#tw: suicide thoughts

[giggly-squiggily]

Okay, but what even IS an emergency request? Like, for money?

CW: Suicide mentioned, abuse

Heyo! From my understanding, emergency requests are fics or headcanons in which someone’s going through a tough time and is in need of comfort.

Like- an example of it would be: “Could I ask for an emergency request with Tanjiro comforting a reader who’s having an anxiety attack” Or “Could I please have some Dazai headcanons comforting his S/O having suicidal thoughts” things like that.

They can range anywhere from little things like going through a break up or having an argument to much heavier subject matter like dealing with an abusive situation or mental breakdowns. Depending on the author and their rules is how many topics they’d cover. I haven’t seen anyone charge for them, so I can’t say if that’s a thing.

Now- just to be clear; I could be absolutely wrong about this completely. I don’t write emergency requests and don’t plan to so I’m by no means an expert on the topic. This is more or less what I’ve gathered from blogs I follow that do emergency requests. Those who are more knowledgeable- please feel free to pop in/reblog this with more info or corrections to anything I may have gotten wrong.

I hope that clears it up! Like I said- I’m by no means super knowledgeable on the subject so I could be dead wrong- but that’s what my understanding of it is.

[devinheirofhera]

status: open | @calamitousstarters​ location: on the beach

So much had had changed in the almost full year Andrew was gone from Calamity and his underwater kingdom. The responsibilities of his title and heartache had begun to fuse together inside his chest causing a pressure that instead of turning into a diamond - something strong and firm - it began to crack and crumble. He knew he was on the verge of a disastrophe that would have left him either broken more so, bruised or dead. It wasn’t healthy the way he thought about himself as he looked in the mirror each morning wondering ‘why bother’. Everything good in his life was gone because of him, tossed aside because Andrew never saw himself deserving of any of it; a family, love, people that relied on him. So, again, he knew it was only a matter of time before he gave into that small voice that had always lived in the back of his mind so he left. 

Well he left after talking to his wonderful wife with a plan in his hand. 

He left to go find meaning for himself, to help the kingdom that he was now partly in charge of as a way to give himself a purpose. Moving from mer-kingdoms to mer-kingdoms that weren’t part of Calamity and The Forgotten, Andrew used his quick wit and charismatic charms to get them to help his kingdom should a war break out. He wasn’t a strong fighter, he honestly was a bit of a coward but this he realized he could do well. And so he did. 

Alliances joined their side, some more eager to help than others and eventually Andrew soon found himself looking into the mirrors in the morning and no longer thinking ‘why bother’. He had found his new purpose and passion for life and when he felt that not only was his work done, but that spark inside him was strong enough, he made his way back to The Forgotten. 

Back home. 

Andrew had been home for a few days when he finally found the urge to step onto land for the first time in almost a year. Scale exchanged he took his first steps assuming that it would be like riding a bike-- It was not. Falling flat on his ass on the sand, he let out a dramatic sigh and rolled his head towards the nearest person because of course he wasn’t lucky enough to be alone for this moment of failure. “Care to help me up? Seems I have lost my land legs as embarrassing as this is.” 

[rainywhispersblog]

[saebaragi]

hi here's a reminder to check on your suicidal friend if they're not replying for days, yk, maybe they didn't kill themselves, but they would feel nice knowing that you care if they did. just a suggestion btw.

[blueskittlesart]

Now that you're gone

[winte-ry]

I'm sorry

Masterpost

Next

Previous

[skelekerrry]

I take you where you want to go

I give you all you need to know

I drag you down, I use you up

Mr. Self Destruct

Nine Inch Nails - Mr. Self Destruct

[pancakemolybdenum]

worlds smuggest tween owning noobs on wizard101

[hamoodmood]

[even-disco-baby]

THOUGHT GAINED: INFERNAL ENGINES

PROBLEM

The world is ending. You know it, your neighbor knows it, the dealer knows it, the jailer knows it, the king and all his men know it. All one has to do is look around to see it— the future is curdling into something pale and incorporeal. The infernal machine that is this stupid world is going to blow, sooner rather than later. So what are you doing? Why are you still here? Why is anyone still here?

SOLUTION

You are doing the only thing worth doing. You are living. *Why,* you ask? Try and remember now. Remember your mother’s hand on your shoulder. Remember the taste of a fresh catch. Remember the times when you were kind to the dogs in the valley and they did not bare their teeth. Remember the weight of a child on your shoulders. Remember the stars throwing their light against the wall of sodium and smog. Remember singing until your throat was raw. Remember crying just as loudly and publicly, and the gentleness with which someone opened your curled fist and pressed a handkerchief into your palm. Crying, laughing, running, eating, screaming, haunting, loving, fighting, fighting, fighting. The fight fuels you, and you fuel the fight. You run yourself ragged just for a chance to keep running. You never stop. You cannot stop. The world depends on it. *You* are the infernal engine. You are the world. And, simply put: you want to live.

[thenightmareofyourdrems]

                   ˜”*°•.     It  hadn’t  been  a   choice  out  of  heroism .  She  knew  Snowpiercer  just  as  well  as  Ben  had ,  she’d  taken  most  decisions  with  him  by  her  side,  he  had  nothing  less  than  her .  But  Marisa  just didn’t  like  him ,  did  she ?  She’d  known  it  since  the  beginning ,  noticed  the  bitterness  in  her  whenever  she  brought  up  his  name .   It’d  simply  been  the  perfect  chance ,  hadn’t  it ?  Take  away  the  one  man  on  this  train  that  she’d  loved .   ❝ Did  you  feel  bad  at  all ?  Just  a  bit  when  you  did  it . ❞  Because  she  hadn’t  witnessed  hesitancy,  hadn’t  seen  the  slightest  trace  of  guilt .  She  hadn’t  seen  the  expression  of  no  choice ,  no .  She’d  seen   clear  determination .  ❝ Or  were  you  enjoying  removing  him  from  the  picture ?  ❞ 

It’d  be  easy .  Using  the  blade  the  way  Marisa  had ,  save  the  world  from  herself .  They  still  had  passengers  on  this  train ,  though ,  passengers  she  was  responsible  for .  She  couldn’t  die .  As  much  as  she  was  certain  Marisa  could  save  them  herself ,  she  couldn’t  just  go .  Ben  was  dead  and  they  couldn’t  bring  him  back .  She  knew  the  train ,  knew  enough  to  protect  it  from  nature  itself .   Knew  enough  to  face  the  threat  that’d  emerged .  It  didn’t  matter  what  she  wanted,  after all,  this  was  a  curse  she’d  accepted  since  the  beginning .  It  didn’t  matter  if  she  lost  everyone  she  loved ,  she’d  made  the  train  split .  She’d  spoken  to  the  people  of  Snowpiercer,  she’d  convinced  some  of  them  to  stay .  She  was  responsible ,  she’d  always  been .  Death  was  a  choice  she  didn’t  have  the  right  to  make .  Not  now .  Not  until  there  was  nothing  left  to  save .

❝ If  you  ever have  to  choose  between  me  and  Alex,  you’ll  kill  me .  Do  you  understand  ? ❞  Voice  was  firm ,  serious .  She  would  never  accept  to  live  by  killing  her  daughter .  Would  never  accept  to  take  away  the  future  of  the  girl  that’d  been  tossed  into  the  madness  of  old  rivalries  because  of  her.  She finally  had  a  chance  to  live  normally.  And  if  she  ever  saw  her  again ,  if  she  ever  got  to  hug  her,  talk  to  her ,  she’d  let  none  and  nothing  touch  her .  Knife  was  dropped  onto  the  ground ,  eyes  just  briefly  catching  sight  of  him .  She  needed  to  concentrate  ,  she  knew  it .   Needed  to  snap  out  of  this  and  actually  come  up  with  a  solution .  But  she  couldn’t  do  it  with  her .  Couldn’t  even  stand  looking  at  her .

the villain, the lapdog & the sacrificial lamb. for weren't these the roles they had tossed themselves into? she would gladly take up the role of a monster, she could tolerate bennett's blarney, but she would not stay silent about the last of the three. it was not who melanie was. not the woman she had watched make difficult choices for nearly a decade. a woman who took on the weight of keeping the last remains of human race from extinction. a woman who knew some people had in fact more value than the others ; someone who would would spend sleepless nights at going through passenger's records, placing an X by the names, choose who will freeze or starve, & who gets to live once the resources would grow thin. choices, indeed, made together. blood staining one's hands as much as the other's. marisa wasn't going to watch melanie crumble under the weight of it. death had long taken on a disguise of long longed-for rest, & yet they were still here. still alive. still refusing to give up. still fighting. still responsible.

❝ yes, & i would dare to do so again & again. & would look into his eyes while doing so. ❞ however, it weren't his eyes she bored into, not his tears that kept falling, not hurt, & anger, & disbelief shouting louder than words ever would. her own showing no remorse nor no regret — regret over watching all they had attempted to build together crack & break, watching it shatter. many times had she pondered upon things she could have done in order to choke off those suicide missions, pondered upon the ways in which those attempts would make the woman before her hate her more than she ever had before. plots never executed, fears coming alive— — — nevermore.

fingers gone loose around the handle, expecting nothing less than to feel ruby-stained edge against her own artery. the thought of it not enough to make her even flinch. contrary to the sight playing out before her eyes instead. ❝ what are you doing? ❞ she asked abruptly, her own body suddenly stiff, paralyzed by the terror, now also reflected in her blue eyes — previously so cold, so unswayed — glued to the silver. she couldn't— wouldn't... wouldn't she? ❝ no, you're not thinking straight. put it down. ❞ she demanded. voice, however hard unwavering she attempted for it to stay, now slightly shaken. however much she wanted to knock the blade from the other's hand, she dared move. she wouldn't take the other's actions for no more than a threat, hesitation for unwillingness. ❝ if you do this, it's all gonna be in vain. ben's death will be in vain. you will never see alexandra again. is it really what you want? ❞ names she had no choice but to try to plant in the other's mind. to make her remember there were still people she would be fighting for. ❝ hand it over... please. ❞ a whisper as she made a tentative step closer.

[sad-empty-lost]

I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again.

[birdsribcage]

Just a silly little girl with silly little thoughts of suicide

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Autistic and “struggling to “let go”

Neurodivergent Lou

[strangersteddierthings]

What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One���Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

Prompt from @devious-kitten

Steve had a mild interest in DnD as a freshmen because of a cousin or something. The interest was killed by Eddie being mean since Steve is a jock. Post vecna Eddie finds dust covered DnD handbook Steve explains and Eddie faces a still hurt Steve as a results of his biases

((Half written fic, half rambling about how it would go down. Apologies for the formatting. Also I added more angst than the prompt called for hehe))

Steve has always loved sports. This is a well-known fact. He's played on some sort of sports team from the time he was old enough for his parents to be able to sign him up.

A lesser-known fact is that Steve loves fantasy. Or, at least, he used to. On the playground in elementary school, Steve could often be found playing knights and dragons, and it was anyone's guess if he would be a knight or a dragon on any particular day.

The summer between middle and high school, Steve spent with his grandparents from his mother's side, on the farm they'd retired on in Michigan. A month long stay that he'd shared with his cousins, Amber, Robert, and Christopher. Amber and Robert are twins, four years younger than Steve, and Christopher was two years older and infinitely cooler than anyone else Steve knew.

Christopher was on the varsity basketball team at his high school when he was just a sophomore, captain of the JV football team, president of the chess club, and in a games club.

Christopher was everything Steve wanted to be now that he was going to be in high school. Minus the chess club because

It was during that summer, Steve got to indulge in playing make believe for another summer with his younger cousins, without the judgement of people (his father and peers) who thought he was too old for such things. He also got to learn about make believe for older kids, because Christopher played a game called Dungeons and Dragons with his game club the last month of school before summer break and spent many evenings going over what had happened with Steve as a captive audience.

"I wish I'd brought the books," Christopher had whispered to him one night from the bed, peaking over to look down at Steve in his sleeping bag on the floor, "we could have played."

Steve wishes he'd brought the books, too.

At the end of July, Christopher, Amber, and Robert's parents show up to pick them up, five days before Steve's scheduled flight to Indianapolis. It's a sad goodbye because one summer a year isn't enough with his cousins but they live in Washington. Steve's always jealous their parents drive all the way to pick them up, but a little proud he gets to brag about how he's flown alone since he was seven. No one else in his class can brag about that.

His mom picks him up in Indianapolis and they go back to school shopping while there.

A week later, Steve receives a package from Christopher. Inside Steve finds Advanced Dungeons and Dragons books, three of them, and even though Christopher said nothing about advanced, he's sure he can manage. On the inside cover of the players handbook, Christopher has written:

Hey Steve, I think you'd rock playing a dwarf paladin. Let's play next summer? Christopher 1981

He spends the last three weeks of summer vacation reading the player handbook cover to cover and making a character. It's slow going, because letters don't stay where they're supposed to be on the page (that's a problem he's had his whole life, so he's not surprised but he is determined), and he's never been good at math, so getting the stats down on paper isn't easy. He can't decide what he wants to play, so he makes two characters; an elf magic-user and, of course, a dwarf paladin.

(He's a little disappointed you can't be a dragon.)

Steve's never been one to dread the first day of school, but he's never actually looked forward to it, either. It's just been another day.

Until today.

Today is his first day as a high schooler. And the only people who go to the first day are Freshman, except the upper classman that have volunteered to man the booths for school activities for the last hour of the day. It's supposed to help the Freshman get the lay of the land without being overwhelming and Steve's excited for it. He needs to see if Hawkins High has a games club like Christopher's school does.

Here Steve is, that last hour of school. He's already been to the basketball booth, promising to sign up as soon as the season started, and the swim booth because he's got a pool at his house and has been swimming for as long as he can remember and knows he enjoys it. He also stops by the football booth even though he's never played, or cared much, for it. (Maybe he's trying to emulate Christopher, sue him.). So, the final thing is to see if Hawkins High offers a chess club and a game club.

Steve is delighted to see that, though there is no games club, there is a Dungeons and Dragons club! That delight wavers because of the kid manning the booth. His hair is curly and falls just below his ears, with big brown eyes. Steve hates to think it, but he'd be cute if he didn't look like he wanted to stab Steve.

"Yeah, no, keep walking," says the boy, pulling the flier with meeting information on it out from under Steve's hand, where he'd been attempting to read it.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed in confusion. "I was reading that."

"And I said no. Jocks don't play Dungeons and Dragons."

"I could," Steve says, offended. He squints at the name tag sticker slapped diagonally across the way too big jean vest this guy's wearing. E-d-d-i-e. Eddie.

"Have you ever played?"

"Well... no, but-"

"No buts. Mitch let a jock join last year and that was a nightmare. He could barely read the rule book. And with how you were squinting down at the flier, and then my name tag, you're not going to be much better."

Jokes on Eddie, Steve's already read the rule book. Even if it was slowly. "I can read just fine."

"Can you math, then? What's eight plus seven?"

"What?"

"Simple addition. Eight plus seven. What is it?"

Steve knows simple addition. This is fine. It doesn't matter than he's been put on the spot, and that math is hard for the same reason as reading. He can do this. His hand twitches with wanting to pull it up and use it to keep track. He's faster at math when he can do that, but this jerk is mean mugging him and he just knows if he moves his hand, this guy will mock him the rest of the school year.

Eight plus seven. Ok. Make it easier, get to ten. It takes adding two to the eight to get ten. Ok. Take that two away from the seven now. That makes... five! Ok. Ten plus five is-

"Dude, it's fifteen," Eddie snaps.

"I knew that!"

Scoff. "Right. How about seventeen plus six."

Steve can feel his face turning red with embarrassment but he's not going to let this jackass be right. Round up. It takes three to get seventeen to twenty, so take three away from the six-

"23. Point proven. Go. Away. Go play your jock games and leave me- us alone."

Steve opens his mouth to argue, or maybe plead, that he can do this, and that, more importantly, he wants to do this, but laughter cuts through the air and for the first time, Steve notices the audience that has gathered. Three people are laughing at him, and his inability to do mental math, and it makes Steve snap his jaw shut and swallow.

"Mental math isn't that hard, Steve," one of them, Brant, says, as he elbows the guy next to him.

"Thank you!" Eddie says, "that's what I'm saying."

"Whatever, man, like I'd want to play make believe at this age anyway," Steve mutters and rushes away.

If, two weeks later, Steve watches Kyle trip who he now knows is Eddie 'The Freak' Munson in the bathroom, and drag him into a stall for a swirly, well, no he didn't. He briefly thinks of saying something to stop Kyle, but shoves the words down and instead turns on heel and leaves that bathroom just as the sound of flushing and Eddie yelling start. The thick bathroom door does a good job of muffling the noise and if Steve feels any guilt about that, he shoves that down, too.

Besides, Kyle's the captain of the basketball team and if Steve wants a chance to be on that team, he can't stay anything. It's a well-known fact that Steve likes sports, after all. He's going to stick to that. Screw Eddie Munson and his Dungeons and Dragons club.

Steve will get to play Dungeons and Dragons with Christopher next summer.

Except, halfway through the school year, Steve and his parents quickly board a plane bound for Washington. Turns out being as perfect as Christopher was is hard. Overwhelming.

They arrive the day before the funeral, and fly out right after it. Steve barely has time to mourn before they're shuffling him back to school that Monday.

Christopher died, and with him, so does Steve's desire to be just like him. He quits the football team. He keeps basketball because he does like it, even without Christopher's influence. He can't bring himself to get rid of the Dungeons and Dragons books, but he can't look at them, either. They end up in the downstairs hall closet, forgotten on the shelf.

So, years later, after rising to the top of the food chain (no one was ever going to embarrass him like Eddie Munson had again) and then falling to the bottom (who cares about high school popularity when interdimensional monsters exist) and of course, the years of fighting against said interdimensional monsters before ending it all in spring of '86, Steve finds himself, unwillingly, agreeing to host Hellfire since the school banned the club following the events of spring break.

Damn Dustin Henderson. Steve usually has the backbone to say no but Dustin had to play up 'getting a chance to finally just be kids' and fuck, how was Steve going to say no to that? Despite how quickly his own desire to be a freshman playing Dungeons and Dragon had been squashed, he can't be the one to ruin this for them.

"Thanks for hosting, man," Eddie says when Steve lets him in. He's an hour early but had asked if that was okay. Apparently the dungeon master has a lot of prep to do? Not that Steve would know.

"Sure," Steve says, dismissively, because while Eddie and he went through hell together, and Steve carried his sorry ass out of the Upside Down, Steve can't quite let his guard down around him.

It's funny. In the Upside Down, Eddie had made a point to tell him he's changed, is a 'good dude' now. So, what's funny is how much Eddie is exactly the same person he was five years ago. He was an ass to Steve five years ago, and as far as Steve is concerned, was also an ass to Lucas for wanting to play basketball just this year.

He swears to God, if he hears one negative thing about Lucas tonight, he's punching Eddie unconscious, no matter what the rest of Hellfire will do or say about it.

Eddie's been in his dining room for maybe five minutes before he finds Steve in the living room. Steve's got a movie playing but he couldn't tell you which one. He's not really watching it.

"Do you got a table cloth for that big table? Jeff's got a set of metal dice and I'd feel like a real ass if we scratched it on accident."

Steve takes a deep breath before answering. He hates that Eddie is considerate like this, has been since spring break if Steve's being honest, but he doesn't want to see Eddie's good qualities. So, he waves in the direction of the closet. "Yeah. There should be some in the hall closet there. Help yourself."

"Thanks."

He twists on the couch to watch Eddie cross the room to the closet door, listens as the door creaks opens, hears the quiet, pleased noise Eddie lets out when his eyes land on the stack of table clothes. Steve continues to watch as Eddie just grabs the whole stack and yanks them off the top shelf.

Which means his watching as the stack of non-fabric objects, which must have been half atop the table clothes, also tumble out of the closet, bouncing off various parts of Eddie. It's a bunch of miscellaneous items. However, Steve realizes with horror, the book that bounces off Eddie's head is his copy of the Monster Manual. Eddie has stepped back in surprise (and possibly pain), so the Dungeon Master Guide and the Players Handbook bounce off his torso and leg before landing on the ground.

"Fuck," Eddie curses, before he stares down at what just assaulted him. Steve just stares at Eddie, watching as he slowly comes to comprehend what he's seeing. He watches as Eddie bends down and grabs the Player Handbook, the last thing to fall, from a top the pile. "What the-"

Steve stands, suddenly defensive, but doesn't actually say anything or move closer. He just watches as Eddie examines the book, flipping it from front to back in his hand like the title will change if he does that enough times.

Then, Eddie turns to him, bewildered. "Present for one of the kids? Thought they all had their own copies."

"No."

Eddie flips the book open. Reads the words written in there so many years ago. "Who's Christopher? Wait. 1981? You were playing D&D in 1981?"

"None of your business, and no," Steve says, now kicking into action, stomping up to Eddie and snatching the book from his hands.

Eddie hold his hands up in defense before his eyes turn mischievous. The same glint in them now that was there when Eddie'd leaned into this space in the RV and called him big boy. "Are you lying to me, Stevie? You've played before, haven't you?"

It makes Steve's blood boil. "No. I haven't played!"

"Alright. You could now, you know," Eddie says. And it's the way he says it, all nonchalant and like he's trying to be coy about it- it tips something over inside Steve. A bottle that held his humiliation and hurt from all those years ago.

"Oh, now I'm good enough for D&D? Now I can join? Aren't I too much of a jock for you!?"

"Whoa, what's with the hostility-"

"What's eight plus seven, Eddie!?" Steve snaps. His memory might be shit these days, with all the concussions, but the unfortunate part about Steve is that he always seems to remember the bad. And he remembers Freshman First Day like yesterday. "No? How about seventeen plus six? Come on, mental math isn't hard. Or don't you remember? I'm just a stupid jock too slow on the uptake, or no, what was it you said? It'll be a nightmare to play with me, 'cause I might be barely able to read the rules?"

He watches as Eddie's face morphs from confusion, to understanding and horror. "Holy shit, Steve. That was you- you wanted to join Hellfire-"

"Yeah, and you made it pretty fuckin' clear I didn't belong in it."

"I'm sorry man. I shouldn't have- if I'd known you, I never would have-"

"That's the problem, Eddie!" Steve shouts, waving the book in front of him. "You didn't know me. You looked at me and decided for me that I was going to be a jock and nothing else and then humiliated me in front of other people! You didn't even bother to try to know me. I spent three weeks reading this stupid book cover to cover because I knew I was shit at reading and I still wanted to try anyway."

He sees Eddie puffing up in anger. "Well, I wasn't exactly wrong, was I? You were a jock, a bully even!"

"Yeah, because I was a dumb, hurt kid who decided that it was better to hurt than be hurt. As if you weren't exactly the same that day, lashing out at me first, at my reading ability, and mocking me for not being quick at math. Fuck you, Munson!" Steve walks away, not hearing anything Eddie shouts after him as he sprints up the stairs and shuts himself in his room.

Steve knows he was a dick in high school, and it's not Eddie's fault he was a dick. Steve made choices he's not proud of and no one forced those choice on him. But Eddie doesn't get to throw that back in his face. Not when Eddie made him feel humiliated and stupid on the first goddamn day of high school, long before Steve became mean himself.

[nyancrimew]

guess i'll kill myself another day