#tw: self-loathing

[wingsandarrow]

muse: Daryl Dixon limit: 18+ only please, mutuals and non-mutuals set: TWD-verse, semi-recently settled at the prison open to: other TWD/TLOU/horror muses, multifandom crossovers, ocs, whatever! triggers: death/dead body, guns, self-loathing

Was it weird that Daryl was doing better after the world ended than he ever had before the walkers? There was probably some metaphor in there about death and things that thrived on decay, but he didn't know what it was. Maybe it was the absence of Merle from his life, as guilty as he felt thinking something like that. He owed everything to his asshole older brother, probably wouldn't even be alive right now if it weren't for him, but the sorry truth of it was that he could breathe easier out from under his shadow. He still hoped--in the way people hoped for things that weren't very likely--that he was alive out there somewhere, but he didn't see how he would ever know for sure. Even before the dead started walking, it was too easy for people like them to disappear between the cracks. If Merle didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be, and it was just as true now as it had been before.

The group had tentatively settled in the prison after the farm had been overrun. Fuckin' ironic, was what it was. He'd managed to avoid prison, narrowly at times, all his life. Then the world ended, and guess where he found himself? He wavered back and forth on feeling safe and feeling trapped there, but that was Daryl all over. Safety always felt a little like a trap to him, and things with his friends(?) were new enough that he didn't fully trust any of it. In his experience, people always turned on you. It was just a matter of when. He'd be ready to bolt when that happened, but he didn't kid himself that it wouldn't hurt this time. He liked them; they were good. There were moments he'd started to believe they liked him too, but he wasn't. Good. Trying to be wasn't the same thing.

There was talk of turning some of the surrounding space into farmland, but it was still a long while before it would turn out anything edible, and Daryl was always one of the first to volunteer for scavenging missions. It wasn't just food they needed, since the prison storage had been well-stocked, but medicine and other supplies too. He was a couple days out, everything close by already picked over, and more or less enjoying the quiet. He didn't have to remind himself that he could survive out here alone fairly easily. He'd been doing it since well before the apocalypse and, away from all the eyes and voices, it was more like being able to draw a full breath for the first time in a while. This was his natural habitat, walkers or not.

The neighborhood was small, and as far as he could tell, nothing living had passed through recently. That didn't mean it was empty, and he didn't much want to get shot breaking into houses looking for canned goods and Tylenol. Better to find some sort of gas station or corner store. The sound of a gunshot broke the silence, not near enough to make him duck for cover, but loud enough to get the attention of every walker on the street. More shots narrowed it down to a specific house, the sounds erratically spaced like the shooter had been caught off guard--or didn't know what the hell they were doing. Running toward the noise was nothing short of idiotic, since he'd have to deal with both the shooter and the dead now stumbling in the same direction, but…

But. It was a person on the other end of that gun. He was learning that there were two kinds of people: ones who ran away from trouble to save their own skin, and ones who ran toward it and tried to help. Daryl was trying to be the kind of person who helped. He ran toward the noise. The time for subtlety had passed, so kicking the door in barely slowed him down. One walker dead on the living room floor. His head swiveled toward the stairs at the sound of something moving on the second floor. "Hello?" He was already moving toward them, but better to announce his presence. Whoever it was might have bullets left.

#indie rp #indie starter #open starter #indie twd rp #indie horror rp #tw: death #tw: dead body #tw: guns #tw: self-loathing #cut for length #no need to match #twd!verse

[scorchieart]

Dual Perspective | AO3

Rating: T

Warnings: thoughts of self-loathing, mentions of death

Characters: Nokto Klein, Licht Klein

Summary: Nokto wanders through the palace garden looking for some peace and quiet, but too many voices keep him from finding it.

Word Count: ~3200

A/N: Finished both of Nokto's endings. Time for another one of these. Watch out for incoming angst and dialogue dump.

Dozens of familiar voices surged and swelled in the frigid night air, like a summer storm on a tropical coast, but Nokto was too tired to heed their calls. Dry leaves crackled underfoot as he listlessly pushed through the garden, reveling in the morphing scents of the multicolored roses he passed. The fullness of the reds, the subtleness of blues, the tart yellows… he stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from plucking one out of habit. Their fragrance was too conspicuous, and he did not want to be followed tonight.

Frivolous fox… Lecherous heartbreaker… Good-for-nothing sleaze…

But the voices trailed undeterred through the bramble, like vines lengthening and swerving from his eyeline to his boots, hoping to catch him off guard or trip him up. 

Bogus beast… Wannabe prince…

His skin hummed with every call, every name, every accusation, but he gripped the fabric of his pants and pressed on. He had many paths to choose from, but one destination in mind. Taking longer strides, he zipped through the maze of hedges and blossoms along the shortest path to his goal.

Takes the easy way out… Can’t be helped to try…

He clicked his tongue and broke out in a run. His sword and coat flaps and cufflinks bobbled irritably at his sides, dipping and swerving through the maze of fences and flora, but he didn’t stop until he was inches from the gazebo. He grabbed his knees and breathed deeply, in and out, resisting the urge to vomit on the steps. Here the flowery smells struck his nose like a crescendo of lies and false promises, but he squeezed his eyes shut and let them cover him like a security blanket, shielding him from the voices circling overhead. 

Cursed son… Bane of the family… Should have died…

He crouched down, slapped his hands over his ears, and began to count. With each number he exhaled, puffing out the slurs and insults and derogations until they were expelled from his system. When at last he could hear his own thoughts again, he removed his hands and wrapped them around himself, rocking in place and keeping his head low. He would be more comfortable sitting in the gazebo, but he felt his strength wasted away and decided to just stay put. The wind was calming enough down there as it was, and it helped muffle the last of the nagging voices. 

Just a burden… The odd one out… We don’t need seven…

They never truly left him alone, so over the years he learned to keep sane at a manageable volume. He learned to live life, if it could be called that, filtering persons from phantoms. He learned to fall asleep to a backdrop of whispers. So when the new sound registered in his head, he almost toppled face down onto the shiny granite steps.

It was a light sound, almost ethereal, with no words, like a whistling or a sneeze. Nokto regained his balance and stood, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword as he scanned the clearing. Only the towering rose hedges met his challenge.

That sound, it was definitely real.

He ascended the steps two at a time and circled the gazebo, eyes darting out left and right in search of the trespasser. The gazebo stood at the heart of the rose garden, surrounded by bushes taller than any man and provided the best vantage point of the entire courtyard. It was supposed to be the ideal location to ensure privacy from nosy interlopers. Nosy interlopers above ground, that is.

It was easy to miss, especially under the shroud of an overcast night sky, but Nokto could just make out the slight patch of disturbed earth from beyond the intersection of two hedges. Had he been any taller, he would have missed it entirely. 

Setting his hand on his sword again, he exited the gazebo and cautiously made his way towards the archway at the head of the enclosure. While multiple paths reached the heart, there was only one entrance. And Nokto knew there was no doubt this intruder was already aware of his presence, but he still felt too dizzy to put up a fight if it came to that. The only option was to do what he did best: assess the situation, twist it to his advantage, then escape at the first chance. 

Coward… He bit his lip, gripped the hilt, and stepped out. As he suspected, there was no one in sight. He craned his head around the curving bushes and spotted the hole, only it looked much wider from here. Much too wide for anyone trying to stay hidden.

He approached the rim and peered inside. Had it not been early summer, he’d have thought the breeze hitting his face came from within. The total darkness of the night likened it to staring down a bottomless abyss harboring ancient perils or wicked monsters waiting to snatch up anything that wandered too close.

Jump… Hide… Leave… You’ll be doing everyone a favor…

Nokto smacked his cheeks until they stung. That wasn’t his voice, and those certainly weren’t his thoughts. He was just tired from all the extra traveling he’d been doing lately. He folded his arms over his head and inhaled the floral aroma again, counting aloud to himself until his head stopped spinning. He tossed one final look of disgust at the gaping hole, but nearly tripped on a loose stone when two eyes blinked back at him. 

He quickly regained his footing and shook his head free of the wooziness. He wasn’t seeing things; those really were eyes watching him. Two ruby red eyes amid a sea of inky black, so resplendent and familiar he’d been a fool to not recognize them at first glance.

“I know wolves sleep outdoors, but I’m sure even they’d change their minds if they had a bed,” Nokto said, hoping his quip concealed the residual panic in his voice. 

Covered in dirt and debris, Licht sneezed but gave no further response. Nokto’s eyes adjusted enough to make out his figure sitting at the base of the pit, what looked like a ten-foot drop, with one leg folded against his chest and the other limply stretched as far as it could in the tight quarters. Nokto’s mind immediately wandered to Sariel shouting direct threats from the garden earlier in the day.

“Clavis?” he asked.

“Clavis.”

“Why didn’t you call for help?” Nokto pointed at the uncomfortable leg, no doubt injured in the tumble in the trap. Licht quickly pulled the ends of his uniform over his lower half.

“I thought you’d want some quiet time with her,” Licht replied.

“Who’s her?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

Nokto frowned but didn’t press further. This was his other half. He could sense his twin’s deflection from the two elephants standing in the garden even in the limited light. If Licht could pretend he didn’t just witness Nokto talking to himself like a loon, then Nokto could turn a blind eye at his brother’s refusal to explain his predicament.

Nokto removed his sword from its clasp and squatted by the edge of the hole. Careful not to make eye contact, he tightened his hold on the hilt and lowered the scabbard. 

“Can you climb?” he asked.

Licht pushed himself up and extended his arm, but before his fingertips could reach the other end, a foreboding sense of dread shocked through Nokto’s spine and the sword slipped out of his grasp.

Naughty boy… Out after dark…

Nokto clapped his hands over his ears again and tucked his head. They were wrong. This was his backyard, his home . He didn’t do anything wrong. A rustling noise erupted behind him, followed by the grinding of dry leaves crunching under a clustering of footsteps. 

Backed into a corner… Nowhere for the fox to run…

“Shut up!” Nokto seethed through chattering teeth. No one was after him. He had nothing to fear. It was all in his head.

“Are you serious? You were actually planning on meeting multiple girls out here? Do you have a death wish?” Licht called through the clamor. Nokto gasped and raised his head. So he could hear them, too?

The rose bushes directly behind him had barely begun to shake when Nokto leapt into the pit. 

“Hey! Watch it—” Licht started, but was quickly muffled by Nokto slapping a hand over his mouth.

“ How many? ” Nokto breathed, locking eyes with his twin. Licht calmed his struggling then responded with a peeved twitch of the brow and three raised fingers. Nokto nodded and fished in the dark with his free hand until he located his sword. Voices be darned, if it came to it, he’d protect his brother even if this pit became his grave.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.” Nokto’s shoulders relaxed a little as Sariel’s composed voice trickled down the hole. Three sets of footsteps struck the marble steps with flawless poise. “Forgive the imposition. I understand you are both exceedingly swamped with paperwork and exhibitions in light of His Majesty’s condition, however I must inform you that—”

“He’s dead.” Leon’s equally collected voice didn’t falter as his words hung in the air, and Nokto felt Licht’s arms tense in time with his.

“He is,” Sariel responded. “Then you have been visiting him?”

“No. But you only call us out here when you don’t want anyone else to hear.”

Sariel let out a long sigh. “Have I truly become so predictable?”

“You still keep us on our toes. So what’s the next step?” Leon asked.

“The next step will be the immediate appointment of His Majesty’s successor.”

“Figures. We don’t even get a chance to mourn.”

“We cannot afford to mourn until after a new king is crowned, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, no I get it. It’s just messed up, is all I’m saying.” Nokto imagined Leon shrugging.

“Few instances transpired over the past few days that I wouldn’t describe as ‘messed up’.”

“Then you have more to tell.” Chevalier’s concentrated voice rang in, cutting through the gentle air like lightning.

“Indeed. It is difficult to broach this topic tactfully, but His Highness…” Sariel paused, as though the words he searched for would magically appear. “His Highness… sired an eighth.”

Something draped over the garden like an impenetrable curtain at those words. An awkwardness and confusion so thick neither faction leader seemed could overcome in the moment. But Nokto couldn’t share in the reflection this silence brought. The hand cupping Licht’s face grew sweaty as the unwelcome voices teetered into his mind again.

Such a failure they had to find another… Easily replaceable… A disgrace…

He didn’t realize how taut his muscles had grown until he felt Licht pinching his nose. As soon as Nokto retracted his hand, Licht grabbed his shoulders and shook him. But instead of reprimanding, Licht thumped his forehead hard against Nokto’s and forced him to look into his eyes.

“Focus,” Licht growled, his voice just as serious and sobering as the men above. In that moment, all other sounds fell deaf on Nokto’s ears, from the voices in his head to the rustling of the rose petals through the breeze, as he stared back at the tiny red imprints his fingers left on Licht’s cheek.

“When?” Leon finally asked, and it was enough to get the conversation rolling again.

“Definitely after the twins, he assured me,” Sariel said.

“And you choose to reveal this now,” Chevalier said.

“Believe me when I say of all the secrets I’ve kept this is the one that robbed me of the most sleep. But he implored me not to divulge anything until after his passing.”

“A coward until the end,” Chevalier spat.

“Not important right now,” Leon interjected. “Do we know who it is?”

“Rest assured, the eighth prince is well and has been located,” Sariel said. “He currently resides in town, as a matter of fact, and I plan on summoning him to the palace the day after tomorrow. I only ask that you breach the matter to your factions prior to his arrival.” 

“And you are certain he is the son of the Late King?” Chevalier asked.

“In all my years in service to the throne, I have never been more certain of anything, my prince.”

“See to it that you are more certain the fool you appoint does not blunder and choose him as king.”

“The Belle Selection is the next item on my agenda, as are preparations for Foundation Day.” Even against the Brutal Beast, Sariel maintained his resolute in-command persona without a hint of wavering. To Nokto, it was all he’d ever known from the straightlaced minister.

“And I need not remind you two to keep the developments we discussed tonight confidential, though I must stress the importance that the other princes abide by this vow to secrecy as well,” Sariel continued, making Chevalier snort.

“They’ll keep quiet. They know what’s at stake,” Leon assured.

“For all our sake, I hope they do,” Sariel said.

 Like a signal to the meeting’s end, boots pounded down the marble steps without so much as a farewell. 

“One moment, Prince Chevalier,” Sariel called.

“Whatever it is, you can tell Clavis.”

“Trust me, I plan to speak with him at length later, but I wish to deliver this in person. It is not much, but for now please accept my condolences. It is easy to overlook, but you both lost a father tonight.”

The footsteps halted. “Condolences serve no purpose with enemies poised at our doorstep,” Chevalier replied. Then he marched away, the sounds of crushed leaves crackling in his wake, each crunch sending bone rattling tremors through Nokto’s body from his underground perch. Leon seemed to wait until Chevalier was out of earshot before speaking again.

“Man, we really pulled the short straw with timing. Guess you’ll be extra busy from now on.”

“I have since forgotten the true marvel of sleep eons ago,” Sariel sighed, and Nokto pictured him removing his glasses and pinching his nose.

“Look at the bright side, at least you got seven competent princes to back you up!”

He’s talking about the new kid… Nokto wriggled free of Licht’s hold and hugged his arms while Sariel let out a dry chuckle above.

“Only you could look at this situation and claim there was still something good about it, Prince Leon.”

“The way I see it, we’re at rock bottom. So the only path available to us must be good,” Leon said.

“Do not tell Prince Chevalier, but should he be selected I envision his reign to be devoid of such gusto.”

“Well, that’s not entirely up to you, is it?” Leon laughed. “You sure you can find someone in time?”

“At this point, it is not a question of ‘can’ but ‘when’. Which reminds me, do take care to approach the subject of His Majesty’s passing with sympathy. I worry how the younger princes will react,” Sariel said, descending the steps in lighter boot clicks than Chevalier.

“Don’t worry, I can handle Yves and Licht. But I can’t guarantee sympathy from Chevalier.”

For once, King Highness won’t have to waste his time…  

“I suspect the hellcat’s reaction to be anything but mourning, assuming he hasn’t learned the truth already, but I had intended to break the news to Prince Nokto myself, though I have yet to see him since he returned from Benitoite,” Sariel said.

“He’ll turn up. And with the Selection he’ll have no choice but to stay put if he wants a chance at being king.”

“This coming from Prince Not-So-Clandestine-Late-Night-Town-Escapades, himself?”

“Touché.” Leon scurried down the steps in a flurry of light taps. “Tell you what, you turn a blind eye to me taking a few extra trips downtown, and I’ll talk to Nokto for you. You’re going to have your hands full with the new kid, anyway.”

Sariel huffed, joining Leon as they exited the heart. “My biggest concern at the moment is convincing him to even come to the palace.”

“Then ask Jin to help you. I’m sure those two will get along like peas and carrots.” Nokto winced and felt Licht shudder beside him. On the contrary, Sariel seemed to find this funny as he let out an actual laugh, one heartier than Nokto had heard from him in years.

“In that case, could I also trouble you two with keeping an eye on the new prince? It will ultimately fall to his decision, but I would feel more secure about his future if he were to join your faction.”

“Uh oh, Old Sariel’s showing his age again. Filling the void not hours after it emptied.” It sounded like Leon might have clapped Sariel on the back, but his bellowing laughter muffled all other sounds.

“That is truer than you might think, Prince Leon, for I have been designated as King’s Regent until the Belle Selection process concludes,” Sariel shot back.

Leon’s laughter subsided instantly. “Whoa, you’re not going to pass any wicked decrees in your reign, will you?”

“That depends on how the young princes treat Old Sariel.” 

Nokto wouldn’t relax his muscles even after he could no longer make out what the receding pair said. His mind swirled with the night’s events, each revelation hammering the walls of his skull and echoing with the cacophony already clamoring in his brain.

A new king… As if he has a chance… Leon and Chevalier, those are rulers… What is a tiny fox to the king of beasts… Does he expect to be praised or even noticed…

“Congratulations.”

Somehow the lull of Licht’s stoic voice broke through the chatter, and Nokto swiveled his head to meet his brother’s apathetic gaze.

“ What? ” Nokto asked, a little more aggressively than he’d intended.

“You’re a big brother,” Licht said.

All at once, just like before, it was as though the pesky voices unanimously fell mute under the sixth prince’s presence. Nokto’s arms fell limply on his lap as he too fell under the spell of his brother’s concentrated stare, trying to understand the emotion behind those unwavering eyes. It used to be so easy to tell what Licht was thinking, though that was back when the two used to tell each other everything. No filters, no averted glimpses, just a pair of cursed twins against a world that could never understand.

"Oh... thanks," he said dumbly.

“Aren’t you going to climb out?”

“Uh, I sprained my ankle, too,” Nokto lied. He didn’t want to leave yet, not when it was finally quiet enough to hear only his thoughts.

“What a pain. Clavis needs to fall down his own pitfall someday.” Licht sneezed, let out a yawn, then rested his head on Nokto’s shoulder. His hair tickled Nokto’s still-stinging cheek as he shifted to a more comfortable position.

“Yeah, this is all his fault,” Nokto mumbled, but Licht was already snoring. Nokto removed his coat and lay it over his shivering brother, taking care not to disturb his injured leg, as he settled himself as well.

How long had it been since he’d sat so close to his other half? Since he’d inhaled his dewy scent of training and felt the warmth of his fluffy hair on his skin as they lay down to sleep? Since he’d been a part of an actual family, with brother, mother, and father close enough to touch?

“All his fault,” he repeated, and for the first time in eons, Nokto fell asleep to a backdrop of nose whistles instead of whispers.

Someone give Nokto a hug please. And Licht too, while you're at it.

On a more comedic note, I'd like to think if Sariel broke the news in the round table room that Leon and Chevalier would race to try and flip the table first.

Tagging: @atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess

Divider credits: @delishlydelightfuldividers

(Check out my Ikemen Prince Writing Master list here! And if you want to send me a request or be added to my tag list, please check the details here!)

#ikemen prince #ikepri #nokto klein #licht klein #ikepri nokto #ikepri licht #scorchie writes #angst #tw: self-loathing #tw: mentions of death

[vvolfstare]

bucky & addie | present day

@herosneednotapply

It was strange to know that Addie was in New York City and not see her. He couldn't say if she was avoiding him exactly. If she was, it would never be obvious enough to spot. She wasn't that gauche. But knowing she'd been spending time with Steve and hadn't reached out felt… odd. With anyone else, he'd probably just let it go. Bucky had enough reasons to hate himself that it wasn't a stretch for him to imagine other people did too, and he didn't waste time trying to change their minds about him. It was frustrating and pointless, and what argument did he have, really? He'd done everything they accused him of, and more.

But once, a very long time ago, Adelaide Conner had been one of his best friends in the world. Those early Brooklyn days with Steve and Addie had easily been the best of his life. He'd never expected Steve to take his side in everything that came after. It seemed like too much to hope for that he'd get to keep both of them, but he couldn't live with himself if he didn't try. For the most part, Bucky let people's actions speak for them, but if Addie didn't want to see him again, she was going to have to say it.

In person, preferably. He'd thought about calling first, knowing he could get the number from Steve. Instead, he found himself heading toward her place without being entirely sure that was what he wanted to do. Texting felt cowardly, a phone call only slightly less so, but showing up out of the blue was borderline rude. Christ, he never used to be so unsure of himself. Even standing in front of her door, he had to summon the courage to actually knock instead of turning around and walking the other way. If her security was any kind of decent, she already knew he was there anyway.

#chat: addie #herosneednotapply #alt!postblip #tw: guilt #tw: self-loathing #let me know if anything needs changing! #<3

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Dialogue Prompt:

TW: STRONG LANGUAGE, DARK THEMES

"Why the fuck would you tell them? Why did you fucking tell them?!"

"They needed to know, otherwise they would have continued to blackmail you-"

"You fucking idiot! Sure, you got them to stop the first time, but you just handed them a gun with ammunition to use against me, and don't you dare try and pretend they wouldn't. We both know they're an asshole who doesn't know when to stop."

"They were going to find our either way, Whumpee. I didn't want them to get the wrong idea."

"The wrong idea?! It's you who has got the wrong idea! You don't have the right to tell other people my shit. You don't get to do that, not to me. I fucking trusted you, and you betrayed me."

"..."

"You made me look like a fool in front of everyone. And the worst part of it is, you still think you did the right thing."

"I did."

"No, no, you didn't. You never do. If you did, there wouldn't be anyway for them to blackmail you."

"Oh, look who's talking-"

"I didn't get a choice, Caretaker! It was *that* or dying in a dingy alleyway with the rats. And, let me tell you, sometimes, I wish I died in that shithole rather than end up like this. Hell, sometimes, I wish I'd get struck in some random shootout just so I don't have to carry the burden of knowing what I did to survive."

"Whumpee..."

"If you were going to betray me, you should've just shot me between the eyes. It would've been kinder than this."

#angry whumpee #tw: blackmail #tw: suicidal ideation #tw: death mention #tw: guns #tw: guilt #tw: trauma #tw: betrayal #tw: angst #tw: bad caretaker #tw: strong language #tw: self-loathing #tw: morality #tw: survivor's guilt #whump prompt

[ilovethebittertaste]

Behind every mentally ill person

Is a secret tumbler account they vent on to strangers

#tw self destructive behavior #tw depressing thoughts #tw self destruction #tw depressing stuff #depressing quotes #sorry for being depressing #tw self sabotage #self h@rm #self loathing #self destruction #ed vent #ed not sherran #ana bllog #@na vent #vent post #vent #actually mentally ill #mentally unstable #mentally fucked #secret account #we’re all doomed #we’re all going through this #tw ed diet #tw ana diary

[lakrimasx]

I’m a terrible person and everyone I love is suffering because of me

#tw self destruction #tw depressing stuff #depressing life #tw depressing thoughts #depressing shit #kinda depressing #sorry for being depressing #tw depressive #tw depression #su!c!de #tw selfhate #tw self loathing #i’m so sad #bpd stuff #i want to sleep #self destruction #tw sui vent #tw sui ideation #su!cidal #s #self h@te #tw self h4rm #tw self sabotage #tw self destructive thoughts #self h@rm #tw self destructive behavior #k!ll me now #k!ll me please #i wanna die #tw sh destructive behaviour

[understandablyirrelevant]

My mom was a straight up Undertaker fangirl and got me into the WWF at the age of four, with the Mankind vs Undertaker 1998 King of the Ring match being my first one. As a child, Kane was my favorite.

My stepdad would regularly punch me dead ass in the chest and rob me of air for standing up for my mom to him.

My oldest younger brother would fly into rages and break things our broke asses couldn't replace until I personally restrained him, which always made me cry.

I was always standoffish and monstrous to the other kids in school, because I felt so trapped and angry.

I wonder if I should be happy that I'm apparently good at working out fight scenes in my head.

#tw: violence mention #tw: self-loathing #tw: vent

[dr-aegon]

Rant

I know what i’m gonna rant about is very much ‘adulting is hard’ millennial bullshit but as a fully grown adult human i find keeping myself alive is becoming harder and harder as i get older. I can barely able to feed myself twice a day. And my own brains keep insisting to sabotage my daily life by supplying endless intrusive thoughts, so much so that sometimes it renders me even more incompetent to take care of myself.

And as my youth leaves, this body is going to be more of a hassle to deal with. I already have health issues that I didn’t anticipated merely a year ago popping up which every doctor i see just nonchalantly say something like ‘well it’s natural process of getting old’, like i am not even that old?

I don’t even like myself enough to pay attention to my well-being, nor there’s anyone likes me enough to give a damn about me. And as i am writing this rant, I feel I’m so sick of myself. Why can’t i just stop being this? This person is so immature, annoying - I can’t stand this person.

It’s been almost two months since my latest self harming. I managed not to do it not because i magically like myself for past to months - no, i just didn’t want to take care of the wounds for weeks. And since for the recent incident I didn’t - I couldn’t - go to stitch them up, it took almost 4 weeks for the wounds to close and heal. Bandages are expensive. What an idiot.

I realize this is more ridiculous when written down in text so I don’t do this much, i let all these garbage thoughts in myself where it belongs - inside me. I hate this. I need a drink. I should not drink but when did that stop me from drinking until i black out? Pathetic all around.

#journaling #tw: self-loathing #tw: whiny bitch #tw: self-harm #if it wasn’t for the pain and possibility of failure that will further mess up this life i would’ve already killed myself years ago #if i had a courage to do it i would not be stuck with this person #rant

[comatosebunny09]

fever dream | astarion a.

genre(s): fluff, angst

warning(s): language, self-indulgent, sick!reader, astarion’s a little ooc

now playing: the night does not belong to god - sleep token

notes: very self-indulgent because i’m sick and needed some comfort and @nanaoise08squad inspired me to finish this. thank you for reading, lovelies! ❤️❤️❤️

Somehow, the sun shines brighter today. Glaringly so.

You hold a hand to your temple to shield your eyes from its brilliance. Your armor feels heavier, too. Like boulders stacked on your shoulders and chest, making it harder to breathe. You force out a groan that’s gritty like ash. Trudge down the steps leading outside the inn to join your companions, your limbs weighted and achy.   

“I hate to point out the obvious, darling.” Astarion grimaces with his hands curled to his chest in revulsion. He ducks away from the sight of you. Winces as you take a labored step forward, your balance thrown to the hells.

“But you look like utter shit.”

You scoff, phlegm making itself known in your throat.

What a way to be greeted by the love of your life.

“You sure are a flatterer, aren’t you, Astarion?”

You’re sure to drag out the vowels of his name—or perhaps your words are a little slurred due to whatever ailment took hold of you today. Nevertheless, you jab a finger between his ribs, your face twisting into something haughty.

You wonder if it was worth the exertion as your vision and body sway along with the trees, and your head pounds something menacing whilst a wave of vertigo hurtles into you.

“Shit!”

Astarion catches you when you pitch forward, your legs unable to grasp the rhythm of walking. And there are suddenly two of him. Two little ‘starions calling your name, fretting over you, shaking you to keep you amongst the conscious.

You feel like lead. Feel yourself sinking below the surface, unable to return.  

Your lids shutter as if weighed down by sandbags. The muddled shouts of your friends trickle in, each tinged with varying degrees of concern. You register hands all over you, patting and pulling. Register a strained voice yelling stop, and the frantic touching ceases.  

Before you fully succumb to the darkness, there is the sensation of you being lifted up, followed by the earthy scent of bergamot flooding your senses, and it furls around your heart.

Then, there is nothing.

Something savory draws you from the inkiness of your sleep. It curls around your mind, luring you into consciousness.

You caution a sound, your throat rubbed raw from disuse. You slowly open your eyes, and the bleariness gradually morphs into discernible shapes and colors. Somehow, this place feels familiar.

You’re back in your rented room. Nestled in the plushness of a mattress with too many pillows and sheets soft as linen. You will yourself onto your elbows, wincing at the stiffness of your neck. The pain is manageable. Better than it was before, you note, leisurely ingesting your surroundings.

A lone candle flickers on the nightstand, swathing the room in its bronze glow. Moonlight seeps through the curtains lining the window across. The faint symphony of crickets accompanies the murmur of the inn’s other patrons and the groans of the floorboards beyond your doorway.

Bloody hell.

How long have you been out?

On cue, the doorknob rattles, and a slither of light leaks in. The swell of noise outside commands your attention. You stiffen, fingers instinctively twitching for a weapon. But your bones settle as a thatch of white creeps into your vision from the threshold.

“Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty,” Astarion breathes. He toes the door shut, a steaming bowl of deliciousness cupped in his palms. Takes a few steps forward, rounded eyes flashing amber beneath the candlelight.

You recognize that aroma. The hearty scent which roused you from your sleep. Your stomach gnarls with life as Astarion nears the bed, donning that smug little mask.

“Hungry, are we?”

You nod enthusiastically, garnering a chuckle from the room’s other occupant. Suddenly self-conscious of how eager you are whilst he hands you the bowl, his fingers slinking away from yours as if he’s touched simmering coals.

“Courtesy of Gale,” Astarion supplies. “I can’t guarantee how good it tastes considering—well, you know. Undead and all that.”

His smile is tight-lipped. Guarded as he settles himself on a stool beside you, his spine straight and his ankles crossed. He helps you sit up against the headboard despite the unease permeating the air. Quickly retracts his hands to press them against the wood of his seat between his thighs, surveying your room.

You take some time to study him. Note that his eyebags seem more prominent than usual. Darker. Hair’s a little tussled, skin a bit paler. His shirt sits rumpled around his shoulders, the fastenings of it done all wrong. Worst of all, he has not looked at you for longer than a few beats. Like you’re made of glass and will shatter if he stares for too long.   

A pang shoots through you, searing hot like lightning.

He was worried.

Worst of all, he was worried about you.

You’re no longer hungry, your stomach twisting as you gaze down at the stew bleeding warmth into your palms. You set it on the nightstand with a decisive clunk, quietly receding into yourself. Silently relenting to the smog of self-loathing draping itself across your shoulders.   

“You scared me half to death, you know,” says Astarion, parting the tangled sea of your thoughts. As if he senses you berating yourself. It’s a soft drawl. An attempt at scolding you, but there’s weariness nestled in the undercurrents of it. “That’s saying a lot, considering I’ve already one foot in the grave.”

You peer up at him like a meager child. He watches you from his peripheral with crossed arms, his nose turned up, feigning disappointment. You see through the cracks of his façade, and your lips twitch with the threat of a smile.

He can be incredibly adorable when trying to shroud his feelings.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, your tone barely above a whisper.

Astarion releases a resigned sigh. And the weight of the world seems to pour from his shoulders as he angles himself towards you, reaching for one of your hands.

His expression softens, and he squeezes, his palm frigid yet reassuring. For the first time since he entered, he truly looks at you. Gaze swims through your features as if to commit every detail, every imperfection, to memory. As if he could lose you at any second.  

“No need to apologize, my love. I was just…concerned, is all. I suppose we all were when you went down.”

The recollection makes your face blossom with heat. Poor little darling, taken out by a nasty cold. Causing hysteria among your friends, deterring your journey.

Astarion thumbs your cheek, smiling something genuine at the pout on your lips.

Your tongue burns with the ache of a question, and you shrink, not wholly prepared for the answer.

“How long was I out for?”

“Nearly two days.”

You blanch, evoking another guttural laugh from Astarion.     

“Shadowheart did her best to heal you. There was only so much her magic could mend. So, we’ve been playing the waiting game while you caught up on your beauty sleep. Not like you need much more of it.”

You snort at Astarion’s cheekiness.

Leave it to your little star to find every opportunity to flatter you.

He examines your joined hands thoughtfully, thumb smoothing over your knuckles.

“It’s been centuries since I’ve dealt with mortal illnesses. Honestly, I couldn’t begin to fathom how to comfort you. Other than gracing you with my presence, of course.”  

It’s refreshing to see his humor is still intact despite his beloved pulling a Snow White.

For a while, you sit like this. Basking in the moment’s serenity, holding hands. Grinning and laughing like two enamored fools when your gazes interlock. You can tell that Astarion’s lightyears away, however. At war with himself, lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, reprimanding himself for not being your proverbial knight in shining armor.

Absently, you scoot over. Relinquish your love’s hand—much to his chagrin—to pat the space beside you. You affix him with a look that’s all too serious as you say, “For starters, you could try holding me.”

Astarion stares at you with rounded eyes. Mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish, forming around words that he can’t quite conjure.   

“Oh. A-Alright,” he finally musters. Dumbfounded, Astarion stands, maneuvering to sit beside you on the bed. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. Never does, unused to being so vulgar, so unabashed with his feelings.

Though, for you, you know he would rearrange the stars in the sky if he could.

So you help him, tugging him closer and falling into the circle of his arms. You nestle against his chest with a pleased hum vibrating your throat. Tangle your legs together, ignoring the surprised sound that leaves him.

He’s a lovely contrast to your still-enflamed skin. Fits like a puzzle piece against you, soft and lithe. He relaxes gradually, tucking you ever closer against him as if you’ll disappear in a plume of smoke if he lets go. He pets through your hair before anchoring his chin to the crown of your head, surrendering a satisfied sigh.

“Well, I supposed this isn’t so bad, now is it?” Astarion husks, stroking soothing circles into the notches of your spine.

You nod offhandedly, your lids lowering, and your body feeling at ease.

Suddenly, your ailment seems more bearable as you sink below the depths of slumber, an unguarded smile cresting over your lips.

The shadows of your conjoined bodies dance along the walls as the candlelight dwindles, and you both surrender to the tranquility of the night.    

masterlist

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 x reader #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fluff #tw: language #tw: angst #tw: self loathing #tw: sickness #sick!tav #sick!reader #astarion comfort #bg3 #bg3 astarion

[nectorbruise]

I am rosé drawtectives biggest fan, everyone else, you don’t exist, she’s the only one for me

I have a whole backstory for her and part of it is a past crippling addiction to nicotine and town hopping. I feel like she was big with graffiti. God, what if the gang met when they were younger, that’d be so cool. Also nobody insult the arm hair, I’m watching you guys

#nector art! #fanart #rosé drawtectives #drawtectives #drawfee #her #I love her dearly #wonky hands oh how much I loathe you #tw self h4rm #tw cigarettes #tw pretty girls who are cooler than you/hj #also yes that’s a bisexual flag that’s who she is

[ellydrawsstuff]

"Please just stay here with me"

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #charlie x vaggie #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin fanart #The inner demons can be brutal #Having a supportive partner doesn't magically make the yelling go away but they can be there to try and help comfort #Sometimes all you can do is be there #Fluffy art coming soon tm but not today #Little miss sunshine isn't immune to self loathing is my belief and it makes her a deeper character :) #tw self loathing #tw selfhate #angst #vent art #vent #Sorry if I missed a tw I tried to tag the ones I know

[cepaeanemoralissnail]

Cut me until I bleed out

#sh twt #i want to cvt #self h@rm #self mutalition #sh things #cvtaddict #sh cvt #tw sui ideation #tw self destruction #self loathing #sh tumblr #s3lf harn #tw s3lf harm #styroblr #baby cvts #beansblr #tw self destructive behavior

[harrystylesfan2686]

Alone

Pairing: no one really.

Summary: Reader starts to feel left out in her own family...

Warnings: Neglection. Suicide thoughts. Self harm (in detail) please go back if any of these bother you. Your mental heath matters more.

A/N: I think I need therapy too...

Masterlist Part 2(Azriel) Part 2(Eris)

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Ever wondered what it's like to be alone?

It's a game, really. A game of utter self degradation. A game where there are only two players, you and your mind. A game where you never truly win and you always have to keep playing because your brain never tires.

A game which no one else realizes your playing until you lose and it's too late.

It's the game you have been playing ever since the Archerons joined the inner circle. You love them all, honestly. Thier different personalities was the first thing that drew you to them. You admir all three of them but the one thing you hate is how you got left alone after their involvement to your life.

Before them, you all relied on all of you for company and support. Now, everybody has their own person.

Rhysand has Feyre, Cassian has Nesta, Azriel has Elain, and Mor and Amren have found thier partners too but in case they aren't present, Mor and Amren, as crazy as it sounds, rely on each other. Just like that, everybody has a person to go home to, to come back safely for, to turn to for comfort.

You don't have anyone.

You hate going home because your bed is always empty. You hate going on missions because you know no one would be worrying about you every minute you gone. You hate celebrations because you have no one to dance with, to drink with, to end the day with.

You love family dinners. Even though you never get a chance to speak, even though you never talk to anyone, even though no one notices your presence. You love family dinners and meetings because it's the only time youre not alone.

It's doesn't matter if you're lonely, at least you aren't alone.

But in the game you're playing with yourself, after a while, you get too tired to challenge back with same force. You don't push back the mean thoughts your mind throws at you as insults. You listen to them, compare them to your situation and realise, you've been trying to win for nothing.

You slowly stop trying to protect yourself all together.

The first time you didn't go to a family dinner, you thought you would regret it later but you didn't, instead you felt glad that you didn't go because no one had come to get you, no one came to ask why you didn't show, no one cared about you enough to think why you didn't go.

So you stopped going at all.

You stopped doing everything with you 'family' and prefered being left alone.

You only met them when you had a mission together or anything related to work.

Just like that, today you had gone to one of the Illyrian camps at Rhys orders. He got report saying things haven't been going as they should there and wanted you to go check. But on your way back you had been ambushed by a group of six men wanting to kill you in the camp, they couldn't of course but you did come out of the fight with a large sward wound on your left side.

All you wanted to do was go home, rest, tend to your wound and sleep. You can give the report to Rhys tomorrow.

You let out a grunt and step in your house, immediately tense seeing a shadow of a person move the dark room. Your hand placing itself in your dagger straped to your thigh, you other hand on the left side of your waist pressing on your wound.

"Relax, it's just me." A familiar voice fills the silence as the fae lights turn on and Rhysands face becomes visible. You sigh in relief and furrow your eyebrows,"What you doing so late in my house?" You nearly snap, but hold back as respect for your high lord.

"You came late you were suppose to be here two hours ago." For minute it feels like he cares for you, and you allow yourself to believe that he was worried for you but you fantasy shatters the second he opens his mouth again. "You were supposed to deliver your report two hours ago. You know how important this is, I have other things to do too." His voice sharp as he scolds you.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I got attacked while leaving, it took time to fight them of. It was six against one but well I managed to survive, eh?" Rhysand's scowl deepens. "Tell me what happened there now."

Your eyes closs for a second whem you feel dizzy. "Look, how about you give me ten minutes to freshen up, and I also have a wound to–," You try to say but he cuts you off saying,"I don't have more time. Tell me right now what happened so I can get started on fixing things, then you can have all the time to fresh up as you want. My office, now." He doesn't leave much to room to argue and winnows you to his office.

You sigh and start speaking, repeating everything you noticed in the camp as Rhysand listens and writes down the report. Near the end, you feel another wave of dizziness hit you and put your head down to rest it against the backrest of your chair and groan when you feel pain shoot up from your injury from the movement.

Rhysand finally notices the source of your pain and his eyes flare,"You're hurt?" You scoff. "Yes. That's what I was trying to tell you before you winnowed us here."

"I didnt notice it. I'm sorry, you should go tend to it." He quickly dismisses you, finally letting you go back to your house.

As you look at yourself in the mirror, thinking how filthy and hideous you seem, you grit your teeth. Of course no one notices you. Look at you. You are ugly and filled with dirt and scars all over your body.

How could anyone look at you when you can't even look at yourself.

Your gaze falls to your wound, the big cut that spread from under you left breast to the start of your thigh. If was deep enough to bleed you dry.

Would anyone even notice if you did? If you don't heal and let the injury bleed you dead. Would anyone know that you were gone? That your body layed unmoving in the bathroom floor. How long would it take for someone to find you? Who would find you? Probably Rhysand when he needs you for his next mission.

You eye your dagger that you unshielded on your way in the bathroom. How long would it take for you to bleed out? Hours? Days? You didn't want that. That was too much. You don't think you can handle that much pain constantly. Maybe if you took that dagger and deepen your cut, you would bleed out faster. Maybe you would have a faster death. Sure it would hurt but at least you would be gone before someone found you.

You would be free. Free of the loneliness. Free of the feeling like you were a burden in everyone's life. Free of wanting Someone to care for you the way you see everyone else care for their loved ones. You would finally be at peace.

You gasp and blink out the terrible thoughts. Breathing heavy, you search for the cotton and Healing cream in the cupboards. You groan out with you don't find any of them.

You turn back to the mirror. Maybe your brain is right. Maybe this is a sign from Mother herself telling you to not let the wound heal and die right here, right now. Your gaze finds the knife again, eyeing the sharp edge. Would it really be that bad?

Your hand grips the handle of the dagger, bringing it closer to the cut. You let the cold mettle edge scrap the skin, an inch afar the start of the cut. The sharp edge slicing through skin like paper, leaving a line of crimson red blood, seeping out of the newly cut skin.

Your eyes widen as you observe yourself, keeping the knife near the cut but not touching it entirely.

It's... mesmerizing. The way blood slowly comes out of the skin, the small and steady lines created by your dagger are engrossing. And the pain, the pain is hypnotizing, slowing raising to the rest of your body. Your body feels electrified, there's snips of pain tingling through out your entire body, your ears buzzing with excitement. Your hands are shaking and eyes bluring but all you can focus on is how much you want to do this again. Feel your skin open beneath you knife again. Feel the pain that slowing raises with each extra inch of cut.

Oh gods. What have you done?

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#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar angst #angst #tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: self loathing #tw: self half #your mental health matters #love you guys #azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #cassian x reader #inner circle x reader #eris x reader

[feral-ballad]

Hieu Minh Nguyen, from Not Here; “Elegy for the First”

[Text ID: “once, I ran, face first, into a mirror / because I didn’t / recognize / my reflection, because I didn’t see a / reflection at all.”]

#tw: body image #hieu minh nguyen #self loathing #excerpts #writings #literature #poetry #fragments #selections #words #quotes #poetry collection #typography

[ilovethebittertaste]

i want to go to sleep and not wake up honestly

#tw self destructive behavior #tw depressing thoughts #sorry for being depressing #tw self destruction #tw depressing stuff #depressing quotes #kinda depressing #depressing shit #self destruction #tw self sabotage #self loathing #i wanna kms #im going insane #i hate my brain

[lakrimasx]

Being miserable is so familiar, this is who I am

#i can’t do this anymore #tw depressing stuff #tw self destruction #depressing life #tw depressing thoughts #depressing quotes #tw depression #tw death #su!cidal #su!c!de #sorry for being depressing #tw self loathing #depressing shit #tw selfhate #self h@rm #self destruction #i’m so sad #stop my misery #tw self h4rm #tw self destructive behavior #self h@te #kinda depressing #i’m so tired #tw self destructive thoughts #tw self sabotage #tw sui vent #tw sui ideation #depression relapse