#tw sui in the next tag

[t0t411y-n0t-hum4n]

"the morality of self harm" DUDE ALL I CAN THINK OF IS "FELLAS, IS IT GAY TO SELF HARM??"

[synthshenanigans]

You Sound Like Louis Burdett is a banger song I wish it was real 💔 [looking at you spotify]

skeleton-less & textless versions ✨ wahoo ✨

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I am exhausted, good heavens.

[beach-bear-enjoyer]

found another old playlist and thought it would be a fun little nostalgia trip. i was wrong

[hiodoshi-ao]

.

[charliespringverse]

writing fanfiction is a wild hobby bc i can be having a bright lovely day, feelin good, feelin healthy, and the way i celebrate this good day is by writing several thousand words of violent emotional suicide attempt aftermath .

[thisisabitofme]

tw: death, possible suicide, past experience of suicide loss

[h3xc0de]

who up thinking about the time ur "friend" who used you as their personal suicide lifeline during the darkest time of your own fuckin life literally drank bleach while you were on the phone with them actively begging them not to kill themself which you have a flashback to every single time you hear a person coughing 🙋

[almostvermin]

how i look going to meet my irls knowing im going to spend this evening witnissing two peoples substance addictions in full force and see another disappear every thirty minutes bc she has a serious ed thats giving her health complications and have everyone around me make genuine suicide jokes at the slightest inconvinence and not know if theyll actually follow through bc i wouldnt be too fucken suprised and we're probably gonna be called slurs at least twice and knowing im the only thing keeping them stable : 😁 (genuinly excited to see them but oooooh boy)

[rickypottsboyfriend]

yipe

halloween is on thursday and i have to finish making my friends jevil cos so i have to measure and cut 7 more spikes , press , sew with my broken machine and hope they all come out the same size and angle and shape and then sew them onto the base shirt AND THEN cover the bottom of the triangles with the rectangle of fabric pinned on the shirt which will act as the base , fucking beg and scream and cry that its even and spaced properly , hope none of the markings are showing from the shitty “ fashion chalk “ or whatever they are can be seen , cut the hood from the cape and finish the edge to make it look natural , and finish taking apart the bases of the neckpiece , measure it shorter but not too short that there isnt enough fabrix to cover the elastic , measure and cut everything to the right size , and attatch it all using either hand , which will be uneven and loose , or machine , which risks riping it coz the goddamn machine is broken which my mom refuses to help pay for a new one and wants me to ask for one for my birthday / christmas but a fucking sewing machine is NOT at the top of my purchases list for when i turn 18

tags might be triggering soz they mention sa and sui

[catparty41]

Guy who is completely serious voice: god, sometimes i just wish someone would shoot me in the skull. But like, not in a suicidal way or anything.

[angrycloudcrown]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[askallianything]

((Mun announcement!!! Alli's content is gonna be a lot darker for the next few weeks. I'll of course tag all triggering topics, but I wanted to let you all know the specific tags I'll be using! Everything will start with "tw" and then an abbreviation of what it is. For example, tw sui or tw sh.

ily all and thank you for interacting with Alli!! I promise I'll give her something nice after her depressive episode is over <3))

[the-boy-who-drank-the-stars]

A Discordant Choir

tw: blood, sh, implied sui thoughts

James wasn’t sure when the thoughts started. 

It had to be somewhere in third year, he was certain of that- but he knew nothing else. It was as if they’d appeared one day in his head, a whole collection that did nothing but whisper heedlessly. Though it was more likely they’d settled in over time, a process that had stretched over many years, unnoticed until too late. 

Sometimes the voices were quiet, silent even, like they found nothing to murmur about it- eerie occasions, really. Other times they hissed and groaned, muttering about something or the other, so loud and insistent that James’s head would throb. 

They were like a maddening chorus of complaints, an offkey tune that never stopped playing. Yet James had grown used to them, relied on them even. They kept him stable, in check; were it not for them, he would be running blind. Hearing those voices was the worst part of his day, yet he always listened for more. It was like sitting on the edge of your seat, watching a horror movie- you needed to know what came next, even if you shouldn’t. 

Maybe it was the voices that brought him here, to this moment, in the bathroom. 

It was a furnished, clean bathroom- Potter Manor would tolerate nothing less than pristine white walls and the faint fragrance of jasmine. Everything was spotless- too spotless, he thought. It was uncanny how well-off he was. No, not well-off- privileged. 

He stood, leaning over the sink, his hands clenching both sides of the counter as he stared into the mirror. In the fluorescent light, his skin looked pale, almost sickly- his hair was dark and mussed, but not in the artful way Sirius had taught him. His pupils looked dilated, his face thin and gaunt. He looked fragile, like he would break any moment. 

Privileged boy, indeed.

He reached for the blade that laid next to his fingers, running his hand along the sharp end. It had taken two hours to properly sharpen, but now that he examined it closely, he could admit it was worth it. Beautiful, the voices crooned, like a discordant choir. 

He lifted the blade to his arm, pausing only an inch from the skin. 

He had loving parents, loyal friends. He had money, popularity, charisma. He had everything to be desired by a boy his age. 

Yet it was too much, for someone like him. Too much and too good. 

He pressed the blade to his skin, almost hissing at the cold touch. He could almost smell the coppery scent of blood, could almost feel the twist of pain. Almost. 

Was it possible, to pretend any longer? To play along further? To preserve his image, his reputation, his sense of self? Could he do it? Could he lay down the blade and put the voices behind him?

A strong person could, whispered the voices. A strong person could do it all, easily, effortlessly. 

But James was not strong. 

He dragged the knife downwards, making the first cut.

***

dedicated to @aesthetic-writer18 (enjoy our wedding gift <3)

tag list: @themortalityofundyingstars @vivusmortuusexcrucior @randomravager

[charliespringverse]

writing fanfiction is a wild hobby bc i can be having a bright lovely day, feelin good, feelin healthy, and the way i celebrate this good day is by writing several thousand words of violent emotional suicide attempt aftermath .

[avatar-of-the-blank]

There is fog around me and back on the train the driver said “Bonus point to those who enter or exit through a door no one else has used today”

Should I be concerned?

ooc //TW sui*de implications, incase blocked tags dont work

They've become hung up on the words now. Is it a literal door, or is it some sort of way out? If it's a way out, then a way out of where? The train station? Their home town? Their own head, where all of this overthinking is happening? They ask some question to the blog that supposedly answers questions about weird shit like this, but, who knows when this guy is gonna see it. So, steady on they go, clicking off their phone and shoving it back into their bag, rolling their bag across the ground, trying to find a map, or directory, or a help station. The directory they found was barely visible through the dense fog, and none of the markers were legible, except the star in the center- 'YOU ARE HERE'.

Trying to keep a steady head, they walk onwards to the next blurry point they might've seen on the map. A long line of people hang their heads low, equally spaced apart. The one at the very front stared down the receptionist, whose head was buried in her palms. There was no point waiting in such a long line.

Their arm jolted out to someone passing by, mouth prepared with an 'Excuse me', which was all too soon shut down as the man flinched away from their touch. The same thing happened with the next person, and the next, and the next.

Where was the exit? The train was long gone, and no one was even getting close to each other, just scrambling frantically around with their eyes locked to the floor, looking for some way out.

As they eventually began booking it through the crowd in a panic, losing their luggage along the way, they found the reality of what the conductor meant.

The body on the tracks had two cuts clean through, segmenting it into three parts. People who came over to the tracks with the same idea turned away with a sigh upon seing the mans corpse. Someone was strung up on a sign, while another was crushed by piled up luggage and bags. Their expressions were the same as the people who were alive; vacant.

Choking back tears - as well as bile from the gory sights - they continued to move through the crowd, which parted around them. This was a nightmare, a room full of people and no one able to help, everyone just looking for a way out, some unique way out.

Passing by corpses dead all in new creative ways, they slowed to a halt. Waiting by the tracks for the next train. Waiting. Waiting. As the cacophony of rolling bags, bodies falling and breathing, they wait.

I.. again, apologize. End-lonely statements are always so hard. Uh, anon, I hope your train comes.