#CW: Implied Self Harm

[anti-kawaii-daily]

Today's Anti-Kawaii Character of The Day is Misaki Imashino from Blue Archive! She wears Yamikawaii inspired tech wear and she fits into the Ustudere and Menhera archetypes!

This character was requested by @tyrantorfevre !

[rotten-dog-teeth]

I'm absolutely brainrotting over how horrific humans are

• We are not bipedal. We are quadrupedal. We forced our bodies out of shape just for the sake of going against god. Our legs are bent out of shape, our hip joints have been forced outwards at unusual angles, our spines - necks and backs - have been contorted into flimsey spring-like structures to support our poorly distributed amalgamation of flesh and bone, pur extremities have been elongated, compressed and re-framed to fit our new whims.

• We manipulated everything. Will said in that episode about the woman abducting yhe kids to try to make a family that as a survival instict, we have to bond with our captors otherwise we're breakfast. That's what we did to literally fucking everything. Animals are naturally scared of us. We think that animals are scared because they are ignorant, but they are scared because they are smarter than us because they see us for what we really are: abominations and monsters. They either get docile and cozy with us to become our companions so we dont kill them or they try to avoid us or hell even fight us but if they havent been domesticated then they're fucking dead meat. And cozying up to us is not a sure fire way of survival. We pick and choose who we domesticate. Dogs and cats, yeah. Rats and pigeons, we kill them or at the very least banish them. And even being domesticated is not a sure fire way of survival. We forcibly change their biology to be dependent on us and then routinely abuse or neglect them, or pit them against eachother, or ignore them, or "accidentally" let them loose to take another domestic's life. We are manipulators. We don't train animals, we manipulate them. We trick them into thinking we're safe, and don't let them realise until it's too late. Humans aren't the top of the foodchain. We're not the apex predator. We're humans. We're fucking horrors. And nothing we could ever come up with in any book, film, show, etc could ever come close to the horrific god-killing creation that is a human "being".

• We have such a comprehensive specrum and magnitude scale of emotion that our brains try to self-destruct to quell it. We feel too much love or care? Our instict is to crush/squeeze it to death. We feel too sad? Our instict is to tear ourselves apart piece by piece or just outright blunt force ourselves into peace.

• We are so fucked up that our brains actively come up with ways to supress, control or just outright kill us. On a high place? Our instict is to jump. See something sharp or hot? Our instict is to grab/touch it. Our brains fabricate fake threats to scare us into submission - phobias, anxiety, etc.

• Our bodies are so viscerally unnatural that we are alienated from every other living thing that we know of. Not one creature has a remotely similar body to us. Our joints are bent in freakish ways, we move unlike any other thing to exist, we communicate in a million different ways in a noise that nothing else can make. We are fucking disgusting.

• Our bodies try to self-destruct to prevent us from continuing to exist. We cannot successfully give birth most of the time without lots of medical help or even being fully split open and physically separated from the foetus by other humans due to our hip to head size ratio. We are the only creature capable of choking because of the development of speech.

[beautifulfriends]

PAGE 30

cw: panic attack

cw: knife

cw: implied self harm

oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear

[btm-txt]

FNAF flavored glass

Commission for @charleecat-bat from a fnaf inspired AU that is filled to the brim with glass eating angst for the robo boys and Knuckles, but it's soooo much fun though! I'm a sucker for mobian robot/ mecha designs and the guardians being involved make it that much more fun to experiment with.

[sergeantsporks]

Bottled Up

CW for implied self harm

Willow is tired of being the strong, reliable friend.

Sure, she knows she can rely on her friends in theory. She knows that they’ll support her no matter what in theory. She knows that she can tell them how she feels and what’s bothering her in theory. And most of the time, she does! When she’s feeling stressed, or overwhelmed, she’s gotten a lot better at going to her friends for help, instead of burying those feelings deep down inside until they stack up and strangle her. She’s gotten so, so, so much better at telling them when something’s wrong.

But it’s harder to tell your friends that something’s bothering you when they’re the problem.

Willow gets the distinct feeling that it’s this way for everyone, but it feels like a her problem, specifically because of the way her friends are. It’s not that she thinks they’ll get mad at her, or stop wanting to be her friend if she tells them what’s wrong, no. It’s just the opposite. She knows that they’ll turn their anger on themselves, and she cannot stand being the one who caused them that pain.

Gus has been friends with Willow for so long that she can never find a fault with him. They’ve settled into each other’s personalities so well that whatever he does that may bother her, it never bothers her so badly she feels like she needs to talk to him about it. And, of course, she’d never want to accidentally send him spiraling into his own head. It’s only ever little annoyances with him anyway, and Willow knows that he’d stop if she asked him to.

But Gus isn’t really the one Willow can’t talk to.

With Amity, it’s almost too easy. She’s so sorry for abandoning Willow in the first place and so scared that she’ll hurt Willow again that she’ll immediately accept whatever Willow says she’s doing wrong as an objectively correct opinion, no questions asked. Even if that’s not what Willow wants. Willow needs at least a little bit of pushback, or else she feels like she’s just walking all over her friend. She just… wants Amity to understand, sometimes.

But Amity isn’t really the one Willow can’t talk to.

It’s Hunter and Luz who worry her.

Luz, who holds an ever-cheerful persona even when she’s falling apart. Hunter, who learned to hide what he’s feeling or else risk his emotions being used against him. Luz and Hunter who are still learning to love themselves, rather than hate what they’ve done and who they used to be.

It’s them Willow can never say no to.

It’s them Willow worries about upsetting.

Willow sees the silvery scars on their wrists, badges of guilt and self-loathing, and she worries that if she ever tells them how she feels, the next ones will have her name under their bumpy surface.

Not that Luz or Hunter would ever outwardly blame her, of course. They’d never tell her ‘we did this because of what you said, you made us feel so badly about ourselves.’ Of course not, of course not, of course not.

But it would be her fault anyway. And she’d know it was her fault, and that would make it a hundred times worse.

So Willow doesn’t say a word.

Even though Luz still sometimes pokes her nose where it shouldn’t go, and pushes Willow’s privacy too far, Willow won’t tell her to stop. She can’t hurt Luz like that, she can’t send her spiraling back into self-loathing after she’s worked so hard to stop blaming herself for every problem on the isles.

And Hunter. Titan, Hunter.

Amity and Hunter got into a fight last week. They’re not talking to each other. Amity went to Luz afterwards, and Hunter went to Gus. And they both came to her (although separately). Willow doesn’t know who was right or who was wrong or who started it.

But she knows that each of them still wants to hang out with her. So now she’s balancing schedules, setting aside time for hanging out with Amity and separate time for hanging out with Hunter, and she’s trying to keep straight who can hang out when with who (because Gus won’t hang out with Amity on his own, and Luz still wants to hang out with Gus, and Gus and Hunter are a package deal most of the time, and the same holds true of Amity and Luz, and for some reason, it’s up to Willow to figure it all out and find times that work for everyone) and now she can’t hang out with all of her friends together, and she’s playing sympathetic ear to BOTH sides, and she wants to shake them and yell ‘why couldn’t you two have considered how this is hurting me?!’

But that would be insensitive. That would be selfish, Willow knows that. The two of them are hurting more from this fight than she is. They didn’t mean to hurt her, and making it about her would be selfish and attention-hogging. She’s not really a part of this fight, she’s just… collateral.

That doesn’t stop it from hurting.

But she pushes that part deep down. If she said something, Amity would give a fake apology to Hunter to make Willow feel better, and Hunter would beat himself up over it, and he beats himself up enough without Willow adding one more thing for him to feel guilty about just for her own catharsis, so she’ll bite her tongue. She’ll let it play out, she’ll take care of them both. That’s what she’s good at! Settling conflict without losing her cool. Being the one all of them could rely on.

Willow is tired of being the strong, reliable friend.

She’s tired of being the mentally stable one by default just because everyone else is worse.

She’s tired of keeping her grievances secret because she’s worried about how her friends will take it.

But she’s more horrified at the idea of hurting them (or worse: being the reason they hurt themselves) than she is tired of hiding.

Maybe someday this won’t be so bad, and she’ll finally share everything that weighs her down.

But not today.

[fonkeloog]

(Early) Sunday snippet

Cw: going mute, fear, implied self harm

"Padfoot, I need you to tell me what's happening. I can't help you if you don't tell me, love." Remus says as he kneels in front of him. All he gets in return is a shaky finger pointing towards the sketchbook on the bed, and he slowly moves to give it to him.

As soon as it's within reach, Sirius nearly rips it out of Remus' hands. His hand is shaking as he writes the words he has been wanting to scream as soon as this curse started; Finite. Silencio. Finite.

Remus looks at the page, and slowly to the desk where his wand is. "Can I?" He asks. At the shaky nod he gets, he slowly stands up and grabs his wand. Sirius flinches back hard enough that his head bangs into the wall behind him. "Hey, pads, I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise," Remus whispers as he slowly moves his wand. "Finite."

Sirius moves to talk, but stops just before he gets the words out. The fear is fully back, and his hand once more claws at his throat. He's shaking his head, while his other hand starts scratching every available piece of skin. Remus responds without thinking, grabbing the hands in a strong, but soft, grip.

@heartofspells @narcissa-black-supermacy @tracingpatternswrites @squintclover @loubbies @soloorganaas I'm sure you guys have some snippets to share too, feel free to join!

[steampunkserpent27]

Shame and Forgiveness

CW: Implied Self Harm, Graphic Descriptions of Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Angst around Draco's Dark Mark, Kissing/Dark Mark kissing He’d gotten off early from work, as it was the anniversary of the battle at Hogwarts, and he knew it was best to not leave Draco alone on that day. He always became quiet, too quiet. It worried him, and it was the only thing he could think about the entire time he was cleaning all of the snake’s cages. He hurried through them, knowing that Draco wouldn’t be expecting him home for another few hours yet, but he was hoping to surprise him. There didn’t seem to be much that could cheer him up on these days, but he thought if they could go out and take a walk around the pond, the change of scenery might help to keep his mind off of things. Draco always loved the pond. He’d point out all of the different ducks and fish that rose to the surface, always excited to see the wild life, always excited to learn. One time, they had seen a turtle, and Draco had talked about it for the next two hours, asking him all sorts of questions that he didn’t have the answers to. He felt like he often didn’t have answers to Draco’s questions, all he could do was be there to share the moment with him. He finally made it home and pushed the front door open. He couldn’t see Draco in the kitchen or living room, so he figured he must be in their bedroom, as that was the only other place he ever frequented. Once he’d set his bag down on the counter, he made his way towards their bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear a soft, breathy crying from inside. His heart clenched, and he pushed the door open with the back of his hand, stepping inside. Draco froze and stared up at him, eyes wide and rosy tinted, while his cheeks were slick with tears. His arm was still suspended mid-air, partially covered with a cloth wrapping that Draco was half-way through applying. The part of his arm that was still visible was a dull, red color, with large patches of white, scalded skin that had started to peel backwards and flake away, revealing the bloody flesh beneath. Near the center of his arm, his dark mark was still visible, shining through his glossy, weeping skin. The mark had faded to an off red color over the years, but it refused to vanish entirely. The cloth bandages were starting to turn red, as they stuck and clung to his raw, blistered skin. Draco was shaking, as he averted his eyes, a sharp whimper escaping him, as if he knew he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Love.��� His breath caught in his throat, as he crossed the distance between them and sat down beside him on the bed. “Shh. I’m here. Let me see, Darling, let me see.” Draco wouldn’t meet his eye, as he clenched his fingers into a fist and moved his arm over. “I’m… I’m s-sorry.” He supported his arm with one hand, making sure he wasn’t touching any of the tender areas, as he began to unwrap the bandage. “You want to tell me what happened?” He kept his voice soft, not wanting to sound accusatory or upset, as that was the last thing Draco needed right now. The skin on Draco’s arm started to tear away with the bandage, causing fresh blood to ooze up around the sores, as Draco let out a pained whine. He cursed under his breath and paused, wondering how he was going to get this off without hurting him further. Draco was pressed up against him, his breaths sharp and shallow, as he tried to hold back his sobs. “I… I just… I wanted it gone.” He glanced up at Draco, feeling his heart clenching. “Oh, Love. But it’s your skin.” He pulled his wand out, casting a non-verbal separation charm, so the bandage would loosen and fall away. Once he had a clear view of his arm without the bandage blocking everything, he started to heal all of the damage. The boils flattened and his skin returned to its normal color, as everything melded back together. Draco still wasn’t looking at him, although his quiet sobs had died down some. 

Now that everything was healed, he ran his hand over his skin, pausing over his mark. “Love. Can you look at me?” Draco gradually raised his gaze, although he looked timid and his eyes were full of shame. “I’m sorry.” “I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want you to stop hating yourself over something that you had no control over. Because it’s… It’s over, Draco. You’re not there anymore. You’re here with me, and I love you. I love all of you, and you don’t need to try and boil your skin off to get rid of it.” He brought Draco’s arm to his lips, letting them brush over his skin and linger against the outline of his mark, a silent acknowledgement of acceptance. “Please, Love. It’s just a bit of ink. You can’t let it control you anymore than it already has.” Draco’s eyes were watery, as he stared down at him. “Why?” “Don’t let it have that power anymore, Love. It’s nothing. Do you understand me? It is nothing, but a bit of ink. Don’t let it be anything more than that. Don’t give it even a moment’s thought, it doesn’t deserve that from you. Don’t let it take any more joy from you. Why should it?” He took Draco’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s not a reflection of who you are. It never was, and it never will be. You are so good, Draco. So, so good. And you don’t need to hurt anymore.” After a brief pause, Draco looked back down at the mark, his lower lip wobbling. “It’s just… Just an old blemish?” He sounded as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “Yes. That’s all it is now. That’s all you’re going to let it be. We’re not going to let it have any more power, are we?” Draco wiped at his eyes and sniffed loudly, before he shook his head. He leaned over and pressed a kiss against his cheek, as he took him into his arms. They both sat in silence for a long moment, while Draco curled up against him, his fingers clenched in the fabric of his shirt. Once Draco’s breathing had finally evened out, he asked him, “Would you like to have a bath? I thought we could go to the ponds later.” His eyes flicked upwards, lingering on his face, before he nodded. “I like the ponds.” “I know you do.” He unwrapped himself from Draco’s arms and got up, pressing a kiss against his head, before he made his way to the bathroom, so he could start his water.

[dalia1784]

At 3:25 AM, I had an idea for an angsty House of Mouse drawing of Horace taking a smoke break. Before I could draw I was writing down the idea which instantly evolved into a one shot fic that drew partial inspiration from my own life. This might be my first fic with a content warning.

Have a preview and yes content warning: implied self harm.

[catchingbigfish]

find the word tag game

@leebrontide tagged me in this.... 11 days ago, lol. let's goooooo

i'm going to tag @oh-no-another-idea, @isherwoodj, @indecentpause, and @saphoblin! your words are stars, hedge, justify, written, and question.

my words are sweep, bright, pain, and tired. the voice of this story is a massive challenge so please excuse the uneven tone -- i don't feel like i've really hit my stride yet with it!

cw for implied self harm and maybe also for body horror, even though i did work around the most explicit parts it's still good to know those are the prime focus of this story

sweep

“Ms. Saget.” The headmistress’s proud, booming voice fills this corner of the echo stained hall. “Come join me and Roland.” I swivel my head searching for the source of the entreaty. She stands stoic against the varnished wood planks of the wall to my right, the gap between us not longer than this Roland is tall. He is a standard man; his body the rigorously muscled, staunch one belonging to any of the farm boys I knew at home, his face the kinder, gentler version of the priests I once knew at a parochial school. I sweep towards them, allowing children to dart and leap through my path until I reach them.

bright

[The sea] is so far I will not see it without travel. My ribs take a moment to steel against the sadness creeping between the bones and I straighten against the tightening of my skin. It is time, it whispers to me. I resist its invitation while the new headmistress speaks. It is easier to resist than I expected because I am now making eye contact with the headmistress, the Ms. Frond whose signature boldly dashed across my offer letter. She looks me over once with a dithering glance which makes me wilt in my shoes. Her eyes are so brightly green it makes my eyes water to look into hers. My body closes in on itself and I fold my hands at my waist, keeping my eyes off hers in fear of what she might see next.

pain

“Ms. Saget?” the one who accepts promises asks, her voice nasally and reedy like only a girl child’s is. “Are you okay?” I nod and a breath hisses between my teeth, an inhale that rockets through my body like sustenance against the pain. “Yes.” My shirt falls back into place and I tuck the tweezers and the part of me I have excised into my fist. “You scared me.”

tired

When I wake, my hand cramped around the pouch, the rain has ceased its incessant battering. Although there is a light patter still coming down, it will not drench us; it is insufficient for a flood, it is safe now. I withdraw my hand from my bag and clench it tight in a fist, loosen it with a sound like fireworks, the joints popping as they flex. My eyes burn with exhaustion, my skin begging not for relief but for sleep. Tired, it says. Sleep. I cannot, and my skin knows this — yet it still asks, even as I walk to the classroom.

[bloodyrosesnthorns]

I'm sorry mom.

[merildae]

Some self indulgent (and undoubtedly cringe) skk angst

[somerobotvex]

More doodles of these two and characterization rant! :D

Basically Skarly gets stronger the more physical damage he takes, and Mona can heal physical wounds, so they were put on a team together so that their powers would synergize!

Unfortunately they don't have the best teamwork skills. Mona is usually is so diligent with her healing that Skarly can't fully utilize his powers at all, which really annoys him and makes him resort to interesting tactics

some magicle girls based on fungi... Skarlette/Skarly (She/He) and Mona/Mo (She/Her) respectively

[fonkeloog]

Mute!Sirius 👀❤️

Aaah yes! My baby.

This wip started because I was (and still am) fed up with the way partial/selective mutism is portrayed in fics. I get that everyone experiences it in their own way, but all the fics I've read make it seem like it's something easy. Something that leaves as soon as it appears. And it's not like that for me. So, I decided to write what I want to read. It's slow going, but it's probably my favourite thing ever. Here's a little snippet:

Sirius is sitting on the bedroom floor. His chin resting on his knees as he's gasping for breath. Panic attacks aren't uncommon, but they never are this quiet. Quite the opposite actually. It's often screaming and crying and shouts of fear and agony. Never quiet. Not with Sirius. But that's exactly what seems to be the case. Sirius is trembling on the floor, his right arm has clearly been scratched raw with tiny cuts from the rough treatment. His left hand is pulling his hair and the look in his eyes is one of pure terror. He looks at Remus with his big grey eyes full of fear.

Wip ask game

[sleepsucks]

[sams-dumping-ground]

((Oof. Byrd is scarred too so big oof))

Byrd grabs one of his smaller dagger sized feathers.

I mean I can give myself injuries.

Byrd sits at the top of a high rise, looking down at the street below. He stretches out and lays on his back on the roof, wings stretched to his sides.

Jeez. These are always boring. Nothing interesting happens in the meantime...

*byrd hears jean's voice behind him*

Heya.