#....tw here for like self harm and suicidal thoughts don't read the rest of these if you don't wanna see that

[lucyvaleheart]

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[glitterguts13]

Do you have any favourite of hcs (any kind) of aventurine?

Oh, I have so much to say about Aventurine it's not even funny, so here comes a jumbled mix of thoughts.

TW: topics of slavery, self-harm, sexual abuse, and suicidal ideation. Please read with caution!

Aventurine struggles with genuine physical and emotional intimacy. Having been used, abused, and tortured all this life, mentally, sexually, and physically, he's grown to learn that people are to be kept at arm's length the whole time.

Because of this, Aventurine became very hyper-sexual to deal with the trauma. To him, if he starts it and stays in control, he can't be hurt. This isn't true at all, but it's the only way he knows how to handle people who start getting touchy with him because saying 'no' never worked in the past.

If someone does manage to break down his walls and form a genuine emotional bond with him...he really doesn't know what to do. He showers his partners with gifts and money, is extremely sex driven, and doesn't have any consideration for his own well-being. He's so worried about losing them, that he gives too much.

Aventurine doesn't know how to ask for things he wants. In the sense, he doesn't know how to say "Please, just hold my hand." or "Will you brush my hair?" These simple little acts of love that he desperately craves, but can't ask for because he's worried he's being needy.

For fucks sake just hold this man and remind him that his worth isn't tied to his wealth or his body.

The hand that trembles, hold it tightly and press it to your lips. He'll fall to pieces.

Aventurine is torn between desperately wanting a family and being terrified of having one. He wants a partner, children, and a home to come back to that's filled with love, warmth, and laughter...but he knows how quickly he could lose it, and just how big a target is painted on his back. It keeps him up at night, debating back and forth on if he should pursue his desire or leave it to rot like the rest of his dreams.

Topaz is the closest thing to a 'friend' he has inside of the IPC. While they're hardly besties, she's at least someone he can relax around and share a few drinks with. She's not given him any reason to distrust her, but I don't think he would ever fully rely on her either.

Has played his fair share of Russian Roulette, and leaves disappointed each time he wins.

Also, are we all just going to ignore that little tidbit where they mention he was strapped to an electric chair?? I can't even begin to imagine how that fucked him up both mentally and physically.

That being said, Aventurine has a lot of self-harm and pain-seeking tendencies. I won't go into details, but when he gets low, his mind begins to spiral and he has to find something to snap him out of it or else it just gets worse and worse until he's ready to make sure that gun is fully loaded.

He's grown better about it over the years, but he will never fully be able to heal and recover. Especially not as long as he's in the hands of the IPC. Ratio is the only one who catches wind of Aventurine's self-harming tendencies, but he doesn't have a clue on how to help him, so he keeps quiet.

The brand on his neck is a source of contention. He has the money to have it removed and covered up. He hates to see it, but in the same breath, he's almost afraid to lose it. If he does, will he lose sight of his past? Where he came from? He isn't ashamed of his past, but he also doesn't like the very clear reminder of it either. Jade makes passion comments on it often, and it makes his stomach twist everytime.

Donates obscene amounts of money to children in need. He will never let a child suffer, and while he clearly can't dismantle the entire fucked up system set in place, he's bought the contracts of many child slaves and freed them anonymously. He wants to save them all, but it just isn't possible, and it's one more thing that keeps him awake at night.

[diamondocean001]

Back in Black

One-shot

TW: mentions of depression, self-harm and suicide.

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For me, depression is like a claw. It digs at your skin and pulls you apart piece by pathetic piece. And then you struggle. You push, pull, kick, scratch just het out of it's grasp. And the you do, and you're crawling to safety, to light, only for the claw to drag you back down when you think your safe.

It's not always the harm. Never always caused from abuse. It isn't resulting in sadness or self-harm or suicidal thought. For some people it's everything. For me it's nothing.

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The cottons sheets were wrapped around you, like a hug, but provided none of the same warmth. Curtains were drawn aamd lights were off, and it was just you. Alone. With your thoughts.

You didn't hear the door open, nor it close. The footsteps seemed silent. Only when the bed dipped did you know he was here. Only when his strong, comforting arms cocooned you did you know he was here. Only when the smell of his cologne invaded your senses did you truly know he was here.

Your back hit his chest, the warmth of his body slightly warming your seemingly frigid bones. One hand came to your head, resting there before carding through your hair in a way that made you feel somewhat whole. Somewhat human. And oh how easy it is to break in his arms. To cry. To let it all go. Yet your body refuses.

"It's ok." he whispers. "It's ok."

Amd because of him you want to believe it. Because he said it, you want to feel like your life isn't falling apart, that it isn't pyramid of cards, one sneeze away from collapsing.

"I don't know when, I don't know how but I know it will. And I'll be there through it all, love."

The damn breaks and tears fall. Sobs quietly wrack your body as a small hand, one you only assume to be your own, covers your mouth, muffles your cries.

But he didn't lie. He was there.

Soft circles were massaged into your back, and thumbs wipe the tears. Messages of reassurance, soft caresses, and whispers that gave the smallest sliver of hope, seem to piece back your broken pieces. At least for now. But when you break again, he'll be there. When you fall back into black, he'll be there. He'll stay.

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Hi.

So this one was kinda just me projecting (is that the word?)

It's basically my way of trying to articulate my feelings and get them out. I'm not expecting anyone to read or care, and i didn't do this for pity or attention. I just needed to give myself some comfort for once, even if that is through depicting a scenario with a fictional man.

I didn't do this with a specific character because my comfort character changes all the time. Also, I thought this way, it might help some of you who've read this. If it does, I'm glad.

I have some drafts I'm working on and some old requests that I'm really sorry haven't been out yet, but i rarely find the motivation to write, so...but I'm trying, promise.

Anyway after that miserable post...

Thanks for reading

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[backwards-readings]

The Door that was Never Supposed to be Opened.

Chapter 4: A Bird in a Cage

{Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3}

{A/N: This was originally posted on AO3, if you would like to read it there you can find it HERE. I'm going to be straight up with you and tell you that this is pretty much a self-indulgent self-insert fic. I'm not gonna lie. If you don't like that, that's cool, have a good day. But if you're DTF with it, let's get right into the story.}

{Art Credit: this lovely artist

++TW: There are depictions of Suicide. Please, if it is a sensitive topic for you, skip this chapter. I'll add notes on the next chapter a quick summary of what happened without going into detail. I want you to be safe more than I want you to read my writing. If you're struggling with thoughts of harming yourself, please reach out to someone you trust. If you're in the US, you can call 988 to talk with someone, or text HOME to 741741. There's help. There's hope. Be safe, please.++

The next few days I am consumed by anger. I scribble more sketches in my book, but the strokes are dark, and in places the lead of my pencil rips the paper. I tear the pieces of the ruined paper out of the book in strips, balling each strip up and throwing it into the unlit fireplace. I sit on the floor for a bit, staring at the torn pieces of paper sitting in the soot. Tears begin to form in my eyes and I pull my knees up to my chest, hugging them. All this just because I wanted to help someone. I pick the journal back up and begin drawing again, this time taking time to carefully sketch out the face of the man in the basement.

My tears stain the page around the drawing as his face takes shape. I stop when I get to the hair and set down the journal, leaving the drawing unfinished. His face already haunts me, the hopeless look follows me when I close my eyes. The hopeless look that I’ll soon have as well. I stay sitting on the floor, numbness creeping across my body. A numbness that starts in my hands starts spreading across my body, taking hold of me. A tightness creeps into my chest and something tells me it’s here to stay for a while.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The next few days I don’t even bother getting out of bed unless it’s to use the bathroom. What’s the point of putting in an effort to eat and drink water if you’re just going to be stuck in the same room for possibly the rest of your life? Ms Downard comes in a few times and clicks her tongue at the untouched food, taking it away and replacing it with fresh food, but she never says anything to me.

The first two days my stomach grumbles, and on the third day my stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots, but I don’t care. Better to starve to death than to live out my years in this god-forsaken place. After five days of staying in bed and not eating, Ms Downard finally addresses me.

“Honestly, you think a hunger strike is going to do anything for you? Eat, don’t eat, Master Burgess doesn’t care. It would just be one less thing for him to worry about. One less thing for me to worry about, too. Lord knows I don’t have to bring you fresh food every day. I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart, not asking for anything in return.” She lectures me but I don’t respond. If this is her idea of kindness then I don’t want it.

“Nothing?” She huffs “Fine. I don’t care. Have fun sulking in bed until you wither away into nothing. I don’t care.” She leaves a tray of food on the table and leaves, the click of the lock a bitter reminder. That night I take a few bites of the bread that she left, but I throw it up as soon as I get it down. I crawl back into bed and cover myself with the blankets, a chill clinging to my bones that I just can't shake.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

I’m so tired but can’t sleep. I try again and again to eat, but only a few bites make me sick to my stomach, no matter what it is. I drink the water left for me but it doesn’t seem to stay my thirst. I run a bath and sink into the water, the sting of the cold water doing nothing to wake me up. I wash up slowly, letting my hands and feet get wrinkly in the water. After my bath I sit wrapped in a towel on the bed, not waiting to put on the dirty clothes I’ve been in since getting imprisoned. I’m clean, but I don’t feel like it. My chest is still tight and my skin crawls with invisible dirt and bugs. I try to eat a bit of bread again and this time it stays down, feeling like lead in my stomach.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The next morning, there are clean clothes laid out for me on the table next to my tray of food. It’s a servant's uniform just like my old clothes were. They’re ill-fitting, probably left over from one of the girls who left. The sleeves cover my hands, and I trip over the skirt. There’s no apron to put over the plain dress, but I don’t think I would put it on if there was. I have no need for one as a prisoner. I sit down at the table and eat a few bites of cured meat that sits on the tray, the salty flavour causing me to nearly gag. I eat a little of the bread, hoping that it will calm my stomach, and sit on the bed with my journal and draw.

Once again, my drawings turn from inanimate objects to him. No matter what I do, I can’t get him out of my head. I hate him for it. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even be locked up. But instead of minding my own, I had to try and become his saviour. I scribble him over and over again, his features flooding my mind. As I create him over and over again, anger begins to bubble. He haunted me when I was free, and now that I am captive he is all I can think about.

He may not have actually been a devil, but he tricked me just the same. If he is such a powerful being, why didn’t he warn me this would happen? Why didn’t he tell me? He let me try to help him when he probably knew the outcome. That bastard might have even wanted this, envious of my freedom. I get up and throw my book across the room, sick of drawing. Sick of everything turning back into him. It hits the wall and falls with a loud thunk, but does nothing but make me more angry. I begin to see red and next throw the tray of food that has been given to me, and then push the vanity in the room to its side and let out a yell filled with anger.

I stand there, seething for a moment before my seething hot anger is replaced with ice-cold sorrow. Tears fall from my eyes faster than I can wipe them away and I sink to the floor, unable to stop the convulsions of cries. I curl up on myself, my sabs raking through my body like waves crashing into rocks. I don’t know how long I lay there for, but eventually my ragged breaths even out and I lay on the floor in silence. My eyes wander around the room, taking in the destruction of my fit, and they fall on the broken mirror of the vanity, shards of the silver-backed glass strewn across the floor.

I drag myself towards the broken glass, grabbing a shard that fits perfectly into my hand- as if it was meant to be. My head throbs with every heartbeat as I palm the glass, feeling the sharp edges. They may have taken away my freedom, but I am not helpless. I don’t want to live caged like an animal. I can’t. I won’t. I hold the shard in my hand, shaking as I sit up and press the jagged edge into my wrist, a hiss of pain coming from my lips as it bites into my skin. Tears well in my eyes again as I watch a stream of blood trickle down my arm, landing in my lap. I dig deeper, pain clouding my vision before I remove the shard and move it to my other arm, my hands shaking more and more. I repeat the process, digging into my flesh until I have to bite back a scream. I remove the makeshift blade and drop it in my lap, holding my bloody arms out in front of me. My eyes begin to feel heavy, and I lay down, not caring about the shards of glass on the carpet that dig into my skin.

Despite the pain, a small smile graces my lips as I lay there. My eyes land on the book I had been drawing in it, the pained stare of my drawing subject meeting my eyes. I don’t remember drawing him looking like he was pitying me, but then again, I had drawn him so many times, that I probably just forgot. I close my eyes, ready to let the darkness take me, to embrace death like an old friend, but instead, I hear a voice. Soft and comforting, like a warm breeze on a summer evening.

“Oh, you poor little thing.” The voice says, and I use what little strength I have left to open my eyes. A woman kneels in front of me and gently brushes a bit of my hair from my face. The woman has dark skin, and her beautiful curly hair hangs around her face. Her eyes are soft and kind, like she knows every hardship you’ve ever been through, but wouldn’t dare judge you for them. She smiles at me kindly, and I blink slowly, trying to figure out if my loss of blood is causing me to hallucinate.

“I’m so sorry for what they’ve done to you.” She says, cupping my cheek with one hand as she brings her other hand down to my arm, gripping my wrist. But I don’t feel any pain. Instead, it feels like warm water is being poured over my wrist, and I feel a bit stronger, but nauseous.

“I did this…” I say, my voice cracking as hot tears roll down my face.

“No, dear. You are not at fault for your death. You saw the only possible way out and you took it.” She says, moving her hand to my other wrist. I feel the same feeling of water running down my arm and I gag, rolling a bit more onto my side as I dry heave.

“I know, I know. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” The woman says, gently stroking my back. “You fought a battle that was stacked against you from the start, and you should be proud of how long you held up against it.” She says softly, gently pulling me upright.

“But I’m not ready to take you yet, Patricia Everly.”

[dread-master-styrak]

Hell Year

So most of 2023 and first four months of 2024 were fucking hell. I barely remember it. All thanks to this one fucking person.

I eventually cut them out of my life. They were actively dragging me down and their presence was a huge mental drain on me.

Tw: fictional rape, real suicide attempts, real and fictional self harm.

I will probably edit this post to get my thoughts in order. I'm not telling this story to garner pity, I'm telling it to explain why I was probably acting erratically over the past year.

I think me deleting all my SWTOR art and my Tumblr were partially caused by me being fucking worn out by this person's demand I talk to them every waking minute of my day.

I was in pain but didn't see that that "friend" was the main source of pain and exhaustion, and so I lashed out at the next best thing.

Please please heed the trigger warnings and the mature content tag!

I don't know what to call them. I suppose "friend" will have to suffice, for ease of telling this story.

I met them last year. Barely two weeks into talking they called me their best friend. They also dumped horrific trauma onto me within those two weeks.

They put me on a pedestal just cause I showed them basic human kindness and politeness I try to show people by default. They kept saying how they don't need other friends. And how their mood gets better with me around.

They expected non stop 24 \ 7 interaction and would threaten or even attempt self harm and suicide when I said I need space.

I'm very introverted. I REALLY need a lot of alone time and space to recharge. Do you see the problem?

It's difficult to put into words how worn down I got. Several months of non stop RP. Several months of having to constantly comfort this person. Several months without being allowed to rest in peace and quiet. I stopped writing. My art slowed down a lot.

We both were into 40k. So they wormed their way into roleplaying as our characters. They had cool character concepts, but they went out of the window the moment the RP started. They just turned into submissive anime waifus who just want to be isolated with my characters forever and have a traditional family with babies despite being fucking grimdark cyborgs. Like the player, they said they don't need anyone else. And they all had nearly identical angsty backstories filled with rape.

They kept casually shoving rape into the RP, dropping it on both their own and my characters.

Now, I don't have a problem with dark topics in fiction. You can write or draw whatever. Appropriate tags and warnings are appreciated. But RP is a whole nother beast. It takes two or more people to RP.

I mean, shit. One of my favourite stories ever is Berserk. However. There is a big fucking difference between choosing to read Berserk and reading through the Eclipse, or writing the Eclipse and giving people a choice whether or not they want to read it, and being fucking coerced into roleplaying the Eclipse. As Griffith, no less.

I went with it for two reasons. First, I figured out it was some kind of catharsis for them. Second, my options were either rp raping their OC or have a multiple hours long fight. In which they would threaten self harm and suicide, and be passive aggressive. Which in turn is a huge trigger for me as I have to deal with it from family IRL.

Here's the grim tally of characters who got raped in RP for no fucking reason:

My Kenaz, by slaaneshi cultists on their forge world, for like several days straight

Their character R - in their backstory

R again, by their former mentor (makes no sense for admechs to be so controlled by fleshy desires). Dahan (played by me) killed him.

Their character D, same exact backstory as R

D again, by some rando tech priest, who also got killed by Dahan

D yet again, in a horrible alt timeline. Dahan had to watch before breaking out and killing the perps.

Their character F, in her backstory. Slightly different from the other two.

F again, by the same Slaaneshi cultists as Kenaz

F yet again, by a stand in for that exfriend's ex's character. He got, you guessed it, killed by Dahan.

F yet again, by Skoll because I guess the player gets off to that shit.

Kotov, played by me, by a fellow admech(makes no bloody sense)

Irbis, played by me, by the character who was supposed to be his love interest.

My Skoll, by a slaaneshi cultist.

Oh, also: if I gathered my little spine sprout and said no to a scenario or ship for whatever reason, they'd throw a fit and torment me with graphic descriptions of their character mutilating themself. Or draw their character mutilated and post it somewhere I could see.

I eventually got them to stop shoving rape into every plot, until...

The crowning fucked up cherry on top of the shit rape cake. They pushed a scenario where my character Irbis would have a smut related modification installed in him against his will and against his character. And it was implied that their character was the one secretly behind it. Their character was supposed to be Irbis's love interest.

And to add insult to injury, the character Scorn so gleefully turned into a rapist was a character I gave them.

Their obsessive adoration towards me scared me. I was / am scared they'd try to find me IRL and do something horrible to me, as the physical boundaries of my body are the only ones they haven't trampled on.

I was afraid to leave, fearing they'd kill themself and the blood would be on my hands. And I got so worn down by them throwing fits and threatening to hurt themselves, or getting passive aggressive in the same exact way my mom does, that I just kinda shut down and went with whatever they wanted unless completely drained.

I'm angry at them for taking advantage of me. I'm angry at myself for letting them do so. I saw the red flags but pushed on because I felt responsible for this person.

They were incredibly insecure and I guess jealous? Constantly whining about stuff they didn't get while "everyone else around them got cool stuff".

They threw fits over:

me posting art at quicker rate than they did;

me having cool stuff in SWTOR because I played the game for like 11 years at that point;

Me not wanting to RP SWTOR stuff cause I have a complicated relationship with SWTOR (that one ended up with them posting art of their character gruesomely decapitated where I could see it)

Me begging for time and space alone to fucking rest (that one ended up with them attempting suicide!)

not having money to buy an expensive clothing item

someone in the same room having an ipad and drawing on it.

Me trying to say something nice about their characters and saying they looked kind

At one point they tried to kill themself. I managed to get them to stop. I managed to convince them to get help. I felt so relieved about it.

However...

It came out later thar thet lied to me FOR MONTHS about going to therapy. Which kinda put a big fat question about literally everything about them because if they lied about that FOR MONTHS, what else could have they lied about?

I shit you not, they even mentioned getting made up homework from their made up therapist over the course of the six or so months they kept the lie up.

Somehow they had the brain capacity to remember everything needed to maintain an elaborate lie for MONTHS but then they couldn't be arsed to remember details about their own OCs or my OCs. Priorities I guess.

During the same fight they also tormented me with graphic descriptions of physical harm done to them by a family member, as well as graphic descriptions of self harm and suicide. They knew full well I can't handle graphic descriptions / depictions of violence a lot of the time.

The final straw that killed this relationship was them dropping 40k as an interest. They replaced their entire personality with nutcrackers from lethal company.

I can't stand the bloody things. The person kept trying to show me art of them. They sent me screenshots of nsfw messages they sent someone else about the nutcrackers.

I asked them to not show me that. And even then it was this constant hemming and hawing about wanting to show me stuff I explicitly said I didn't want to see.

That last one was the last straw that resulted in a fight where we mutually blocked each other. EXCEPT, TWO DAYS LATER who do I see in my art page's notification, but A PAINFULLY OBVIOUS ALT of theirs?

Like, good job burning any remnants of any bridge that could stay between us, dumbass.

And like, I feel bad for hating them because they are obviously very mentally ill. But also I left because they wouldn't leave me alone even when I begged for it. They lied to me. They coerced me into roleplaying rape scenarios under threats of self harm and suicide.

Leaving was the best decision for me. I feel much calmer. My art block went away. I even started writing again.

I will probably edit this journal to get my thoughts in order. I'm not telling this story to garner pity, I'm telling it to explain why I was probably acting erratically over the past year.

I think me deleting all my SWTOR art and my Tumblr were partially caused by me being fucking worn out by this person's demand I talk to them every waking minute of my day.

I was in pain but didn't see that that friend was the main source of pain and exhaustion, and so I lashed out at the next best thing.

And also I recently learned that it's healthier to express emotions than to bottle them up and let them fester, and I have a lot of pent up emotions about this.

Despite EVERYTHING I miss them sometimes. Same way I miss the SWTOR exfriend. Despite everything, we had some good times, and the quiet feels a bit empty sometimes.

I know I can't go back. It wouldn't be good for anyone involved.

I hope this person forgets me and gets help. They desperately need it.

I briefly spoke to them to see if they have some files I lost. We talked. They seemed to be apologetic, but given their capacity to lie, what's the worth of those apologies?

Apparently i was the only one blessed with being coerced into roleplaying SA under threat of self harm, suicide, and multiple hours long fights. What fun. /Sarcasm.

I bought some character designs (a fairly common practice among creatives online) from them, and they tried to charge me twice for one of them, claiming they forgot. Jury is out on whether or not its the truth or they just wanted to squeeze a bit more money from me lol.

I went back to blocking them after a brief fight where I confronted them about everything they did and that it hurt me. Of course, they started whining that they don't wanna hear about it.

I don't regret the fight or going back to blocking them. It was my plan to do so, after my dealings with them were done, although my plan was less aggressive. I just wanted to fade out. But leaving with a bang will do too.

I hate them. I want them to know that I hate them, and to know exactly why. My fucking life is now separated into Before Them, The Hell Year, and After Them.

Never got my files back even tho I distinctly remember giving them an archive.

Also, Scorn, if you see this: FUCK YOU. You raped my soul. You took advantage of me.

I hope you end up alone with nobody but your shitty twisted self for company, and then you'll have to reckon with the kind of person you are.

you ARE hollow. I regret being vulnerable with you.

You had a friend in me and you took advantage of me, forced me to roleplay rape scenarios, didn't let me rest even when I begged for it, and then LIED to me for MONTHS.

I hope the new people you leech off of see how empty and shitty you are.

How's that chatroom that harasses people for being weird or queer or furries treating ya?

[mental-health-advice]

I'm 22, and have been on almost three months on hrt treatment (mtf).

The emotions have become too much and I don't know how to handle them. Lately I've been having a lot of self hate bc I still want to satisfy others and don't want to be an annoyance or inconvenience. Also my dysphoria has been worsening by the day.

I ask myself how can I ask others to see me some way if I still don't see myself in a good way, I just feel like I'm an impostor.

(tw)

With all of this, this last two weeks I had an anxiety attack and intrusive thoughts of suicide and self harm. I know these can be attributed to the hormones, and finally being able to feel all my bottled up emotions on a more deep level, but idk what to do.

Also, I have seek help with the collage psychologists and counseling, but so far three attempts and none has helped me at all.

There's more, but with this, I hope I can get some advice or something idk, my partner told me it would be a good idea.

Thanks u.u

Hey there,

Being on HRT treatment can be really hard and challenging for some people and especially with the emotions and anxiety that can come up from it at the beginning of treatment until your body is able to adjust more to it and the changes it is making to your body.

I think it was really good that you were able to reach out to us here at MHA although I know it probably wouldn’t have been easy. But thank you for at least trying us!

With all of the emotions that are coming up for you, do or could you try writing them down and giving the emotion a name. So for example ‘this emotion I am feeling is hatred towards myself.’ And then try your best to just let go of that thought/ emotion and refocus your attention on something completely different and remind yourself that how you are feeling is just that, a feeling or emotion and it cannot hurt you. By doing this you are accepting how you are feeling but then allowing it to flow through you and leave. This is something I have been practicing myself with my psychiatrist when I wake from bad nightmares that are abuse related and no, it’s not easy, and it’s something that you have to keep trying and practicing at doing but it is helpful when you are able to let go of whatever emotion or thought that is bringing you down or overwhelming you.

In regards to your anxiety attacks, we do have a page on calming anxiety and panic which I encourage you to check out. We also have pages on alternatives to self-harm and reasons not to self-harm. Now, I know that by simply reading these pages won’t help immediately, but skim through the different techniques and try the ones that you feel may be beneficial for you. All we can do is try, right?!

I am so sorry that you haven’t had any luck in getting help and support from psychologists and counsellors at your college. It’s important to know though that we as people are all different and so what works for one person may not be as helpful for someone else. The same can be said about mental health professionals, some we may click with and find really helpful in talking to whilst others we may just feel it doesn’t work for us and this is completely OK. Are you able to talk to the person you are going through for your HRT treatment and chat to them about where you are currently at mental health wise. They may be able to refer you onto a specialist therapist that may be more helpful for you and what you are going through!

I really hope that this has helped a bit and please do let us know if we can help to support you in any other way!

I’m thinking of you, hope you are going well and wish you all the best with the rest of your treatment!

Take care,

Lauren

[yourlocalmikankinnie]

Wanted to do something angsty for Danganronpa 2.

⚠️TW/warning⚠️: this fanfic has mentions of feeling unwanted,feeling unloved,death,murder, self insert death,blood, mention of suicide, insecurities you may find harming, established personality, spoilers for Danganronpa 2.

I hope you read the trigger warnings. Let's begain with the fanfic.

Nobody

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You were never like your classmates. You were quiet,introverted,shy, ect. But you never wanted to be. You wanted to be proud and positive like Ibuki, Stern but admirable as Peko and Byakuya, Likable like Hajime, Shy and introverted but still get acknowledged like Mikan. Not be afraid to speak on something you saw wrong like Mahiru, pretty and strong like Akane, not scared to be weird but still have a good time being weird like Gundham. But you weren't. You were never any of those things. Even as a child, you weren't. You grew up feeling unloved, unwanted. Like you didn't even exist at all. You still feel that way. But you wish you didn't. You've thought of just leaving the world because now one even knew who you were. Why would they care? Everyday you think of yourself as selfish for wanting to be acknowledged. Loved. Wanted. But that didn't come. Now your in the trial room after murdering a classmate who murdered another. You weren't much help in the trial as no one ever knew you were there. You stood and watched as your friends were dying. Then finally you get sick. Your stuck in the hospital just being sick. Mikan was to busy with the rest to care for you.

When you see Mikan and Ibuki going to the music venue you follow them. Not knowing what was going to happen. You witness Ibuki being strangled and in the heat of the moment, you said something you didn't think you were capable of. "Mikan! Stop." Mikan stops what she's doing and looks over to you. You can see the despair in her eyes. She herself was sick just as you were. "Oh dear. Who are you? I've never seen you here" she laughed at you. She then dropped Ibuki's body and ran twords you with a box cutter she pulled out of her apron. You screamed but no one ever heard you.

Looking back to that memory you came to realized you would die as a unwanted, unloved, unknowledgeable person. And that made you sadder then the thought of dying did. As you bleed out. You knew nobody would care. You looked to see Ibuki still hanging in the spot she was when Mikan stabbed you and hung her up over the stage.

You wished that in your final moments you could've made an impression on at least somebody but that would never happen. You knew nobody would feel pity on your lifeless body. Why would they. They don't know you. Mikan didn't even know who you were. You died with a tear stained face knowing that nobody cared for you and nobody would.

Nobody.

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Hey guys. Sorry for the very angsty fanfic. If I need to add anymore Trigger Warnings let me know. If your feeling like this in anyway, don't be afraid to talk to someone. Nobody deserves to feel that way. Suicide may seem like a way out but it can impact so many people. So please think about talking to someone and getting the help you need and deserve.

-Sayaka

(sprite above is not mine. It's very pretty though)

[soukokuwu]

! urgent! Hello Rachel Can I request just an comfort cuddling in bed scenario with Dazai? I'm so done with everything at the moment Everything is too much, the work , the school I'm so stressed out. My best friend (TW self-harm & suicidal thoughts/attempt?) told me she cut her self again and swallowed like 15 tablets..... I wouldn't say that it triggers me anymore but I'm feeling so bad because I don't know how to help her. 😔

THE PERFECT ESCAPE.      genre. fluff, just pure fluff      synopsis. he strives to be everything you give to him.      word count. 1.4k      author notes. hi! i’m so sorry to hear that, i really hope that on your side that you can find comfort in this. my fluff isn’t too good but i do hope it makes you feel at least a little better. and i know the overwhelming feeling all too well, if you ever need to vent/talk my dms are open okay, anony? <3

favourite book in one hand with the other twirling in his own brown locks, he hums a tune he’s made up in his head while his eyes gloss over the page he’s flipped to. it’s a book he’s read countless times and he already has the whole thing memorised by now.

still, he’s addicted.

one other thing he’s addicted to?

your love.

it’s been on the back of his head for a while now — what makes him so attracted to you? it’s different with you. how is it that someone like you, who’s so simple to understand, so, in lack of better vocabulary, ‘layman’, manages to pique his interest? he thinks of it all the time. everyone is normal in his mind, with the exception of ability users, of course, but then, why is it that only you manage to retain his interest?

more often than not, you’re the only thing that remains a constant in his mind, occupying a permanent spot in every thought that crosses it.

it had taken a while, but how is it that you’ve managed to stop making him question how much he deserves every ounce of happiness you’ve bestowed upon him? sure, people might find dazai osamu a remarkable man, one they’d both fear yet crave as an ally. but the man in question finds you absolutely exceptional.

when he thinks of you he thinks of jovial footsteps skipping across the hardwood floors of your shared apartment. he thinks of cotton candy smiles accompanied with contagious laughter. he thinks of bright, alluring eyes brimming with determination. he associates you with the sun in winter, and how good the warmth feels against his skin. he associates you with the calm after the storm, the reward for every hardship he’s been put through.

which is why the moment he hears the keys jingling outside the door, his eyes shoot up, staring up ahead at nothing in particular; at the random dust motes floating through the air. something is off about the way you unlock the door. it’s you; there’s no question about it, he can hear the familiar click-clack of your heels as they uncharacteristically trudge in, any of their usual mirth missing.

and when he watches you pass through the bedroom doors, flinging your purse harshly against the dresser, he knows he’s right. something’s happened with you — he can usually tell at one glance what it is, but today the possibilities find themselves all jumbled up in his mind, like information overload.

oh, that must be it, isn’t it?

your habits are usually followed through each day, but not today. today you don’t even make an effort to get a change of clothes first before heading for the bed (where dazai’s usually already waiting before you get home). so now, dazai doesn’t let you slump down onto the bed. he catches you before you hit the mattress, allowing your head to find purchase on the comfort of his chest.

just like a switch, instead of overflowing determination, tears start spilling from your eyes, dissolving into the cotton of dazai’s plain white shirt; the one you got him as a moving-in-together present. he had felt bad about not getting you anything (he didn’t even think it was a custom to, which you agreed, but you had just felt like you wanted to give him something). it’s very soft and comfortable, which is why he wears it almost everyday.

soft and comfortable — just like you.

now he wants to be that for you. to be the warmth that you envelop and let yourself go in. the safety amongst unknowns and the shelter from the storms. it’s hard considering he’s typically known for being the exact opposite — the one who stirs trouble instead of soothing anyone from it. but for you he tries, because you’re the only one alive capable of making him want to bring out the good in himself.

but he knows better than to ask you about it, he knows it’ll just make you even more frustrated. besides, he’s smart enough to realise the ‘information overload’ he felt earlier is the catalyst for your mood. dazai always knows, and in this moment it is no exception. he can hear from your suppressed sniffles and the subtle clenching of your jaw that you’re trying to hold it in, trying not to cry so much. now this, he doesn’t understand why. do you not feel comfortable around him to let yourself go?

“cry as much as you need to, belladonna, i’ll be here for you, all the way.”

you’re receptive to it, as he can tell by the way you clutch on to his shirt tightly, your nails bound to leave crescent-shaped indentations on your palms. you continue to pour your emotions out through your eyes, with dazai patiently waiting, one arm round your back and the other pulling locks of your hair away from your face.

he never once thought that he would ever associate tear-stained cheeks and humid heat with perfect, but that’s what he thinks now. but no, that’s inaccurate. he thinks the crab dishes you make and the way the sun hits your face is also second to none.

“hey,” dazai calls out your name, planting a kiss upon your eyelids before flashing you a confident grin, “whatever it is, i know you’ve got this, okay?”

in comes your self-deprecating laugh, a sign of your inherent doubt in your own abilities, or rather, the lack thereof. “i just feel like i’m screwing everything up and that everything’s just piling one on top of the other and…”

dazai lets you ramble on, lets you get that weight off your chest. doesn’t interrupt you with pointless, empty sugar-coated consolations. instead he makes sure you tell him of every single thing that’s bothering you now (of your own volition, because he never forces you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with). and when you finally fall silent save for the sound of your heavy breathing, he knows that there is something that’s still stuck in the back of your head. something that surpasses the average problems that school and work proposes.

but he doesn’t press. instead, you find him baring his soul. a different kind of comfort, the most effective one in your book, and it’s still comfort all the same.

“i think, despite everything i’ve been through,” he lets his digits caress down from your temple to your chin, curving his index finger and tilting you upwards so he can look into your eyes as he tries to tell you of something important, “you’re one of the strongest people i’ve ever met.”

your mouth is slightly agape, as though you wanted to say something but you decide against it midway. dazai chuckles knowingly, “you know i’ll never say things i don’t mean, belladonna —” a peck on the lips, and he licks the saltiness away — “never to you.”

everyone can remind you of how strong you are, but none of them will ever carry the weight that dazai’s brings. with him you know he means it, you know he’s serious. because he never takes these things — or you, for that fact — lightly. and you can’t seem to think of how good you must have been in your life to deserve someone like him; someone who knows to be patient and makes you an exception although he’s not one to be known for doing so.

you feel special, wanted, significant.

and he doesn’t let up on it for the rest of the night. he leaves you for just a moment, so you take the chance to slip out into something more cosy. this means oversized sweaters and shorts. and you are pleasantly surprised when your boyfriend comes into the room armed with snacks and hot chocolate, which, in his head, represents a delectable heat to shelter through the storm.

he even has all your favourite movies and series lined up in a folder on your smart television, choosing one at random to start with while he lets you settle into his arms. all through the shows, he does subtle things like feed you a piece before feeding himself, and lightly squeezing your arm in a constant pattern (which you later learn on your own is morse for ‘i love you’). it’s in these little things that surprisingly touch you the most.

it’s in how he doesn’t — despite knowing many things — actually know how to be the least bit comforting yet he tries anyway, even to go so far as to act like he knows what he’s doing. it doesn’t escape your notice. you know that dazai osamu is many things; a suicidal maniac, a feared enemy, a questionable lover (to others but never to you). but one sure thing is, to you, he’s a perfect escape.

he’s perfect.

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @smoochi-dazai @animatedarchives please ask me to be added/removed! <3

[centuriantalevevo]

It Still Hurts...

TW: Mentions and thoughts of Suicide, slightly graphic depictions of thoughts of self harm, loss of a loved one, seemingly emotionless, empty feeling, numb feeling, conflict with emotions, dealing with grief, small mention of tobacco

I did this as a sort of coping mechanism...

Featuring Albedo, Xiao, and Scaramouche. Along with My cat, Felippe.

"How are they?" Xiao asked, watching Albedo shake his head "... Not that good, honestly. They haven't gotten any better. They're just… lifeless." Albedo responded with a small sigh, staring at the enby.

Halo just stared out the window with an emotionless face. They barely moved, only ever blinking.

The indigo haired boy approached them quietly. "Halo… you need to eat something. You haven't eaten all day and you barely ate yesterday. You need to eat something, even cereal or a granola bar." Scaramouche said softly, resting a hand on their shoulder but no response.

Only a few tears rolled down their cheeks.

Scaramouche wrapped his arms around them, holding them close. "I know… you miss her, you want her back. But not eating isn't going to bring her back. Just sitting there, doing nothing, won't bring her back. She wouldn't want you to do this." Scaramouche said, kissing their head gently and rocking them softly.

That's when a sob was finally heard from them.

"I JUST WANT HER BACK!"

"SHE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE GONE! SHE'S SUPPOSED TO STAY! THIS IS GOD'S FAULT, THIS IS WHY HE DOESN'T EXIST! SHE BEGGED HIM TO LET HER LIVE AND HE DIDN'T DO SHIT!" They screamed, grabbing his shoulders and crying.

"I'LL KILL THEM! EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM! EVERY TOBACCO MANUFACTURER! THEY'RE DEAD! WHY DO THEY STILL EXIST?!" Halo continued to cry. The 3 boys stayed quiet and just listened.

"She was gonna quit.. she even had me destroy the cigarettes…. I want her back.. give her back.. I never told her I loved her the night before… I never did it enough…" They trailed off.

"She still knew you loved her, Halo. She knew you loved her even when you didn't say it." Albedo spoke up, walking over and hugging them.

"I'm sure it meant a lot when you stayed in front of her the whole time until the paramedics came into the bathroom. You were there, and her head was against you. That was the best thing you could've done for her." Xiao said softly.

"You don't like it.. I know you don't. But it was bound to happen, you knew it. That's why that was your biggest fear. Because you KNEW it was going to happen." Albedo said, "but, now she isn't in pain anymore. She won't have to be short of breath, she won't be in pain anymore… no more back pain or chest pain… no more of it." He added, "no matter where she went, she's better off there. She's safe, wherever she is."

"I read her journal while we went through her house.. 2020… she said we'd be better off without her. She said me, Skye, and Aife would be better off without her… I already knew of her being suicidal and depressed, she's told me before… I was the reason she didn't kill herself… I didn't know how bad it got… from 2010… onward… the journal started in 2010 to 2011, a break until 2014, another break… and then she started again in 2020. As the years went on it only got worse and worse…" They said, "I… wish she said more… I never knew how much more was unsaid…" Halo trailed off.

"Why didn't she listen? We should've taken her to the ER sooner… she would still be here.. everything would be okay…"

"Halo… even if you did, she might have still died.. she'd be given a fighting chance but… her body and heart just couldn't take it anymore." Xiao sighed, resting his chin on their shoulder.

The boys' hearts broke the next day when Halo woke up and asked if they wanted to play Among Us with them and their mom. When they said they'd have to go home for school and have to reconnect the PS4 all over again, but 'at least I can maybe do some UTAU this week.'

Because they had to remind them.

"Halo…" "what?" "They're brain is making them forget as a coping mechanism," Albedo whispered to Scaramouche. "What is it? Forget what?-...."

"She's… gone…"

"Oh… yeah…"

"Never… nevermind.."

They sighed.

"I'm… tired."

They went back to bed for another few hours.

When Albedo entered the room, he saw them staring at the wall, eyes disturbed and their face tear stained.

"Halo…" he whispered and climbed onto the bed, hugging them.

"Bedo…"

He looked at them.

"Save me…" They whispered.

"How? What's wrong, aside from… you know…"

"I'm scared." "I know you are.."

"I'm scared of myself…"

"Why?"

"I almost tried to kill myself…"

He grabbed their face and stared them in the eyes.

"I just stared.. and my mind told me to die.. I looked at the pencils… the box cutter that goes to my art set… and I almost reached for them… I don't know why…" They muttered.

"I wanted to grab something.. and slash everything… I was to cut into my skin as deeply as possible…. I wanted to gut myself.. end everything… everything hurts… but I'm numb…" They continued with a blank stare.

Albedo pressed his forehead against theirs "don't… don't EVER do that.." "but… there's no point.. there's nothing…"

"There's Kane. You promised you'd help take care of Kane if something ever happened." Albedo said, "you'd be leaving Felippe behind, you'd be leaving us behind as well." He said softly, "we all love you so SO much. I KNOW it hurts… and it hurts me that I can't help you.. that I don't know HOW to help you. But we're all here to listen." He said, holding them close and hearing them sniffle.

He laid them down on the bed and snuggled them until the fell asleep.

After he was sure they were asleep, he went to find Xiao and Scaramouche. "We need to clear their room of anything that could be potentially used as a weapon." He said, "why?" "They told me they almost tried to kill themself. They saw the pencils and the box cutter and almost tried to gut themself." "But… they draw a lot, we can't get rid of the pencils!" Xiao whispered, "at least get the things like scissors and the box cutters out." Scaramouche said, they all nodded in agreement.

The three cleared out the room quietly, pausing every so often to pet Felippe, and once they were sure the dangerous objects were removed, they climbed into the bed and cuddled Halo so when they woke up, they'd be surrounded with those who loved them.

[thatdeaniegirlsworld]

Toxicity Chapter Eight

//TW: Mentions of self harm, mental illness, and violence. Read at your own risk.//

Mox's P.O.V

I slowly make my way into the house. It was too quiet. Normally mom would still be up, wondering where I've been.

It had been a hard couple days on her. The customers at the strip joint weren't being as generous as they normally are. Which meant our meals were barely meals at all.

"Mom?" I call out, and still recieved nothing. The floorboards beneath me squeaked as I make my throughout the house. I quickly pull out my gun from the back of my pants, and search the house. I make it to the bathroom, and open it.

That's where I see her. Her wrists split open with blood pouring out of them. Her head was tilted back, and she was lifeless. "No. Not you, mama." I choke out, and set my gun on the sink counter before going over and hugging her to my chest.

After what felt like hours of holding her. I did call the cops, and I watch as they place her body in a bag, zipping it up.

"Very sorry for your loss, Son." He says, and hands me an envelope. "Looks like she wanted you to have this."

I take it from him and wait to open it until I'm left alone.

"My baby boy, Moxley, I never wanted to leave you alone in this world, but mama was tired.

I hope you don't hate me, and no this was not your fault. Not everyone's battle with their demons is successful.

I have always been proud of you, and even though I won't be here physically, I'll still be with you in your heart.

Please don't be afraid to love. You deserve it so much.

I love you baby boy, and I hope you continue to fight with every part of you like I know you know how."

I suddenly open my eyes. Not realizing I had dreamt the memory of my mother's suicide.

My body was sweaty, and I look over at Jo who was sleeping soundly.

I gently pull myself away from her, and walk into the spare bedroom where I look out the window.

I miss my mother more than I care to admit. Just because she was a stripper didn't mean she was a bad mother. She gave me the only love I have ever received from another person.

She gave me food to eat, a bed to sleep on, and a roof over my head. It was never the best house, but it got us by, and for that I'll always be thankful for her.

"Mox?" Jo's voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I look over at her. She has the sheet from the bed wrapped around her, and the bun resting on top of her head was messy, but cute. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." I tell her, and she walks further into the room.

"Are you sure?" She asks me, and I nod at her. "You know it's okay if you're not right? I felt you tossing and turning there for a minute."

"I know." I tell her, and turn to face her. "Just a rough night is all." Her face falls with my comment, and then she just nods before walking out of the room. Great.

I walk back into the room, and I see her laid back down on the bed. "Angel, what is it?" I ask when I slide onto the bed next to her.

She rolls over onto her back, and sighs heavily. "I thought we trusted each other?"

"We do." I confirm for her, knowing that where ever this is coming from, she feels uncertain.

"Then why won't you tell me what's bothering you?" She asks, still not looking me in the eyes.

"I had a nightmare that was me reliving my mother's suicide." I tell her, and her whole demeanor changes. She scoots over closer to me, tucking her head underneath my chin.

"I'm sorry." She says, and there it goes. The fucking pity.

"I'm not here to be pitied. You asked me what was wrong, and so I told you." She pulls back, and gets out of the bed again. "Where are you going?"

She slides her shorts on, and a shirt. "Clearly you want to be left alone."

"Jo-" I shut my eyes in frustration, and she slams the door shut. "Jesus fucking christ."

This is why I don't put my trust in people. I get out of the bed, and throw on a pair of shorts, not bothering with a shirt and make my way to the living room.

I stop when I hear sniffling. She was sitting on the floor by the chair, crying. "Angel, why are you crying?"

I squat down to look at her, and she shrugs her shoulders. "Cut the shit. What's wrong?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad. I just wanted to know what was wrong, and then I apologize, and you acted like it was the worse thing in the world." She says, and u stand up, reaching my hand out to her.

"Come here." I tell her, and she hesitantly grabs my hand, and I lead her over to the couch. I pull her down in my lap. Her legs thrown over mine, and I scoot her down a bit more.

"When I was with Renee, she always made me feel like missing my mother wasn't manly. She said that it happened years ago, and that I should just get over it." I chuckle darkly. "As if getting over my own mother's suicide was so fucking easy."

She lays her head on my shoulder, and I grab her hand, kissing the back of it. "Her and Dante always made me feel like my mother killing herself was my fault even though in her own suicide note she said it wasn't."

"Jo, I miss her every fucking day."

No one around me can relate more to losing a parent more than Jo. "What was her name?" She asks me.

"Laura." I answer her, and she smiles at me. "You would have liked her. She would have loved you. Especially with you not putting up with my shit."

She giggles, and grabs the dog tag that's wrapped around my neck. "She got me these when I was younger. That's why I never take them off."

"You know she's always with you right? You wear her around your neck everyday, but she's in here." She says, and points to my chest.

No one has ever said that to me about her. I feel tears well up in my eyes, and I try to cover it with a cough, but she knows what just happened. "Thank you, Jo." I choke out, and she smiles before kissing my forehead.

"Anytime."

Jo's P.O.V

I know this was stupid, and Mox would end having to pay, but I had to see Dante.

I'm lead to a different office then we were shown to last time. His guards open the door, and I make my way inside. "Miss Rennigan, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He asks, pouring himself a drink.

"We need to have a chat." I tell him, standing behind one of the chairs that sat in front of his desk.

"Is that so?" He asks, walking around to sit down behind his desk. "What would you like to talk about?"

"What do I have to do to get you to stop taking out our issues on Jon?" I ask him, and he leans forward on the desk.

"Why do you care so much about the man who put a bullet in your old man's skull?" He asks me, smirking as he leans back in his chair.

My anxiety starts to build when I feel my leg start to bounce non stop, and I bite my inner cheek. Trying not to say anything stupid.

"Why are you punishing Jon for the things that I do?"

"I may be a lot of things, Jo. But I would never harm a woman."

"You're harming me, by harming him!"

"Physically, I don't harm women, Physically."

I roll my eyes at him, and stand up. "Just tell me what I can do so that you can stop hurting him."

"I'll tell you what. You want this so bad? Then do a job for me. Pretty girl like you could just be the perfect person for this job."

"What type of job? I won't be whored around." I tell him, crossing my arms.

"Nothing like that. I just need you to be my date to this event. Some people owe me money, and well, they have neglected to do so."

"If I accept this, Jon won't be harmed right? My family is safe? Also, I'm not joining this mafia."

Dante laughs at shakes his head. "If you can do the job successfully then I'll think about your negotiations." He says, and sits down. I make my way to the door, and as I reach the door knob he has one more thing to say. "Oh, and your sister, Isabelle will be joining us."

"Dare I ask why?" I sarcastically attempt to ask him.

"Family's have to stick together."

"You two are not my fucking family." I bite back before slamming the door close, and making my way back to the cabin.

******************************** I hadn't been home two hours before there was a knock on my door.

I open it and see Jon. "There's my pretty Angel." He slurs a bit, leaning against the door frame.

"Mox, are you drunk?" I ask him, and he just smirks at me. "It's barely four in the afternoon."

I pull him inside, and guide him to the couch. "My father came to see me." He never talks much about his father. "I wish you were there. I just knew you would have said some shit."

"You should have called me. You know I would have been."

"Are you playing with me, Angel? I called you three times." He chuckles. "I figured you were asleep."

"You look like you need some sleep." I joke, and he nods at me. "Want to go to bed?"

He looks up at me with his bloodshot eyes. "What aren't you telling me?" He whispers, and I just help him up, and into bed. I remove his shoes, and his pants. "If you wanted me naked, all you had to do was ask."

At least drunk Mox is still relatively my Mox. "Shut up." I giggle, and he removes his shirt. He faces my side of the bed, and I slide in next to me. He's quiet for a minute, and I'm thinking he was asleep before I feel his hand on my thigh.

"You should leave. Get as far away from me as possible." He says, and I just lay there not saying anything. "I don't want to hurt you like I hurt her."

Hurt her? He can't mean his mother. "You didn't hurt your mother Mox."

"Not my mom. Lia." He whispers, and I furrow my eyebrows. Who the fuck was Lia?

*** Mox was still sleeping when I had to start getting ready for this event. I have no idea how I was going to tell him without him being him.

Dante had even sit a dress over that showed basically everything, and it made me sick to my stomach.

"Wow." I hear Mox's voice from behind me. "Where the hell are you going dressed like this?" His hands are on my hips.

"Do you want the truth?" I ask him, and look at him through the mirror.

"Does this have to do with why you weren't answering my calls yesterday?" He asks, and I can already feel the intensity radiating off his body. "What the fuck are you doing, Jo?"

"Something so that you don't get hurt anymore." I tell him, and then look down at my wrists.

"You're dressed like this, for Dante?" His hands tighten their grip on my hips. "I told you that I would take a million beatings for you. So, why would you go behind my back and do this? I specifically asked you not to."

His hands are withdrawn from my hips, and he crosses them over his chest. "I specifically asked you not to do this. What if you get hurt? What is he having you do?"

"He said he has me and Isabelle with him a-"

"Isabelle is going too?" He asks, and I nod. "I don't like this at all, Jo." I could tell by his demeanor that he meant it. "I'm going with you."

"Mox, you can't. I'm pretty sure I wasn't even supposed to tell you what was going on." I tell him, and I could tell he was trying his best not to combust. "I can handle myself."

"I know that, Jo." His teeth now gritted together. "I fucking know that, but I don't trust either one of them. I have a bad fucking feeling about this."

"You trust me, right?" I ask him, reaching out to slide my hand in his. His blue eyes meet mine, and he visibly relaxes a bit.

"You know I do. I just know that he's up to no good, and I hate that you're doing this because of me. I don't care about the beatings."

"Even if you know I'm watching every single time?" I ask, and his body freezes. "What if it were me? What if you had to watch as I was beat within an inch of my life?"

"That's different, Jo." He says, shaking his head.

"It's not, and judging by your reaction I know I'm doing the right thing." He's silent, and now that he knows that I'm doing the right thing, I'm hoping he won't go crazy.

"Can I at least know where this thing is? Will you call me if anything seems off? I'll be there in an instant."

"I'll text you the address." I tell him, and he nods. I go to leave the room when he catches my wrist. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You look beautiful, Jo." He tells me before leaning in to kiss me. "Probably a good thing I'm not going because if any man were to look at you...I wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in their skull."

My cheeks fill with heat, and he kisses me once more. "Please be safe, Angel."

"I will. I promise."

******

Of course we would be riding their in a fucking limo. Apparently Isabelle got to bring Adam, and they were coming on their own which left me, alone, with Dante.

"Lighten up, will you?" Dante asks me, and I just remain with my lips closed. "Shall we go over what I need you to do tonight?"

"I thought I was just arm candy?" I ask him, and he laughs.

"Oh no, sweetheart. You see, you're an attractive young lady and so I'll need you to lead this one particular man into one of those private rooms until I get there and basically, blow his head off."

"Lovely." I fake smile, and he laughs again.

"If you are successful, I won't harm your family."

"What about Jon?" I ask him, and he sighs.

"Why are you so adamant on him not being harmed?"

"Why are you so adamant on harming him all the time? What good could come from that?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you. However, he won't be harmed as long as it's you. If he breaks any other mafia rules, then that's another story."

"Deal." I tell him, and then the door is opened up for us and we make our way inside.

It was nothing as I expected. It was almost like a gala. Everyone is extremely dressed up, and champagne is everywhere. "Wow." I breathe, and Dante smirks at me. "This is a lot."

"Something you like?" He asks, and I'd be an idiot to say no.

"You can say that." I tell him, and he grabs two glasses of champagne for the two of us. "So, where is this mystery guy?"

"Well, if isn't my darling sister?" Isabelle's voice interrupts us.

"You're not my sister." I tell her, rolling my eyes.

"Well that's no way to talk to your own blood."

"Half, we're half sisters. Though, blood doesn't always make family."

"I suppose you're right." Isabelle says, and looks over my outfit. "You sure wanted to show out, hmm?"

"Unlike you, I'm not married and I'm free to do whatever, or whoever I want." I smirk at her when her mouth clamps closed.

"Alright that's enough. Jo, come with me. The man of the hour just showed up." Dante says, pulling us away from Adam and Isabelle. "See that man over there? All black tux with a pink shirt? That's our guy."

"Right." I confirm, and pull myself away to go sit at the bar next to the man. "This party is so lame."

"Tell me about it." The guy says, and looks me up and down. He'd be dead if Jon were here. "You leave nothing to the imagination do you?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing." I tell him, but really I want to gag.

"Care to dance?" He asks me, and I nod. It's a slow dance, and I want to puke. I feel disgusting because I know I may have to let this man do things to me that I don't want.

"What's your name, beautiful?" He asks me, and I know not to give out my real name.

"Nicole, you?" I ask him as his hand reaches lower and lower.

"Brad." He says, and how fucking lame was that name? Brad.

"Well, Brad, you must work out a lot."

"You're going to make this easy for me, aren't you?" He asks, bending down to press his lips to my neck. "How about we take this somewhere more private?"

"Couldn't agree more." I tell him, and look for Dante who gives me a curt nod. We make it upstairs into the room, and he crashes his lips to mine. I pretty much keep him busy that way until the door is opened.

"Brad! You are a hard man to track down!" Dante yells when he walks in the room, followed by Adam and Isabelle.

"You bitch!" Brad yells at me, and I wave at him with a smirk.

"Come on Brad, you didn't think someone like her would actually go for someone like you, did you?" Adam laughs, and Isabelle shakes her head.

"As if my sister would want you." She says, and outs her boot on his chest. "Get it over with, dad."

Dad?!

I watch as Dante shoots the man in  between the eyes. Blood splattered on the wall behind his head, and I watch as Adam draws a symbol on the wall.

Now I know how we are all connected. Dante not only leads Toxicity, but he leads the dark order as well. Isabelle is his daughter, and I am her sister.

Something tells me I won't be able to escape the mafia world as much as I would love to.

"You said Dad." I say as all three of them stand before them. "Dante is your fucking dad?"

"That's true. Same mom, but very different dads." Isabelle tells me, and I feel sick to my stomach. "Speaking of which, mother would like for you to come visit soon."

"Just take me home, please." I beg Dante, and he just walks past me and I follow him to the car.

******* I make it inside, and I feel defeated. "Jo? That you baby?" I hear Mox call out, and he runs into the living room. He sees me, and immediately pulls me into a hug. "I was so worried."

"Dante is Isabelle's father." I tell him, and he pulls back to look at me.

"What the fuck did you just say?" He asks, and I throw my heels down on the ground.

"We had the guy that owed Dante money. Isabelle put her foot on his chest and said "Get it over with, dad."

"Wait a second, then that would mean-" Jon cuts himself off as the realization hits him.

"He's the leader of the two biggest mafia's in town." I conclude for him. "Her father is the reason my father is dead. I can't escape, Jon."

"Hey, it's okay. Come here." He whispers, and pulls me into his chest. "We'll figure it out okay?"

"I had to kiss that man tonight, and his hands were all over me. I feel disgusted, Mox. I'm so sorry." At this point I'm sobbing into his shoulder.

"Hey, you did what you had to do. I'm proud of you, okay?" He says, and I nod against his neck. "Why don't we get you out of this dress and into a shower? I can help get you cleaned up."

I lift my head up, and nod at him. "Thank you." He nods at me, and leads me to the bathroom where I drop the dress to the floor, and he sits me up on the counter. He takes the wipes, and begins to remove my make up.

"You really didn't know, did you?" I ask him, and he shakes his head. "Why would they keep that from you?"

"To be honest, I don't know." He says, as he finishes wiping my face before starting the shower.

"I told you I kissed a man and he had his hands on me. I'm surprised you didn't leave to go kill him."

"Dante already killed him, angel." Jon chuckles, and pulls back the shower curtain. "Besides, you came home to me. Where you belong. Now, come on."

He assist me into the shower before stopping down, and joining me. "Next time you look like that though...I want it to be when you're out with me." His hand coming up to my neck. "Because you have no idea how hard it was to contain myself. The only reason I did is because I was more worried than anything."

I smile lazily at him, and he bends down to press his lips to mine. He slides his tongue in to capture mine, and before I know it my back is pressed up against the cold tile wall. I gasp, and Jon pulls away from me. "We should probably get you cleaned up before I get too carried away."

So, we did. He helped me get cleaned up, and now we were laying in bed. I kept drawing shapes on his chest, and he ran his fingers through my hair. "Mox?"

"What is it Angel?" He asks me, and I look up at him.

"I need you." I whisper, and he scoots closer to me.

"I'm right here, baby. I got you." He says, and I shake my head. "No?"

"I mean, I need you, please. All of you." I tell him, and the realization hits him.

"Are you sure? You've had a rough night, and I don't want you to regret anything."

"I promise. All I could think about when he touched me was how much I wished it was you. I trust you."

He nods and looks down at me before bending down to press his lips to mine. His hand slides down to my thigh, squeezing it lightly. The feeling of his hands, and lips were just the thing I needed.

He moves to hover over me, and I slide my hands down to his muscular chest. His hands on either side of my head. I run my hands over his tones arms, and he moves his lips down to my jaw. "You can say no at any time, and I'll stop okay?" He asks me, and I nod.

He then connects his lips to my neck. Kissing down the skin slowly, and darting his tongue out over the spot before biting down lightly, bit just enough to drive me insane.

My body naturally reacts to him, and I feel him smirk against my skin. "Sit up for me, Angel." He whispers before backing away from me. He removes my shirt, and then pushes down on my chest to urge me to lay back down.

His mouth moves against my collarbone, and he licks a stripe up in between the valley of my breasts before kissing me again. Kissing him was like nothing I've ever felt before. My whole body is electric whenever our mouths meet, and I feel all around euphoric.

He brings his mouth down to my left nipple, licking and sucking while somehow maintaining eye contact. He quickly moves over to my right nipple, giving it the same care before he started to place kisses down my stomach.

He looks up at me when he hooks his fingers under my panties, and I nod to give him reassurance again that I'm okay with this. He slides them off, and throws them down on the ground next to the bed.

His hand slides up to grab a hold of mine, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go to place his hands on my thighs, and hooking my legs over his shoulders. His bites some of the exposed skin on my thighs before finally dragging his tongue up my center. I gasp at the contact of his warm tongue, and I automatically fist the sheets on either side of me.

He sucks down onto my clit, and looks up at me with now black eyes. He drags his tongue down to my entrance and traces it on the inside in circles. My back was already beginning to arch off of the bed. "So good." I choke out, and he drags his tongue back up to my clit and slides one of his fingers all the way inside.

I take my hands and bring them up to my breasts, squeezing them. He adds a second finger, and I moan loudly at the feeling, causing him to moan against me as well, sending vibrations through my body. "Mox."

He pulls away to look at me. "Let it go, angel." He says quickly before placing his mouth back on me. His tongue circles my clit, and his fingers curl to the point that they hit just the right spot. My breathing was beginning to quicken with the pace he was going, and I could feel my lower stomach tighten for a few seconds before I release onto his fingers.

"That's my girl." He whispers as I come down from my orgasm. His fingers still thrusting in and out until I'm laid back down, still. He pulls his fingers out, and places them in his mouth.

He crawls back up to me before kissing me once more. "Still want all of me?" He asks me, and I nod. He stands up at the end of the bed, and releases himself from his boxers before crawling back on top of me.

"It's um, kind of been a while so if you could just go slow at first?" I ask him, and he nods.

"Don't worry, Angel. I'll take good care of you." He says, kissing my forehead, and making his way back down. He drags the head of his cock up and down my folds a few times before he slowly slides himself in. "Fucking hell, Jo."

His eyes were blown with lust at this point, and it takes him a minute before he slides all the way in. "So fucking tight."

I take time to adjust before he pulls out, and thrusts back inside of me. He falls down forward onto his hands. He then slides his arms beneath mine to cradle my head in his hands.

"This what you needed, angel?" He asks as he begins to speed up his thrusts. I couldn't speak because he was just hitting all of the right places. "Daddy will always take care of his girl."

I clamp down around him at those words and he smirks at me. "Someone likes to be talked to doesn't she?"

"Mox, it feels so good." I tell him, and dig my nails into his biceps. He moves my hair out of the way to kiss my neck some more.

He lifts up, and grabs my chin so I'm looking directly at him. "No one will ever have the pleasure of fucking you again. You hear me?"

"Fuck." I moan in response to his words. "No one, Mox. No one, but you."

"That's right. Only. Me." He responds with thrusts on each word. "You're fucking mine."

"Y-yours. All yours." I weakly tell him back, and he moves one of his arms down to rub my clit.

"Open your mouth." He tells me, and I obey. He spits down into my mouth and closes my mouth shut. "Swallow. We both know how much you like doing that."

I obey again, and he starts to thrust even deeper into me if that were even possible. "Are you going to cum inside me, daddy?" I ask, with a smirk, earning one hard thrust from him.

"Do you want me to fill your tight little cunt up with my cum? Make me yours forever?" He asks, and I nod at him. "Jesus christ, you're going to be the death of me, angel."

I sit up, and come face to face with him. "Don't act like you don't like it." I tell him, before grabbing his jaw and kissing him hard. I fall back down, and I grab the dog tags hanging from him, and he shoves his tongue into my mouth.

He releases me, and wraps his hand around my throat. I smile at him, and he smirks down at me. "Are you an angel? Cause you're kind of acting like a devil right now baby."

"I'm whatever daddy wants me to be." I respond, and he squeezes my throat a bit tighter.

"Fucking right." He tells me, and he thrusts faster into me. "Now, be a good girl, and cum for me."

I wrap my legs around his waist tighter, and he pushes into me with everything he has. His head is in between my neck and shoulder, and my nails scratch down his back as my second orgasm approaches me.

My legs shake, and I try to squeeze them on his hips before he twitches inside of me. "Fuck, Jo." He groans in my ear, and I feel him empty himself inside of me. His hand squeezes the fistful of hair he had collected in his hand. "You are something else, you know that?"

I giggle, and he sits back to rub my shaky legs. He slowly pulls out of me, and stands up. "Don't move, I'm going to clean you up."

"Yes sir." I joke, and he flips me off as he walks into the bathroom to bring a warm cloth, cleaning me up nicely. "Can you carry me to the bathroom? I need to pee."

He laughs lightly before picking me up and setting me on the toilet. "Thank you." I blush, and he nods at me.

"I'll just be in the bedroom if you need anything." He says before shutting the door.

I finish using the bathroom, and I stand on my wobbly legs to wash my hands, and when I look in the mirror, I look properly fucked out.

I smirk, and bring my fingers up to my swollen lips, and look at the marks on my neck. He really did a number on me. Not that I'm complaining.

I make my way back into the bedroom, and see Jon had fixed the bed back up for us, and even my part of the comforter was pulled back, awaiting my arrival.

I slide into the bed, and he pulls me into his arms, scrolling on his phone. He rolls over to lay his phone next to mine, hooking them onto their chargers before wrapping his arms around me. "Goodnight, angel."

"Goodnight, Mox."

[savebatsfromscratch]

Day 30 - Tears Smudged Like Ink on a Whiteboard

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42745575

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Summary: Daisy has trauma because of an incident with some Team Rocket grunts. Unfortunately, Bill isn't there to help her. (Not yet anyway.)

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Note: I love these two and I had a great time writing them last Whumptober, so why not do it again? XD This goes out to the two Teashipping fans out there.   Also I tested out another writing style because why not. I probably won’t write in it again but I like reading these so…

Cws and Tws: Implied past rape, suicidal thoughts, self harm contemplation, swearing

Words: 1,441

Prompt: NOTE TO SELF: DON'T GET KIDNAPPED | Manhandled | Hair Grabbing | “Please don’t touch me.”

Fic (under the cut):

Daisy, a medium height woman in her twenties, with hair that dripped over her shoulders like a waterfall, was crying. She clutched her knees to her chest, shaking with the force of the sobs that tore through her heart. Her forehead rested on her knees, and her back touched the wall behind her, flower print wallpaper to purple sweater, a strange poetry that spoke of her pain.

The room around her was lonely, dark walls pressing in like all those horrible hands, shuttered windows shaking and crashing in the wind as if fighting some invisible enemy, and a ruffled bed, shaken by what had metaphorically broken it. Her bookshelf was dusty from a lack of activity, and she feared that her carpet crawled with bugs (those which broke through and grabbed her). Even the soft flowers of her wallpaper, or the champion ribbons clipped to the wall, or even the shining wedding ring on her finger made her feel any better. (In fact, that last one only made her feel worse.)

She couldn’t bring herself to think about it, couldn’t bring herself to remember what had happened to her. (Even the thought of telling herself not to think made her hips ache and her arms dirty.) Why her? What had she ever done to deserve such treatment?

She buried her face even further into her knees as she cried harder. No matter how hard she fought the memories, they still slipped their horrible tendrils into her mind, making her stomach turn and her eyes red with tears. A hand in her hair, the sensation of being thrown against a wall, the blankness of a memory she refused to remember. 

She wanted to hurt something, wanted to kill something even, but there was nothing but herself in the room. (And she refused to let herself even contemplate something like that. …or at least she wanted to think that she did.)

She felt like nothing more than old doll, well ‘loved’ and tossed down a fucking industrial food shreder. Her hair was a tangled mess against her neck, and her nails were broken from all the scratching and punching that she refused to think about the cause of. Her throat ached from her crying, and her mind was so inside out that she couldn’t think of anything that could help her. 

Besides Bill, of course

Oh how she wished he was here. That man always knew what to do to comfort her, always obeyed her wishes, always did his very best to understand her. (Unlike some other people that she could think of.) Even if his sandy brown hair was always in a rat’s nest, his heart was full of nothing but care and love for everyone around him. (And it made Daisy feel a smidge better when she remembered that that love was mainly directed towards her.)

But of course a ‘smidge’ better was nothing against the crushing despair that came with her most recent memories. It would have been quite naive to believe otherwise. So she just had to sit there, head buried in her knees as she cried, wishing and hoping for a prince that she knew would be out until nighttime. (That’s what happened when your house was in Pallet Town, literally no one could get to you.)

No one could help you.

No one to help.

…

Bill, the short-ish man in his twenties, received the frantic communicator text in the middle of an experiment, and hadn’t been able to read it until the reaction was completed. Once he was able to however, he immediately regretted waiting.

As he raced to his Pokeballs (reaching for the Farfetched that he knew could carry him) he couldn’t even force himself to think about the words, think of the horror that his soon-to-be wife must be going through. His lip was already bleeding from biting it so hard, and his entire body shook with rage. 

Who had done this to her?! Why her?! 

“Farfetched!” He commanded, the very second the Pokemon hit the ground (thankfully he was outside at the moment), “Fly me to Pallet Town!” 

The bird looked scared, (probably sensing his urgency, but immediately scooped him up. Its small wings had to beat hard to keep the two of them in the air, but they had to go even faster to go as fast as it knew it needed to. Bill was distantly thankful for that, but his mind was racing to fast to focus on anything but his rage and terror.

His fiance.

Daisy.

How could this happen to her?

He fought the urge to dig his fingers into something (Farfetched didn’t deserve that) and instead expressed his anger with a scream. He wanted to kill something. (Particularly those evil men that would see a woman and pounce on her, using their stolen weapons and impossible wealth to hurt any person that they saw. And for what? A couple moments of horror while they bathed ever closer to rot in the earth?)

But more than his lust for vengeance, Bill was terrified for Daisy. Who knows what was going through her head? Who knows what horror gripped her heart and mind? He certainly didn’t. And that was what scared him. He had to get to her. He had to help.

So when his feet touched down on the grass in front of her house, with its rusty red roof and ivy covered walls, he didn’t even bother to put Farfetched back in its Pokeball, instead running as fast as he possibly could into the house. His hands fumbled with the key for an instant, but he burst through the door only a moment later.

“Daisy!” He screamed, “Where are you?!”

For a terrifying moment, there was no response, only the horrible ticking of the grandfather clock at the end of the hall. But then, in the voice of an angel who’d been beaten and bruised, he heard Daisy.

“Bill?” She called, muffled somewhat from both tears and a closed door, “Is that you?”

“It’s me!” He called, stepping through the door and closing to behind him, “Where are you?” The wallpaper was peeling.

“I’m in my room-” her voice was very hard to hear, getting quieter with each passing second, “I- I-,”

Bill didn’t waste a moment, walking as quickly as he could through the hall until he reached the door that he knew to be Daisy’s room. The door, as old and scratched up as it had ever been, was shut, but he could tell it wasn’t locked. He slowly turned the handle, hearing shuffling from inside as Daisy moved towards the door.

The room was dark, windows drawn and items strewn about, but Bill didn’t see any of the mess. He only focused on Daisy.

She was kneeling a few feet away from the wall, her hair thrown everywhere and her body limp with horror. Her hands were shaking and only shook more when he stepped into the room, keeping the door open behind him. He reached out to her, but she scooted backwards, her back hitting the wall with an audible thud.

“Please don’t touch me-!” she yelped, her face wet with tears and her eyes sharp with fear as she looked at him, cowering, “I-,” And then, as if realizing what had just happened, she put her face into her hands, defeated and shaking with rekindled sobs, “I’m sorry, I-”

Bill nodded, his heart aching as he dropped down onto his knees. With the light streaming in from behind him, he gave her his best comforting smile. “It’s okay,” he whispered, fully aware that it was not okay, “We’re gonna figure it out, okay?” He had to try his best to remain calm, as renewed anger at the monsters that had done this to her boiled in his gut. She looked so small, so pathetic, like a lost pidgey that had fallen out of its nest.

He just wanted her to be okay. Bill began to hum a song that he knew she liked, trying his best to help her calm down. (Though the horror in his own heart had faded ever so slightly, he doubted the same could be said for hers.)

But thankfully it was only a moment later that she was able to raise her head again. She nodded, taking in a deep breath as she looked up at him. She put on her best brave face. (Even as her tears still fell.) “Mmhm, we-” he started, her voice cracking to a stop and dying away. Bill mirrored her brave face, relaxing his body and nodding.

‘We’re gonna figure it out.’

End of fic notes: Dude this was so fun to write. I know that's probably really weird to say but I had to say it.