#Tw implied self harm

[electraslight]

THE STAR [INVERTED]

(putting the ol reblog banner back on, shamelessly)

[tsbs-darksun-confessions]

All you do is cause problems, Sol

You keep pushing people away and lashing out. Like what the actual fuck was that with Pan? They were freaked out and you decided to take that as an insult?? They're defending you right now, and I bet all you're doing is fuming and having a little hissy fit

Maybe Pan was right. Maybe you ate a litttlle bit too much of your beloved Lune, because lashing out like that is a Moon trait. Eclipse's get it, yes, but they get it from their Moons

Pan clearly holds onto you really dearly, Sol. I mean, why else would they be so freaked out by that picture? Hell, have you even seen them interacting with anyone before that wasn't you or Ruin? At least not in passing? Have you ever seen them relax around anyone who isn't you? Maybe you just meant more to them than they did to you.

And you pushed them away

Thats all you do, really. Push people away. Lune. Solar. Even Ruin. And now Pan

God, you really are a Moon

[fantomeeee]

cw: implied self harm

[annaraebananawriter]

6. Reminders (I'd cut them off if I could)

Dream winces as he arrives in the AU, closing the portal behind him swiftly, leaning against the nearest tree for support, adrenaline coming to a stop now that the fight is over. There are still open cuts on his arms, blood sluggishly running down to his fingertips. His chest ached, so his ribs might've been bruised. Leaning on the tree, he slowly slips to the ground, where he rests on his knees, head hanging as he catches his breath.

His back ached the worst. It was a constant throbbing, sending waves of pain through his spine and down his arms when he shifted or walked. Unlike the other injuries, though, this wasn't related to the fighting.

This was already present before today.

Usually, he's used to it and can manage the sparks. Stars, at this point, he might even welcome it, since it's something to keep him grounded, rooted in the present. Can't daydream too much with the reminder of it on his back. It helps him sometimes, it does, even if Blue and Ink say it's unhealthy and that he's only making things worse for himself in the long run.

Exactly, he remembers thinking when they scolded him about it last time, worrying and fretting and upset. The only one it's hurting is him, so why should it matter?

He can handle it.

(He deserves it.)

Once his chest has settled, Dream breaths out, letting it linger longer than usual, closing his eyes and briefly resting his forehead against the tree. The bark is familiar, comforting. Nostalgic. Then, though it pains him to pull himself away so soon, he forces himself to get up before he can lose himself in the past again and find a river to wash himself up at. If he showed up back home looking like he does, Blue and Ink would worry even more, and he hates seeing them worked up over him like that.

It's different if one of them were injured. As he's said before, he can handle himself. He can heal, knows how to patch himself up. Prefers it to the pinched brow, the frown on Blue's face as he cleans his wounds in silence. Prefers it to Ink's gaze from the corner, the hovering he does as he fills the silence with a silly, unrelated story to distract the team from the lost battle.

At the river, Dream lowers himself gingerly to the bank, wincing again as his back gets worse. He stares down into his reflection, taking in the dark smudge under his eyes, the hollow cheekbones and sockets, the downward pull to his mouth, so different from the smile he usually has on. What happened here? Why is it that whenever he's alone, he cannot smile like that? What is he doing wrong if he can't even keep himself happy?

Some Guardian of Positivity he was...

Sighing to himself, he disturbs the reflection his his hand, letting the blood wash away and stain the water. The cuts sting as he cleans them, but that's by far the calmest pain he's ever experienced, so he doesn't react. Doesn't even feel it, really. He heals the cuts, too, the warmth of his magic lighting up the surroundings with a soft golden glow. The cuts knit themselves back together, fading until just a faint scar and sting remained.

He moved up to his ribs, which hurt more as they healed. They flared up, throbbing up his neck before calming down and quieting into a whimper of what it was. Breathing out in relief, he lets his magic fade, closing his eyes again. He'd be sore the rest of the day, and tired from the spent magic, but he'd be fine. He can handle it.

(He deserves it.)

It was time for the part he'd been putting off.

Bracing himself, Dream moved slowly as he took off his scarf, folding it up neatly and placing it beside him. Even with just one layer off, his back doubled it's complaining. Breathing steadily through it, he continued removing his clothes, placing his gloves on top of his scarf, folding up his jacket and placing it beside the stack. His back gets worse with each layer he removes, the pain increasing, yet also getting better, more manageable now that it has room to move.

He can feel it twitching now, eager for the last layer to go and for him to stretch it out, let it breath for the first time in months.

Slipping his arms out of his leotard, he pauses for a minute, bracing himself again as he pushes the garment down to bunch at his hips where it's out of the way. He has to brace himself because it drags against his back, against it, rubs against the pain, even for a brief moment, making it flare. A whimper escapes him before he can catch it, and he swiftly clenches his jaw to stop anymore. It doesn't matter that he's alone. He can't let himself be weak now. He can't. At least, he refuses to, because if he cannot contain himself, cannot be strong when he's alone, how can he expect himself to do it in front of people? In front of the Multiverse?

Besides, he's fine. He can handle it. He's done this before.

He can handle it.

Once the garment's down, the pain finally dulls into a regular ache, making him sigh in relief again, rolling his shoulders back as the weight is lifted, as he concedes and stretches it out, feeling loose feathers fall. It still hurts to move it, still hurts to touch it, but it's far easier to handle than it being pressed up against his back, unable to move under the layers of clothes he hides it under.

Dream stretches his wings out, lifting a hand to reach behind his neck, trying to massage the joint where it meets his back. It helps a bit, soothing the ache like a balm.

He can't see how bad the wings are, but he can feel how messy the feathers are, can feel that it could do with a wash. He brings the right wing around as he massages himself, as much as he can, reaching his opposite hand over to half-heartedly swipe through the ends, taking out the old feathers, the broken ones. He can only do a little, his wings barely reach his elbows normally, so he can't reach any further without twisting himself into a knot. But he does what he can and lets it return to its place behind him. Finished with his massage, he lowers himself onto his stomach, looking down at the water again to wait out the rest of the breathing period before he wrangles the limbs back underneath.

Nightmare doesn't know about his wings.

Nobody in the multiverse does except for Blue and Ink, and they only knew because they caught him when he was stretching it out. Now, they try and make him do it more often. Ink gives him shirts with holes for the limbs, or shirts without a back at all. Blue tries to get the three of them to do more activities that include beaches or swimming pools, anything to get him out of his usual uniform and into something else. Something breathable.

He appreciates their efforts, even if he doesn't listen to them a lot. Even if they'll do this for him and he'll just sit to the side, smiling and indulging as much as he can without giving in to the main problem.

The thing is, he hates his wings.

The reason why is complicated, clouded. He can't really put it into words. He just knows that when he sees his wings, when his wings are perceived by other people, it makes him feel uncomfortable, like the limbs are something wrong with him. He sees them and can't think of anything but the fact that they're a lie.

Wings are for freedom. Wings are for flying away from everything, for putting the past behind you and soaring into the future. Wings are for moving on.

Dream wants nothing to do with any of that.

(If he could cut the wings off, he would. He would welcome the searing, burning feel of them, would sob in thanks to whoever cut them, himself or someone else, would hug himself in relief of being free from the burden. From the reminder. From the pressure to follow along, to be on his pedestal, to free everyone from their negativity.

He would welcome being grounded if it meant people would stop telling him he was the only thing that could fly them away from this place.)

He hates his wings. He hates being reminded he should be over what happened. He should be fighting his brother to stop him from hurting others, not to bring him back, make things as they were. He should be fulfilling his role as an angelic presence here to carry those in misfortune off to better lands, better futures. He hates his wings, hates the burden of them, hates the feel of them.

(He hates himself.)

But it's fine.

He can handle it.

(He deserves it.)

[fox-and-the-hound]

warmth

[caffeinatedattorney]

I have this picture. Battinson and Harvey hanging out in the tower, watching the sunset. Harvey knows he's batman after being rescued by him. Bruce thought harvey would be safer in the cave so he was stitched up there and Bruce broke the news.

Harvey storms out, wobbly on his feet, fucked up over sedatives and painkillers because harvey woke up once disoriented and he wouldn't stop moving so-

Anyway, Bruce found him looking out the tower's window. It's becoming morning and Bruce might as well address the elephant in the room, right?

Bruce walks next to Harvey and leans back on the wall. "I must have disappointed you," he says, unable to keep his voice in control. Bruce is too quiet. Harvey needs support and comfort right now, something loud and so much better equipped. All Harvey gets is the bat.

Bruce's thoughts are barely coherent. "You are doing everything you can. I should've mentioned I had your back. You wouldn't have been hurt."

Bruce's chests aches, thinking about their childhood. How he could only watch.

Harvey watches the sunrise like it's the only one he's seen his entire life. Bruce isn't sure how deep inside his own head he must be. Hes been doing that a lot lately, with the stress adding up.

"Nah," Harvey's tone is jovial and earnest, detached from the grim. "You were there for me since the beginning. You are the batman. You always were."

But that can't be it, Bruce can't help but confess to his sins. "if I had been I would've protected you."

Then, Harvey snorts, smiling. "You were going through your own shit. I can't be mad at you. You are not like them. You are different. You... You are like me" then his lower lip wobbles. "you shouldn't be me. That-that isn't right. Why. "

"Harvey," Bruce has an idea what he means. You shouldn't be this angry, this unhappy. "I'm fine. I promise."

Harvey shakes his head again. He stifles a laugh. "Maybe," he says. "Gilda must be looking for me."

Bruce should get in touch with her. Harvey finds solace in her presence and if Harvey thinks the cowl is Bruce's comfort, Gilda Gold is Harvey's. "I'll tell Alfred to call her."

Then Harvey turns around. He raises his hands to cup Bruce's jaw but as Bruce's braces for the touch, Harvey stops.

"May I?" Harvey asks, quiet and personal.

Bruce nods and Harvey covers Bruce's eyes with his hands, mimicking the cowl. His hands are warm and rough. They smell like blood and sweat. This close, he can hear Harvey's watch ticking away.

"Hmm," Harvey says. "I had a hunch it was you but I always thought you-- I underestimated your anger."

Bruce grabs Harvey's wrists and pushes them down. Harvey yields but Bruce doesn't let them go, feeling up faint scars on Harvey's skin. Bruce isn't a saint, not even close. "You should--" Bruce swallows. "See a doctor about that. Not just the shot. "

Harvey blinks. "Right," he lets out quietly, a little betrayed. "As if I haven't heard that one before."

"It's," Bruce snorts in frustration. Bruce wayne is lecturing Harvey Dent on taking care of himself. "You don't have to die like that, in the middle of doing something you will regret."

"You are starting to sound like Gilda," Harvey smiles. Bruce lets his wrists go, which upon being free, Harvey covers up with his long sleeves.

This morning shines bright already. "Come," Bruce says, making his way back where he came from. "I think Alfred is making breakfast."

"Jeeesus," Harvey says. "You still can't make toast to save your life, huh?"

[panntofolaio]

Tired of this body..

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Figuring out how to draw this guy but here’s a couple Simons

[cloud-ya]

mamo moja psychika pękła w salonie

[cruilty-ink]

Prev…next…

Masterpost

A ritual :>

Tag list: @trixanimations @qeelovestea

[bnesszai]

hi beloved hi beloved

so. are you prepared. i'm giving you a few things to work with:

"what are you trying to gain?"

"there is not easy way out, [name]"

and random word: red

all for jouzai. have a good ride

hi beloved, biting you<3

Challenge accepted and completed. I hate these two so much send help

"what are you trying to gain?" “Information,” Dazai grins, something dangerous glinting in their eyes. Jouno shivers when Dazai’s finger trails his jawline. “I think you already know the answers to your questions.”  “Perhaps, but isn’t it more fun this way?”  “What are you really here for?”  Dazai grips Jouno’s chin. “I think you already know the answers to your questions.”  “You think you’re cute.” “Adorable, even.” Jouno laughs. He reaches forward, grabbing the turquoise on Dazai’s bolo-tie and pulling. “Adorable seems too innocent for a demon like yourself, doesn’t it?” “You think so?” A smirk crawls up Dazai’s face, sharp. They lean in, lips against Jouno’s pulse, and says, “You can call me whatever you like then.” 

"there is no easy way out, [name]"

“There is no easy way out, Dazai.” Blood gathers at the corner of Dazai’s mouth, pools from the wound in their side. A brittle, bitter laugh tumbles out of their lips. “I’ve survived worse.” “Sure,” Jouno says, twisting the knife lodged into Dazai’s ribs. “But I have a job to do.” “As do I.”  “Try it,” Jouno taunts. He pulls out the blade, letting the blood flow freely. “Even if you survive, I have a jail cell ready with your name on it.”  “And I have a tombstone with yours.” The poison in Jouno’s veins has him swaying, but he refuses to fall. Not until he watches Dazai do the same. 

and random word: red

The color red has always been a complicated thing for Dazai.  Red spilling from self-inflicted wounds, from people they were told were enemies, from their only and best friend. Red from the hair of the same friend, from the hair of the first person they thought they could love. Red from the visions behind their eyelids and the glint in Mori’s eyes and the feeling of life in their veins or the rush of death as flesh is torn apart or—  Red is life and death, longing and loss, compassion and anger.  Jouno has white hair with red tips and a red uniform. He is everything Dazai should stay away from and everything they want to sink their teeth into. Jouno can see through Dazai in ways that no one should be able to. It pisses Dazai off but it also draws them in. Often, Jouno gets a sinister look on his face, spouts some horrific bullshit, and then brushes his fingers across Dazai’s throat before leaving with the next passing breeze.  It’s a game. Everything with Jouno is a game and Dazai has always hated losing. And so Dazai rewrites the rules and watches in amusement as Jouno stumbles over them. Jouno then adapts, writes his own rules, and waves them in Dazai’s face like a red cape to a bull. The cycle continues. Red is a lot of things. A moving target, blood and lust, the beginning and the end of a game. The color that floods Dazai’s senses when they think of Jouno.  Love and hate. 

[demento-mori]

I am intimately familiar with this kind of thought process and where it leads, and GOD this is such a painfully realistic depiction.....

[hamsamwich23]

Shattered Glass (Unreality Au)

Content warnings: blood, implied physically harming another person, semi-graphic death scene, verbal and emotional abuse and manipulation, subtly implied self harm.

Word count: 1,188

[This one shot was based off of a Goretober/Angstober prompt: Shattered Glass]

Scout's Brother never liked her....

He was very avoidant and dismissive around her. He would get annoyed easily and snap at her for anything he found to be annoying or bothersome. He was angry, all the time, worse than Riley's anger when she had a bad day. he would call her names and belittle her whenever he saw her. Whenever she did anything.

It was clear to Scout that her brother did not like her and wanted nothing to do with her. So she would simply avoid him. Deciding that if he wanted to talk to her, he would come to her himself.

And one day it happened.

her brother came up to her one day while she was watching the old TV that Riley had allowed her to keep after she found it. He had a calm smile on his face. He never smiled around her. It was almost...unnerving to witness.

He told Scout that he wanted to surprise Riley. Today was her birthday, and he wanted to make it special. Which confused Scout. Her brother hated Riley. He couldn't care less about anyone's birthday either. Her ninth birthday was just last month and he didn't want anything to do with her. So why did he change all of a sudden?

Regardless of how odd it was, she decided to help. Even if she was hesitant, he never asked for help, so she wasn't going to just turn him away.

Her brother told her that he was planning a small party for her, and she needed to be completely distracted so she wouldn't find out.

"that's why I need you" He said. "She cares about you way more than she really should"

That was always his argument

"She cares about both of us, she's just overprotective of me.."

"Whatever you say, number one"

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Don't worry about it, this isn't about you anyways."

"...okay...what do you want me to do? How do I distract her?"

"Don't worry, I know what will cause a big enough disturbance that will take up all of her attention. I'm going to help you by setting the bait"

He smiled, holding his hand out"

"just give me your hand..."

........

"Are you SURE that's what happened?"

Riley hadn't been doing anything too important. She was sitting at her private desk reading some sort of newspaper, catching up on the outside worlds scientific discoveries, when her daughter came in. She was sniffling, holding onto her arm. Blood was dripping down onto her shirt and onto the floor. there was a long and decent sized cut going over her elbow.

Riley immediately rushed her to the medical section of her lab and sat her down. She then began to clean, stich and bandage the wound.

"Y....yes... yeah. I was running, but I wasn't paying attention... and then I tripped and fell on some glass and it got stuck in my arm, I pulled it out but it left a scar.."

"Uh huh, Okay."

She finished bandaging the injury, but she didn't move from her spot.

"I know you're lying to me"

Of course she did. But Scout wasn't supposed to let her find that out. "I'm not..it was just an accident-"

"Scout, there's no way this was an accident. The cut is a perfect straight line, there was no stuffing removed or anything, it looks like someone cut you"

Scout went silent. Riley sighed and gently held her daughters hands.

"What happened?"

.............

As it turned out, Scouts brother lied about everything.

Riley's birthday was back in October, she and her siblings all had the same birthday. October thirty first, and it was currently the sixth of January.

Riley was absolutely LIVID. And rightfully so. Her son just slashed her daughters arm, just to use her as a distraction. And she needed to find him, now.

She took Scout with her as she began searching for her son. Why did he dare to hurt Scout to distract her? Why was he trying to distract her in the first place?

A loud crack caught her attention. She rushed towards what sounded like the source of the noise...and there he was. Slamming a chair into the window.

"Axe"

"Mom" Axe hissed, taking another swing at the already cracking window. Scout flinched and covered her ears upon hearing the awful sound of glass breaking. The warehouse windows were rather strong, but they weren't invincible... if broke, they would lead to outside...

Was he trying to escape?

Riley had a rule in place when it came to outside. Neither of the two were allowed to go out. Not until they were thirteen, then she would go with them. her brother was four months away from being able to go outside. Why was he trying to escape like this? Was there another reason? Was it Riley? Was it the warehouse conditions? Was it...her?

Scout didn't attempt to question him and his reasoning. Riley and her brother were now fighting. yelling. shouting over one another. Riley yelling at her son for hurting his sister and Axe yelling at both Riley and Scout.

They kept shouting, as Riley tried to take the folded metal chair away from him...but when she got close Axe raised the chair above his own head...and slammed it down on hers.

Riley fell to the ground and stopped moving. Trembling, Scout knelt down beside her, leaning her head against her chest. Her heart was still beating, and she was still breathing...but she was unconscious and her head was bleeding. But she was still alive.

She glared up at her brother. "You almost KILLED HER!" she snarled, her ears standing up on end.

Her brother raised the chair again, ready to swing once more. He returned the glare. His eyes were cold and full of hate.

"You should have stayed dead"

He swung the chair, and the window finally broke. Shattered glass was thrown everywhere. Scout covered her face with her hands as glass hit, scratching into her palms.

When it was safe, she ran over to the window and looked out of the damaged remains. Watching as her brother ran through the snow. Watching as he ran...and ran...

She watched as he ran right into death itself. And she watched in horror, as death tore her brother to shreds

she watched it devour him while he was still alive.

..................

"So...that's what happened to your brother, then?"

"Yeah..its a messy story, I know. But that's how I remember it..I watched something horrifying tear him apart...it came out of nowhere and fucking ate him. I told Riley everything that happened after she recovered. She says its not my fault, but I just....I don't know."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He was not a good brother to you, but you still seemed to care a lot about him"

"yeah..I used to. But he was an asshole..He's dead anyways."

Scout sighed, running her hands over her bandaged arms.

"it's not like anything he said stuck to me that badly anyways."

[thank you for reading!! My work is also on SquidgeWorld (Crying_God_tm) and Wattpad (judgment23)]

[mixed-up-multiverse]

// Even after everything, V has a very "I did bad stuff, so I deserve the worst and am beyond redemption" mindset. Not when it comes to the prey she's killed though-- that she isn't sorry for. It's just when it comes to her relationships with those in her past-- the people she's hurt so, SO badly-- that this thought process applies.

It gets to a point that there are times when V actively seeks pain and punishment despite there being no point to do so; for example, in battles where she is helping her allies, she would take hits for them and put her safety on the line to the point where she can barely stand and would likely be knocked offline. This self-harming mindset makes her question why certain drones still want her around, even if she's done nothing but snip at, physically hurt, and push them away.

After all, monsters deserve to bleed... don't they?

[fox-and-the-hound]

heart to heart

[dark-roasted-kestel]

Past! Cello stufff