#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.

[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

[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*

[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

[arcanarix]

cw // yandere geto, depressed fem!reader (human, non sorcerer), passive suicide ideation kinda

yandere geto who meets a depressed darling. a disillusioned darling. can’t find a reason to keep fighting yet smiles through her job, her friendships, her day to day. but she’s slipped into a hellish mental trap years ago.

she’s lost any and all zest for life that when he finally takes her captive, she has no visceral reaction. nothing. zip. she accepts it. he finds it absolutely perplexing yet he is so curious to find out why she’s so calm about it. she’s not okay with it, he knows she’s not, yet she accepts everything he does.

he confronts her about this one day. she reminds him too much of himself, in some ways.

“why do you let me do this?”

“because maybe i hope i might feel something, that i can fight for something,” she admits with an empty grin. her eyes have no shine to them, he notes. he pities her—it’s pathetic that even simple humans can’t find a purpose in their simple lives. “but i guess, not even something as dastardly as this can spring something to life in me, huh?”

geto frowns, deciding that he has a new goal: to bring that spark in you back, and perhaps, protect that flame with his life. because that’s another way to keep you wrapped around his finger. if you become dependent on him for some sliver of hope that it can get better.

only as long as you’re by his side.

[dandylovesturtles]

Leo & Donnie, trick (Please no character death, thank you!)

This will make more sense if you read the previous trick or treat (the Leo and Draxum trick)

Unfortunately this has become. a whole Thing. I didn't plan for it, it just happened. I'm currently calling it the Sidelined AU

CWs: Internalized ableism, light passive suicidal ideation

---

Here's what being stuck in a demonic suit of armor for two days gets you:

Brittle bones.

No mystic powers.

Hovering brothers.

A catatonically depressed dad.

A catastrophic decrease in muscle mass.

Chronic fatigue.

A concerning amount of brain fog.

A bedroom on the ground floor (under construction).

Sensitivity to light and smell.

And a wheelchair. Apparently.

Donnie brought it in ten minutes ago, and he's spent that long infodumping about all the features he's built into it. Leo hasn't really kept up, because of the whole brain fog situation, and because he doesn't normally listen to infodumps of this length, anyway.

Instead he's been focused on keeping his lunch down. Something about the wheelchair twists his gut in a sharp way. It just feels so... final. Like if he sits down in that, he's officially given up.

Donnie is still rattling on. He's been smiling the whole time. Leo doesn't know what about his situation invites smiling.

(Some part of his brain, the less bitter and angry part, notes that it's the same smile Donnie has whenever he shows off new tech. Leo ignores that part of his brain.)

"Any questions?" Donnie asks him suddenly, and Leo blinks his way out of his own thoughts. Donnie is looking at him expectantly. Still smiling, his hands gesturing at his creation. The wheelchair. Leo's gut twists again and he swallows forcefully. Reaches over and sucks down the last of the water from his water bottle, and even that simple motion takes Herculean effort.

He's already forgotten what the question was, so he says, "No," because he feels that sums up all his feelings about the situation.

"Excellent," says Donnie, because he can't read a room to save his life. "Then do you want to take it for a test run?"

Leo stares at him so he doesn't have to look at the chair.

"No," he says again.

Finally, Donnie's smile falls. It morphs into something concerned, and Leo isn't sure he likes that any better.

"You said you were feeling alright," he says.

Sure, he did say that, because all he ever says when they ask how he's feeling is "alright." Well, that's not true. Sometimes it's "okay." Or "fine." Or, "Jeez, Raph, stop worrying about me before that chasm gets any bigger."

The point is, he did say he was feeling alright, but alright isn't good enough for... whatever this is.

He struggles over his words for a bit before finally getting out, "I don't need a wheelchair," which is the main point, as far a he's concerned.

Now Donnie's expression turns more frustrated. "Yes you do."

"No, I don't."

He sighs. "Leo, we've been over this. Your legs aren't strong enough to carry your weight, and you can't risk a fall in your condition. Do you want to be healing from a broken pelvis on top of everything else?"

He doesn't. But he doesn't say that, just stares stubbornly at Donnie to avoid looking at the chair.

"The wheelchair is only for now," says Donnie. "Once you've recovered enough, a walker, then a cane, or crutches. We've been over this-"

"I don't need a cane," says Leo, cutting him off. "Canes are for old people."

"They are not," Donnie argues. "They're for whoever needs them. Which includes you."

"I don't need one."

Donnie grumbles something under his breath that Leo can't hear, because damaged hearing is another one of the things being trapped in a demonic suit of armor for two days gets you. "Alright. Is there something wrong with my engineering?"

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, is there something unsatisfactory about the chair that I can fix so you would be more willing to use it." He gestures at it. "It's okay if my design isn't to your liking. I have others."

Leo shakes his head. "This isn't about your engineering." This isn't about you.

"Well maybe if we make it about my engineering then you'll stop being so stubborn!" Donnie snaps, and Leo feels his hackles rising.

"Oh, screw you, Donnie."

"Screw me?" Donnie spits back. "Screw me for trying to help and not just watch while my brother lets himself waste away! Yeah, screw me."

"You don't have to watch anything," Leo snaps back. "The door's right there."

"What's your end game here?" Donnie demands, taking an angry step forward. "You complain about Raph carrying you everywhere, but you aren't doing anything to fix your situation. You won't exercise, you won't use the wheelchair - you're giving up!"

"I'm not giving up!" Leo lies.

"Yes you are and I'm sick of watching it!"

"Then leave!"

Donnie opens his mouth like he wants to argue further, but then he throws his hands up and turns on his heel. "I'm done," he says, then stalks out. He tries to slam the curtain behind him as he leaves, but because it's a curtain it just ends up swinging back and forth.

Which means Leo can clearly see as Raph and Mikey duck out of sight.

"Donnie, maybe you shouldn't have-" Raph begins, but gets cut off.

"I'm not treating him with kid gloves. If he wants to rot in bed then let him."

"He's having a rough time, so-"

"You can keep coddling him. But I'm done."

Leo hears retreating footsteps, then a heavy sigh. Raph is still right outside his room.

It takes him a moment, but he pokes his head in eventually.

"Heeey buddy," he says, adopting his baby voice, and Leo wants to scream but he doesn't have the energy. "Need anything?"

"No. I'm fine," he says instead.

"You sure? Because Raphie can-"

"I'm fine," he says again, tired, and lays down so he can stare at the ceiling. "I'm just gonna sleep."

"...Okay. Night Leo."

He's gone and doesn't come back. Mikey doesn't come, either.

Leo regrets his decision a few minutes later, because all that yelling made his throat dry and painful, but his water bottle is empty, and he doesn't have the energy to get to the kitchen, and if he uses the chair...

He groans, pulling his blanket over his head. Already, the brain fog is turning his thoughts to white noise, and the fatigue is pulling him down. Thirsty or not, sleep will come.

Another thing being trapped in demonic suit of armor for two days gets you: a cure for insomnia.

[guess-that-ship]

S11 Finals

Two Sides of the Same Coin

cw: major spoilers, suicidal ideation

Heads and Tails are the same person. Heads is the first, having been put in a situation they couldn't bear to be in anymore, and due to divine intervention is placed in a new body to guide Tails, who has been put in the same situation they were in. Tails does not know the real identity of Heads, and Heads intends to keep it that way. Due to their intense self-loathing, Heads passive-agressively lets it out at Tails, teasing him all the time, and yet they are the one person Tails can confide in about their situation, and both bond over it.

Eventually, everything is too much for Tails to bear, and they lash out at everyone, Heads included due to the secrets they've kept from him. The situation being all too familiar, in order to stop Tails from destroying themself like they did before, Heads, while never directly engaging with him, helps from a distance, guiding Tails towards his happy ending. And Heads hates it. It's not fair that fate wanted them to fail just so Tails could do what they couldn't.

When Tails returns, Heads explains everything about what happened to them, and forces Tails to fight them to see who gets to keep this happy ending. They hate Tails because they hate themself, and they hate themself because they hate Tails. But Tails doesn't feel the same way. When he wins, Heads just wants Tails to kill them and be done with it, but Tails refuses. It was thanks to them that Tails was able to get their happy ending, and it wouldn't be right to keep either of them from it. Heads fades away, their job done, but both promise to meet again.

The Moon and Stars

Star and Moon are childhood friends, always by eachothers side. Star is a quiet child, reserved and bookish, while Moon is loud and rough, often picking fights with the other kids. The two are inseparable, balancing eachothers worse tendencies while encouraging their best. During this time, Moon feels herself developing a crush on Star, but keeps it secret. However, as time goes on, circumstance pulls them apart, as Star's parents are killed in an accident and she is forced to leave her home. Now alone, Moon's more reckless tendencies are all she has left.

Life carries on for both of them. Star attunes herself to her magic potential, goes to college, and loses herself in her studies. Moon drops out of school, taking odd jobs and joining in criminal groups to get by. After many years, and by complete coincidence, Moon sees Star on TV one night, and all of those feelings from her childhood come rushing back. Moon drops everything and travels to where Star is, hoping to see her friend again.

When the two finally do reunite, Star is exhausted, both mentally and physically. While the sight of Moon brings her some comfort, the weight of the pressure she set upon herself is threatening to crush her completely. Moon gives her a chance to show her strength, offering to fight her. Moon wins the fight easily, with Star barely able to land a blow. Moon, deep in regret, tries to comfort her, only to find Star clutching a locket Moon had given her in their childhood. Moon, surprised she still had it, shows Star her own, which she had also kept all those years. Finally, the two decide to leave together, allowing themselves to rekindle the love and care they had for each other all those years ago.