#I like to hurt people

[thronesaccido]

TF141 x Suicidal Reader

Pairing: TF141 x Reader (Kyle, Simon, Price)

TW: suicidal Ideation, Hurt/comfort, Angst,

a/n: its been so long since I've written anything, so i hope you guys enjoy.

Kyle (Gaz) - The Rooftop

Kyle had always been the one to see the silver lining, the one to make light of any situation, no matter how dark. but with you, those clouds had grown heavier, the weight pressing down on him everyday as he watched you drift further away. he knew something was wrong, he wasn't blind to the shadows that darkened your eyes or the silence that followed you like a shroud. But every time he asked, you gave him that tired smile that said “ I’m fine”.

He wanted to believe you. God, how he wanted to believe you. but tonight, when he came back to find the apartment empty, he knew something was terribly wrong, his heart raced as he searched the rooms, calling out your name, the sound echoing back into hollow emptiness.

Then he saw it. The door to the rooftop slightly ajar.

Fear gripped him like a vice, cold and paralyzing, as he bolted for the stairs. his own fear of heights clawed at him, the memory of falling, of plummeting from that helicopter, helpless, waiting for the ground to claim him, Flashing behind his eyes. But none of that mattered now. Not if you were up there.

When he burst onto the rooftop, his breath caught in his throat. You were standing at the edge, Your back to him, Your arms hanging limp at your sides. The streetlights below cast long shadows, the wind tugging at your clothes, and for a second, You looked so still, like you might already be gone

“No.” Kyle breathed, panic flooding his chest “Love..”

You didn't turn. Didn't even flinch

His hands shook as he stepped closer, but each movement felt like walking through quicksand. His Voice was raw with desperation “Darling, please. Please, don’t do this.”

You tilted your head slightly, your gaze fixed on the drop below. Your voice, when you finally spoke, was barely a whisper. “I’m so tired, Kyle. I don’t know how to keep going.”

Those words, so simple and broken, shattered something deep inside him. he swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, his own panic mixing with the rising nausea from the height. “I know, baby. I know you’re tired. But we can figure this out, together. Just step back, please. come back to me.”

You shook your head, and he saw your shoulders tremble. “ I don't know how to keep fighting. I don't have anything left.”

“You have me!” Kyles voice cracked, his fear giving away to raw emotion. “You have me, Love! I’ll be there with you through all of it, I swear. Just… just take my hand please.”

Your sobs reached his ears, and for a moment, you swayed dangerously close to the edge. Kyle’s heart dropped to his stomach, his legs trembling beneath him. “No! Please, Love, don’t! I can’t lose you!”

Slowly, you turned your tear-streaked face toward him, and for the first time, he saw the full weight of your pain. it nearly broke him. He stretched out his hand, barely able to keep it steady. “Come back to me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I need you”

You looked down once more, as if weighing your options, and then, as if deciding, you reached for his hand. your fingers, cold and fragile, slid into his, and Kyle wasted no time pulling you away from the ledge, into his arms. He held you tightly, feeling your sobs shake your body against his chest, and he didn’t care about anything else in that moment.

"I’ve got you," he whispered, his voice thick with tears he refused to let fall. "I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe now."

But deep down, Kyle knew this was far from over. He had you in his arms, but your battle had only just begun—and so had his.

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Simon (Ghost) - The Gun

Simon Riley had known fear. Real fear. The kind that sunk its teeth into your flesh and never let go. He’d seen men die, seen families torn apart, seen his own life reduced to ashes in the blink of an eye. But none of it compared to the fear that gripped him now as he stood in the doorway of your bedroom, staring at you, sitting on the floor with a gun in your lap.

His breath caught in his throat, his entire body freezing as his mind screamed at him to do something, anything. But for the first time in a long time, Simon didn’t know what to do. He felt completely and utterly powerless.

“love” He croaked, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears, You didn’t move. Didn't even flinch. Your eyes were fixated on the gun, your fingers trembling as they traced the metal. “….What are you doing?”

You finally looked up at him, Your eyes red and swollen from crying. He’d never seen you like this before, so broken, so… defeated. And it scared him in a way he hadn’t been scared since he was a boy.

"I can’t do this anymore, Simon," You whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. "I’m tired. I’m just… so tired."

His heart shattered at your words, and suddenly, he was back there, back in the room with his mother, holding her hand as she slipped away, powerless to stop it. He couldn’t let that happen again. He couldn’t lose you the same way.

"Please," he said, his voice raw and desperate as he slowly crouched down, not daring to make any sudden movements. "You don’t have to do this. We can figure this out. I’m here. I’ll always be here."

You shook your head, your tears falling faster. "You don’t get it, Simon. You don’t understand. I can’t keep fighting like this. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay."

His chest tightened painfully, and he clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm. "You don’t have to pretend, love. Not with me. You can tell me anything."

Your gaze dropped back to the gun, your fingers tightening around the grip. "It’s too much. I just want it to stop. I want the pain to stop."

Simon’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely think. All he knew was that he couldn’t let you do this. He couldn’t let you go. Not you. Not you. "Please," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please don’t do this. I can’t—"

His voice cracked, the lump in his throat making it impossible to finish. "I can’t lose you, Love. You’re the only thing… the only good thing in my life."

Your sobs grew louder, and Simon felt the panic rise in his chest. He had to stop this. He had to. Without thinking, he lunged forward, knocking the gun from your hands before pulling you into his arms. You fought him at first, weakly pounding your fists against his chest, but then you collapsed, your body going limp as you sobbed into his shirt.

Simon held you tightly, his own tears falling silently as he rocked you back and forth, whispering reassurances that felt hollow even to his own ears.

"I’m here," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I’m here, love. You’re not alone. Not anymore."

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Captain Price - The Pills

The day had dragged on, filled with endless reports and decisions that weighed heavily on Captain John Price’s shoulders. But the moment he stepped into your shared home, a chilling silence enveloped him. “Love?” he called, hoping for your warm smile or the comforting scent of your cooking. Instead, only stillness answered, and an unsettling dread settled in his stomach.

He hurried toward the bedroom, his heart racing. The sight that greeted him felt like a punch to the gut: you slumped against your bed, surrounded by scattered pill bottles. Time froze, and panic surged through him like ice water. “No, no, no!” he gasped, dropping to his knees beside you.

He shook you gently, desperately trying to wake you. “What have you done?”

Your eyes fluttered open, but they were dull and unfocused. A weak, tremulous smile flickered across your lips, but it quickly faded. “John… hurts,” you barely managed to whisper, your voice raspy and weak. The sight of you, so fragile and weak, shattered his heart into pieces.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, fear and desperation flooding his tone. He reached for a nearby pill bottle and his heart sank as he read the label: Oxycodone. “Why didn’t you say anything? You don’t have to handle this alone!”

You blinked slowly, struggling to stay conscious. Your body trembled slightly as you tried to sit up, but you only slumped further down, gasping for breath. “Just wanted… it to stop,” You murmured, and the weight of your pain hit him like a freight train.

“No!” he shouted, panic rising in his chest. “You’re not alone! I’m here! You’re my wife, and I love you!” He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking as he dialled for an ambulance, his mind racing with fear.

“Stay with me, Lovie” he urged, squeezing your hand tightly. “Help is coming. I need you to hold on!”

But as your eyes began to close again, his heart raced. “No, please, don’t do this. You’re too strong for this!”

You didn’t respond, your breathing shallow as consciousness slipped away. “Sweetheart! Stay with me!” he begged, his voice cracking. The ambulance sirens wailed in the distance, and he felt a mix of fear and helplessness as he tried to keep you focused on him.

As the medics arrived and burst through the door, Price stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest. They worked quickly, loading you onto a stretcher. He wanted to scream, to shake you awake, but he knew he had to let the professionals do their job.

“John… please,” You whispered, your voice barely a breath as they moved you. Tears brimmed in your eyes, and Price could see the pain etched across your face. you couldn’t form words; it hurt too much for you to even try.

“I’m here,” he said softly, leaning in closer, desperate for you to know you weren't alone. “I’ll always be here.” As they wheeled you toward the ambulance, he climbed in beside you, refusing to let you go.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he urged, gripping your hand tightly. “You’re going to be okay. I promise. We’ll get through this together.

But you were silent, your eyes fluttering closed as you struggled against the pain that threatened to swallow you whole. The ambulance doors closed, and the world outside faded away.

“Just focus on my voice,” he continued, his heart racing. “You’re stronger than this. We’ll fight it together. I won’t leave your side.”

Your eyes opened just briefly, a flicker of recognition passing between them. You couldn’t speak, but in that moment, he felt the weight of your trust, your love.

As the sirens blared and the ambulance sped through the streets, Price leaned closer, brushing a stray coil from your forehead. “You’re my world, Lovie. I won’t let you go. We’ll get you the help you need. I promise you that.

His voice trembled with emotion as he watched you fade in and out of consciousness, the reality of your situation settling heavily on his chest. He wouldn’t lose you. Not like this. He wouldn’t let the darkness take you away.

[silverspleen]

Every time I see that G--gle phone photoshop commercial my heart is filled with infinite sadness, like, yeah it's cool you can have a good family photo, it's cool you can do that, but god, there is something to be said for the honesty of a family photo where you're blinking, or crying, or have ugly wrinkles.

What is too unsightly for you? Would you swipe-click-replace out the image of my cousin crying on our Florida trip family reunion photo? Would you remove the plastic snake I have clenched in my grip, which I still have to this day? Would you scoff at the wrinkles around our eyes and the strands of hair on our faces as we squint into the wind, the day before the massive storm? Would I remember it if I didn't have these reminders, if the picture was perfect and clean, all children in a row with perfect gleaming white tombstone tooth smiles? No tears. No plastic snake.

Everyone is beautiful and no one looks genuine.

[greykolla-art]

My blog has become infested with angst goblins, and they must be fed with some hypothetical scenarios!🙏💚

[midnight-coffee94]

No single line has ever wrecked me as hard as this one from the Good Place and I think about it constantly

[greelin]

six packs are soo scary and unnatural to me. Put that beast AWAY

[druid-for-hire]

[images ID: three images of a comic titled "one must imagine sisyphus happy" by druid-for-hire. it is a visual narrative beginning with someone with wrist pain (depicted by bright orange nerves) working at a drafting table. the reader is shown the same wrist as the person uses it for many everyday tasks such as carrying a grocery basket, pushing elevator buttons, typing, and doing dishes, until the pain dissolves all the panels into chaos. the person then performs several physical therapy exercises until the pain subsides. they sit back down at a desk with their laptop, sigh, and begin typing. a small spark of pain reappears. end id]

a fun little piece i made during the semester and submitted into our school comic anthology! (which you can buy at the Static Fish table at MoCCAFest in NYC ;] ). it's about artists and injury

[ruporas]

your love returns in tragedy (ID in alt)

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[sunfoxfic]

We were so close to smoking not being cool anymore. We were so close. Then they flavored it mango and now it's taboo to criticize it anymore. People don't ask if they're allowed to vape indoors, they aren't considerate of people who may have health problems that are triggered by the chemicals or if it just bothers them, people don't care that they're supporting an industry built on corruption and greed, they can't see it draining their pockets and much less their health. We were so close to smoking not being cool anymore.

[akanemnon]

I don't like this place. It's turning everyone edgy and sad.

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[ancient-reverie]

a moment of silence for all us disabled ones who had to watch each of their friends move on with their lives without you and get jobs, go to school, have partners come and go, get engaged and move house etc.

shout out to my fellow struggling people who are still sitting in the same bedroom they grew up in. the ones who can't get a job, can't make new friends, can't find a partner or partners, can't move house and can't go to school.

I hope one day we can all find someone to at least sit with us in our rooms. I see you and I understand... and I'm sorry we can't be that person for each other

[ciderjacks]

Party infighting

[bunnieswithknives]

AU based off Nature except I kept thinking about it too hard. Dales not a good dad, but its such an easy problem for him to throw money at, and what do you do when a part is damaged? Well, you replace it.

Basically an AU where Dev gets to experience medical trauma and realizes much sooner how much his dad doesn't love him

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Kiss Kiss Fallen Tree!

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[inkskinned]

they want to talk about mental illness and acceptance and how everyone is a little ocd it's cute and quirky and their "intrusive thoughts" are about cutting their hair off and you say yours are about taking a razorblade to your eye and they say ew can you not and everyone is a little adhd sometimes! except if you're late it's a personality flaw and it's because you are careless and cruel (and someone else with adhd mentions they can be on time, so why can't you?) and it's not an eating disorder if it's girl dinner! it's not mania if it's girl math! what do you mean you blew all of your savings on nonrefundable plane tickets for a plane you didn't even end up taking. what do you mean that you are afraid of eating. get over it. they roll their little lips up into a sneer. can you not, like, trauma dump?

they love it on them they like to wear pieces of your suffering like jewels so that it hangs off their tongue in rapiers. they are allowed to arm-chair diagnose and cherrypick their poisons but you can't ever miss too many showers because that's, like, "fuckken gross?" so anyone mean is a narcissist. so anyone with visual tics is clearly faking it and is so cringe. but they get to scream and hit customer service employees because well, i got overwhelmed.

you keep seeing these posts about how people pleasers are "inherently manipulative" and how it's totally unfair behavior. but you are a people pleaser, you have an ingrained fawn response. in the comments, you have typed and deleted the words just because it is technically true does not make it an empathetic or kind reading of the reaction about one million times. it is technically accurate, after all. you think of catholic guilt, how sometimes you feel bad when doing a good deed because the sense of pride you get from acting kind - that pride is a sin. the word "manipulation" is not without bias or stigma attached to it. many people with the fawn response are direct victims of someone who was malignantly manipulative. calling the victims manipulative too is an unfair and unkind reading of the situation. it would be better and more empathetic to say it is safety-seeking or connection-seeking behavior. yes, it can be toxic. no, in general it is not intended to be toxic. there is no reason to make mentally ill people feel worse for what we undergo.

you type why is everyone so quick to turn on someone showing clear signs of trauma but you already know the fucking answer, so what's the point of bothering. you kind of hate those this is what anxiety looks like! infographics because at this point you're so good at white-knuckling through a severe panic attack that people just think you're stoic. even people who know the situation sometimes comment you just don't seem depressed. and you're not a 9 year old white kid so there's no way you're on the spectrum, you're not obsessed with trains and you were never a good mathematician. okay then.

mental illness is trending. in 2012 tumblr said don't romanticize our symptoms but to be fair tiktok didn't exist yet. there's these series of videos where someone pretends to be "the most boring person on earth" and is just being a normal fucking person, which makes your skin crawl, because that probably means you are boring. your friend reads aloud a profile from tinder - no depressed bitches i fucking hate that mental illness crap. your father says that medication never actually works.

you still haven't told your grandmother that you're in therapy. despite everything (and the fact it's helping): you just don't want her to see you differently.

[obsob]

love is stored in the parallel play