#cw passive suicidal ideation

[clone-anon]

Hello! You are an absolute angel, your stories are so lovely and many of them have moved me to tears <3

I know it's a bit dark but I was wondering if you could do a Tech x f!reader where the reader is struggling with passive suicidal ideation (suicidal thoughts with no intent to act upon them) and feeling trapped inside her mind. Reader is touch starved and maybe Tech is too and they both find safety holding each other.

No worries if you can't do it! Thanks for making so many peoples' day including mine <3

Thank you! I'm glad you like my writing and decided to prioritize this since it's such a heavy topic.

Warnings: ongoing passive suicidal ideation mentioned, one moment of suicidal ideation involving a ledge with no intention to act

A/N: The squad is all back together again, but there is no mention of how. We don't need to know how right now, just that they're together. Also, I think this could be read as gender neutral reader.

Although Tech was not as demonstrative with his physical expressions in the same way Wrecker was, he would sometimes reach out and touch your shoulder or arm in a supportive way. He was not entirely sure of the line, but you always seemed to lean into his hand enough to let him know the feeling was welcome. You had all been looking for some place to lay low for the time being. A lot had happened and you did not want to lose each other. The squad was whole and you all wanted it to stay that way.

One evening on a forested moon you sat under the stars. There was a bit of a ledge not far from where the ship was parked and the campfire set up. Everyone was inside at the moment and you simply stared. It wasn't a far drop. Your mind fell into the trap of thinking what-ifs. You wrapped your arms around your shoulders and tried to shudder the thought away as Tech approached. He sat next to you and tried to read your expression.

"What is it?" he asked.

You looked down at your hands and took a calming breath as his warm presence settled next to you.

"Nothing," you replied.

"It's not nothing," he insisted softer than you'd ever heard him. "Tell me."

"I keep having these thoughts. Do you know what suicidal ideation is?"

Eyes wide he answered, "Of course I do, but what is the reason for this? How can I help?" His arms encircled you, although loosely, as his eyes followed yours to the ledge.

"It's passive, Tech. I won't do it. These thoughts come to mind and I can't seem to stop them or turn them off."

"Promise me you will come to me before acting on anything," he replied.

"I just said I won't do it," you said as your expression vulnerable expression pleaded for understanding.

"I know." He looked at you and nodded. "However, I won't have you experience this alone and I won't take chances."

You looked up at him and his arms seemed to hold you just a little more snugly. Your own snaked around his torso and you leaned into him. His embrace seemed to clear out the thoughts you had only moments ago.

"Breathe with me," he suggested. Your chests rose and fell in rhythm and you felt grounded in each other. It was soothing for him just as much as it was for you and you felt like your mind was more your own than it was just moments before.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" you asked.

"Of course. I'll stay with you every night if that is what it takes."

You stood up and he put out the fire before putting a hand on your back and walking onto the ship with you. You got settled into your bunk and he brought his pillow, laying so that you were between him and the wall. You leaned into each other and loosely left an arm around the other's waist.

"Promise me," he softly requested again.

"I promise I'll come to you."

"Good. I can't lose you."

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead to yours. In the quiet of the ship you fell asleep together.

[sulphuricgrin]

Sometimes I just want to lay down in the forest and just

Shed my human skin and let nature take me

Let my blood run with the stream

Consume me and let my bones return to the earth

Let my last breath gift mushroom spores to the air

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

1,375 words, mentioned Maedhros/fingon, post nirnaeth, singular stabbing, passive suicidal ideation:

Himring held a rigid, silent vigil. Beyond, the plains of Aglon were burning. We cannot close it against the enemy, Maedhros had said, if it cannot be ours, let it be no one’s. That strip of ravaged land had once been Celegorm’s, and he felt strange now, watching it turn black in the sharp frost of early morning light.

Nirnaeth had become a dreadful blur. Celegorm wasn’t even sure if he had believed they could win, but had revelled in the blood on his sword— and when Ulfang turned against them and the blood on his hands ran from black to red, the smoke of dragon fire had seemed to invest very mind, and he had curled in on himself, and did the only thing he knew to, he sought is brothers.

Maglor had led the retreat. Everyone was bleeding. Maedhros’ voice rang clear and terrible from the rearguard, his people fenced their casualties from the enemy, the sun fell in a blaze of red and heat, and Celegorm led a horse saddled with three of his wounded men.

They had lost soldiers even as they drew to Himring, but Maedhros— steely, cruel Maedhros— had not let them stop until they reached the hill. Celegorm couldn’t remember if he had fallen asleep or simply into a stupor, but hours had vanished like dust on the wind, and only now he felt awake again.

Caranthir had been terribly wounded. Maglor was with him. Amras was sending his people at Maedhros’ command to their southern settlements, where those who could not fight had remained. Maedhros had taken a fearsome tally of losses, somehow wrangled their rout to order, somehow established a chain of command, somehow got them through this.

Celegorm was bitter. That the man who got us into this mess should also get us out of it. I’m sure it is all nothing to him.

He looked again westward over his burning land, then stood, and sought his eldest brother.

The sun was cresting weakly over the eastern mountains, thin and wan, air damp and blue in the hilltops, when Celegorm found him. Maedhros was pacing by the conifers at Himring’s southwest border, forward, back, forward, back, he had worn a track into the bed of rotting needles.

Celegorm watched him. His brother’s footfalls were silent, his jaw was clenched, his eyes were… Celegorm blinked. There was a startling look in Maedhros’ eyes, a very particular, fraying glint that Celegorm had seen only once before.

He had seen it in Fingon’s eyes when they had told him Maedhros was in Angband. Celegorm fancied that glint was a tripwire, burning down. All things considered, Fingon had lasted a while before he ran off to Thangorodrim.

Celegorm glanced west. There was no way to tell how the battle had fared with Fingon’s host. He looked back at his brother.

Maedhros would not last as long.

It would be madness to send messengers now, when their people were held together by sheer force of will, but it was madness precisely that seemed to consume his brother, such that he had not yet noticed Celegorm’s presence, such that his breathing was heavy and harsh.

Damned if I don’t stop him.

Briefly, Celegorm considered binding his brother, so that he could not escape. Maedhros would only break the bonds. Then the spirit of vengeance swelled within him— he, after all, alone of our forces is unwounded— and he drew his sword.

When Maedhros’ back was turned, Celegorm skewered him through the liver. There was an crisp squelch, and Maedhros made a choked, surprised noise, but he did not fall. Celegorm said, “Brother.”

Maedhros was very still. “Is there a reason for this?”

“Calm down,” Celegorm said, “it will do you good.”

He saw Maedhros’ muscles tense, his eyes twitch, nostrils flare, “I don’t have time for this,” he said, “save your grief and your vengeance for those who will better be wounded by it.”

“What’s that, brother?”

“Did you plan to kill me?”

“No.”

“I would not be surprised if you did.”

“Sometimes I believe of all of us, you are the one who wants yourself dead the most.”

“On account of me knowing myself the most.” Maedhros did fall now, to his knees, his tunic coming up bright red in the morning light, his breathing now ragged.

“I do mean it,” Celegorm said.

Maedhros replied, “Just leave me here.”

His brother said only, “don’t move the sword,” and left.

Slowly, Maedhros keened forward, and lay on his face in the needles.

The steel of his brothers sword had severed something within him, carving through more than flesh and muscle. The fervour of battle had trembled and fallen at his brother’s quiet words, frozen and hung like a dreadful spectre. Maedhros could not feel the pain. He thought perhaps he would die.

He knew why Celegorm had done it. Or rather, he didn’t, but he welcomed it regardless. I would stab myself too. Maybe it was hatred. Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was the same madness of defeat that had led their father to exile their people, or Maglor to slay Uldor.

He lay very still. An awful cold was seeping into him.

Maedhros thought about dying. If he died now, he would not stop himself. Yet he knew the wound would not kill him. It would incapacitate him. My brother has stabbed me. With a humourless huff, my brother has stabbed me in the back.

Maedhros should be there.

He should be riding Nan Dungortheb, or back across the planes, alone and desperate, he should be sending messengers, he should be gathering information. He should be there where the battle still raged.

He should be there with Fingon.

He cried, and his tears were as cold and bitter as Celegorm’ sword, at nightfall he fell into darkness, and demons haunted him.

He did not scream. He was assayed by visions of bloodshed and death, the Nirnaeth swirled before him, he bethought to run in a madness across the battle plain, thinking he had left something there, his gauntlet or his brothers or his love, but he could not move, because he had been stabbed. His vision went red, and grey, and purple, and black. Another morning rose.

When Celegorm walked to the conifers again that evening, he did not expect to see his brother still lying there. He wondered for a brief and chilling moment if he really had died.

Still sore and weary from the battle and the loss, he thought, perhaps, that would not be so bad.

But Maedhros was not dead. He saw Celegorm as he approached, watched him as he knelt. “Will you finish me off,” he said. It was hardly a question. Celegorm did not know if there was any emotion in his brother’s voice.

He felt suddenly wretched. Why did you do this? Why would you stab your brother? Look at him; he has been broken; there is no life in his eyes.

But at least he is alive.

“What do you want,” he said finally, “really?”

“I want to go find Fingon.”

“See, I couldn’t let you do that.”

“You a cruel.”

“So are you.”

“You will kill me?”

“No. Hold still.”

Celegorm drew the sword from Maedhros, and inspected the wound. It looked as if Maedhros had not moved at all. He did his best to seal it, and bound his brother’s torso, leaving his tunic and shirt bloodstained and tattered on the ground.

Maedhros had not flinched. Celegorm wondered if he was revisiting old memories, and wondered again at his awfulness, but then he saw his brother crying.

“Maitimo.”

“There’s nothing left of me, Tyelko.”

“I don’t know. You have me.”

“He could be dead.”

“Come now, you’re wounded. You should rest.”

His brother almost laughed, tears burning gold in the evening light, eyes wide. “I don’t know what will become of me,” he whispered.

Celegorm suddenly felt like crying himself. “Let’s get you home,” he said, and the words felt foreign on his tongue, he helped his brother to his feet, and Maedhros had never seemed so thin, so gentle, so simply human as he did now. It scared and relieved him. They turned and walked back to Himring.

i need to see Maedhros be literally stabbed in the back and left laying on his face for the better part of a weekend amongst the trees

[pokeberry5]

red robin in his hot girl summer era

alts + closeup:

[bramblebeau]

.

[c0nji]

Finally canceled my doctor's appointment because seeing him for my ADHD+depression+trauma wasn't doing anything at all, even after almost three years.

Not that I was expecting a full consultation since he's a psychiatrist and not a therapist, but I expected a bit more from someone with his educational background and experience.

Told mom about my decision to quit meds, and her reaction to my explanation that I have passive suicidal ideations either way was nothing but a vague noise that sounded something like, 'Why are you telling me this out of nowhere?'

[lancelought]

a

want to be dead all the time but im fine actually like i feel good but i also want to be dead. its just how it is

[innalheid]

Continue to have dreams where I either do or come extremely close to committing suicide. really fun really great for my mental health

[wormheamer]

haha yeah. i wish i was trans, and not doomed to jump off a bridge someday. anyways— *sound of a 2007 honda accord plowing through the rear window of my house*

[cirnocube]

Guys I’ve been clean from cutting for like 6 months because of my terrible fear of dying not even joking

I literally have access to all the things I need to do it too,,

What’s even funnier is that I’m suicidal and afraid of death wtf

[honeypiecastiel]

There’s something so poignant about Ed laying on the deck of the revenge, covered in blood, water splashing over him, clearly in pain but there is a look of relief on his face. The “finally” as he smiles and Jim screaming as they hold the cannon ball really hits home how Ed had passive suicidal ideation but he also was taking action in destroying his life on purpose.

And it’s not even only about his passive suicidal ideation or his heartbreak over Stede. Ed feels he is completely unlovable, unchangeable, grotesque, a monster. Why else would Stede have left? He’s embracing the kraken in order to solidify that in his mind, if he lets himself act as a monster than he doesn’t have to face the hurt of loved ones leaving him.

There’s so much more though, as he stares up at his crew who he wanted to mutiny against him. This wasn’t a normal mutiny, Ed wanted it to happen. He forced the crew’s hand. These were people he cared about and people who cared about him. But Ed thinks he’s unlovable and he can’t face that people might actually care about him. So what does he do? He forces them to hate him, he acts crazy, chooses destruction again and again so that he removes the chances of being hurt the way Stede hurt him.

And he keeps forcing it and pushing them and pushing them. He tries to get Izzy to kill him because he can’t end it himself but he also wants the people in his life to fully and finally solidify that he is an unlovable monster by them putting him out of his misery but also showing that not even they care about him.

So there’s so much layers in that scene, because Jim crushing his skull with the cannonball is the final act for Ed. It’s him finally succeeding in removing all love in his life and allowing himself to truly believe that he’s a monster and not worthy of any joy, love, or care.

[magicalblerdpenn]

This evening, I realized that I'm passively suicidal. This means that I don't have any plans to kill myself but I am thinking, "I am a burden to everyone I know and maybe it'd be better if I wasn't here." Anna Borges wrote a great personal essay on passive suicidal ideation a few years back called, "I Am Not Always Attached To Being Alive" that describes everything I'm currently feeling.

You see, I don't have very convincing reasons for not wanting to be here. Sure, this month has been incredibly stressful for me as an unpaid caregiver to a mom who I have a complicated relationship with. However, I have survived experiences like this before. After all, I've been an upaid caregiver for ten years, since I was 22.

Not to mention that despite being bombarded by news of layoffs on Twitter, my freelance writing career is fine, good even.

I have a new poem being published online next month and may potentially place in a poetry contest I entered in January.

I lack of a social life, with folks my own age (early 30's), but I have bio family members that actually love and care about me. I also have 2-3 online support groups related to work and casual socializing, as well as a couple internet friends I'm close to.

I have also been unpacking trauma via half a dozen self help mental health workbooks for the past year. I've also got several coping mechanisms including journaling, exercising, playing video games, listening to mood improving music, breathing exercises, and digital drawing.

Prior to this, I didn't have any suicidal ideation (active or passive) for eight years. This made it hard to admit to myself that I'm passively suicidal now, especially after I recently told my close internet friends I was "doing better".

I'm not okay, but I want to stay.

There's a band that I love whose third album comes out this Friday.

There are video games I haven't beaten and played yet, books I haven't finished reading, anime I want to finish watching.

There is food I want to eat.

There is poetry I want to write, and maybe stories too.

There are people I want to talk to, on and offline, about anything and almost everything.

I am not okay but I want to stay. I may be passively suicidal but I am also hardheaded as hell. Depression can go fuck itself.

To quote one of my favorite comic book series: "Depression lies and so does Mistress Woe."

[bluishorange]

…

[mysteriouslyweepingasteria]

I want my father to be the first one too see my bloodied, bruised and wounded body adorned with a sinister smile on my pale face when he sees my dead body after I commit suicide. I want my mother to read all my letters written to her in secret and while she reads those letters her I want her soul to pierce open. I want my brother to get money, freedom and peace the day I die. I want my brother to get the love he wants in his life. I want the world to shudder when they see my dead eyes while I'm lifeless, my rage should be felt .i want everyone to see the monster i am as I want to haunt everyone. I want to haunt everyone. I want to haunt every human when I commit suicide

[perihel1on]

trying to weigh life decisions at a certain level of depressive anxiety is just

pros: may want to kill myself less

cons: may want to kill myself more

[folaireamh]

every new year it's 'okay i'll do better this year and i'll be better' and then the actual winter starts and i'm stuck inside because of the snow and everything is stupid and evil and i wanna kill myself and die