhaustion finally takes me… I often watch Tech fall and wake with tears streaming down my face or stinging eyes and a heavy heart. Some nights, I think Hunter has been slipping me medicine in my food ‘cause those are the only nights I get any decent sleep.

Despite all this, I have, believe it or not, been getting better. Slowly, I began to reengage with the boys and be open with them. They stopped having to watch me as close or force me to take care of myself. Now, it’s reminders and intervention as necessary along with occasional check-ins when I seem particularly off one day. I’m still far from okay and I won’t ever be the same but, thanks to our brothers, I become a little less hollow each day.

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not-iceking · 18 days

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Simon, I'm sorry if this is a touchy subject, but what are those scars on your arms from? Are they even scars?

not yet, thank glob.

...

marcy would never forgive me if i did

#tw: self destruction #tw: sui ideation #tw: sui mention #ask blog #ask blog / rp blog #askblog / rpblog #rp blog #adventure time #simon petrikov #simon adventure time #ice king #adventure time au

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lxrd-ren · 7 months

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So, y'know how q!Bads memory has been getting worse and worse recently?

Yeah, just don't think about how eventually he might forget the eggs entirely. How he might forget his own children, the whole reason why he's torturing himself and setting his 4D chess board ablaze in the first place. How he could quite literally lose sight of his goal. How hopeless it would be if he burnt all his bridges and destroyed himself only to not even remember the why

Or, the opposite; he forgets everything BUT the eggs. Now, he'll still torture himself to motivate himself to find his children. However, this scenario would be quite interesting as for starters, he'd stop caring for the other islanders. "The other islanders? Don't know anything about them, why should I care about them?" And so, people he'd once call his friends would become expendable. Doesn't matter if they die in the process of him getting his kids back. Same thing with torture; it isn't a case of 'but it's all for the eggs so it's fine; surely the ends justifies the means' now, it's quite literally 'I don't care about you whatsoever'. Even if the eggs weren't missing, even if they're returned, he still would consider them expendable

Either way, it's quite ironic how beforehand we were theorising how he might die and just come back with no memories, but shit me this scenario is so much worse

Just imagine q!Bad slowly but surely forgetting everything. First it was menial stuff like what he had done a previous day or two, but it'll slowly get worse with him forgetting builds, eggs, people, etc. As his memory is slowly deteriorating he'll have moments when he'll remember stuff again and you'll get him saying "How could I forget the eggs?!" only for him to forget it all again and be back at square one

#qsmp #q!bbh #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp bbh #tw: death #tw: torture #tw: memory loss #tw: self destruction #tw: self-harm

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feral-ballad · 2 years

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Claire C. Holland, from I Am Not Your Final Girl: Poems; “She”

#tw: self destruction #claire c. holland #womanhood #obedience #girlhood #rebellion #excerpts #writings #literature #poetry #fragments #selections #words #quotes #typography #poetry collection

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in-love-with-writing-whump · 3 months

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TW: Implied Abuse, Strong Language

Caretaker couldn’t find Whumpee anywhere. They'd been searching the seedy part of the city— this is where they lived?— all night after they had stormed out after an argument, and still nothing. Caretaker didn't like this place, all grimy and full of faces that smiled with too many fangs to be human. The bars clamored with the worst type of clientele, and though their coat did little to protect from the cold, and the warmth enticed them, they ignored it.

They heard some murmuring from a small crowd, and their stomach turned to lead. They pawed their way through the crowd, glaring up at the jostling gossipers. They parted through the sea of people, finally able to see.

Whumpee laid there, still dressed in the less-than-winter-appropriate outfit from earlier, blood matted into their hair, skin all scraped up and bruised. One of their eyes appeared swollen shut, blood dripping from their split lip as they trembled in their unconscious state.

Caretaker shoved the people around them back. "Get the fuck out of here! Don't you have places to be?!"

The crowd grumbled but dispersed upon seeing Caretaker's gun. They crouched before Whumpee, cautious not to touch them. They didn’t want to scare them, instead letting Whumpee see their hands.

"Whumpee?"

They let out what sounded like a whimper, eyelids fluttering but never fully opening. Caretaker had a million questions, but sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose. They already knew have the answers, and besides, they weren't going to get much out of them like this anyway.

Caretaker stood up, shrugging off their coat, thankful for the thick top they had on underneath. They laid it over Whumpee, holding back a cry at how small they looked like that. They weren't supposed to be small.

"Whumpee, I'm going to pick you up now. I'm going to bring you home, alright?"

Their face scrunched up, voice too hoarse. "Whumper... No, please..."

Caretaker knelt back down, eyes burning as Whumpee's arm flailed, not hitting anything, just revealing more bruises and cigarette burns.

"I'm here now, Whumpee. Whumper won't hurt you while I'm here. I'm right here."

They gingerly scooped Whumpee up into their arms, wincing at how hollow they felt, like a strong breeze would blow them away. Whumpee's face nestled into Caretaker's shoulder, and as Caretaker carried them back home— their real home— they let that act as the smallest insurance that they might be okay.

#whump prompt #whumpee #tw: trauma #caretaker #tw: angst #whumper #tw: crying #tw: guilt #tw: abuse #tw: blood #tw: bruises #tw: injury #tw: hypothermia #tw: missing #tw: strong language #tw: violence #tw: self destruction #definitely not based on a new ship I love #nope definitely not

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year

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Whump Prompt #1081

TW: Suicide Attempts

Anon asked:

How are you with the prompt of a character... almost committing unalive before being stopped by somebody?

I think about this a lot. I’ve for sure written scenes like this (posted under the cut). I sort of live vicariously through it; it’s cathartic almost to receive the non-judgemental help from fictional characters when you yourself aren’t doing too well sometimes.

So prompts-wise:

Your character is embarrassed when they’re found. They’re so open and vulnerable that they can’ t help but feel awkward and uncomfortable when they’re found.

Is the caretaker angry? Are they shouting? Does this make your whumpee even more embarrassed?

Is the caretaker quiet - almost too quiet. Are they scared? Does your character feel shame for this?

Do they pass out before help arrives? How does the caretaker find them? Are they bleeding? Are they seizing? Are they choking? Are they drowning? Does the caretaker administer CPR?

Who sits in the waiting room? Who is kicking themselves thinking: “How the hell did I not see this?”

Instead of screaming “why did you do this?” your caretaker, with a sad amount of understanding, says “I’m going to help you.” They’re resolute. They don’t want your character to feel even more of a burden.

Does your character leave a note? Or do they just... get up and leave without the intention to harm themselves, but find that that’s where they’ve ended up.

Write that character spiralling. They go from numb to their skin prickling with overwhelming emotion.

How scared is your character when they inevitably wake up? Are they confused? Who do they wake up to?

If they’re found before they try anything; perhaps the caretaker takes them to a nearby restaurant; to get them food and out of the cold. Maybe this is where your character finally opens up.

This is an excerpt from my WIP book Hologram that I wrote a few years ago now. TW again for attempted suicide.

If anyone’s every interested about my OC’s feel free to ask...

"Is this it?" A voice from beyond the door questioned.

"Yes, but sir..." the doctor hesitated. "Just remember what we told you."

"He's not in his mind. I know."

"Just pretend you know what he's talking about, it'll make the transition smoother. We'll be down the hall if anything happens." A third voice warned, the tone of which Mitchell recognised as his doctor. The door opened and a figure stepped in.

The visitor had been warned about his friend; how he was no longer in his mind, how he'd been kept in a vegetative state for thirteen years... they warned him about how he'd look, and the visitor had steeled himself to stomach the image of his friend laying prone on the bed. At worst he expected a tube to be shoved down his throat: for his body to be corpse like and attached to a range of alien machines... hell he'd even pictured the idea of Mitchell's body carved open and stitched together under bloody bandages, his thin, pale white skin stretched over his skeleton and protesting against every flex of muscle.

Perhaps he anticipated a disturbing stillness that accompanied a person close to death and on the brink of collapsing into their own mind. After the initial explosion; when the visitor had to be hospitalised they told him they never found the body. He begged and cried but they insisted that his friend was gone; well and truly disintegrated into clumps of viscera that were washed away when repairs inevitably began on the building. He cried some more when they lowered an empty casket into his grave, he wasn't there, no, he was still laid up in hospital, but his absence then just sparked the desire for his presence now.

He had to be there for his best friend; he was the last tie to sanity he had.

So when he rounded the door into the private room, anticipating an older, corpse like version of his childhood friend, his heart sank when his expectations weren't met.

Instead, the events before him were so much worse.

See, when the short British man slithered into the room... he did not expect to see his own friend preparing to slice the veins on his wrist with a scalpel.

At his gasp, Mitchell's head swooped up and he faltered, staggering back so his bare skin was touching the plated wall. All wires had been disconnected, and hung loose over the edge of the bed. The scalpel remained firm In his shaking grasp. The Child’s eyes darkened as the visitor spoke, choking on his words at the fragility of the man before him.

"Hey Mitch." He stammered, paused just a few feet from the hunched over frame. Mitchell closed his eyes and huffed through his nose and angling his head away. The blade didn't move from where it was poised over his pulsing, black vein.

"Oh fuck off!" He groaned, "for Christ sake I thought this shit would stop after... for fuck sake, please just go away."

"Good to see you too." The brown haired man swallowed.

"You always see me, you won't leave me alone." Mitchell's sentence gave him pause.

"What do you mean?" He asked cautiously.

"'The fuck d'you think? You're dead and my fucked up brains been manifesting you and whoever else as a way to torture me. We had this conversation before, you dumb fuck!"

"Oh..." the short man sighed, "Oh man..."

He'd been warned about the simulated dreams, though no one knew for sure what occurred in them. Their heart shattered upon the realisation of the emotional torture Mitchell must have suffered as a result. When the fabric of reality is torn from underneath you like a rug... it was no surprise that Mitchell was grasping at threads; desperately trying to tie knots with his shaking hands.

"I just want it to stop." He uttered pitifully, the grip on his knife tightening further as he brought it closer to the blackened vein beneath the pale skin of his wrist.

"I'm sorry, but it all just needs to stop."

Out of options, and knowing Mitch wasn't the negotiating type, he didn't hesitate to dive forward and get a secure grasp on his arm.

And Mitchell stopped.

He stopped moving. He stopped breathing. His blood ran cold and his body turned rigid as though his joints were replaced with concrete. With wide, grey eyes he stared at the intrusive hand as though it had grown more fingers, he exhaled, shaky, as though terrified of moving. His face contorted in an expression of horror and bewilderment.

Mitchell could feel him. He could actually /feel/ him on his skin.

And he wasn't just a mental presence, his calloused fingers added a welcome texture, his skin was clammy with anxiety and uncertainty, and the grip felt tight and reassuring. The blond had to physically force back the tears as this - this was all real. Static crashed against the walls of his skull, sloshing and frothing as though trying to escape but he held on tight. He held on tight to the feeling and the reality he had been presented with. When his mind cleared a little, he uttered the first word that fell onto his tongue, the word that hadn't left him; the name that was always in his mind.

"J-Jack?" He stammered.

"Yeah?" The visitor ventured. "It's me, Mitch."

"You're alive." He stated, bewilderment thoroughly overtaking his grief stricken features.

"Yeah." Jago ‘Jack’ Davis said with a light scoff, his nervous energy forcing him to find the tragic situation humorous. "So are you."

"You're not dead. you're- you're actually real."

"Yeah, mate."

Mitchell launched into a bone crushing hug, scalpel since discarded on the tiled floor. It fell with a clatter that neither man heard.

"You're alive." He continued to babble. "Holy shit you're alive."

"I know, I'm here, god I missed you..." he said into Mitchell's tangled hair, wrapping his arms around his trembling torso.

"I missed you too." Mitchell said, returning the gesture as the floodgates opened and he allowed himself to sob un-apologetically.

"I missed you so fucking much." He hiccuped.

#tw: suicide #tw: suicide attempt #tw: self harm #tw: self destruction #caretaker #angst #hurt #comfort #writing #prompts #whump #vulnerability

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the-amazing-boop · 3 months

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Idk wtf the u.s. thinks is gonna happen if they decide to officially start drafting people. The main selection pool for this generation doesn't want this dumbass "war" and yall can't trick us into thinking it's for all for glory and to protect our country. We have the internet unlike the previous generation showing us how these monsters run poor people into ground with their petty cock fights so that they can grad another piece of land for profit and use it to create more climate disasters.

You don't want to give us guns. I'm liable to turn it on myself.

#draft me i dare you #im no fucking patriot #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #gaza strip #israel #free congo #free yemen #free sudan #tw: self destruction #tw: sel #u.s.a.#u.s.

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michellemouse · 9 days

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I just finished Ronpa and Friends after being inspired by your art! I'd love to know more about the Michelle lore if you have any 😁👍 like how the despair disease affected her, her murder-suicide with Minnie, and stuff like that :]

I'm glad you finished watching Ronpa and Friends for me <3♡

There is something I have to mention and that is that unlike the universe, where Michelle and Mortimer are together, in this universe Mortimer prefers Minnie more than Michelle. This causes Michelle to feel massive hatred towards Minnie (even causing her to perform acts of "self-hatred"...✂️)

About Michelle's despair can be explained with these two points:

After the events of Mortimer's execution, Michelle felt completely alone and abandoned; even though she had her friends

Michelle was left thinking that Mortimer died with a crush on Minnie (I can't explain this part well...)

Certainly Michelle began to distrust absolutely everyone and knew perfectly well that sooner or later they were going to murder her. But... "What's the point of doing all this when I'm alone...?"

She wanted to vent her hatred towards someone but at the same time she didn't want to be executed...

"They took away what I loved most... you felt satisfied and relaxed while I'm completely alone... now I will be the one in charge of taking away what you really love and making you feel how horrible it is to be me..."

-Michelle's letter dedicated to Mickey before her suicide and the Minnie tragedy

#ronpa and friends #ronpaandfriends #ronpaandfriends au #Michelle mouse #michellemouse #tw: sui mention #tw: self destruction #cw hate crime #txt post

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eclipsewarrior101 · 5 months

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Magalor and Friends Au oneshot

It’s a oneshot idea I had. It’s not canon. Just Marx angst hehe

The characters and au belongs to @magolandandfriends

Hiding the Monster Inside

(Warning: this story contains, mention of blood, body horror, mention of self harm. choking and mental issues as well as manipulation and verbal, physical and psychological abuse .)

Marx ran as fast as his feet could take him. He had no ida where to go or where to hide. Crap crap crap, why now, why why why.

Marx could hear his friends in the distance calling to him, but he kept running. He couldn't face them…not now. He ran into the hall of mirrors and just curled up yelling in frustration. He looked up to see those eyes, those horrible black cold crazy eyes and that horrible smirk. He growled and slammed his hands on the glass and cried trying to make it go away. HE wasn’t supposed to gain control again…he was supposed to hurt anyone. He remembered what happened it played in his head like a movie.

Susie and Taranza were working on a performance and i was supposed to go next. I was trying to keep calm, my anxiety was high. But i refused to tell them. I went next and i did okay…bu unfortunately they came up to me to see what as wrong. I just tried to brush them off but susie wouldn't let it go. I could feel HIM talking in my head, telling me things…bad things. Susie grabbed me and when she wouldn't let me go…suddenly everything went blank. I remember…the blood…her scream. Taranza and Magalors yells. I opened my eyes and….oh god. I saw her eyes they were afraid of me, they looked scared. I saw her arm bleeding and then i took off running.

I just growled and slammed my hands on the mirror walls in frustrations “WHY, WHY WHY WHY. why did YOU have to ruin everything…..they…they will never forgive me”

As he cries he hears an eerie familiar voice.It was his voice…but more…darker voice as the tone is laced with malicious and false kindness “ aww. Poor little Marxy. Once again alone. Hehe. i told you soooo”

Marx growled as he looked up. He sees a different version of him in the mirrors. The darker figure had long fangs big wings like Marx’s but with a more demonic form. Big black soulless eyes and his hat was dark purple and blue with different patterns on it. The clone smirked as Marx growled and said “ …s-shut up….go away”

The darker clone curled around the mirrors around him like a shadow, marx hated this guy. He tried to ignore him but Soul Marx smirks “ You cant keep me away Marxy boy. We both know that. I’m apart of you…thanks to your silly wish to take over Popstar, Reeeemebber” he says in a teasing tone

Marx growled and faced the Soul Marx with tears as he said “ A wish I REGRET. you were never supposed to be alive or gain your own conscious. Your nothing but a shadow….you…you wont win this”

Soul Marx laughs with a hint of sadism as he to Marx’s horror comes out of the mirrors as a shadow. He looms over Marx with a toothy smile as he circled him and poked him with his claws on his hands “Oh REALLLY. Cause how i see it. I already did. I warned you of what would happen if you didn't just let me take control. And look what happened…YOU hurt one of your “friends”

Marx growls and tris to act brave but this guy unnerved him “t-that…that WAS NOT my fault….YOU-”

Soul Marx grabs him by the neck and starts to squeeze his throat. Marx’s eyes went wide as he struggled. Soul marx growls “ I DID NOTHING. Susie saw YOU hurt her. Taranza saw YOU hurt susie….this is all on YOU. and who will believe you. What will Magalor think of you”

Marx’s eyes widened as he started to tear up and shake. The memories of the blood, the fear in his friends eyes…they flashed before his eyes as he started to tear up again. He looked to the ground.

Soul Marx smirked and chuckled “that's what i thought. Your pathetic” he throws Marx in to the mirror and Marx says nothing. Soul Marx then went up and whispered in Marx’s ear “You will NEVER belong…YOU will always be a monster. So, be a GOOD BOY and listen to me this time or ELSE. do i make myself clear Marxy”

Marx whimpered and nodded, his body hurting. Soul marx soon slinks into the shadows or the mirror again with a toothy grin. Leaving Marx alone. He gets up, clenches his fists and immediately begins to slam his fists on the mirrors multiple times. He doesn't care if he bleeds…he just, he justs wants to feel pain. Cause right now…he feels numb inside.

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annoyed-galaxy · 10 months

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If you know anyone with PMDD, please take care of them. Figure out when their period is and take care of them the week before.

I say this because the smallest of fucking things trigger me right now during my PMDD week. And it's bad. Going through a full spiral breakdown where the PMDD triggers every single emotion I have to the point I'm hurting myself. I'm yelling at myself, punching my head, digging into my skin with my nail, and punching walls. Emotions of rage, anger, sadness, depression, worthlessness, all of it. And the smallest of things set this shit off.

Thoughts of massive self-hate lead to self-punishment and even the darkest thoughts of suicide. Maybe I'm lucky to have been dealing with this shit for so long, I can identify when this is a PMDD week so I know the feelings will pass.

But in the moment? It's hard. Especially when there was a time I was medicated and didn't deal with this.

The levels of emotions are raised to unbelievable heights. After the breakdown, I feel so tired and it's hard to pick myself back up. And this just happens every month.

One week: I go through mental hell. Tiny things can trigger me and make me extremely pissed off and violent. Or make me break down and hate myself and violent against myself.

The next week: Period. Cramps and misery and bleeding and dealing with all those aches and pains.

The third week: Recovering from the precious two weeks of hell which take a lot of effort and energy causing me to be extremely tired and wore out.

Final week: Have started to finally enter the full recovery state. Only for everything to begin anew.

It's hell. It's tortuous.

The worst part is that this condition is rare. So not a lot of people have heard about it. It bums me out because I feel like I'm alone in this. And when someone says "yeah I know what you're going through" no, you don't. Unless you have PMDD which I have not met another person who does. It's fucking awful. My life is controlled by this disorder. A constant hellish fucking cycle.

So, again, if you DO know somebody who has PMDD, please check on them. Help them out. It makes everything worse having this shit. Feeling suicidal, depressed, anxious, angry, etc.

I feel so fucking alone during this time because I'm not myself. I can't control my emotions and turn out to be much more of an asshole to the people around me and they don't understand why.

So yeah.. Just keep an eye on us. It helps. To know we can make it through this awful rollercoaster that happens every fucking month.

#Tw: mentions of suicide #Tw: suicide #tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: self destruction #Tw: self harm #PMDD awareness #Pmdd #Mental health #I'm okay I promise #It's just a battle I always fucking fight #I always come out victorious but never unscathed

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pathesis · 25 days

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Bunni recently went under a lot of changes as I adapted her from 5e to PF2e!

Instead of being a Dhampir herself I focused more heavily into her backstory :) Bunni is a healer who who's lived on a southern style commune in the countryside her whole life.

I'm still building her sheet so no class picked just yet!

Support me on Subscribestar!

LONG ASS BACKSTORY RELIGION LORE BELOW

In the commune, everyone is considered family, deeply devoted to their religious beliefs. Every other week, members of this "religion" are required to donate a certain amount of their blood to their leader, a practice known as "Communion."

Communion, once held monthly or bi-monthly, now demands donations every two weeks. The frequent bloodletting leaves scars on members' arms and hands, as wounds open before old ones heal. Some resort to cutting the inner thigh when cutting on the hands and arms become too painful.

Members are reminded to conceal these scars by dressing modestly. It's crucial that they remain hidden, especially when they're outside of the commune. When members perform Communion ceremonies held off church grounds, privacy is paramount, given the sacred nature of the practice.

Communion is painful but despite the pain, Communion is revered as a sacrifice to their god in exchange for guidance. Children are introduced to the practice early, beginning with finger pricks and advancing to palm slicing as they mature. Their first Communion is celebrated with ceremonial uniforms, games, feasts, and candlelit gatherings adorned with red flowers.

High-ranking leaders partake in a special wine reserved solely for them, symbolizing their closeness to the deity. These leaders claim to receive divine instructions by using the donated blood.

Their leaders preach that their devotion will lead to ascension, granting them immortality, security for their families and the chance to work closely with their leaders.

Incase it's not painfully obvious this " religion " is actually just a vampire cult but only those in the highest rankings are aware it run by vampires. Bunni and many of it's members are blissfully unaware, they just think they're a small religious group who believe in old world traditional values!

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