#Trigger warning: self harm

[bookshelf-dust]

Hii love!! I absolutely LOVE your works and was wondering if you could write a fic where Billy finds the readers s/h scars and asks about it? The reader kinda opens about why they did and Billy is super confused about why you would purposely hurt yourself, but he swears to himself he’d never let you do that again?? If not, that’s perfectly fine, i know this topic is pretty sensitive to people🤍🤍

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 2,513

warnings: SH trigger warning!! please heed that. mentions of self harm (specifically cutting), scars described, areas on skin. all scars are healed and reader has recovered. please do not read this if this will make you uncomfortable. this is meant to be comforting and let you know that things do get better. it is about acceptance and change.

a/n: anon!! thank you for this idea. i just want to put it out there that i’m not taking requests for the foreseeable future, and haven’t been for quite awhile, but i got sent this and i felt really compelled to write it because it’s something that’s important to me. i felt like i could do it justice, at least a little bit, and i really hope that it will provide you with some comfort. this is something close to my heart, and my goal here is that it will reach someone the right way and encourage them to keep going. i love you all so much!! please go easy on me as i’ve never written anything like this before. also did a bit of a different format! anyway, mwah! 🥰

————

Billy knows you’re shy. Of course he does. 

But he wants you to feel as comfortable with him as he does with you. He’s never felt as relaxed and safe as he does when he’s around you. Hell, he’s never allowed himself to let his guard down in this way. 

Inviting you to sleep over was his olive branch, hoping you’d have a space where you could be fully you. He has the house to himself, and he knows that will help ease your anxiety. All Billy wants is to give you all that you’ve given him. And maybe more.

Billy had just stripped, pulling on sweats and an old t-shirt, not caring whether you saw him in his underwear. He’s yours anyway. Sure, you haven’t gone very far in your relationship, but he still wants you to see how comfortable you’ve made him. He’s never done this casual intimacy thing before. 

“I’ll be just a second, okay?” You give him a gentle smile, feet softly padding against the worn hardwoods, sleeve brushing the door frame as you walk by. 

Billy watches you walk out of his room with your pajamas tucked under your elbow. “Okay, baby.” 

He busies himself while you’re gone, straightening the bed, finding the tv remote. (He’d never be allowed to roll it into his room if he weren’t home alone.) He figures you’re taking your makeup off too, maybe doing something with your hair, and heads to the kitchen to make some popcorn for you both to share. 

In the bathroom, you take a deep breath as you pull on your nightgown. You don’t pride yourself in having nice or fancy things to sleep in, but you felt like bringing this with you because it’s one of the few things you own that makes you feel pretty. Something about a freshly washed face and the soft fabric make you all…content. 

You stare at yourself in the mirror. The gown is not tight by any means, and actually a color that brings out your eyes. It has little bows on the sleeves and a tiny strip of lace at the hem. You don’t tend to dress for anyone but yourself, but you do think Billy will like this. Some part of you craves that feeling. 

He’s never even seen your legs before, much less your collarbones. And not because you’re trying to be modest, but because it’s been cold and any other opportunity hasn’t presented itself. Showing someone so much of yourself is harder than you anticipated. And you anticipated quite a bit of work. 

You inhale and exhale deeply, shaking out your arms. You can’t help but be nervous. You’ve never slept over with a boy before. But it’s Billy. Your Billy. What is there to be worried about?

Billy returns to his bedroom shortly after you’ve sat down and queued up the movie for you both to watch. You take the popcorn he offers you, the socks that are much too big, and snuggle into the worn pillows propped up against his headboard. 

You’re sitting too far away for Billy’s liking, munching on your snack and trying to focus on the beginning of Nightmare on Elm Street as if you haven’t seen it over ten times. His eyes can’t stop dragging over your bare legs. This is the first time he’s seen them, and he wants you and all that skin closer.

“Baby,” he drawls.

You can feel his big blue eyes on you, but for once you really are paying attention. “Yeah?” you hum, licking butter from the tip of your thumb.

You don’t even look over at him, and Billy lets out a huff of a laugh. The noise prompts you to spare a glance in his direction, but he’s already got an arm wrapped around your thigh, yanking you across the sheets until you’re pressed against his side. 

He tries not to convey how excited he is that he can feel the warmth of your skin on his, how soft your inner thigh feels. He frees you though, laughing at the “Oomph” you let out before settling yourself more comfortably. 

You swing your leg over both of Billy’s, handing him your popcorn remains and resting your head on his shoulder. He happily sticks his hand in your little bowl, eating what you’d left behind. 

As the movie progresses and Billy finishes all the popcorn, you shift further and further into him. It makes Billy so happy to see you act so comfortable around him. This is everything he was hoping for. He sets your empty bowls on his side table and wipes his hands clean with the wet rag he’d brought with him.

You’re engrossed in the movie, laughing every now and then at something you shouldn’t find funny, or clutching at Billy’s fingers when you get stressed out during a tense moment.

God, he’s so happy to be with you. If he could make this night last forever, he would. Billy kisses the top of your head and wraps an arm around your back, his hand coming to rest on the top of your thigh. You don’t think much of the gesture, only feeling a shiver run down your spine at the contact. At his warm hand on your skin.

Your skin.

Your nightgown has ridden up a bit, and suddenly you register exactly where Billy’s hand is. You take a deep breath, hoping he won’t rub your thigh and feel what you’ve avoided showing him for so long. 

You try not to worry, try to keep your focus on the movie, but you can’t. Your bubble has popped. You want to adjust your nightgown, but you’re afraid to draw more attention to the area, afraid to offend him and make him think you don’t want his touch. 

Billy’s thumb starts to stroke back and forth on your skin. You can feel the exact moment he registers that it doesn’t feel the way it should. The way your arms do, the way the soft backs of your hands do when he takes them in his. 

You feel him sit up slightly, crane his head to look at you. At your thigh.

Upon touching your leg, Billy had expected smooth skin. But he met ridges. Bumps. Lines of raised skin. He knew that wasn’t normal, and it sent a surge of curiosity or maybe even concern through him. 

What he sees confuses him. What happened to your leg? 

“Baby? What’s that?”

He’s sitting up fully now, prompting you to do the same before you fall against the bed. 

The longer he looks at it, the more confused he gets. There are scars on your leg. They’re not big, but there are a lot of them. So many that it’s scaring him. Some thin, some thicker. Different shades of scar tissue and scratched skin that never returned to its original state. 

They aren’t fresh, no, not at all. They are all healed. But he’s so confused because he’s gotten lots of cuts and bruises throughout his life, and they’ve never looked like yours do. They don’t look like a normal injury does. These look…deliberate. And he doesn’t understand.

You turn around and sit on your knees. I guess it’s now or never, you think. If you don’t tell yourself that, you’ll probably throw up. And if you hadn’t moved so far past this, you’d feel even worse. 

“They’re scars,” you say, rubbing your elbow. 

Billy flicks your knee, mainly because he doesn’t know how to react, his other hand rubbing down his face. “No shit.”

Your heart is pounding despite the fact that this is something you have long overcome and are not ashamed of. Even still, there is a part of you that hopes he won’t be disgusted with you. It’s the same part that hasn’t let the relationship go as far as you’d like it to. 

“I put them there.”

Billy blinks. Even if some part of him knew that’s where this was headed, he still can’t wrap his head around that. “What?” 

His eyes dart to your leg again, wondering if the scars are more extensive than what he can see. He’s scared of how badly you’ve hurt yourself. If he’s not careful, his eyes will glaze over. 

“A few years ago. You know how I’ve mentioned my depression and anxiety? And how I have medicine? How it was hard for me to go on dates with you at first or how sometimes I get standoffish?” 

He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“Well, you’ve been really good at reassuring me and understanding my panic attacks and stuff, and I’ve gotten a lot better at managing these things. But before all of that, before how I am now, I had no one. I was all alone, and I couldn’t deal with my feelings. So I took it out on myself. I started cutting myself as a way to cope.” You hate to admit all of this, but he deserves to know.

You start fidgeting with your fingertips and break eye contact with him. Billy’s lips have formed a stern pout, his brows knitting together in a way that shows he’s trying to understand you. To him, he really is just trying to comprehend this. But to you, that’s the look of shame you’ve been awaiting. You don’t want to be looked at that way.

You sit on your hands and stare at a string that’s come loose from your worn-in comforter. 

“Anyway, I didn’t have anyone to help me. I couldn’t talk about how sad and lonely and angry I was, and I certainly wasn’t ready for a doctor. I kept it all in, figuring it was safer that way. But that got to me, and I chose to take it out on myself. There.” You touch your thigh. “Here and here.” Your fingers brush your stomach and hip. “Here too.” Your forearm. I know it’s horrible, but that’s what I chose to do. And I wouldn’t ever want someone else to choose that.” 

“I didn’t want to die, I just wanted the hurt to stop. I needed an outlet for all of those suffocating feelings, and that was what I did. Hurting myself helped me feel better because at least I was expressing something. And I was able to punish myself for being so unlike everyone else. So quiet, so hard to love, so different.”

Your heart is pounding but you steal a quick glance at Billy. He can’t fight the emotion from showing on his face anymore. He feels his eyelashes getting thick with tears that are threatening to spill at any moment. 

“I know this is probably hard to understand. I know you might be disgusted with me. But I guess it’s better that you know, right? I should’ve been more open about it with you sooner to avoid it being so…complicated.”

You stop, not really knowing what else there is to say. You’re hoping that this will encourage him to say something. Anything. You’d be happy to answer a question at this point.

Billy brings the hem of his shirt up to wipe his eyes. You wince, feeling awful for making him emotional over this. 

He takes a moment to try and wrap his head around what he’s just heard. He’s had a habit of self-medicating with alcohol, with cigarettes, hell, even ego lifting shit he shouldn’t at the gym. But everyone copes differently, right? You wouldn’t do what he does. He wouldn’t do what his dad does.

He just can’t bear the thought of thinking that someone would physically do that to themselves. That you, his perfect girl, would be feeling so low that you’d make yourself bleed just in search of relief from the pain. He can’t understand it, but at the same time, he sees that it comes in different forms. 

Billy reaches out for your hands, waiting for you to take them. The pressure behind your eyes immediately softens at the gesture.

“Don’t apologize to me, okay? I’m just trying to process.” He lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your warm skin.

“Okay.”

He kisses each of your knuckles in turn, maintaining eye contact all the while. He straightens, not letting go of your fingers. “I don’t like to think about you being in any sort of pain. Imagining you doing that to yourself…fuckin’ breaks my heart.” 

You tilt your head, scanning his face. He’s hurting for you, and you want to take it away. “It’s okay, Billy. I’m so much better now.”

“But I wish that I’d known you when you were hurting so damn bad. Y-you were alone, and I’m angry that no one was there to pull you out. I would’ve helped you.”

You squeeze his hands. “Billy, baby. I wouldn’t have let you help me.”

“Why?” he asks, his voice cracking. 

“Because I didn’t want to get better. I was comfortable in an endless cycle of hurt, and I had to be the one to finally change something.”

Billy leans forward until his forehead is resting against your chest. “I’m so sorry that you had to deal with that, and I know you sure as hell don’t want my pity, but I just can’t have you ever be in pain.”

You weave your fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. “I know, Billy. I’m okay, I promise? I’ve worked really hard to be okay.”

He straightens, cupping your face. “God, I know you have. I’m never gonna let you hurt like that again, you hear me?”

“I hear you, Billy. That’s not a place I ever want to return to.”

He leans in and kisses you with so much passion, using his lips to say more than he could ever form into words, that it leaves you feeling dazed. Loved.

“I’m so proud of you,” Billy says. 

You smile at him, and if he weren’t already sitting, he’d need to because of how weak you make him. 

“Thank you for respecting me and not treating me differently. You have no idea how much that means.”

Billy’s hands slide down to rest on your collar bones. “Why on earth would I treat you differently? Have people before? If anything it shows me how much of a fucking star you are, because you got through that all on your own. You got through it and now I have the pleasure of being yours.” 

You feel like someone’s poured warm water down your back. “People are usually awful about it, yeah. But that doesn’t matter. I’m grateful that you’re so accepting. And I want to be more open with you.”

“You don’t ever have to worry about that, baby. I’m working on my patience, so I’m happy to wait and learn every inch of you. Inside and out.” He winks at you, hoping to coax out a smile. It works.

“I’m so glad I got to this point,” you admit to him. You never say that out loud. 

“Fuck, so am I.” He kisses your forehead. “My best girl.”

[the-bau-quinjet]

Almost no plot, just sad feelings and a comforting Steve blurb. Trigger warnings are tagged :)

"Are you okay?" Steve whispered from the doorway, but he could tell you heard him. The near silent shake of your shoulders was answer enough, but the sobs really clued him in. "What's wrong?"

Your absence at dinner was enough to tip him off. You were never one to miss a team meal. In fact, you were usually the life of the party.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered, voice breaking.

"What do you mean?" Steve's sincere confusion only made you break down harder.

“I try so hard to be happy. I’ve tried everything. Tinkering with shit in the lab with Tony. I’ve tried Happy’s crosswords. Peter’s obsession with Star Wars. I cooked with Wanda, and tried learning everything there is to know about knives from Nat. I’ve tried reading when I'm bored, even tried The Hobbit like Bucky suggested."

"You just have to find your thing," Steve tried to help, but he felt out of his depth. He'd never seen you like this before.

“I taught myself how to crochet. That worked for awhile, but I haven’t touched my latest project in months. I made a photo collage for my wall. That was good for about two hours until I finished it. I tried watercolors, made two paintings and quit. Puzzles. Games. Embroidery. Writing. Fucking woodburning. You name it, I can guarantee I’ve tried."

Your words were garbelled, but Steve could still make them out. He inched closer slowly, trying not to make it worse.

“Nothing works okay? Nothing works because no matter what I still feel empty. I still feel like I’m missing something… and it’s killing me that I can’t be who I was before. Because I don't even know what it was that made me like this! I don't know what before is anymore because I should be fine! I should be okay! Nothing that bad has happened to me, so why do I feel so empty?"

"Hey, no. Just because there was no one event doesn't mean you can't feel the way you feel. Sometimes, no most times, it's not rational."

"But there should be a reason! I... I need a reason..."

You turned to look at him, the redness of your eyes breaking his heart. Still, you tried to smile at him.

"You don't have to put on a brave face with me." The words seemed to resonate, your mask dropping in lieu of more tears. He finally reached the bed and sat down next to you. This close, he could see the apprehension in your eyes. "Did something happen?"

"A few weeks ago..." you trailed off, still unsure.

Steve thought through everything he could remember about the last few weeks. Only one thing stood out from normal.

"When you visited your sisters?" he asked gently. You nodded, a fresh sob escaping. "Are they okay?"

"They're fine," you whispered. "Well, as fine as usual anyway. I told them..."

"Told them what?" Steve encouraged gently.

"About cutting myself," you said so quietly he wouldn't have heard if not for his enhanced senses.

Steve held back his surprise at the admission knowing it wouldn't help. Still he had to say something.

"That's a good first step. I," he cleared his throat. "I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to tell me."

You smiled slightly, expression falling into more tears when you kept talking.

"They haven't brought it up. Not once." Steve held you as you sobbed. "I know it's... awkward? I guess? And I know they love me, but... but sometimes it feels like it's only when it's helpful for them... Like maybe they don't actually care if I can't be what they need..."

You broke down again, voice cracking as you admitted your fears.

"I'll be here," Steve said quietly, but with resolve. "I'll help you through it."

"How?" you asked brokenly. It wasn't a demand, but a desire for reassurance.

"I don't know..." Steve felt his inadequacies like a physical weight. "But we'll figure it out. You're not alone in this. I'm here. I'll always be here."

[elfangel94]

i think it’s so fucking funny when people talk about depression and suicide and say things like “you’re loved. i love you. i care. you matter🥺” and i just laugh and think to myself ‘i could slit my arms open wrist to elbow and bleed out and you wouldn’t even fucking know.’ Nothing in your life would change. You’d go about your day and i would take up absolutely 0 space in your mind or life. Stop lying to people. The only impact my death would have would be putting my parents even deeper into debt with funeral costs. I can’t even die without being a fucking problem.

[asherisawkward]

I've heard some say that Belos is a boring villain because he only relies on religion, his god complex, angst, and trauma to keep the audience invested and lacks development. Do you believe that to be true?

There are factors of this that I both agree with and disagree with.

Prepare for another essay, because you triggered:

I am so sorry for rambling like this.

Philip is a fairly static character throughout the series, as most of his development occurred off screen in the past. So, I can understand why some people think he’s boring, but I find it really interesting in the way his behaviors and even lies reveal information about him.

Let’s start with the religion. Philip is an extremely devout person. He spent almost four hundred in what he believed to be Hell to save humanity from evil. But the way he uses the Titan as a manner to control people is indicative of what his life was like back on Gravesfield.

Puritan beliefs could be more described as the following: humans are born sinful and impure, you must devote your life to a strict set of standards and rules to try to make God happy, everyone is born predetermined to go to Heaven or Hell but will not know until after death, and death is the ultimate punishment for Adam’ and Eve’s sin. They also took great care in analyzing everything around them for signs of God’s pleasure or displeasure.

How much are those beliefs echoed in the cult he created on the Isles?

Philip absolutely has a God Complex, made clear by his repeated creation and termination of the Grimwalkers in an attempt to create the “perfect” Caleb. By doing that, he is claiming that God himself made his brother wrong and that he can do better. If that isn’t ego, I don’t know what is.

However, I’ve noticed a certain amount of behavior that could come across as self loathing or even an inferiority complex. Often, these behaviors are seen together with god/superiority complexes masking the insecurities that lie beneath.

The first evidence of this occurs when we see his face for the first time. Not the scar, but his ears. Many noted (correctly) that they were too small to be witch ears and looked more like cropped human ears. As we later find out, Philip cut parts of his ears off to blend in more thoroughly with BI society. He likely didn’t even need to do this due to the t of illusion stones (like the Blight twins use) that can modify his appearance. Alternatively, he could have simply covered his ears with his hair. Some braids or a specific hairstyle could have done the trick, but he chose to permanently scar himself.

Later, when we confirm the connection of Belos being Philip, we also find out that he carved glyphs on his arms to utilize magic. Once again, he could have stuck with his staff, as it doesn’t require such measures to utilize (see: Hunter and the other Grimwalkers), but he still chose to do something permanent and harmful to himself.

We can see this come to a head in a particularly dangerous move: consuming Palismen. This was likely never done before due to the taboo on harming a witch’s bond with them. And Philip decided he would crack one open and absorb its magic. It could have killed him! It was part of the reason why he was cursed. Those are serious consequences, and yet he continued for centuries, making his curse worse and worse like an addiction to drugs.

Also, remember what he said at the end of Elsewhere and Elsewhen? “It doesn’t matter. I just need to live long enough to see this through.” Those are not the words of someone who values his life. In fact, that statement has led me to believe that he didn’t intend on living in the Human Realm after the Day of Unity. I think he intended to die there so he wouldn’t be trapped in the place he hated forever.

Now for the fun parts: angst and trauma.

I sometimes feel that he’s made more overtly cruel than he probably would be at times in order to drive home the point that he’s evil, and I can understand that. However, Philip’s behavior towards the Grimwalkers was likely based on a mixture of him being a shit person, displacement theory, and the standards of punishment/child rearing he was used to.

From a storytelling standpoint, he’s incredibly useful as a driving force for multiple characters, and that makes him intriguing.

But here’s another detail I noticed: Philip considered the making of his Grimwalkers one of his worst memories. In Kings Tide, we see the paintings of him meeting his brother with Evelyn, Caleb’s body after the fight, and the first Grimwalker being made. And it’s that last one where Philip finally loses it.

The process of making Grimwalkers was incredibly traumatic for him, and the fact that he engaged in this behavior continuously over more than three hundred years indicates some form of emotional self harm. He forces himself to go through the stress and effort of painstakingly making and raising these beings to be the way he wants them to be. And they fail every single time. He even begins branding them to show that he intends for them to die, no matter what.

So what is the point of that? Why would he do that?

He’s cultivating the emotions he experienced when he lost his brother—the event that drove him to hold the goal of genocide instead of simply getting Caleb home. He has to keep doing this or he’ll lose the ability to stay motivated and continue his goal.

It’s incredibly tragic, and it implies he’s tired, that he wants it to be over.

Then again, considering that most of this is my over-analysis and not actually stated in canon, I may just be falling into the exact trap you suggested.

To conclude, Philip Wittebane is a character whose motivations for his actions and beliefs are largely implied as opposed to outright stated, and it can make him difficult to enjoy as a character. The majority of those who like him tend to either like his surface attributes/aesthetic or the depth that could have been revealed through scrutinization.

[justmoreocs-writing]

Quick warning, this drabble has implications of self-harm and how characters react to finding that one of them struggles with these urges as a coping mechanism. While everything in this is completely fictitious, the situation is one that really effects people, and it can go in a multitude of different ways. Also, describes the first time that somebody self-harmed as a coping mechanism specifically. This isn’t necessarily how this scene would go, but I needed to try writing this section.

A flash of red. Frankie’s jacket cuff pulled back for the briefest of seconds, and yet Hank’s attention had lingered on the space. For her, the moment had passed in barely a breath; her focus on the joke she had been sharing with Oskar. For Hank, it had been as if the world was frozen. He had blinked, and yet that flash of red had haunted him still. Had remained in this thoughts for the rest of the day.

Even as they had moved on to an investigation, as the day had continued as if that flash of red didn’t still linger in his thoughts, Hank had tried desperately to grasp a reason for it that didn’t return to his first assumption. That didn’t terrify him in some way.

Part of him thought that he was simply projecting. That his own occasional foray into Russian Roulette was making him paranoid about his partner. On the surface, Francine Alverez was one of the happiest people he knew. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that she was like him in many ways. She could talk a person’s ear off about virtually nothing, and yet never once did she open up about the things that were bothering her. The only reason he’d never pulled her up on it before was because he knew he did the same thing. He couldn’t be that kind of hypocrite.

But this was different. Her coping mechanism was similar and oh so different to his own. And since she’d found herself being assigned as his partner, Hank had found that he actually cared about her.

‘Wait a minute,’ Hank said now, moving his arm to block her exit from the car.

‘Hank?’ she asked, attention on him. Her concern was something that he could practically feel even as he looked decidedly away from her. Tough conversations were things that he knew were part of the job, part of caring about somebody, but that didn’t mean he had to stare at her while he said his piece.

Hank took a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. He’d been over this conversation in his head several times, and yet nothing could have prepared him for this. Finding the right words so he didn’t make things worse. So he didn’t push her away by sounding accusatory, or by driving some sort of wedge between the two of them.

‘I think I know the answer to this,’ he said, glancing fleetingly at her before focusing his attention resolutely on the steering wheel, which he was once again gripping, ‘but I wanted to ask anyway.’

‘OK,’ Frankie murmured.

‘What happened to your arm?’

Silence settled heavily between them. It stretched out into something uncomfortable, something that made Hank wonder if she wouldn’t just get out of the car.

And yet, the fact she hadn’t quickly assured him it was Smokey, or something else equally mundane, made him realise that he’d hit the nail on the head.

Slowly, Hank forced himself to look towards her once more. She looked slightly shell-shocked, but when she caught his eye she nodded ever so slightly.

He watched as she swallowed, as she seemed to weigh up her options, before she slowly rolled up her right sleeve. The red of several cuts stood out against her skin; a vividness to them that assured him they were fresh wounds. Shiny scar tissue dotted her arm in other places, some of which were ever so slightly different. Burns, he realised with a slight twisting of his insides.

‘I was eighteen,’ she said, an odd sort of detachment to her voice that he wasn’t sure if it was healthy or not, but he was just grateful that she was talking. ‘Mum had died two months before and I just…’ She sucked in a stuttering breath, and Hank’s attention was on her face again. ‘It felt like everybody needed me to be this rock for them. Between that, Mya, Santi, Uni. I just…’ She exhaled deeply. ‘The first time was an accident. I wasn’t paying attention when I got something out of the oven, and it burnt. But d’you know what? I realised in that moment I wasn’t thinking about everything else. I felt… My brain felt quiet.’

‘Frankie,’ Hank whispered, wanting to reach out to her and yet for once being uncertain if it was the right thing to do.

She offered him a somewhat shaky smile. ‘I have good days and bad days,’ she admitted, carefully rolling her sleeve down. ‘Rhys called me the other day, and my thoughts spiralled. It was nothing, but… Old habits.’

Hank nodded, he understood that. When thoughts of Cole refused to let go of him, he reached easily for alcohol.

Frankie chuckled softly. ‘You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever told that to.’

‘I am?’ Hank asked, baffled.

‘People find lies easier to swallow. Don’t question them because the alternative is difficult. I guess, I don’t know.’

Hank nodded, but his resolve steeled. ‘Can we try something next time?’

Frankie quirked an eyebrow at him. ‘What?’

‘Call me? Doesn’t matter what time it is, how silly you think the thing that’s got ya spirallin’ is. Call me, or come to mine. Make a new habit.’

Fear flashed behind her eyes, and for a moment Hank wondered if he hadn’t gone too far. If he wasn’t stepping over some line he didn’t even realise was really between them. But even if she wasn’t OK with that, Hank was determined to try finding out other things he could do to support her.

‘Partners talk,’ she whispered softly, and Hank felt a little of the tightness in his chest loosening.

‘No matter how hard it is,’ he assured her, really hoping she knew he meant it. He didn’t care what time of night it was, how silly her brain told her the thoughts were. No matter how hard he had tried not to let her get under his skin, since they’d been partnered with each other she had managed to make him care about her.

‘Same goes for you,’ she said.

Hank opened his mouth to protest, but there was a steely look behind her eyes that assured him she wasn’t so blind to one of his coping mechanisms as he’d always assumed.

‘Deal,’ he said, smirking ever so slightly when she raised a fist to him. With a roll of his eyes, Hank knocked his fist against hers, really hoping that both of them could take that vow on board. Even if it was merely the first step in a far more arduous process.

[articwolfclawartist]

Cat in the Graveyard

Tried to go for a “person documenting monsters in a sketchbook” type feel but I think I fell a little short, oh wells. Another Hope piece, now including lore if you look closely!

[we-made-it-this-far-kid]

I love how Tyler and how he created this whole visual map of the psyche and exploring your own psyche. I’m a visual person and so that idea really helped me conceptualize things in terms of my own mental illness. I first found tøp when I was 13 and at that point didn’t really know what was going on in terms of my mental illness or tbh that I had any. But then I found their music and it really resonated with me. Then eventually I did get a diagnosis which helped me in a weird way because then I was like oh that’s why I am the way I am and act in certain ways. When I was 13-17 I was self harming and would have periods of suicidal ideation and tøp really helped me through that. Now that I’m older and I’m about to graduate college I’m glad I didn’t kill my self because during that time I truly didn’t think I’d make it to be 18. And Tyler making your psyche like a map has helped me. Now I’m like okay if I go into this place in my mind it’s going to lead me down a bad spiral and I need to avoid going there at all costs. And where I tend to be most times is in like a middle between that really bad place and a really good place. Where I’m like okay I struggle with depression and anxiety but right now I’m at a more neutral place where it could be better but it also could be a whole lot worse. And it’s actively doing things to try and get to the really good place or at the very least not going back to the really bad place. Sometimes I do go onto the very bad place but I know how to cope with that in a healthy way. Anyway that was kind of a brain dump but I was just thinking about that.

[the-angry-pixie]

Headcanon: Myra is 100% the type of woman who would threaten to divorce Eddie if she didn’t have her way. I wouldn’t be surprised if she kept signed divorce papers hanging up on their fridge “as a reminder”. Needless to say, when Eddie gets the call from Mike, he remembers what it felt like to have six different people who genuinely loved him. As a result, when he went home to pack, he “accidentally” submitted the paperwork and pawned his wedding ring on his way to Derry. He also “accidentally” blocks Myra on everything and “accidentally” gets a new phone

I see Myra as more the type to threaten self-harm or suicide if she doesn't get her way.

Cause like, divorce isn't much of a threat to Eddie. He may not be strong enough to do the deed himself, but if Myra was the one saying they should get a divorce he would for sure be like "~oh no ~how sad ~but if you think thats best honey..."

So yeah. Not much of a threat.

Myra threatening to hurt herself though... every time Eddie seems to be getting a bit of independence (making friends at work, getting interested in a hobby that doesn't include her, telling her that she's being unreasonable) and god forbid, maybe even thinking of leaving her... well "how can you do this to me Eddie?! You know what the doctor says about my delicate mental condition? Maybe you don't care about me at all? Maybe you would rather I were dead? Maybe I should just not be here so you can live your perfect Myra-less life?"

And well, Eddie is not a monster. He would never want anyone to actually die.

In my perfect world, Eddie returns to Derry, remembers the six loves of his life. Falls in love all over again. LIVES. Suddenly understands and has the strength to call Myra's bluff. Telephones her from the hospital (where he and his lovers are recovering) to announce their separation. And says "If you must, you must dear" and hangs up when Myra starts spouting her bullshit about killing herself.

I still like your idea of him then pawning the ring, blocking Myra on everything, saying he wants "nothing" in the divorce (all the good memories from his childhood and of his father are locked away in a storage facility anyway since Myra didn't like having them around the house), and never talking to her again (letting the lawyers sort out the details).

Thank you @zelinksupporter. That was nice to think about. 🥰

[webawee]

what would be your ideas for a doraemon fic?

Personally, I'm looking for no romantic relationships.

The idea for a fic would largely depend on the movie or episode I'm writing for, but if I were to write in general:

A oneshot;

It would be Nobita-centric, where he's struggling with his self-esteem. Gian and Suneo beat him up on a regular basis, and his teacher and family keep telling them that he should study, he's not doing anything, that he should do something. But honestly, sometimes that can do more harm than good.

There are two ways it can go now, I was thinking of either Nobita running away from home for a bit (Which has been done in multiple different episodes before), or he could self-harm.

Because Nobita has run away from home multiple times before, it would be interesting to explore the self-harm.

There are two ways the self-harm can go. First, Nobita could be in a trance, where he doesn't fully realise what he's doing. Cue the mental breakdown. In this, Doraemon finds him, and totally freaks out.

Second, Nobita was fully aware of what he was doing, but he wasn't entirely sure if he should do it, or if it would really help him. But, as the blade glides across his skin, he thinks "Oh, it does help". And cries. No comfort for this one.

Another interesting oneshot would be to explore the idea that Doraemon was Nobita's imaginary friend. Where Nobita completely knew that Doraemon didn't exist, but he still went with it anyway, as a method of trying to better himself, trying to improve himself.

Another idea I can think of, is the media and scientists finding out about Doraemon's existence. Doing something to steal Doraemon away from Nobita. Then, the kids try their best to get Doraemon back using his spare pocket. Use a gadget to erase the scientist and media's memories. Maybe the Time Patrol could make an appearance? Although, this idea sounds more like the plot of an episode in the show rather than a fanfic, it hasn't been done in the show so it would be interesting to read or write.

I think that's about all I can think of for now, they're all oneshot ideas though

[weaponizedhorse]

I think it's fucking horrible that when you tell someone that you are doing so shit mentally, because of how they are treating you, that you really want to cut yourself again and instead of idk sympathizing with you or talking about it that person just scoffs at you.

Then when you ask what that was about and they have the fucking gall to say "Well I think that's a little dramatic" is an absolutely fucked up thing to say to a person.

[cielie-voss]

Death, my love.

Tw: please don't read this if you get triggered by self harm or suicid@l thoughts. If you need help, please contact a friend or mental health institution. (An big hugs out to everyone struggling, you are not alone and you are loved 💕)

As I bury the blade in my flesh and drag it through my veins, I shut my eyes in a pathetic attempt to stop the tears from streaming down my face uncontrollably.

A hand grabs mine, gently, unreal like a shadow but still the cold of its bony fingers slowly creeps up my arm, bit by bit invading my whole body.

Oh, my dearest, death whispers in my ear, his voice yearningly yet saddened. How much I wished it was time to embrace you, to hold you tight.

But it is your time, our time, darling, I weep.

Sighing, he let his cold fingers comb through my wettened hair. I can't, my love, as much as I want to. But I have to enjoy your lovely company, your prodigious sight from afar. Hoping to catch a glimpse of your aching heart throughout my visits in your life.

The hot pounding blood in my veins desperately fights against death's cold grip.

More tears are about to stream down my freezing skin. I turn away from him, slightly, still melting into his touch, ashamed about my weakness, as if he can't see the burning trails on my cheek.

So now you're here with me, are you sure you really want to join me? His hoarse voice let shivers run through my aching body. Is there a reason you want to leave the world of the living?

With each and every visit you bereaved every joy I had in this world, took everyone I loved and cared for away from me. Tell me, is there a reason to stay in the world of the living?

[sorryiwasasleep]

In this world, Mirabel Madrigal never sees the cracks.

Things don't change, and she gets left behind, because what else is new?

Mirabel is sick of it.

She doesn't feel like stepping aside. She doesn't feel like doing anything

She takes matters into her own hands.

[urforeverisallthatineed]

self care is over we’re going back to self harm

[asherisawkward]

Is it possible to cut your ears to resemble an elf just like Philip did? I wonder how he treated his ear afterwards?

It is possible to surgically alter your ears, and I believe he cut off the lower part of the helix of his ears. I don’t know how effective it would be in real life. I imagine that afterwards, Philip either stitched his ears up or cauterized them through what was probably metal applied to his ears. Maybe he used alcohol to disinfect the blade and wound.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Say a friend of yours (that’s actually a close friend, not just someone you know) confessed to you- while drunk- that they have harmed themselves as recently as a couple months ago. How long would you wait to talk to them about it?

[nothingsafex]

11 years clean from self harm🤍 never thought I’d get to this day!