#and sometimes it triggers the urge to self harm

[chloe-brennan]

.

#tw self harm #tw suicidal ideation #i’m trying to sleep bc like… a girl gets tired sometimes and it’s also past 1am so i need sleep #but all i can think about is shitty/traumatic memories i have in my brain and I have the urge to relapse back into my self harm #and it’s like things are okay for me rn so why i wanna relapse I don’t even know maybe some fucked up part of me misses it which is dumb #but also maybe it’s bc I’m slowly getting closer to the anniversary of something shitty happening to me and i’m feeling triggered idk #either way this fucking sucks ass #shannon rambles

[unimportantweirdo]

hahahahahaha fuck i fucked up

#tw self harm #trigger warning #i was rubbing a bead on the back of my hand #because apparently the black paint on the smiley face comes off quixk #*quick #so i was testing it #and realised i was scratching myself at the same time #which is what i did/do when emotions or thoughts are too much #scratching helps sometimes #but its not healthy so ive tried really hard to stop #except sometimes i forget #and now i have to deal with the lingering urge to scratch at my hands and arms because ive accidentally triggered myself #gods im an idiot sometimes

[impishjesters]

Jax x Reader w/depression/suicidal tendencies

warning(s): mentions of depression/suicidal behavior/tendencies, nothing graphic though, mentions of morbid/dark humor note: it's only mentioned that he has feelings for you, whether romantic or platonic is left up to the reader. A/N: I think this is the fastest I've ever wanted to write for something utterly new to me, usually it takes a while of being into a series or liking a character to wanna write something. This was...less than twelve hours? This was probably the most self-indulgent thing I've written in a while.

Nobody was safe from Jax’s pranks, including you—regardless of how much he found himself gradually enjoying your company.

It’s actually a right of passage at this point that every new person (as rare as it is) who shows up is subjected to some awful prank to gauge just how much of an easy or difficult target they’ll be.

You handle the pranks with ease. Sure it can be annoying, but there’s little that can seemingly “kill” you here.

Which is a shame really—well, only slightly.

Your therapist would’ve probably found it a good thing, trying to off yourself in a digital world where sleeping and eating were no longer required likely meant the inability to die.

Not in a traditional sense anyway.

You’re the only one ballsy enough to prank Jax back, which isn’t easy but when a prank is successful? Oh, it’s worth it to see his reaction.

There’s an unspoken prank war back and forth, but typically the other’s are the subject of your guys’ pranks. Somehow it feels more rewarding with the joint effort.

It's not often, but sometimes Jax's pranks will go a step too far and trigger something unpleasant. He's not really sure why you just walk off like that, those pranks don't make him feel as satisfied for whatever reason.

Once a special type of friendship grows between the two of you, the pranks lessen—not entirely though—nah he loves the unsuspecting reactions of a prank you didn’t see coming.

The pranks become less hostile and more casual—he’s got a reputation to keep after all, regardless of how he feels about you.

The initial reaction to someone being told there was no way out was to panic, you however, didn’t..well not outright. Your initial reaction is dark humor—even with the whole censorship thing.

Ragatha is the only one initially disturbed/worried over your dark sense of humor, which should be expected from one of them since they’ve been there longer.

Jax is aware of your morbid sense of humor and often plays along with it, especially in the beginning—later in the friendship though? Yeah, there’s no noticeable physical change, but he’s only a tad worried.

When not tormenting the other’s Jax stuck with you, or vice versa.

After the attempted drowning and standing (willingly) in harm’s way of one (or three) of the rides, Jax keeps your bedroom key closer in hand than the others.

And honestly? Ragatha doesn’t even blame him. You aren’t distant from them, but you do tend to favour Jax’s company. Regardless of her feelings about him as a person, it becomes obvious that he feels something less hostile towards you compared to them.

It takes a while before you finally confess to Jax that prior to being trapped in this digital hell, you were medicated for depression/suicidal tendencies. And while the digital world took away things like needing sleep and food, it didn’t get rid of the thoughts or urges.

Now—had this been someone else telling him all this? He’d be very uncaring and probably make a nasty “joke”, but because it’s you? He’s treading into foreign territory here when it comes to emotions.

There’s not really anything he can say that would make you feel better, but he does show a more rare tender side, offering to be there whenever you need him. Just to backpedal like a tsundere and say that he won’t always be free ( a lie, the fuck else does he have to do?), but he’ll try and make time for you during those moments.

He doesn’t do some pinky promise bullshit, I mean he can and would, but he doesn’t expect his offer and attempts to do that much (words of promise aren’t on the same level as a prescription drug after all).

But if being around his rude ass self and doing the occasional nice *gag* gestures of like, hugging or whatever helps you, he’ll do it—just, not with others around obviously. Again, man has a reputation.

From then on Jax is more aware of where you are around him at all times, not in a suffocating way though. Well, not intentionally, he has his moments. But he’s trying, again this is new territory for him.

Jax makes it his unspoken, personal goal to make sure you don’t tread the line of becoming abstracted.

Bonus (fluff)

Jax will make an attempt not to immediately recoil from your touch when others are present.

I’m not talking “Whoops, sorry to bump into you”, I’m talking about grabbing onto his arm or being in his personal bubble because you need something grounding or whatever.

More often than none his immediate reaction is to just use you to lean on, elbow or arm resting on top of your head to give you some contact and pressure. (He does it out of habit even when you don't need it.)

Sure he probably looks like an ass to others, but after a while, they sort of just get used to it since you never bring up being offended by the act.

But in private? Yeah, sure shoot, just don’t expect him to put any effort into returning anything. Maybe the drape of an arm or his legs, but if it’s really bad? He’ll lay or sit there while you cling to him like a koala.

Jax actually finds it kinda funny how tightly you hold on whenever he gets up.

“Wow, you really holdin’ on there.”

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc jax #jax #jax x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader

[ateriblewriter]

Butterflies (t.z)

Continuation of I’m Here

TRIGGERS: self harm, self worth, hinting at other things (if you or anyone ever needs help please do reach out)

a/n: sorry this a year late. but here it is! read with caution.

Enjoy?

"Do you have any sharpies? Or a permanent marker or something like that?" Trevor untangled himself from around your body when he felt the time was right. He didn't wait for your answer before he started to rummage through the drawers of junk that were in the kitchen.

Trevor wasn't about to act like he all the answers in world or like he was going to be the one to fix you. Because in reality that would be impossible, you needed someone trained in that field to help you long term. But that didn't mean that he couldn't help in the moment or at least try.

And he had an idea, something that he had seen when he was younger. A reminder for when your feelings got a little too big for you to handle by yourself. It also a place holder until he was able to help you find the correct help you needed. Because he wasn't going to leave you alone to deal with this on your own.

"Um. I think there might be one in the cup next to the sink." You mumble trying to remember where they were. You knew you had some. "Or else it's in with my art supplies. I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Hey now. There is nothing to be sorry about y/n." Trevor carried you over to your couch and making his way to your art corner to start scrounging around for that marker.

It took him a minute to find your collection, it turned out they were with the art supplies that hadn't been touched in months. He picked out two colors, purple and blue, your favorite color along with one of his.

Returning to where he had left you, he made himself comfortable. He snagged a blanket from the bin and laid it across the both of you. Trevor wasn't

"Give me your arm" He said, not asking. You didn't have the strength to question what his motives were, so you presented him with your wrist full of healing scars. He grimmaced seeing them, wondering how long this had been going on and why he didn't notice earlier.

Trevor took the purple marker starting to draw something. He started off with the body, adding some sort of antenna to what was supposed to be it head. He then took the blue marker and made wings on either side of its body.

"A butterfly?" You question rubbing and tracing over the temporary tattoo with the tip of your finger.

Your friend nodded and explained the simple rules: you want the butterfly to live by letting it fade naturally and reapplying it when you feel that certain urge. Oh and if you do act on those urges the butterfly dies.

You could do that. Or at least try. It seemed easy enough.

"You think she's gonna like it?" Trevor asked peeling off the bandage that once covered his newly acquired tattoo that laid on his right shoulder. He was looking to get something new to add to his collection of art in his body and he chose a butterfly design.

"A butterfly?" Mason scratched his head. He was a little unimpressed and a bit confused. But that's because he didn't know the significance of the creature. "I don't know man, it just seems kind of-"

"Perfect, right?" Trevor finished his sentence. He had grabbed a warm wash cloth to clean the remaining goop off.

"I was gonna say weird. But whatever floats your boat." The younger man shrugged. He didn't care what Trevor decided to put on his body.

Trevor groaned, quickly finishing up his tattoo care so they could go meet up with you. You would like the new ink, he was pretty positive of it. He just needed to show it to you know.

You weren't paying attention to what you were doing. Sometimes you do things and it just sort of happens and you don't really remember it. It was almost like you were in some sort of trance. A trance that had you acting upon some of those heavy feelings that had been plaguing you lately.

"Shit" You mumbled when you heard the knocking on the door. You had completely forgotten that Trevor and Mason were coming over. There was a fresh mark on your arm that you needed to take care of.

You hurried to the bathroom in search of some sort of bandage for your arm. Maybe you could play it off as an accident. You didn't need to tell Trevor what had happened. It would be fine right? Oh god you hoped Trevor wouldn't notice.

You just found a bandage, when you spotted the butterfly you had just drawn on your arm the day before. You panic a little, the drawing didn't have a purpose anymore and had to go. You drop the band-aid to reach for a nail scrubber and start to get rid of the butterfly.

"Come on, Y/n, open the door!" Trevor banged on the door again.

"You think she forgot?" Mason crossed his arms. It wouldn't be the first time it slipped her mind that they were supposed to hang.

"No we were talking about it earlier. I highly doubt she forgot so soon." Trevor frowned unsure what to do. Should he wait for you, maybe you were still getting ready. But he had a sinking suspicion that wasn't the case.

Trevor fished the key you had given him out of his pocket and opened the door. He suggested Mason stay there. Mason had no idea what Trevor had walked into last time something like this had happened, so he agreed to stay put.

Cautiously he entered your apartment and started to look around for you. He found you in the bathroom scrubbing away. He notice the red on your arm and put two and two together.

"Hey, Y/n?" He called out. He wasn't fully sure if you had completely heard him so he tried reaching you again. "Can you hear me?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry" You continue what you were doing.

"Hey. Listen to me. You're okay. It happens. I'm not mad." Trevor wanted to grab onto your wrists to get you to stop scrubbing at the butterfly that had already been cleanly washed off, but you swore you could still see a piece of it. Instead he grabbed onto your shoulders and turned you to face him so wrap his arms around you and pull you in close. "It's okay. Wanna draw a new one?"

Let me know what you think! Anything is appreciated!

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #trevor zegras blurb #im really sorry #nhl imagine

[shadowofahope]

Eucalyptus || 2.5

Warnings: Swearing, abandonment, hybrids are only considered as pets, mentions of pre-heat and scent triggers, use of medication, overdosing(unintentional), self-harm (unintentional)

Premise: A sugar glider hybrid with a broken past. Seven men convinced they can give her the life she’s always wanted. Sometimes destiny has a funny way of finding you, and sometimes it smells like Eucalyptus.

WC: 1.3K

Masterlist || 001 || 002 || 2.5

Words tumble out of your mouth when you hear the click.

“I need….Can I have more..?” You try to stop your hands from shaking. They haven’t stopped in weeks. 

“Already?” The vet asks from the other end of the phone. He was finishing his paperwork for the day. He had Chinese takeout with his name on it that he was eager to get to when you called. Which was unusual in itself because you never called without one of your owners present or even all of them. “I gave you a 4-month trial, it's only been just over a month. Are they not working?”

You force down the thick lump of saliva in your throat, trying to clear your voice enough to sound..well like you were fine.  “They were…but then- I need something stronger.” 

You were not fine. You hadn’t been since the week you had been given the pills. But you held onto some hope that your body just had to adjust to them, waiting for them to take the discomfort away, the unending need you felt.

“Snow I can’t give you anything stronger, as you are a smaller hybrid they will be fatal if we’re not careful.” He sits up straighter in his chair. Forgoing his paperwork to focus on your words.  “Did you try taking an extra one? That should help without being too much for your body.” 

“I did.” The room starts to spin a little, you stumble to sit on the ground.”...So I took more.”

“How many more?” Now he’s slightly worried.

“Today or ?” You hold your head in your hand, but you're still finding it hard to stay upright. “I started taking 2 but then it stopped working so I took another and then…eventually another…”

“That’s 4. How long have you been taking 4?” 

“A month or so?” 

“How many today?” He was trying to keep calm, but inside he was frantic. 4 is double your max dose. He just hoped today you hadn’t followed the same pattern. 

“Today…today….six…” The urge to vomit was slowly forcing its way higher and higher from your stomach. Every inch you could feel it burning a path through you. You decide it would be best to lay down on the hardwood. The coolness against your clothed back gave a welcome break from the rising heat. “It kept hurting. It wouldn’t stop hurting…”

“I need… I need… I need to morph back. I don’t feel as sick. I don’t want to be sick.” You could hear your own words slowing. Your mouth couldn’t keep up with your mind anymore. Or was it your mind not being able to keep up with your mouth? You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. 

The tantalizing taste of eucalyptus that hung in the air. It was always the only thing your mind could focus on. It felt so thickly enticing. 

“Snow! Do not change into your hybrid-” He’s cut off by a sharp chirp through the phone. “Shit.” 

“Deandra!” He yells out his office door. “I need your hybrid in here now!”

One of the shelters nurses and her raccoon hybrid come running into the room, they had stayed later tonight to help finish getting the new hybrid drop offs comfortable. He shoves the phone at the male hybrid.

“I need you to tell me exactly what she’s saying. Keep her talking.” He instructs sternly. Normally he wouldn’t talk to someones hybrid like this but he doesn’t have the ability to watch his tone or filter his words. 

He reaches over his desk knocking the papers that he was working on onto the floor. He quickly dials your owners number that he has kept on speed dial since his first day visiting you. 

He hears the click of a connect. 

“Seokjin! Thank god. Tell me, are you the one?” He feels out of breathe, like he’s panting. Even though he’s not. 

“Doctor? The one what?” Seokjin’s curious words respond to him. 

“The one who started Snow’s heat.” He clarifies. 

There’s a pause. It takes too long for the other to answer his question. 

“QUICKLY.” He shouts at the younger.

“No. No. its not me. What is happening?!” Seokjin’s concern erupts through his ears.

“You need to get home now, I’ll leave as soon as I can. The pills had a severe negative affect. She’s taken too many.” He explains desperately. He can’t hide the panic in his feet, he’s pacing in the space infront of his desk.

“What?” Seokjin tells himself out loud. “I have to tell the others.”

“No! Only you. Whoever it is will only make this worse. She needs you right now.” 

“I’m leaving.” The younger notifies him as well as anyone else in the room with him.

“I’ll meet you there.” They both hang up, not bothering with any form of goodbyes.

“-Doctor…..” The racoon hybrid calls to him.

“What is she saying??” He’s trying to keep himself from yelling. But the full blown panic that is beginning to set within him is about to break out.

“She’s not… she’s not talking. She’s only making noises, nothing is making sense. I don’t think-” 

He points to the nurse, “Call an emergency vehicle to head there. Tell them it’s critical.”

Rounding his desk, he snatched the phone away from the hybrid shuffling him to the other side and points at him, “Stay.”

“Snow! Hear me. Talk to me. Jin is on his way. You need to change back.” He hears a few other cheeps before loud rustling.

“Liiiiiiving with them…… has maaaade me…. the hppiest…. Ive ever been in my eeentiiiiire liiiiife.” Your voice comes through muffled and slurring. “I would gooo through….. aaaaaall….. the abuse…. I sufferrrrred…. over again….. to have the chance…. to beeee their pet. They loved meeeee doctor…”

“Love, snow. They love you.” 

“I used to….. maaaake themmmmm sooooo haaaaappy….. Theeeey would alwayssss… ssssmiiiile when they ssssaaaaw mmmme…they donnnnnnnn sssmile assssss…… much anymore….. I wisssh they did….. How doo I…. make them sssssmile… again…?”

“They want you to be healthy and happy. That’s all they want.” He tries to quiet his own breath to be able to hear your slow deep attempts.

He hears a bang and rustling from the other end. He hits speaker on his office phone. The other hybrid still in his office, just in case she returns back to hybrid form. God he hopes she doesn’t.

“Snow what happened?”  He can hear Sekjin’s voice now.

“Thesssse…. are…. Pretty’ssss…. Eyesssss.” Her slurring worsens. It’s almost incomprehensible. 

“Snow please. Doctor what do I do?” Jins voice abruptly yells.

“I have an emergency vehicle headed to you now. Keep her awake and don’t let her change into her hybrid form. The medication will only circulate through her system faster.”

“Pretty…. issssn’t sssssmiling.-How do IIIII -maaaaake Pretty …ssssssmiiiiiile again.” He can hear Seokjin sniffling through her attempts at speech. “i kn..ooow. Everyyyyoooone ssssssmiiilessss ….when immmmm -”

“little…” they word escapes out in an exhale. 

Airy faint chirps are heard, he drastitically turns to the other hybrid. 

“Doctor! She’s changed again!” Jin all but shrieks. 

“What is she saying?” He demands of the terrified male hybrid.

“...” He walks closer to listen, his face going pale. “She’s saying… ‘I’ll stay little forever. I’m no trouble when I’m little.’” Listens again “‘Everyone smiles when I’m little….I’ll stay little’…..She’s just repeating ‘I’ll stay little’ over and over again.”

“Snow!” Seokjin whimpers over the phone, his voice breaking. Just like his heart.. “No…. please.” 

“I’M ON MY WAY!” He grabs his things from his drawer and bolts for the door. 

Running to his car he thinks about all the risks, the side affects he had gone over with you, all the late night research he had done. But this isn’t one of the risks that even crossed his mind. He made a vow all those years ago when you first came to the shelter. He promised to find you a loving family, that you would finally be happy. 

He didn’t realize just how dangerous this could be. How there was one thing above all others that could make it all come crashing down…desperation. 

Masterlist || 001 || 002 || 2.5

taglist:@luminaaz, @mingkilovur, @thefirewasfriendly, @malewife-supremacy, @cestlabellemort @purpleskyyyy @aianloveseven @zera10 @roguesthetic, @littlrmills14-blog, @hesmyphenominiall @ottergirl @scrumptioustrash

#bts imagines #bts fic #bts angst #bts fanfics #bts fanfic #bts fan fiction #bts hybrid fanfic #bts hybrid au #bts namjoon #bts taehyung #bts jin #bts yoongi #bts jungkook #bts jimin #bts hoseok #reader x mate revealed

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 5461

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

8. Banana-Dulce Cheesecake

Bucky

It occurs to him to tell Steve about the kiss later that night, when Steve is three fingers deep in him and Bucky wants some leverage to make him get in him already. He’s told him four damn times already to move things along.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, making an effort to control his voice so that Steve doesn’t know just how well he’s getting at his prostate like this. “If you don’t listen to me and get your dick in me in the next fifteen seconds, I’m tying you up and riding the dildo while you watch.”

Steve’s rhythm falters and his eyes widen, because he knows his husband and he knows it’s no idle threat. Sexual denial is one of Bucky’s favorite cruelties. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, okay.” His fingers leave a sad absence inside of Bucky, but he gets right to work in reaching for the lube bottle to slick himself up.

“Aht, forgetting something?” Bucky raises his eyebrow and watches Steve huff in exasperation as he stretches across the bed to reach for their beside drawer. Bucky takes the opportunity to smack his ass, enjoying the slight jiggle and the clenching muscle. “Good boy,” he purrs, as Steve comes back with a condom in hand. 

Even when he’s fucking Bucky, Steve isn’t allowed to come inside of him. Only Bucky gets the privilege of leaving a load up inside his husband's ass, a possessive reminder left behind to slide out, slow and filthy. He watches Steve roll the latex down his dick and then give himself a few indulgent pulls with the lube. He's red and throbbing, and Bucky can tell by the way he keeps sucking his bottom lip back into his mouth that he’s feeling very sensitive. “That feel good, Honey?”

“Nngh.”

“That’s enough. C’mere.” He hooks his heels in behind Steve’s ass to urge him forward. Steve drops his dick and climbs over him, settling into the spread of his legs and reaching down to line himself up. Bucky feels the wet drag of his cockhead over his hole.

Obedient boy, he thinks with a smirk. But it slips off his face when Steve starts to push in. He inhales sharply through his nose and closes his eyes as he focuses on letting Steve in. “Ungh,” he grunts quietly, brow furrowed at the stretch.

“You okay?” Steve’s hovering, not pushing any further. Waiting for permission.

Bucky swallows and nods, because he is okay, but goddamn. Sometimes he forgets just how big his Stevie really is. (No better reminder than to have it shoved up his ass.) “Yeah,” he pants, sliding his hands up the backs of Steve’s arms and feeling up the tension in his triceps—he’s straining so beautifully, trying so very hard to hold still for him. It makes Bucky melt when he opens his eyes again and gets a look at the beautifully pinched expression on Steve’s face.

Oh, his golden boy.

“C’mere, you,” he husks, pulling him down by the jaw for a kiss. It forces Steve’s cock a little bit further into him, and he groans at the stretch. “Ff-uck, uhn, Ssteve.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

He shoves his tongue into Steve’s mouth like it’s payback for the way he’s invading his body right now, the lewd, wet swipe of his tongue a counterpoint to Steve’s dick. Bucky just wants to get inside his man, any way he can. Steve makes a filthy, tortured noise when their tongues roll together, and Bucky relishes it. He growls and drives their mouths together again and again, making it sloppy, taking Steve’s breath away, tongue-fucking his mouth before he gets any real chance to start fucking him.

“Buck,” Steve breathes, the word wet on his lips as he holds himself still. He’s looking so pleadingly at Bucky, near-pained self restraint and begging eyes that make Bucky want to destroy him. “Please. I gotta. Gotta move.”

Bucky feels that ever-familiar dark thrill zip through him. “Yeah?” he asks, mock sympathy lacing his tone. He strokes Steve’s hair. “Is that what you want, big guy? You wanna bury that fat cock up in me? Wanna go to town?” Steve nods, of course he does, and Bucky forces one more harsh, unyielding kiss onto him before he pulls back and relents. “Okay Baby, push it in a little. Go slow. Make yourself feel good.”

Steve sags with relief, instantly sinking deeper into Bucky’s body. He goes slow like he’s been told, easing in each of the seven plus girthy inches he has to give, and since Bucky’s just put up with God knows how much time and lube and fingers softening him up for this, it doesn’t hurt.

It’s just so fucking much.

Steve waits once he’s settled all the way inside, because he knows he needs permission to start thrusting. Bucky strokes a tender thumb just under his eye, taking the time to soak up his expression, his pretty features when he’s feeling good like this. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, y’know that?”

Steve grins shakily and knocks their foreheads together. “That why you married me?”

“Mmm. Had to do somethin’. Couldn’t let somebody else get at you.” Bucky grinds up, feeling Steve’s hot length rub inside him, so big. “Oh, Honey.”

“Fuck,” Steve says tersely. “Fuck, Bucky please. Say I can. C’mon Baby.”

Bucky nods, and that’s all the permission Steve needs. He starts moving, thrusting into Bucky with short, deep rolls of his hips. Steve’s a goddamn savant when it comes to getting at Bucky’s sweet spot with his dick, and now’s no exception. Bucky hisses as sparks fly up his spine, his balls pressed deliciously by Steve’s pubic bone every time he rocks in deep. It’s so damn good. “S-sumthin happened today,” he says, stuttering over his words in a way he almost never does.

“Mm.” Steve starts necking at him, humming in acknowledgement. “What?”

“With Mary,” Bucky grunts. “I—nnh—I kissed her.”

Against his neck, Steve makes this tiny, appreciative sound that just about makes Bucky's blood boil. His hips jolt down in an uncontrolled thrust. “Yeah? She liked it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, a dirty thrill shooting through him at this: at talking about someone else while Steve fucks him. Talking about her. “Yeah she did. She felt so good, Stevie. Felt so nice in my arms.” 

Steve groans again. "Tell me."

“Wanted more, God, I wanted to squeeze her, y’know? Trap her. Right up between me and you.”

“Fuck, Bucky. Uhn.”

“Yeah.” They’re grinding filthily now, all firm and deep, skin slapping quietly, Bucky’s legs wrapped up around Steve’s waist to draw him in hard again and again. “I wanna do something about it,” he pants. “Want to have her.”

Steve moans and nods, his face pinking from the effort, from the thought of the three of them together. This, the idea of the two of them in a three-way relationship with a woman, used to be one of their biggest fantasies that they’d talk about. “Can we?” he asks, looking to Bucky for permission. Always to Bucky. It gets him hotter than anything, so in love with his man.

“Yeah,” he says, reaching down to grab handfuls of Steve’s flexing ass, urging him on. “Yeah we can. We’ll take her apart. Fuck her so good.”

“Oh, God. How?” Steve’s back to kissing on his neck while he grinds into him, dirty pants against sucked-wet skin going straight to Bucky’s dick. “Tell me.”

“Mm, I dunno. Maybe you can hold her, huh? Hold her open while I go down on her. Or maybe we’ll—ugh, shit—maybe we’ll both have her at the same time, yeah? You behind her and me in front, taking turns dipping our cocks in her ‘til she screams.” 

Steve groans, his hips slowing and his head sinking over Bucky’s shoulder—He’s close and doesn’t want to come.

Bucky bites sharply at his neck. “Did I say you could stop? Keep fucking me.”

Steve, trooper that he is, whimpers and gets back to it. Bucky grits his teeth, angling his hips into the thrusts just right so that his prostate is getting it good. “Aw, fuckyeah. Like that, Honey, juust like that. Shit. You’re gonna make Daddy cum, y’know that?”

Steve whines, his hips stuttering at the words. Bucky rarely calls himself “Daddy” when they’re together, it’s usually something he only utters when he’s domming a sub. But with Steve topping like this, Bucky needs the extra dominance. The growled words get to Steve too though, and he starts to come, shoving harder and uncoordinated. “Ohn ... shit,” he whimpers, the high pitched, desperate sound of it making Bucky’s cock pulse dangerously.

He growls and smashes their mouths together, shoves his flesh hand down between their bellies and grabs himself, starts stroking off hard and fast as he feels Steve’s jerky final thrusts. They finish seconds apart, with Steve still grinding his orgasm out as Bucky’s cock starts shooting up his belly and over his knuckles. “Uh, ughn, godyeah …”

They slump against each other with exhaustion once it’s done, panting against skin and reveling in the aftershocks. Steve eventually takes the initiative to pull out, getting rid of the condom and snuggling back up against Bucky’s side. Bucky hums and wraps his arm around him, pressing a kiss to the edge of his temple. “S’good,” he mumbles, letting Steve pull the blanket up to cover their legs, even though they haven’t even wiped off yet. It feels too good to move right now.

“So,” Steve says a few minutes later, his voice softened and lax from the afterglow. He’s got his head pillowed on Bucky’s chest, and Bucky begins to play idly with his hair. “The Mary thing.”

Bucky inhales deeply, his chest rising and falling underneath Steve’s cheek. “Yeah. The Mary thing.”

“What’s the plan?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, picturing various scenarios in his sated brain. “Hell if I know.”

Bucky

Steve’s already back from his ass-o’clock morning jog and putzing around the kitchen by the time Bucky has finished dressing for work and emerges from the bedroom. He hears (and smells) the coffee pot percolating, and sighs gratefully as he walks into the kitchen to join him. “Mornin’ babe. Thanks. for getting that started.”

Steve gives him a cheerful peck on the lips as he passes to open one of the upper cabinets. “There’s a piece of cheesecake in the fridge for you,” he says. 

“Cheesecake?” Bucky’s slightly distracted by the shape of Steve’s muscular back through his tight Under Armour top as he stretches to reach his preferred to-go mug. “For breakfast?”

“I may have mentioned that it’s your favorite dessert of all time.” Steve shoots him a knowing smile when he turns back around. "Enjoy the view?"

"You know it," Bucky says, shameless. "I'll have to have a talk with her about making cheesecake. The first step is admitting you have a problem, and I have a problem."

Steve snickers and goes to grab the coffee pot and fill the mug. “At least take it to work with you for lunch. She’ll be bummed if you don’t.”

“Sure.” In the fridge, Bucky discovers a clear plastic clamshell box with a single slice of cheesecake inside. Previously unaware of any hunger, his stomach suddenly turns over in a growling vote of confidence for the cheesecake. “Damn,” he mutters, reaching in and pulling the clamshell out. “So that’s what the banana threats were for.”

“Yep.” Steve chuckles. “I already had a piece. And Buck:” He turns around and looks at him with theatrically wide eyes. “It’s really good.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.” Bucky checks the time on his phone, decides that he has enough time to sit down and eat it there before he leaves for work. He goes to grab a fork from the silverware drawer. Seated on the stool at the breakfast bar, his eyes slide shut as the first bite of dense, creamy goodness slides over his tongue. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” he moans. “Caramel.”

“I know, right?”

He opens his eyes again and gives Steve a withering look. “We’ve gotta set some boundaries for ourselves. Or she’ll have us rocking dad bods in no time.”

Mary’s laugh sounds from the hallway just before she appears, dressed in sneakers and workout clothes. “With the way you two work out? Yeah right.” She shoots a cheerful finger gun in Bucky’s direction. “And it’s dulce, not caramel.”

“Oh. Well I stand corrected, then.”

“Basically the same thing as American-style caramel.” She makes a face. “Which hardy counts at all. Just wait until I make you a real caramel. Where the sugar’s actually cooked dark enough to taste.” She nods with an adorable amount of conviction. “Your mouth’ll know the difference.”

“I’m sure it will,” Bucky drawls, looking her over with the same sort of appreciation that he’d just done with Steve. Mary wears leggings on a regular basis, which is always very enticing, but her gym leggings are even tighter, and it’s a total cocktease. Bucky waits until she has her back turned before he lets his gaze drop to her hips and ass. Jesus, help him. “You going to the gym?” he asks, knowing that it’s her day off.

“Yeah,” she huffs, going over to grab her jacket from the catchall. “I’ve gained so much weight since Halloween, it’s not even funny. Got about fifteen pounds to work off now. Blegch.”

Bucky actually puts his fork down, he’s so disturbed by the casual way that she throws it out.  “What?” he says, and Steve echoes him with a stifled noise in his throat that basically means the same thing. “Fifteen pounds?” He lets his eyes drag over her body, mouth agape. “Mary, wait.”

“What?” She’s shrugging her jacket on with a humorless laugh. “It’s true.”

“No it is fucking not,” Bucky snaps, and at hearing his tone, she stops laughing. “Mary,” he says sternly. “You do not need to lose any weight. And certainly not fifteen pounds. Jesus. That’s ludicrous.”

She turns around with an incredulous expression. “Seriously? I literally just heard you complaining about dad bods. Have you seen yourself? And you’re gonna talk to me about what’s ludicrous?”

Bucky frowns at how defensive she’s gotten and how fast. “Mare,” he says, trying to soften his tone. “You look great. Now I’m fine with you going to the gym if you want, but let’s not get out of hand, here.” Something about the tense determination in her features sets off alarm bells in his head. “You should wait to go to the gym with Steve when he goes in the afternoon,” he decides, making it an order. “You don’t need to be going by yourself.”

Her entire face screws up. “Excuse you,” she scowls. “I’m not a child. I can go to the freakin’ gym by myself.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I want you to wait.”

For a split second, he sees her expression smooth over at how calmly and firmly he’s said it—her own natural submissive reaction to a direct order from him. But that quickly bleeds back to astonished anger. “Sorry, Daddy, but I’m ready to go now. I already took my pre-sup and I’ll just waste it if I—”

“Pre-sup?” he hisses (forcing himself to ignore the ‘Daddy’ thing—holy shit). “What supplements are you taking?”

“None of your business!” She laughs meanly, and Bucky sees Steve shift out of the corner of his eye at how quickly this is devolving. “Jesus. I’m a grown woman, Bucky.”

“I know that, Mary,” he grits. “Now take your coat off and wait for Steve.”

“No.”

“Have you even had any breakfast?” he growls.

“I don’t like to eat before a workout,” she says, grabbing up her purse from the catchall. 

“Mary,” Steve pleads, looking worriedly at Bucky. “You should have something for fuel. C’mon, let me make you a piece of toast at least.”

She huffs, shouldering her purse and heading for the door. “You guys’ bread has like a hundred and thirty calories a slice. No thanks. I’m fine.” She unlocks the deadbolt and reaches for the doorknob.

Bucky lets loose his full Dom-voice when he warns, “Mary, don’t you open that door.”

Her shoulders visibly tense, as if she’s fighting off the full-body urge to obey him. “I’ll be back in a couple hours,” she says, then pulls open the door and leaves.

Bucky stares, furious. “A couple of hours?!” The barstool’s legs scrape against the floor as he hastily pushes out from the counter, intending to go after her.

“Babe, wait. No.” Steve stops him with both hands on his shoulders. “That’s not a good idea.”

“She just willfully disobeyed me!” Bucky snarls. “I can’t let that go!”

Steve’s fingers curl over his shoulders in a squeeze and he ducks his head to fix him with a meaningful look. “Buck, hey, take a deep breath. You’re not handling this well.” 

The message is clear. This is the way Steve talks to him when he’s trying to calm him down from domspace—and not the good kind of domspace, either. Bucky jerks away from his hold, but Steve arches an eyebrow, and so Bucky takes a few deep inhales and exhales, glaring at his husband the whole time he’s doing it. “She can’t get away with behavior like that,” he reiterates once he’s done. He forces his tone to be more calm so that Steve can’t hold it against him. “That was out of line. She needs to be corrected.”

“I know,” Steve says, still looking at him cautiously. “But we don’t have a discipline plan in place, so what’re you gonna do? Go grab her in public and drag her back here kicking and screaming?” 

Bucky's jaw works in frustration. “No," he grits. "No, that won't work."

“Good. I'm glad you can see that.” Some of the tension releases from Steve’s shoulders, and Bucky instantly feels bad. Poor Steve. He’s already married to one erstwhile/sometimes mental case, and now he’s got another one on the extreme opposite end of the spectrum to deal with.

“Sorry,” Bucky says tightly, turning away in embarrassment. He can still feel the ticking of his pulse in his veins, and the desire to control pulled tight throughout all his muscles. “Sorry,” he says again, going back to sit at the breakfast bar.

“It’s okay, Babe.”

He scoots back in to the counter and grabs his fork, moodily spearing another bite of the cheesecake. His thoughts still linger on the showdown with Mary as he chews, and after he swallows he mutters, “The hell’s gotten into her?” Normally she’ll go soft as a stick of butter the second he starts talking sternly at her, but this time she’d seemed to actually harden against him the more he tried it. 

Steve comes over with the to-go mug, emptying a Splenda packet into it. “You think it has anything to do with you kissing her?” 

Bucky frowns, not having considered that. He shakes his head grumpily. “No. She’s been coming down every night. It doesn’t make any sense for her to be acting like this."

“Okay, but Babe … maybe we should try to get her in to see Linda this week. See if there’s something she needs that we’re not—”

“What she needs is a quick trip over my lap,” he growls, left hand flexing. “She’s bratting.”

“She does like to go to the gym,” Steve hedges, but he shuts up when Bucky shoots him a withering glare. “Yeah, okay, maybe you’re right.”

“Damn right I’m right. Call the Center today. Try and get us in. The sooner the better.”

Steve nods. “And what do you suggest I do about her when she comes back?”

Bucky grunts and eats the last bite of cheesecake n his plate, vaguely aware that he would’ve savored it a lot more if he wasn’t so riled up over Mary’s behavior. “Just leave her alone. You’re right: we don’t have a discipline plan in place.” (Though he plans to correct that very soon.) “We’ll sort it out at this next visit. Linda already said she has strong indications for impact play.”

Steve winces. “Why do they need to put the word ‘play’ after everything?” Bucky shrugs, and Steve looks rueful. “You know she’s gonna throw a fit when you bring it up.”

“I know.” And he really doesn’t care. A dark thrill of dominance zips through Bucky at just the idea of putting Mary over his knee, of trapping her wrists at her lower back and holding her down, giving her a good spanking until she’s crying and grinding and sorry. “She’ll learn real quick that it’s what’s good for her. That girl needs consequences like a fish needs water."

“Uh huh.” Steve seems almost amused, but he holds up his hands again when he gets another glare from Bucky. “I’ll call and make an appointment, I will,” he promises. “But what about you, Babe?”

“What about me?”

Steve gives him a look. “You could stand to go in yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

His eyes slip down to Bucky’s left hand. “Babe ...”

Bucky looks down—Somewhere in the past few minutes, he’s bent the fork in his fist a little bit. Huffing, he sets it down.

“Take the morning off and go get a session in with one of the Pros,” Steve coaxes. “Spare your poor coworkers.”

Bucky scoffs and takes his plate to the sink to rinse it. “No. I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.”

“I am,” he insists, giving Steve a warning look when it seems like he’ll argue further. “Steve,”

“Okay, okay.” Steve holds up his hands in surrender. “Just trying to help.”

Bucky softens, feeling bad. “C’mere, you. Hey, I’m sorry.” He gives Steve a big hug, and then a kiss that’s equal parts possessive and apologetic. They part, and he smiles a little, nudging Steve’s nose with his. “You still having fun in the nuthouse?” he murmurs.

Steve ‘tsks’ at him for the joke and give him a chiding squeeze. “Yes,” he insists. “Now get going, nutso, before you're late. And don’t forget your coffee.”

Bucky gives him one last peck on the lips and then grabs his things. He puts his coat on and drapes his suit jacket over his arm at the door. “Try to keep her here once she’s back,” he says, frowning once again as he thinks about the “hours” remark Mary had made. “Ridiculous,” he mutters. 

“I’ll head over to the gym in a bit. Make sure she isn’t overdoing it,” Steve promises. “Now go on, try to have a good day. Try not to make your secretary cry.”

Bucky huffs, though he is smiling a little as he heads out the door. He’s only ever made his secretary cry once, and Steve will never, ever let him live it down. “Bye Babe. I Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Steve

That evening, they bite the bullet and show Mary the letter that came in the mail: addressed to Bucky, from the circuit court of New York. It lists the court date for review of Mary’s case of custodianship.

Steve’s expecting a meltdown, but what they get instead is a morose sort of silence. He’s not sure he wouldn’t prefer the meltdown. Mary just sniffs and doesn’t talk much, picking her portion of dinner to smithereens before deigning to eat any of it. After their nightly tv time and Bucky's low key domming, she goes off to bed without bidding them goodnight like she usually does.

Steve wakes in the early hours of the morning, having to take a piss. He’s just flushed and is considering being naughty and slipping out to the kitchen to grab himself a slice of cheesecake, when he sees that Mary’s bedroom door is open. He sticks his head in to check on her, but she’s not in her bed. “Mary?” he whispers.

That’s when he hears soft noises coming from the kitchen.

It’s Mary. Steve stalls in place when he sees her, leaning back against the cabinets and face splotchy from crying. She’s dressed in her workout clothes again, hair messy like she’s already been out and back from another workout. Steve frowns worriedly when he spots her house keys and empty water bottle on the counter next to her phone. “Hey Mare,” he says quietly, so that he doesn’t spook her. 

She sniffles as she sees him and hurriedly scrubs her face. “Oh. Hi Steve.”

“What are you doing up?” He takes a few cautious steps closer. “It’s late."

“Just wanted to get a snack,” she says, voice sounding tearful and pitiful. It’s such an obvious lie, Steve doesn’t even bother remarking on it.

“Were you at the gym again, Honey?” he asks. He’d had to intervene at the gym yesterday, when she’d been approaching hour number three with no signs of stopping. Now, he walks over and leans against the countertop’s edge right next to her. The room is dark, but he can just make out the silvery tracks left behind on her cheeks, the puffiness around her eyes. He smiles sadly at her. “You want to talk about it?”

Her expression pinches and she looks away. “No.”

“Okay.”

“... I went to the gym,” she eventually murmurs. 

“Yeah, I cry at the gym, too. All the time.” Steve nudges his bare foot against her sneakered one. “Come on,” he coaxes. “I’m a good listener.”

“You’re a good tattletale,” she grumbles.

“Hey.”

“Well you are. You tell Bucky everything I say and do. And he’s always on me about everything and I just …” she huffs. “I just don’t want to deal with it sometimes.”

“Well …” Steve hedges, knowing that he shouldn’t say what he’s about to say. “You could still tell me,” he offers. He lets his hand inch over on the counter’s edge and hooks his pinkie over hers. She looks down at it, then up to him. Steve’s mouth quirks. “Bucky can be a lot. I know. But he’s just trying to do what’s right. And you’ve gotta remember that he isn’t perfect. He has to live with this thing just like you do. Some days he handles it better than others.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Steve sighs. “Look, if there’s something you want to talk to me about, but you don’t want him to know, it can stay between us.” Mary looks over in surprise and Steve cringes. “Just ... promise me that you’ll talk it out with Linda, too?”

She hums noncommittally. “Walk me back to bed?”

“Course, Hon.”

She shuts herself into her bathroom and returns after a few minutes, dressed in pajamas and her hair towel dried. She seems surprised that Steve has stuck around when she sees him standing there, toeing the line of the doorway. "Oh."

“I didn’t know if you meant …” he shrugs. “Tuck you in?” 

She smiles a little, though it’s sad. Steve thinks she might’ve been crying again in the shower. “Sure,” she says, tucking her head down. She gets into bed and Steve covers her with the blankets, then sits on the edge of the mattress for a moment. “So do you want to talk?” he asks softly.

She chews her lip for a long moment, and just when Steve thinks she’s about to turn him down, she whispers, “... I don’t think it’s working the same anymore.”

“What isn’t working?” 

“The stuff with Bucky. The drops.”

Steve’s lips part in understanding. “Oh. I see.”

She nods and won't meet his eyes. “It doesn’t feel the same as it did before. Like it’s not as strong, or something. And it’s wearing off faster.” Her face pinches and for a second she really looks like she might cry. 

“Honey?” Steve reaches to tuck her damp hair back from her face, and that seems to be what does it. She starts crying and turns into the pillow, hiding there as her breath hitches in tiny sobs. Surprised, Steve lets his hand fall to her shoulder, where he gives her a comforting squeeze. “Hey,” he soothes. “Shhh, it’s okay. It's okay.”

She shakes her head with a little whimper. “No it’s not. I th-thought they’d stop now. They did stop, for a while.”

“What stopped?” Steve asks, confused. 

She sniffles, face crumpled up in distress. “I have bad dreams sometimes. That’s why I was up. Went to the gym to try and run it off.”

“Bad dreams?" Steve says, concerned. "You mean nightmares?" Sometimes Bucky has them too, so he's under no illusions about how debilitating they can be. "Mare?" he prods gently. "What are the nightmares about?”

She burrows further into the pillow, turning onto her side and curling up in a little ball. “Just stuff,” she mumbles. “From when I was a kid.”

Steve gets a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he has to really consider his words carefully before he speaks. He finally settles on a quiet, “Your dad?”

“... Yeah.”

Ouch. Steve swallows. “Honey … you really need to talk to somebody about this.”

She sniffles and shakes her head, and when Steve puts his hand on her shoulder again, she doesn’t try to shrug him off. “You promised not to tell Bucky,” she says.

Steve winces. “Yeah, I know.” Bucky and he already had a pretty good idea about this, but he doesn’t feel the need to point that out right now. “And you promised you’d talk with Linda,” he reminds. “It’s not safe for you to be sneaking out of here at night.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. "It’s just that ... the only thing that ever really made ‘em stop was getting drunk. And then with Bucky …” Her body shudders in a quiet sob. “But now it’s not working the same anymore! So what am I supposed to do?”

“Oh, Mare.” Steve rubs her shoulder. “Shh sh sh, Honey, it’s alright. It’s a process. We just gotta figure out what works for you." He gives her a comforting squeeze. “We’ve got an appointment for tomorrow, okay? We’re gonna talk to Linda and figure this all out. It’ll get better, I promise.” He bends to kiss the top of her head, and soothes her with a gentle litany of murmured words as she cries. “It’s okay, Mare. We’ll figure this out. It’s all gonna be okay.”

She calms down after a while of that, and Steve gives her one last hug before he stands to leave. “Goodnight, Sweetheart. Tomorrow’ll be a better day, you’ll see.”

“Steve?” He turns back around to see her peeking at him from over the top edge of the covers. “On the dresser. On the top, there's a ... You can take it.”

He’s confused, until he goes over and sees the only thing that’s sitting on top of the room’s highboy dresser. His heart all but stops. Carefully, he slides it into the palm of his hand, dread filling his chest like cold water. “Mary,” he says, fearful. “Did you—”

“No,” she says. “But I was thinking about it.” 

With a sinking sense of horror, he realizes what a massive mistake it was to tell Mary he’d keep secrets for her. “Mary,” he says warningly, “You know I can’t keep this from—”

“I’ll talk to Linda,” she says, looking at him with tearful, angry eyes that dig into Steve’s heart. “I gave it to you, didn’t I?”

Steve’s lips thin and he frowns, pained. “Where did you get it?” 

“From work.”

“Why would they have these at your work?”

Mary squirms, looking embarrassed. “It’s for a lamé. For scoring the bread before it goes in the oven.”

Steve sighs and drops his hand, letting his fingers curl loosely over the razorblade. “There’s a limit to this, you know,” he warns. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me without worrying that I’m gonna tell him every little thing, but he’s still my husband. And that means that my responsibility is to him, first.”

Her eyes lower in defeat. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “I know.”

“Hey.” He holds up the blade and gives her a pointed look. “And you can’t be doing this. Because at the end of the day, he’s still the one who’s legally responsible for you. He has to do what he thinks is in your best interest. We both do.”

She frowns and won’t meet his eyes, but after a moment she nods, and Steve believes that she means it when she mumbles a tiny little, “Kay.”

“Kay. You gonna try to get some sleep now?”

She nods, still tearful, but calmer. Steve gently bids her goodnight and heads for the door. When he’s almost got it closed, Mary calls out softly one more time. “Steve?”

“Yeah Honey?”

“Thank you,” she says, so quiet that Steve almost doesn’t hear. “I feel like … I just needed that. To talk to you.”

Steve’s shoulders relax and he smiles grimly, relieved to hear that he’s made her feel a little better, and that he’s able to be someone she can confide in. He even feels a little bit proud that she trusts him enough to tell him these things. It’s almost enough to take away his guilt over promising to keep secrets from his husband.

… Almost. 

“G’night, Mary,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Steve.”

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[virescent-v]

Hello! As someone who struggled with a SH Addiction…as wild as it sounds. I was wondering if you could do Reader(Sh Addiciton) is clean but had urges again and is struggling to fight them with Emily helping them? It would help me as someone whose struggling rn lol

Siren Call

A/N: Hi lovie, I tried my best with this. I have struggled with depression since my teenage years, and suicide ideations throughout that time. To be transparent, I've never dealt with self-harm. I hope I managed to capture those feelings for you and do this justice.

To anyone reading this: Check the trigger warnings. Protect yourself. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're not alone and the world is better with you in it. <3

SAMHSA's National Hotline: [phone], or text your zip code to 435748 for help near you.

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm/cutting, mentions of razors. It's not very graphic imo, but again, protect yourself if these are not things you feel okay reading.

Word Count: 1.4k

It was a rollercoaster of emotion flowing through you. Ups and downs and turns that you could hardly keep up with. Numbness, but at the same time, a devastating whirlwind of thought. You weren’t sure how you could feel so empty but so full of emotion at one time, but you were. 

The depression was not new, a thing carried along with you every day from your adolescence, like a shadow or a tumor. Always there, sometimes bothersome, sometimes silent, and just waiting for a moment to shatter any progress you’ve made.  

Everyone you’ve talked to has dealt with their mental health differently; therapy, medications, denial. And, sometimes, those did work for you. You met with your therapist once a week (less, if you couldn’t afford it), you were on your third antidepressant, and you tried so hard to ignore how your mind betrayed you. 

The one thing that was consistent, that always helped with the emotions coursing through you, was physically releasing them. 

The first time you cut yourself, you were sixteen. You’d only learned about it from the darker corners of the internet, a place you shouldn’t have been. Too young, too impressionable. But, the first slice of the razor against the skin of your thigh felt good. As the skin tore apart from itself, as the blood oozed from the wound, all of your negative feelings went too. 

With each drop of blood, you felt the freedom from doubt, worry, anger, sadness. Each cut brought a feeling of euphoria, the dopamine replacing all of the emotions that were burying you. 

It was a habit that continued throughout your teenage years, and even early twenties. When the destructive thoughts got too much, the razor was there to bring color back into your life. But, as you got older, you got smarter, more diligent in the way those terrible thoughts would creep into your mind, suffocating the joy from you. You learned better coping mechanisms, learned how to manage the craving of the sharpness of a blade against your fragile skin. 

But still, the release would call to you, a siren of a dreadful sea you did not want to be a voyager on. 

On such nights, when the waves of despair rocked you too roughly, your girlfriend Emily was usually there to distract you, a life preserver to stop you from drowning. 

Unfortunately, Emily wasn’t always there. Her job was demanding, important, much more important than your broken brain. Which made tonight, a particularly rough night, hard for you. 

Everything seemed to be weighing down on you, going wrong, unavoidable mishap after mishap. The shadows seemed to wrap themselves around your brain, spindly fingers digging their claws in with no sign of letting go.

The siren call beckoned, a melodious tune that pulled you in, easing the racing thoughts in your mind. 

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, the reflection in front of you hardly recognizable. Your skin pallor, dry, dark under your eyes. You licked around your chapped lips, feeling the fuzziness of your unbrushed teeth. Your clothes hung off of your body, loose from multiple days of wear. Unkempt hair, a tangled mess atop your head. You looked as rough as you felt, the lack of sleep and self-care exacerbating your inner turmoil. 

Taking a shaky breath, you looked down at your hands, the newly purchased razor blade sitting in the box. Pretty, new, waiting for use. You imagined the shine of the blade against your skin, how the silver would contrast the uneven, blotchy shade of you. How the deep red hemoglobin would look, how it would bring color back to you. 

The call got louder. 

As you were about to tear open the box, a single word, a single thought, broke through the haze of your mind. 

Emily. 

The cacophony of noise halted. You knew that she wouldn’t be disappointed. She’s the only one who ever really understood this habit, this… addiction. Understood how the silence and the noise bantered back and forth in a way that was sensory overload, how sometimes the only way to get it to stop was to cut. To feel something else. 

While she wouldn’t be disappointed, you could imagine the look on her face, how her eyes would hold all of her thoughts. She’d get you through it, she always has, but sometimes her looks haunted you more than your own thoughts did. 

Instead, you picked up the phone. 

It rang twice; she never sent you to voicemail unless she absolutely could not answer. 

“Baby?” She whispered. You’d woken her up. “Everything okay?” 

You tried to talk. The air was trapped in your lungs, the only noise escaping you a hollow breath, a crushed whimper. 

You could hear Emily sit up in bed, the click of a lamp. “Love? Answer me.” Her voice was more alert, commanding, an edge of fear. 

You swallowed hard. Your breath coming quicker, everything threatening to rush out of you. “Em,” another shaky whimper, a plea. 

“Take a breath for me, sweetheart. You’re okay. I’m right here.” You could hear the rustling of clothes being pulled on. 

The box in your hands rattled as it fumbled onto the bathroom sink, your trembling hands unable to hold it. Another thing you couldn’t do your mind hissed at you. 

“I can’t - can’t ma-make it s-stop.” You forced the words out, stumbling them into each breath you inhaled. 

“I’m coming, baby. Stay on the phone with me. You’re okay.” A car door slammed, the engine roaring to life. A siren. 

“Listen to me. I’ll be right there. Listen to my voice.” Emily continued to talk, walking you through the case she was working on. How the weather was. Her favorite movie. Nonsensical ramblings to keep you focused on her. You’d grunt occasionally in response, a way to ensure her you were still listening, still there. 

Your vision tunneled, black around the edges, as your grip on the sink tightened. You could feel the rush of blood through your body in your ears, your limbs starting to tingle as the  numbness started. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you heard the front door slam, hasty footsteps through the hallway. A hand covering yours. 

Emily turned your body towards hers, her hands cupping your cheeks, trying to bring your eyes to hers. 

You felt paralyzed, stuck in a mud so thick and deep you couldn’t move. You tried to focus on Emily’s voice, the rubbing of her thumbs across your cheekbones. You tried to blink, tried to get your eyes to focus. 

Noticing that she wasn’t getting through to you, Emily wrapped you in the tightest hug she could, squeezing you as hard as her arms could handle. A way to help calm down your overactive nervous system, as if she was trying to transfer your energy to her. 

Eventually the shaking calmed down, the pins and needles in your limbs still pushing and pulling, beating to the accelerated pace of your heart. You were finally able to look at Emily, her eyes shining in worry, but also protectiveness. A lighthouse in a stormy sea. 

She tucked your hair behind your ear, checking over your body for signs of harm. Finding none, seeing the unopened box on the counter, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Let's go lay down, love.” 

She all but dragged you to bed, shoving you under the covers before turning off the overhead light. She walked back into the bathroom, presumably to get rid of the box of razors. 

Your eyes remained closed the entire time, listening to her fiddle around with things in your bedroom, the sound of her jeans hitting the carpeted floor before she joined you in bed. Her strong, warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to her, your head on her chest. 

Her hands traversed your body, as if taking note of each inch of your scarred, but intact skin. She paid extra attention to your previous cuts, the scars healed and raised and pink, a testament of your ability to withstand. Each line a reminder that you made it. That while the emotion swelled over you, overtook you, that you came out on the other side stronger. 

“Sleep, love. I’ll be here. We can talk about it in the morning.” 

All at once, exhaustion engulfed you. You settled more into Emily, breathing in her perfume, realizing at once that she was your saving grace, your protector. You were capable of overcoming anything with her at your side. 

Slowly, as you started to drift off to sleep, the blacks and grays of the shadows disappeared, replaced by a kaleidoscope of colors. Emily’s steady heart lulled you into a sense of comfort. In her arms, the noises and silence settled, the siren call faded into a calming ebb and flow of waves. What was once a tumultuous, dark and violent sea became a mellow, sparkling tide. With Emily, you were home and you were safe from the shadows that haunted you.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfic #virescent v fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #please please please reach out if you are struggling #it does get better i promise #ngl i do not like how i ended this but i wanted to get it out #also sorry for all of the water metaphors??? im a pisces lmao

[latenuitrambles]

hello, can I make a Hurt/comfort request for Honkai Star Rail please? (Tw, Self Harm, Religious Trauma)

Jing Yuan finding reader walking around outside in the snow in the middle of the night, only wearing a white shirt, shorts and a large blanket scarf. (The shirt has specks of red, due to self harm).

Reader has had multiple breakdowns back-to-back in secret due to reliving religious trauma (ie. Being forced to pray and participate in services of the church that hurt them for the sake of work) and since they've had their major mental breakdown (self harm) are now out of it (kinda sad-yet-giggly mood in the self destructive way, thinking that they don't deserve good things and will never be 'clean' despite showering repetively (catholic guilt x100)) and now playing with the snow with their bare hands.

(If your not comfy, feel free to decline since it's pretty heavy, If you do the request thank you very much!)

✒️

Note: Thank you for the request! I wrote this in a bullet point style instead of an actual fic because that felt better. Also I didn't focus too much on the religious trauma as I have had very little interactions with Christianity and was not brought up catholic so I don't have a lot of knowledge on the subject and I didn't want to misrepresent a heavy issue! I used more vague religious trauma, hope you like it!!! Also whoever requested this if you ever need to talk you can always talk to me!! take care of your mental health!

Not proof read!!

TW: This is a heavy piece. Warnings for self-harm, depression, mental breakdowns, religious trauma, blood. Please do not read if you think this might trigger you or make you relapse. Your health comes first, take care of yourself <

Jing Yuan found you wandering alone at night in the cold, your white shirt covered with specks of blood, eyes lifeless.

He said nothing as he gently carried you inside the house you guys shared, putting you down on the bed as he went out to get the first aid kit

He gently and expertly cleaned and dressed your scars and gave you some medication.

As a soldier he was no stranger to blood or wounds, so I think he would be very calm. At least, on the outside. On the inside he would be panicked and worried for you, but he understands that it would help you more right now if he was calm and gentle.

He has dealt with soldiers who have depressive episodes and trauma breakdowns so he would be very good at gently calming you down, making sure he doesn't trigger you more, continuously asking you if what he was doing was comfortable with you.

He would be very patient if you want to talk about it. And when you do open up to him about your religious trauma, he would be very patient as you tell him everything. He wishes he could go in the past and stop all these things from happening to you but for now he will assure it will never happen again. He will personally be your bodyguard and prevent anyone from your past who hurt you from reaching you again. You don't have to be religious any longer, he will respect your choice, encourage it even and if anyone dares to question your decision they will have to face the wrath of the general of the Cloud Knights.

He is mad at himself for not noticing the signs of your breakdowns sooner, and he tells you in the future you can come to him whenever you think it's getting bad again. He might even offer to help you use some kind of physical training as another outlet whenever you feel the urge to self harm creep up on you again, after all, he understands it's not as simple as just asking you to stop. 

If you share with him about you feeling self destructive and feeling as if you don't deserve good things, he will give you constant reassurances all the time about how much he adores you and how much you mean to him. Even if you sometimes become self sabotaging, Jing Yuan is prepared to fight for you until you give up and finally accept that you are good enough. And he is not a general who likes losing, mind you.

He would reassure you that you have not done anything bad and that you are not “dirty” or anything. Most of what religion brands as sinful is just normal human behavior, so he will slowly help you overcome your guilt and feel better !!

Overall, Jing Yuan would be extremely patient, calm and gentle with you. He understands healing is a long process, so good thing he has all the time in the universe, being long lived and all. He will help you every step in your journey and will always be there for you !

End note: Thank you so much for requesting! Also feel free to request heavy topics. I know a lot of writers feel uncomfortable by them but as a person who has had their fair share of mental health struggles I would always love to write comfort fics! It makes me incredibly happy if my fic helps someone through a episode, as even I have had fics like that for myself in the past!! 

#ania.writes #hsr x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail #hsr jing yuan #hsr #angst #jing yuan angst #self harm #blade x reader #dan heng x reader

[mariacallous]

For years, I sat down to work each morning, realizing hours later that I felt drained, but got little done. Instead of writing, I spent my time texting, emailing, and mostly aimlessly browsing through news sites, blogs, and social networks. Every click triggered another. I tried to regain control by using an app called Freedom that blocked my computer online access for fixed periods of time. Sometimes it helped, especially when I had a work deadline looming. Sometimes it didn’t. But trying to control work time was only part of the struggle. I kept feeling the irresistible urge to pull out my phone wherever I went. At that point, I blamed myself. After all, I was the girl who spent hours playing video games well into college. But something happened in 2015 that made me realize that something much bigger was awry.

It was a Saturday evening when I arrived with my family to a friends’ home for dinner. Their 11-year-old son was playing with his parents’ iPad. When we came in, his parents demanded that he hand it over and join the other kids. The boy at first refused to hand it over. He then tried angrily to snatch it back from his mother, regressing to toddler-style wailing to demand the device. Throughout a long evening he exercised every manipulation tool in his power to regain control of the iPad. As I observed his parents’ despair, I recalled a family conflict that transpired at my parents’ house some years earlier. At that time doctors diagnosed my father, a heavy smoker, with emphysema. My father could have avoided his painful final years, hooked to an oxygen tank, by quitting smoking when he was diagnosed. He refused. We desperately tried to resist his decision by taking his cigarettes away. But like my friends’ son, my father reacted with uncharacteristic anger, exercising every means at his disposal to get his cigarette pack back.

That day I began to see how our present relates to our past. The past can answer one of today’s most perplexing problems. Why, despite multiple reports from Silicon Valley whistleblowers revealing that technology companies are using manipulative designs to prolong our time online, do we feel personally responsible? Why do we still blame ourselves and keep seeking new self-help methods to decrease our time online? We can learn from the past because in this case the tech companies did not innovate. Instead, the technology industry manipulated us following an old playbook, put together by other powerful industries, including the tobacco and food industries. 

When the tobacco and food industries confronted allegations that their products harmed their consumers, they defended themselves by raising the powerful American social icon of self-choice and personal responsibility. This meant emphasizing that consumers are free to make choices and, as a result, are responsible for the outcomes. Smokers and their families sued the tobacco industry for the devastation of smoking, including lung cancer and early death. But, for decades, they failed to win their lawsuits because the tobacco industry argued successfully that they chose to smoke and, therefore, they are responsible for the results. The food industry employed an identical strategy. When a group of teenagers sued McDonald’s because they suffered from obesity and diabetes after eating regularly at McDonald’s, McDonald’s also successfully raised the same claim. It argued that no one forced the teenagers to eat at McDonald’s, and since it was their choice, McDonald’s is not responsible for any health ramifications. The food industry went further. They successfully lobbied for laws known as the “cheeseburger laws” or more formally as the Commonsense Consumption Acts. Under these laws, food manufacturers and vendors cannot be held legally responsible for their consumers’ obesity. Why? Because the laws proclaim that this will foster a culture of consumer personal responsibility, which is important for promoting a healthy society.

The tobacco and food companies did not stop at just arguing directly that their consumers are responsible. They also provided new products to help them make better choices. In the 1950s, researchers published the first studies showing the connection between smoking and lung cancer.  In response, the tobacco companies offered consumers the option to choose a new healthier product: the filtered cigarette. They advertised it as “just what the doctor ordered,” claiming it removed nicotine and tar. Smokers went for it. Yet, they did not know that to compensate for the taste robbed by the filtered cigarette, companies used stronger tobacco that yielded as much nicotine and tar as the unfiltered brands. Here as well, the food industry followed suit. It also offered tools to reinforce that its consumers are in control. Facing criticism of the low nutritional value of their products, food manufacturers added products called “Eating Right” and “Healthy Choice.” While giving consumers the illusion they were making better choices, the diet product lines often made little improvement over the original products.

The tech industry is already applying this strategy by appealing to our deeply ingrained cultural beliefs of personal choice and responsibility. Tech companies do this directly when faced with allegations that they are addicting users. When the US Federal Trade Commission evaluated restricting use of loot boxes, an addictive feature common in video games, video game manufacturers argued: “No one is forced to spend money on a video game that is free to play. They choose what they want to spend and when they want to spend it and how they want to spend it.” But the technology industry also does it indirectly by providing us with tools to enhance our illusion of control. They give us tools like Apple’s Screen Time, which notifies us how much time we spend on screens. They also allow us to restrict time on certain apps, but then we can override these restrictions. We can choose to set our phones on “do not disturb” or “focus times.” We can set Instagram to remind us to take breaks. Yet, screen time continues to creep up. These tools are not successful, because just like the “filtered cigarette” and the “healthy choice” food products, they are not meant to solve the problem. Tech companies did not eliminate the addictive designs that keep prolonging our time online. The goal of these products, also known as digital well-being tools, was to keep the blame ball in our court, as we unsuccessfully face devices and apps that manipulatively entice us to stay on.

Awareness is crucial to stop blaming ourselves, but learning how the battles of the past played out also provides a rich repository for future action. Importantly, it exposes the vulnerabilities of the technology industry’s self-choice and responsibility argument. How? For one, when evidence comes out that businesses intended to addict consumers, it often defeats the industry’s argument that consumers voluntarily chose the products and are responsible for the consequences. In the 1990s, information leaking out of the tobacco companies’ fortress revealed that the tobacco industry knew that nicotine was addictive and manipulated it to maximize consumption by smokers. It was then that courts began attributing more responsibility to the tobacco industry, and smokers finally started winning cases. This is directly relevant today as whistleblowers report that tech companies purposefully addicted their users to prolong their time online, while choosing to ignore the harms. Second, children are the Achilles’ heel of the personal choice and responsibility defense. While many object to making paternalistic choices for adults, choosing for children is acceptable. For example, kids are not allowed to purchase cigarettes. Legal action is already underway to protect kids from the harms of excessive screen time.

Parents are suing social media companies and gamemakers for addicting their kids and causing them mental harm. They are no longer alone. Recently, school systems sued for the costs of treating kids harmed by social networks. Representatives of the US Congress and state legislatures relentlessly propose bills to protect children. Proposals raise different solutions from  imposing liability on social networks should they fail to remove addictive features to prohibiting access to social media for kids. The past illustrates that the weakness of the personal choice and responsibility defense with regard to kids makes this path particularly likely to succeed.

We can also push against the technology industry’s business model. Under this model, we get products like Gmail and Instagram for free. Still we pay, though not in money. We pay with our time and data. In recent years, government agencies filed antitrust actions against Big Tech. If successful, these actions could destabilize the prevailing business model. For example, should an action against Meta, which currently holds Facebook, Instagram, and WhatsApp, succeed, and break it up, it will likely encourage competition. Competition could push toward alternative business models, such as subscriptions or pay-as-you-go. When a company’s business model does not rely on our time as its main resource, its need to design products that maximize our time online diminishes.

While a movement to battle technology is underway, it cannot rely on lawyers alone. Parents can influence schools to better assess and limit incorporation of technology into the classroom. Business owners can impact use of screens on their premises. For example, restaurant owners can decide not to replace menus with QR codes, thereby reducing the likelihood that patrons will take their phone out during the meal. Online entrepreneurs can opt for an alternative business model, one that is not based on advertising and user time. Technology designers can evaluate whether to design a feature aimed primarily at keeping users online for longer. We have many options to make a collective impact. Changing norms and business operations is possible. Looking at the past illustrates the possibilities of the future. We could never imagine bars without cigarettes, but they became our reality. So can a better-balanced tech future.

[unwelcome-ozian]

Hello, I had some more questions about programs breaking down. Do the programs themselves stop working? So say scramble programming or pain programs do they null? Places in inner world like castles literally crumbling for example? Asking this because we experienced some scary stuff happening lately with what we assume are things breaking down. All of the symptoms match up

Do you perhaps have more information on stuff like that? As well as alters being able to cause pain from programs does that stop as well?

The programmes aren’t necessarily what stops working. Parts/alters can also stop responding to the trigger. The thing(s) in place that leads to a triggered response becomes ‘extinct’. 

Parts can stop doing their task when they feel they are safe. They can work towards realising they no longer have to harm the body. 

Programming tends to break down at the around age of 30. It isn’t as if on their 30th birthday things fall apart. Programming breaking down is a process not a crash. This can occur if the person is away from the environment. In one's 30's, memory recall, thought processing speed, and the storage space for new memories begins to decline.

Dissociative barriers that may be present in survivors of any type of abuse or trauma begin to break down over time. As survivors get older, especially around midlife (starting between ages 35-50), the dissociative barriers in the brain, which contribute to the survivors ability to function at a higher capacity without having to process the trauma, begin to break down in ways that often cause disruption to the survivor’s life.  When this happens, trapped feelings, beliefs, and forms of coping initiated by past events seem to make their way to the surface of people’s lives. Some of the beliefs and feelings that occur may be related to conditioned responses induced by abuse from the past.  As emotions, thoughts, memories, or beliefs that have been contained in pockets of one’s personality that are trapped in the past (sometimes also experienced by emotional parts that feel separate from the individual now experiencing them) begin to be noticeably experienced by the survivor, the experience can be very confusing and overwhelming.   Some of these symptoms of the breaking down of dissociative barriers may include intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, nightmares, severe anxiety or depression that doesn’t seem related to the present, also panic attacks, urges or actions toward self-harm, suicidal ideation or attempts, increased urges or actions toward other types of coping behaviors that seem out of the ordinary.

Some signs of programming breaking down are:

Becoming aware of aspects of programming is an indicator that the programming is beginning to break down.

Parts of the system will want to return to handlers (Home)

Inside programmers will attempt to find parts who are defying programming, and attempt to shore up programming from the inside.

Flashbacks

Rapid switching

Attempting to leave

Confusion

They may speak in coded language

Panic attacks

Insomnia

Regression

Isolation

Repetitive motions

some alters may go mute

Become lethargic

Alters going dormant

Alters may hide

Become verbally or physically aggressive (This occurs when the system perceives a threat from the outside. The person isn’t going to randomly attack people. The system will feel very vulnerable, and weak during this time.)

Alters become severely depressed, suicide attempts or completion

Self harm

Oz

#answers to questions #programming breaking down #DID #TBMC

[xxlovelynovaxx]

Y'know what's the weirdest thing to me about the whole "intrusive thoughts MUST be super objectively dark and disturbing" thing?

Intrusive thoughts are most commonly comorbid with OCD - the disorder that comes specifically with compulsions to obsessively do specific actions ritualistically to try and exercise control and prevent serious negative events presented by your anxiety from happening. (A slightly simplistic explanation, but accurate to my experience at least.)

It seems completely logical to categorize a thought of "do this thing or [bad thing] will happen" as an intrusive thought if the compulsion itself is disturbing to you. Especially if the compulsion is disturbing because of the negative impact it's had on your life.

If previously you've washed your hands until they've cracked and bled, the thought of repeatedly washing your hands may itself become intrusive. If you've lost jobs over counting rituals, the thought of doing them may be intrusive. If you've had panic attacks over compulsively giving into harmless sexual urges (say, to masturbate, as is common with religious moral OCD and similar), the thought of doing so again may become disturbing itself.

That last one I've actually experienced personally. There is an element of compulsion to giving in precisely because of the moral obsession, and it ends up being a vicious cycle.

I see a lot of this idea in response to people without OCD saying "lol let the intrusive thoughts win", and I understand wanting to respond with the worst of our intrusive thoughts, the ones involving murder and suicide and sexual assault and violence and horror and similar. I understand wanting to say "you don't understand, if I let the intrusive thoughts 'win' it would be very bad, this is serious."

But here's the thing: I have lost battles with some of my intrusive thoughts. I've purposely broken things I cared about. I've engaged in (again, harmless) sexual behaviors compulsively causing me to fall into guilt and shame spirals. I've made sudden loud weird noises that made everyone judge me and drove me to panic attacks.

There's not a clear line. For some people, biting a bar of soap may be more intrusive than impulsive. For me, contamination OCD mixed with anxiety related to my allergies can make a thought like that incredibly distressing. For others, it might just be impulsive.

It's the obsessive nature due to the thought being distressing that makes it intrusive.

I don't use "I let the intrusive thoughts win" because quite frankly, when it does happen I don't want to make light of it. It's terrifying that sometimes I give into compulsions relating to intrusive thoughts.

Even though I've never given into one that would cause serious harm to anyone (other than perhaps my suicide attempts and self-harm years ago having a compulsive element, but I consider that related to other diagnoses than OCD), even though I know the reason I failed to resist the compulsion is specifically because part of me knew there would be no real serious consequences other than guilt and shame spirals, it's still terrifying.

It's just... as someone with both kinds of intrusive thoughts, it's equally important to not erase or trivialize the "acceptable" ones as to not villify the "scary" ones. It's important to acknowledge exactly how the "acceptable" ones can be life-ruining, especially if the compulsions are powerful enough that sometimes you act on them, especially if there's always an evidenceless worry in the back of your head that if you act on those you might act on the big scary ones. It's important to talk about how acting on those ones specifically happens as a result of the OCD trying to trigger that guilt and shame spiral and tighten its hold on your life, and that it's able to do so precisely because the actions themselves are "less serious".

I dunno. OCD is just... really complex and multifaceted (as are intrusive thoughts outside the context of OCD, I just lack perspective on that myself). It's important not to write off aspects of it while fighting stigma about other aspects, that's all.

#tw suicide mention #tw self harm mention #OCD #intrusive thoughts

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hey I don't know really how to start this other than just to say I think you are a wonderful person and did you could give me some advice I'd really appreciate it.

So basically about 2-3 weeks ago I was at the lowest of the low. I don't really know what triggered it but I just couldn't really properly be happy. It got to the point where I relapsed and self harmed again (sorry if that is too much).

In the last week or so I've been happier and more positive than I have in a long time. But, I keep thinking that it will just get worse again. Because I seem to have the worst luck. I feel like I'm so scared of going back to where I was three weeks ago that I'm not really enjoying the positives while they're here.

I don't know how it got that bad in the first place. So how would I know what could cause it again? I also don't know if I really have gotten out of it because I keep getting like really dark thoughts that every now and again send me into a spiral (smaller than before but there nonetheless)

Please I'm sorry for dumping on you. You obviously don't need to respond to this.

Hi!

Just gonna put a TW for SH

Please don't feel bad at all for talking to me! I don't mind at all!

Please keep in mind, however, I'm NOT a professional, so all of my advice is from my own experience. To cover my own butt, I just want to make that perfectly clear.

So, here's the thing. I'm...not always normal when it comes to emotions, right? (Not to be all 'I'm not like other people') But I'm a bit neurospicy and what I do to cope might not work for you. But lemme tell you what I do/what I would do in this situation, because I've been there and this is VERY relatable to me.

First of all, when we're looking at anxiety (because what you're experiencing right now is anxiety about the possibility of something bad happening), I find it helps to check those thoughts. As in, when I think: What if something bad happens? I then think- Okay. What if something bad happens? And then I think through a few things I could do in that scenario. You're worried that your mood will go down again. What if it does? What can you do if that happens? Do you have people you can talk to? You have me :) Do you have a comfort book or movie you could have ready?

The reality is, our moods naturally ebb and flow, so you're going to feel yourself be happier some days and sad other days. I'm not saying catastrophes will happen, but unfortunately sometimes things happen like a break up or a low grade that make us sad. But making sure you have a plan ready for when that happens makes the whole thing a whole lot less scary.

As far as SH, it's an addictive behavior. And with addictive behaviors, we have to make sure not to set ourselves up for failure by looking at in certain ways. You SHing does not make you a failure or a bad person. It means that you need a healthier coping mechanism, and a plan for if you feel the urge to do that again. It might be helpful for you to come up with a list of things you could do if the urge comes again.

One thing that might be helpful for any lists or plans that you make is a crisis hotline. Crisis hotlines are confidential and anonymous, and extremely helpful in situations where you feel like you might make a decision you'll regret, or in situations where you just can't think through your feelings. This is a great hotline that allows for call, message, or text.

For the record, I don't suggest the hotline to shame you or scare you- it's just good to have one in mind for those situations where nobody else is answering.

Like I said, life has highs and lows, and I know you will get through those low points, but it can definitely be scary to think about. For me, having a plan helps a little bit, so maybe it'll help you, too!

<3 <3 <3 <3

#ask #asks #ask cas #tw: sh #tw: sh mention

[sweaterweather-247]

Vi finds out you self harm

Trigger warning for self-harm, blood, and a blade.

You had been cutting for a while now and Vi never knew, you thought if she found out she’d leave you or scream at you or have you put in a psych ward.

It was a horrible addiction and you couldn’t seem to stop, the physical pain took away the emotional pain.

Vi loves you so much and would never leave but you didn’t know that.

Fortunately Vi never questioned why you always wear hoodies or why you sometimes swat her hand away from your skin when she’s getting to close to a cut.

You made it so far without her finding out.

Until one day she found out.

You were cutting in your bed under a blanket and Vi walked in.

You were laying down and you were cutting your thigh.

“Hey move over I wanna cuddle.” Vi says.

You freeze and then you try to not freak out.

You poke your head out from under the blanket and say you have your period so she’ll leave.

Vi crawls into the bed and gets under the covers while you try to hide your blades but it’s too late.

Vi saw one of the blades and grabbed it before you could.

She immediately pulled the blanket off of you and was shocked.

Your thigh was covered in blood with cuts across it.

Vi immediately puts pressure on your cuts and that makes you yelp in pain.

She’s trying her best to not scream at you and she’s processing everything right now.

You’re freaking out internally because you worked so hard for her to not find out and now she has.

You want to run, hide, escape. Anything to get away from this situation.

Vi then drags you to the bathroom to get you bandaged up.

You can’t help but feel guilt about this.

“I’m sorry Vi.” You say looking her in the eyes. Vi finishes bandaging you up and glares at you.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Vi shouts. You get off the sink and try to get away from her, she needs to clam down.

Vi immediately grabs your shoulders and yanks you back, her nails are digging into your skin and your cuts.

You wince in pain and Vi sees the fear in your eyes and lets go of you.

“I’m sorry, I’m just scared….You could have cut too deep and I would have lost you!” Vi whispers.

You just hug her and she hugs you back.

You two hug for a bit and she carry’s you to bed and snuggles you all day and all night.

After that happened Vi increased her protection over you 1000 times.

She kept a very close eye on you.

The only privacy you had was going to the bathroom and showers and even after you were done, Vi checked for cuts.

Vi doesn’t let you around any sharp objects and has hidden them.

She’ll scold you for using a butter knife.

It’s a bit annoying at times but you know Vi means well, she loves you so much.

Even if you do relapse, Vi will understand and take care of you.

Vi knows that making you promise not to cut is a bad idea because it’s manipulative as hell.

Vi does anything she can to take your mind off the the urges.

She’ll cuddle you, bake with you, take you on walks.

Vi loves you and she wants you to love yourself too.

#vi x reader #vi x you #arcane vi #arcane x y/n #arcane x female reader #vi x y/n #vi x female reader #hurt and comfort #love #arcane #x reader

[smilestrawbunny]

hello! I just found out about your games last night, and so far I only played Don't Let It Out, and I just wanted to thank you for this game. Sh is so often portrayed in romanticized/irresponsible ways (one of those portrayals was the trigger I needed almost 10 years ago and I still struggle with not letting it out sometimes). I just felt seen by your game, I thought the portrayal was so spot on as to how the urge to sh can feel sometimes, and I love the strategy you created to win the game. I thought it was empathetic, accurate and respectful, and honestly I don't think I've seen such a portrayal of self harm. Idk if I'm all mushy because it's xmas, but your game really touched me and, again, thank you for it!

Aww thank you so much!!! DLIO is a very personal game to me- im really happy it was able to convey horror well while still being respectful to the topic! Thank you for playing, I hope your holidays are good and bright!

[apus-neverstoplooking]

TW: graphic depictions of self harm (there will be blood, and razor blades) , mental health issues. Please do not read if you think it will trigger you, take care of yourself.

Regulus sits on the edge of the tub, the hot water of the shower in front of him is a stark contrast to the cool porcelain under him.

He was fine yesterday morning, he woke up, made tea and French toast for him and James. He cleaned up the kitchen because he insisted it was his mess to clean up when James tried to help him. It was lovely.

Then it wasn’t. Nothing happened, nothing ever has to happen for him to get like this. One moment he’s fine and then the next he’s crawled up in his bed wearing one of James jumpers and his favorite pajama pants with the lights off. And he doesn’t know why he gets like this. And he hates it.

James is normally here to help him when he gets like this but after breakfast yesterday he had to go to Sirius’s Mandatory Annual Mauraders Weekend Getaway™️. And James’s departure isn’t the reason for this, the last few years have been fine, and these bouts of ‘melancholy’ occur when James is literally right next to him sometimes.

He was supposed to go out with Barty, Evan, and Pandora but he just couldn’t. They came to pick him up and when they didn’t find him dressed they tried to drag him out because he never goes out and needs to socialize. It wasn’t their fault, really, they don’t know he gets like this. He tried to explain that he wasn’t feeling well but when he tried to open his mouth he couldn’t. He hated going non-verbal. He laid face down on his mattress for hours after they left.

He woke up in the morning hoping to feel better and he wasn’t. If anything it was worse and he wanted to relapse so fuckng badly.

He knows he shouldn’t, he’d been doing so well. He hadn’t even wanted to do it again since James found out a year ago. He was supposed to be doing better. He was doing better. Despite these moods, he hasn’t had the urge to relapse.

Until now.

He had decided to take a hot shower, they help sometimes.

That’s how he found himself on the edge of the tub, scalding water splashing in front him. In one hand he’s pinching the outer part of his upper thigh, in the other is a razor blade.

He sees the thin white lines of the marks he carved into his skin but have long since healed. He used to hate them, he felt ashamed of them. But now he kind likes them. Back then they were new, red and angry, now they’re old, silvery and neat. He was happy they were scars because that meant he no longer had any any fresh ones. They meant he stopped, that he was getting better, that he survived.

He knows he should call someone, he supposed to call someone. James told him to call.

James

Sirius

Barty

Evan

Pandora

Dorcas

Remus

Even Narcissa.

All the people he could call, people he should call.

And then he cuts.

Watching the line of crimson bloom against his alabaster skin, watching it turn the water pink.

And he hates himself more for it.

He cuts deeper.

***************************************************

That was rough, I’m basically projecting onto Regulus here and I needed to get it out somehow so I wrote this. I’m sorry if you relate to this at all.

Take care of yourself, drink water, eat something substantial, get some rest. You deserve it, I love you. My DMs are always open.

#regulus black #jegulus #Regulus black needs a hug #mental health #mental illness #self h@rm #i’m sorry #I Hope i didn’t trigger anyone with this #tw graphic self harm #regulus arcturus black #regulus black deserved better #mentally ill Regulus black #cw relapse

[herequeerexitentialfear]

How about 20 and 25 for Georgie, and 7, 30, and B for the twins!

Tyy!!! these are all so fun!! my awnsers got Looong so the rest are under teh read more<33

Georgie:

20, If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Hmm. romantic as just a slightly different flavor of platonic, and familial as something stronger in some ways than both, familial is choosing to stay with someone through everything, where as most friends and lovers, however strong the feelings, are people who can fade in and out of your life. him being adopted causes this take on familial, and his calm approach to life & love shapes the others.

25, What are their thoughts on marriage?

Happily married to the love of his life Sosiel!! longer answer, he sees it as an extra step to show the bond you and a partner have, but doesn't see it as nessasery or an end goal, just one of the ways of pledging your love for someone [and throwing a big party!]

7, What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

Celia: Most often? her close friends, but in general shes a very nostalgic person, constantly following threads of recognition back to the past, distracting herself from the constant threat of her situation in the warmth of the past, in the reassurance that shes made it through past struggles, she can make it through these, as well as reminding her what and who shes fighting for. she enjoys the feeling most of the time, and even recalling the horrors of the past can be reassuring to her.

Cecio: hmm. Wotr: everything? there is very little he cannot link back to Celia in his mind, to how she was when he was younger and how he thinks of her now. its less self soothing than Celia's nostalgia, and could be seen as self harm in a way, by constantly think of her and his complicated relationship with her. its not very healthy, but he morbidly enjoys the feeling sometimes.

30, Who do they most regret meeting?

Celia: Hmm. there is no one person that ruined or changed the course of Celia's life like Cecio, it was more of a butterfly effect over time. on one hand she regrets meeting her freind's and her part in dragging them further into the cycle of violence, but on the other she knows they had slim chances of surviving without her. I will say Polpo, even though she technically never met him as it was the lighter test & his stand puncturing her with the arrow that pushed her and her friends into a higher level of crime and violence, and her powerful stand meaning she would not be allowed to escape Passiones grasp.

Cecio: OOH. this is so good ill have to answer this both ways<3

wotr: his father, or the servant that took him to meet his father. if he had not met them, he would have stayed with Celia, stayed home. if he ever lest himself think about it, he would like to join the hellknights after her and eventually be able to fight side by side with her on the battlefield as an equal

jjba: the man who persuaded him to go undercover as a plant in the police force. while his urge to help his sister was preyed upon, and he is the only person other than Elena to have a genuine chance to escape the cycle, and he threw it away. then Passione didn't care about Celia's little brother, but by the time Rametto was 16, he had no other path than to take the test, which made Cecio feel guilt and regret over throwing his chance away. he would have been a defense lawyer, working to defend the people of his community, he had the grades and charm.

B, What inspired you to create them?

Celia i've already answered here but ill put myself on blast with Cecio.

Haurchefant Greystone. its so weird saying to now bc they are so completely different, but one fic i read made the very interesting choice to make his relationship with his father strained [in an au where he survived] and it was so fascinating to me!

i then pulled my dragoon oc and made her his half sister, someone left behind when Haurchefant was taken in by his father, and then combined it with him getting mistreated by his stepmother, leaving Celia to work to fund his knight training, as well as use the only method of social mobility she had, becoming a dragoon and attempting to become the azure dragoon. she fucking hates estinian and tries to kill him several times in her attempt to become the azure dragoon. yes im still anooyed by him from the drg job quests. i love him but i show it by throwing him on a cliff

silver hair and being a bastard son is what little remains, but i do imagine Cecio's friendly act, especially in pre-game in wotr is very similar to how Haurchefant acts.

#thebirdwrites #georgie #gold & silver #celia #cecio #TYY again<33 #and i bit the bullet and came clean about Cecio's inspiration. its wild to see how much some characters change #Cecios regrets were my fav to awnser #one small thing and it all would have been diffrent #but they were all v thought provoking! #georgies view on types of love is fairly atypical #and similar to his thoughts on marrige #its just another way to say i love you #nice but not strictly nessasery to a relationship