#TW: suicidal behaviour

[uncanny-tranny]

Like obviously the whole "they're just doing [x] for attention!" is completely asinine because humans are social creatures who need attention to some capacity, but also... in your narrative, does everybody do things specifically for your attention? When somebody does something drastic or shocking, is it not because they're desperate for help but just because they crave your attention specifically? Does the sun rise and set at your command as well?

[lisathegoodgirl]

Hi,

Welcome to my brain, sorry it's a little messy, i just haven't felt like cleaning up. In a self destructive era.

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

She/her

Mentally 15, physically 32 hence living on borrowed time. Sometimes i age regress further

Mandurah, Western Australia

I would like to make friends, i actually mean it. I will message you back and follow back!

Likes:

Rotting in my room

Overthinking

Tate langdon!

Violet Harmon

Disappointing people and driving people away

SFW age regression, my little age is 3-5 (not sexual, this is to have comfort, joy and have my emotional needs met). Age regressiom/inner child healing blog @mermaidwaiter

Black swan

Pink

Barbie

Bluey!

Miffy

Hello kitty

Southern gothic/catholique

Dollete

Lana

Lily rose depp

2014 tumblr

Raging borderline

Virgin suicides

Chronic pain

Girl interrupted

Juice WRLD, lil peep, $u1c!de boys etc

Cold weather

Makeup

Grunge

Y2k

Romanticizing my mental illnesses

Melancholia

Pr0 4n4 for me not for thee

Journalling

P!ll$

Cherries

Nostalgia

I may occassionally reblog n$4t conent but softcore, 3d thoughts, SH thoughts, $vic1dal thoughts and drvg$ but i put in a trigger warning.

Straight, taken, do not respond to sexual dm's. In a dom/sub relationship with Daddy. My sex life has nothing to do with age regression! Yes sometimes i do look at your k!nk blog and it doesn't mean that you can message me, just let me enjoy your blog.

[king--of--ducks]

TW:SH, SUI ATTEMPTS (MENTIONED), SELF DEPRECIATION, SELF DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR.

[[Is mod Andrew ping-ponging between his two accounts for roleplay? Yes, absolutely. And I run both blogs, so if I respond for one on the other acc, it’s fine, they’re both me.]]

Mammon kicked down the door to Lucifer’s bedroom.

🍎WHAT THE FUCK, MAM’?!🍎

💵RANDOM ARM CHECK!!!💵

🍎W-WHAT?!🍎

💵I told you last time, I would start doing random arm checks to make sure you weren’t hurting yourself. The day before the big plan about your daughter, the stress? So, let me see ‘em.💵

@mammon-money-maker

Lucifer shook his head slightly, pulling his blanket up around him.

🍎You don’t need to coddle me like a fucking baby, Mammon, I’m perfectly okay.🍎

Mammon put one set of arms on his hips.

💵Yeah, and I’m a fairy fuckin’ princess.💵

Mammon walked over to Lucifer, sitting on the end if the bed, holding one hand out for Lucifer to take—only for Lucifer to shake his head again.

🍎I……I really don’t want too.🍎

[xxskyethetiredemoxx]

Venting yet again. Tw for self harm and suicidal thoughts.

Honestly, at this point, idk if there's even a point to trying to stay clean. Like, I'm probably gonna hurt myself again in the future. Might as well do it now too! It's not like I have anything to lose, is it?

Tbh, I might as well fucking die, cause what's the actual point anymore? Who's gonna care? Maybe a few people might be sad for a bit, but I doubt anyone who's friends with me of all people actually cares. All I do is cause people more pain. I should only be causing myself more pain, not people who've done nothing wrong, and have just been nice to me. My friends are amazing, but like, I am so fucking sick of living purely for other people.

I know that this was kinda unfiltered, I'm sorry, please don't report me, I can't fucking deal with it.

[4qu3er1us-punk]

one of the worst feelings is your parents not understanding.

“mom, im trans”

“i dont know about that, you dress pretty feminine”

until then i had essentially no masc clothing or anything and i was bullied for being ugly so i wore makeup. like

“mom, i think i have an eating disorder because i hate eating and am never hungry”

“is it because you wanna be skinny? do you not eat to be skinny? youre already skinny youve always been picky.”

it used to be because i thought i was fat when i was like 8 and it’s evolved into this since then but is no longer for that reason..

“mom i think im depressed. (explains symptoms of severe depression and borderline suicidal ideation but doesnt go into it or my hidden self harming because she’d be mad)”

“thats normal.”

what the fuck. also i got diagnosed so that shut her up

“mom can i go out with friends?”

“no. it doesnt matter that EVERYONE IN YOUR GRADE has had a sleepover before or gone to their friends houses or can go to a park a BLOCK AWAY from their house, their parents are crazy. besides you have to eat first its not my fault you refuse to eat”

so every parent of a high schooler in the world? and then she expects me to be PERFECT and happy but not hyper happy just not sad and mature and respectful and get straight a’s. also mom im not hungry and gave you a chance to look into it but fucking fine.

fine.

im. done.

im not gonna 💀 but im just done talking. im not talking unless im interacted with first anymore. im not doing anything other than exactly what she says anymore. i wont talk to my friends or do extracurriculars, just school. i will become a literal npc, since thats what she wants. she wont even call me her son or male terms, she rarely uses he/him and just uses they them, and on occasion calls me my preferred name rather than sis. she still calls me my deadname sometimes. she compares it to if she changed her name to lisa and i had to call her that. the difference is its not for mental health and safety and I WOULD DO IT CORRECTLY. is this toxic or am i dramatic? i just cant do it anymore.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

still thinking about that one time one of my friends' mother told me that at my age she would have killed herself except for the people who would have had to find her (and that she was glad she didn't). when she was telling me about how sometimes you do or don't do things for other people, not for yourself (this was as a response to my needing sutures for self harm that one time, in fact). and I. it should bother me, I know it should. but a non-zero part of me simply goes 'it would be fine if i did xyz and then told medical professionals so that it wouldn't be normal people finding me'. I don't care. I've freaking thrown up blood and not cared and kept going (clearly, I was fine, and that's only been like once... I think).

I think studying to become a nurse, especially the mental health subject, has desensitised me to a potentially dangerous degree. hm don't like that.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

uhhh I kinda went crazy with this. might edit it for ao3 in the morrow bc I love it that much. the allium duo joint exile fic

tw: abuse, kidnapping, injuries, suicidal ideation, self hate, manipulation, brainwashing, vomiting, ableism (either unintentional or solely as a manipulation tool), mutilation, starvation, possessive behaviour, obsession, threats

it's raining, when they’re exiled.

ranboo has his suit jacket pulled over his head and when droplets slip through to the tips of his claws he hisses and jitters. sometimes, it looks like he'll almost disappear and reappear, like the endermen he so resembled, but instead he falls to the ground with a pained screech, the calves of his feet burning on impact with the sodden ground where his skirt isn’t long enough to protect.

still gripping painfully onto tommy's arm, dream slowly walks back to where he fell, and hits him with the butt of his axe. the screech of pain is distorted, almost otherworldly, and it’d be terrifying if it wasn’t so fucking sad.

“get up,” he hisses. “or i'll fucking kill you, and then-“

dream doesn’t have to finish his sentence. shakingly, ranboo gets onto their talons, wincing as they try and match the brutal pace dream immediately sets back on.

(he'd tried to save ranboo. he really had. he'd said it was all him, he lied, but ranboo had confessed, trying to get him out of this mess, and now he was in it too.)

(tommy wants to be sick.)

he’s not quite sure when and why things happen. they’re on a boat at one point, cramped and barely afloat. water sinks in and burns the bottom of ranboo's feet. there’s shouting after that. an explosion. a beach. tommy drags a shaking ranboo under a tree to keep the rain from falling on him. more shouting. more explosions. pain.  blood on his collarbone. pain pain pain. blurring vision.

tommy drags himself under the tree and curls up next to ranboo and hopes he'll fucking bleed to death.

——

it rains far too much in logstedshire.

that is what tommy names it, the logs tell him too. they send their messages from the primes. maybe, if he listens, they'll accept him despite his sins.

he doubts it. he doesn’t deserve it.

he dug a den on the first day, for ranboo to hide under, but even the dirt under there grew too damp and after tending to burns all across his face, he'd spent what energy he had left with the aching scars and bruises and gnawing hunger in his gut to hang up a tent. it's only big enough for one of them, but that's okay. tommy doesn’t mind sleeping on the beach.

(it allows him to pretend maybe the tides will come in and he won’t wake up at all).

he pinches himself. dream wouldn’t like him having those thoughts.

honestly, tommy isn't sure what dream likes. it’s not like he and ranboo were stupid enough to break the rules- they’d learnt that painfully over the first week. it just seems like dream always favours the one of them, and who that was switched on a dime. one day, he'd bring ranboo chocolate (watching him like a hawk to prevent him giving any of it to tommy) and hit tommy for daring to look at him. another, he'd spend all day hanging out with tommy and shout at ranboo until he cried when he so much as said a word.

it was easy to resent ranboo, sometimes. when he got hugs and gifts and food and got to spend the day playing around instead of being forced to mine. but tommy remembers the times where dream extended that kindness to him and remembered how awful it made him feel when ranboo was being treated like shit. it was almost worse.

he just tries harder to be good. if he's good maybe he'll be able to get dream to stop. if dream likes them both maybe everything would be okay.

it never is.

——

when ranboo shows tommy his memory book for the first time, he really is sick.

which is annoying, because he'd only had scraps ranboo had hidden today, but fuck. it was bad.

tommy could recognise dream's handwriting from a mile away. even if he couldn’t, the pages blatantly ripped out would give the game away, along with what was in the book.

“my name is ranboo,” the first line read. “my home is logstedshire. my best friend dream keeps me and my friend tommy safe here. l'manberg kicked us out so dream is helping. if we follow dream's rules to protect us everything will be okay…”

ranboo rubs tommy's back, as gently as they can. “are you okay? are you sick? i'll ask dream for a potion.”

tommy shakes his head weakly. “no, it's…”

he can’t fucking break this spell for ranboo, though. his throat dries up when he tries. ranboo was always the happier of the two, excited in a way that was almost funny in each passing day. it was like ranboo had become the loud, excitable one and tommy had grown quieter and more distant.

and this was why. he didn’t have a fucking clue what was wrong, did he? he's happy because he thinks this is safe, thinks this is normal. and maybe it's selfish of tommy but prime he wishes he could live in that fantasy land where he doesn’t know it’s not normal for your best friend to hit you and starve you and never explain why. at least one of them should get to live that life.

“nowt. just hungry.”

ranboo furrows his brow in concern. “i'll be good today, then.”

tommy feels sicker at that. dream had started switching from his weird hot and cold game to being… nice. usually. it was weird, at first, but it was alright. dream was a good friend, even if he wasn’t as cool as ranboo. but the thing was, it was even worse when they actually fucked up.

they wouldn’t be hurt at all. dream wouldn’t change a thing with them. it was always the other who bore the full weight. no food, no privileges, any sort of thing they’d earned the right to keep taken away. if it was more serious, then they’d be hit, or shouted at, and dream still sometimes used the axe. they’d be abandoned to tend to themselves and do the tedious work of survival while the one who actually fucked up would have the guilt eat up at them as dream chatted like everything was normal.

ranboo forgot to make armour to destroy yesterday. a grievous enough sin, apparently, that now tommy's still smarting bruises.

he's not stupid. he knows that isn’t right. he likes dream, it’s better to have him as a friend than a jail or and he was pretty sure he was trying to help, but what dream does to them isn't okay.

but ranboo doesn’t need fo be burdened by that knowledge. they, at least, deserve happiness, even if it is fake.

——

ranboo moans in pain as tommy finishes up bandaging the stumps where his tails once lay.

he can still smell the enchantment on dream's axe, hanging in the air like pollen. it almost drowns out the stench of blood and the ash of the ruins around them. he’s not sure which is worse.

it’s all tommy's fault. it has to be. he tried to pretend like he could own things, and he knew ranboo would bear the brunt of that punishment. dream had just done what he always had done.

“it's okay, big man, it’s okay,” tommy tries to soothe, running fingers through the overgrown mop of hair that almost reached down to ranboo's waist. he just flinches more.

tommy just screwed everything up, didn’t he?

a week. that was what dream had said. he'd visit in a week, to watch them. until then, it was all tommy's responsibility to take care of ranboo, and he wasn’t sure he could. there was just so much blood.

he shudders, thinking about what dream will do to him if ranboo dies on them. being without his best friend was bad enough, but dream could make anything worse.

tommy sobs, trying to keep the tears from landing on ranboo's already scarred and tattered skin the best he can. he fails, and the faint smell of burning flesh joins the horrible mix and ranboo lets out another faint moan.

if dream could see him now. he'd always been there to watch over them, and what if when he came back to watch, there was only one of them left?

“well, watch me now,” tommy mumbles to the air. he was meant to be there to watch them.

watch them. watch them. that sits wrong. he's meant to be their friend, right?

“you were only here to watch us.”

tommy mouths it more than speaking it, but it feels like a proclamation. he was only there to watch them. just watch. he wasn’t their friend. he didn’t care about making them better. what he cares about is watching them.

and then what? would he even care if ranboo died?

would he kill him himself?

“ranboo.” tommy hisses. “can you stand?”

“tommy?” ranboo slurs, eyes half open.

“ranboo! fuckin'- this is important, okay?”

“i- i think so-“

“okay, then this is what you’re going to do, big man. there’s a cabin through the snow that way.” tommy points vaguely in the direction of techno's place. “there’s more bandages there than i have. i want you to run there, as fast as you can, and not look back.”

“but-“

“i don’t know how to do this,” tommy admits. “i've dealt with shit before but never like this. if you have those supplies you'll at least have a chance of surviving. now go, before you die.”

“but dream-“

tommy's throat constricts. “i'll explain. he'll understand. he's our friend, right?”

ranboo nods, before stumbling up to his feet, limping across the ruins towards the vague direction of the tundra. tommy whispers a silent prayer to the primes that he’ll make it. that at least one of them will survive.

ranboo deserves it more than him, at least.

——

dream, unfortunately, did not kill tommy. if only he’d be that merciful.

he pretends it’s mercy. he pretends to be concerned and he treats tommy with condescending kindness until he doesn’t. then, tommy sometimes swears he does die, but when he's better dream is even more smothering and the cycle continues.

he’s not stupid. tommy knows why he does it. he wanted two pawns, and if he lost one he'd do anything to keep the other. nothing personal.

it's easier to see it like that, at least. it's hard, sometimes. but it's easier.

dream does not call the room he’s in a cell, but it is. it’s in a prison, and he's locked in most of the day. the baby-blue wallpaper and fuzzy carpet he'd installed hadn’t changed that, nor had swapping out the sparse furniture for a million blankets and decor more suitable for someone half tommy's age. he almost misses the dark obsidian and lava- at least that didn’t treat him like a child.

because even if sixteen was a child- he could admit to that now, because ranboo was certainly just a child- what tommy had gone through had undoubtedly aged him out of that.

they train, sometimes. on days where dream doesn’t panic when tommy has so much as a paper cut, or on days when he's not beating tommy's head into the wall. sometimes, tommy helps repair dream's endless supply of cloaks. sometimes, he cleans blood off of dream's weapons and tries not to think about how it got there.

(sometimes it’s his, and that’s easier.)

dream, in almost paternal tones, calls tommy his protege. under his breath, tommy calls himself a glorified servant.

every day, his thoughts drift to ranboo. his kind smile, the scars that ran jagged lines over his entire body, how absurd he looked in his half-ripped suit and tiara, trying to keep his hair in an orderly braid and failing miserably. dream would help sometimes, if it was a good day. dream insists on braiding tommy's hair the same way now, and tommy almost wonders if he misses him too before he reminds himself that dream does not care for either of them at all, because the alternative is worse.

(either way, it’s clear tommy would be the favourite. dream says as much, saying how thankful he is that tommy is the one that stayed because he was far more fun and ranboo was boring. tommy reminds himself it’s a lie and it makes him feel less sick.)

maybe ranboo is dead. part of him hopes he is. that way, he was free. the primes would surely guide his way, and he'd be granted the happiness he deserved. fuck, even if they didn’t, there couldn’t be anything worse than this.

could there?

——

tommy doesn’t know how long he spends in the prison before dream decides to take him out on his “first mission.”

which is a meeting. of fucking course it is. because tommy’s mission has always to be a glorified page, hasn’t it.

tommy skims his fingers over the waters edge absently as dream rows. maybe they’re leaving the server. maybe if they didn’t tommy could make his own escape. if he sank to the bottom it’d be deep enough no one could save him in time, if he were to jump. and if dream didn't constantly shift from looking at the ocean to tommy, clearly aware of the same possibility.

dream always got so fucking mad if he tried to die and failed, so it was best to make sure that the opportunity wouldn’t fail.

they stop too quickly to have gone far. idly, tommy wonders how far they must be from-

logstedshire.

the ruins lie there, same as always. tommy hadn’t noticed how bloodstained those ruins are until now, red and green.

the skeletal remains of two tails still lay on the floor, undisrupted.

“what the fuck.” tommy says under his breath. “what the fuck.”

“aww, didn’t you like the surprise?” dream laughs, and tommy immediately prepares for the worst. “chill out, i'm kidding. you act like i'm gonna kill you. we're obviously not here for this, we're going to see techno.”

tommy feels an equal amount of hope and fear bloom in his chest at that. techno's cabin was this way. and if it was, then maybe…

suddenly determined, tommy walks as quickly as he can, trying to match dream's confident strides even with the limp in his leg. he can barely feel the humid awfulness of logstedshire shift into the equally awful ice of the tundra, all caught up in his thoughts.

maybe there would be a grave. or maybe ranboo would open the door, or he'd be in the cabin, because surely techno would take him in. he'd be wearing a cleaner suit, and he'd have cut his hair back to shoulder length. they liked it long, actually, so maybe they’d keep it. they’d be smiling, like always, and they’d greet him with a hug. “tommy, it’s been so long!” they’d say. and, he hoped, they’d add “i realised dream was a fucking bitch” and tell techno to punch his lights out.

or maybe there would be no hints at what happened. but tommy can hope, even if he really shouldn’t.

when they get to the house, techno's already standing outside, waiting. “i dunno why you had'ta keep me waitin’ this-“ he says, cutting himself off once his eyes drift to- “tommy?”

“i told you it was important, right?” dream laughs.

“he's dead.”

“prime, no. he's… he wasn’t well, y’know. not in that place. so i found somewhere better for him, and started helping when i couldn’t before.” dream shrugs. “of course, that’d be illegal even though it was the right thing to do, so i kept it quiet. don’t go telling l’manberg, though, or they’ll have my head for not killing him myself or something.”

liar. liar liar liar. tommy wants to scream the truth to the world, but dream wraps his arm around his shoulders tight and squeezes his bruises, a reminder to stay quiet and be good. so he nods.

techno growls. “i knew they were bad, but…”

“it’s okay. i just thought maybe tommy needed a change of scenery, y’know? he's… he's fragile, after everything. he’s not well, y’know, physically or mentally. so he might say some weird stuff, but i knew you'd be able to handle that.”

techno snorted. “yeah, i got my hands full with ranboo-“

“ranboo? ranboo's here?”

he was alive. he is alive. tommy feels more sick than he ever has in his life and he’s not sure if it’s from excitement or fear.

“oh yeah, you two were in exile together, weren’t you? c'mon, he's in the livin-“

tommy pushes himself free of dream's grasp, excited to finally see his friend, practically his brother, again for the first time in- months, maybe. he could never even be sure. time felt like it dragged too long to tell.

bursting through the door, tommy sees them. he won’t miss them for the world. their hair's different, in a ponytail, and they're dressed in much more casual clothes than they’d normally be caught dead in, but he could recognise that face anywhere.

“ranboo!” tommy scoops ranboo into a warm hug, barely noticing how they remain limp. “oh, prime, i missed you so much-“

“do i know you?” ranboo squeaks, and tommy's heart breaks.

“ranboo, it’s me! we were in exile together, remember-“

“i'm sorry. i'm really sorry. but i- i don’t remember a thing.”

oh. of fucking course. because he didn’t have the memory book, he must have forgotten everything by the time he’d healed enough to really be cognisant again. tommy scans his face for the slightest hint of recognition, but there’s none.

tommy must be a fucking bitch, because he bursts into tears then and there.

“i'm sorry! i'm sorry!” ranboo cries out, desperately trying to find a way to salvage the situation, and tommy keeps sobbing. and sobbing, and sobbing. the floor falls underneath him, and he curls up, shaking, like a fucking pussy.

he didn’t even cry this hard when dream was at his worst. but the idea of ranboo not knowing who he was, his only friend, the only person who ever cared for him no longer being able to… it was stupid, but that must be his breaking point, he guesses. like a fucking idiot, that makes him cry harder.

“i'm so so sorry about this,” tommy vaguely hears dream say, “he's not mentally well, is there a spare room i can help him calm down in?”

“yeah, there’s one upstairs.”

tommy barely registers as he's lifted up like a child, carried away from ranboo, but he does when he hears dream whisper harshly in his ear.

“tommy, if you fuck this up i'm never letting you out again. ever. smile and play nice and act like l'manberg ruined your life, or you'll wish i'd let you die.”

tommy nods, still sobbing.

“and dry your eyes. you’re making me look bad. stop acting like an abused puppy, i practically spoil you.”

tommy tries to stop, but the tears refuse to stop, even as he tries to dry them with his hands desperately. dream's voice softens as he ruffles tommy's hair affectionately. “look, i know it’s tough, but this is for you and ranboo, y’know? if i'm able to make things right, you can be friends again. i'll make sure he remembers you, tommy. i know how to fix it, just let me, okay?”

tommy nods, finally managing to go from hysterical tears to a more reasonable level of crying.

“that’s good enough. just smile and pretend everything’s fine, okay? i'll even let you listen to your discs for a while when we get home if you’re good. and remember it’s for ranboo too.”

it hurts tommy's face to force a grin, hurts his heart to try and think of how to pretend to play along with dream's story and throw his home under the bus. but tommy isn’t stupid. he doesn’t believe dream’s bullshit, but he knows what he’s implying. behave and ranboo won’t get hurt.

that, at least, is a comfortingly familiar game to play.

[evilneo]

[context for anon: accusing everyone using an NPD blog of faking]

full context for all morbidly curious KSBSKSBSKS

[darcyolsson]

another thing about tmi that kind of caught me off guard me while rereading is not only that jace genuinely is severely mentally ill but also that it's portrayed SO casually. everyone's just like "oh jace doesnt eat for days whenever he feels bad and he intentionally hurts himself all the time and he doesn't sleep and he has trauma flashbacks and a compulsive need for order and cleanliness and he has very violent intrusive thoughts and he tries to kill himself every 3 weeks or so hes soooooo edgy 🙄 anyway moving on"

[curious-l1ght]

I am now in the headspace where if I don't know your tumblr I will go through your blog.

My trust has just dissapeared.

Never thought I'd experience this. This is the shit that I see in those video essays, can't believe I've actually kind of experienced it.

Its always like: "Oh, that's terrible! I hope that never happens to me. I hope those victims/people who were hurt/people who went through it get better and find peace!"

So it gets worse. It gets really worse. This wasn't exactly supposed to be a vent but it all went downhill.

I talk about suicide and self harm in this.

I hate how she was the one who really got me into Doors. I hate how she was the first person I considered a friend. I hate how that inside joke is ruined now. I hate how she got me familiar with so many things. I hate how I felt bad for her. I hate the fact that I thought I felt like I could relate to her medically. I hate the fact that she was the one who I went to for help. I hate how I asked her for help when I was suicidal. I hate how I relied on her. I hate that I have so many memories with her in them. I hate how I thought we were best friends. I hate how manipulative she is. I hate how she hurt so many people. I hate her

I HATE HER SHITTY APOLOGIES. I HATE HOW THE "APOLOGY" SHE GAVE ME WAS MASSIVE AND FILLED WITH LIES AND MANIPULATION TACTICS. I HATE HOW SHE TRIED TO GUILT TRIP US. I HATE HOW SHE FAKED THINGS THAT PEOPLE GENUINELY SUFFER FROM. I FUCKING HATE HER AND I JUST WANT TO FORGET EVERYTHING ABOUT HER.

SHE KNOWS IM SUICIDAL. SHE KNOWS THAT I HAVE HURT MYSELF, DOESNT SHE?! SHE JUST FUCKING LOVES TO MAKE EVERYTHING WORSE. EVER SINCE LAST YEAR, EVERYTHING HAS BEEN RUINED. HEART SURGERY, CUDA PASSING AWAY, HIGHSCHOOL, IRL FRIENDS THAT HURT ME, GETTING TOLD IM MATURE FOR MY AGE, WANTING TO FUCKING KILL MYSELF, LOSING MOTIVATION FOR EVERYTHING, LEARNING THE ONLY GOOD FRIENDS I HAVE ARE SUFFERING IN THEIR OWN WAYS AND ME WANTING TO HELP THEM BUT I CANT, AND NOW THIS?!

THATS ALL I COULD THINK OF! THERES PROBABLY MORE! I JUST WANT TO TEAR MYSELF APART AND KILL MYSELF BUT IM TOO FUCKING SCARED TO DIE. IF I DIDNT HAVE ALL OF THESE FEARS I CAN BET YOU ID BE GONE BY NOW.

I'm sorry that I have to rely on so many people in order to not lose it. I wish I didn't have to rely on everyone and make their day worse by bringing her up.

Just fucking leave us alone, selfish asshole.

This wasn't meant to be massive. It was just meant to be everything until I started saying how much I hate things.

I won't be killing myself any time soon. I can't do it because I know how many people would be devastated to see me gone. I had to experience my brother trying, and even though it wasn't successful, I'm still heartbroken from it. That was years ago, too.

Thank you to the people who have been helping me.

I will continue to help others and keep an eye out.

I will make sure people block her.

Just. Block. Her.

[a-j-s-the-only]

I feel a bit antsy

I need to do something

I need to feel something

I pace my room

l e f t r i g h t

l e f t r i g h t

l e f t r i g h t

l e f t r i g h t

stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop.

I need my fix. It’s down stairs in the garage. That’s where they “hide” them.

but I have another in the corner of my closet. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop.

but I won’t do it. Only for you. so I go back to pacing-

l e f t r i g h t

l e f t r i g h t

l e f t r i g h t

l e f t r i g h t

[ikamigami]

I swear the only thing that annoys me is people saying that Moon will kill himself bxnxnnxnbxbxbxbxbbx

I know that they're worried just like I was with Sun.. but the fact that they made description saying "will Moon survive?"

No, he won't cause I'll kill him *itch..

I'm sorry but because of all the shit that I went through for saying that Sun is suicidal I'm a bit salty about it..

[i-give-u--art]

Vent

Please if you are in a good mood don’t read this I don’t want to make you sad

Sorry if this ruins ur good mood tho

I just need to get this off my chest

I’m sorry

Dam I wish the razor would stop telling me to cut my wrists

I wish the view from atop the building was so pretty I could forget why I came up there in the first place

I wish I could stop being sad because there are people out there that have it worse that I do I have no reason to be sad,

I wish the voices on my head would just stop being so loud and mean

I know I’m being pathetic

I should probably just stfu

I’m sorry for making you worry about me

I’m sorry for wasting your time and patience

I’m sorry for being a problem

I’m sorry for making you sad

[lisathegoodgirl]

My parents really want me to be pretty. I keep getting uglier. How do i make it stop?

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

sometimes people ask me things or I have in some way to confront my own choices and sometimes it just. makes me physically sick. like what is this person and what are her choices. I have crossed so many lines I promised myself I would never. frankly I disgust myself.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Whumptober Day 4: Drowning and Separated from Loved Ones

Canon compliant. Tommy mentions how much he misses his family in L'manberg in Exile and Dream decides to “teach him a lesson” by drowning him in the ocean until he's “sorry.” Warnings for drowning, abuse, torture, past trauma, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicidal thoughts, some very extreme splitting, dehumanisation, possessive behaviour, obsession, and victim blaming.

ao3 link

—— Tommy was, in a word, fascinating.

Dream was someone who was very easily bored. Most days were an agonising slog, enough he usually considered flinging himself into the ocean and just giving up. Before he had a purpose in life, he’d had the Manhunts to distract himself from the gnawing, rotting boredom, now he had his ideals, his research. They served as a beacon, a reason to hang onto life despite the lack of satisfaction it gave.

But despite that, Tommy provided a light in that endless darkness. A small spark of hope in an empty world because he reminded Dream of what he could have. Friends, a family. People that sparked interest in him, that didn’t just feel like interchangeable dolls, words like the obnoxious buzzing of insects, thoughts empty and vapid.

Not like Tommy, not at all.

Not like Tommy, loud yet always with interesting things to say, annoying in a way that was endearing instead of a chore, smarter than he pretended to be, a unique specimen. And Dream had always been a scientist at heart, really. To him, there was nothing better than the perfect lab rat.

They sat by the ocean, watching the sun set. Logstedshire, as Tommy had dubbed his enclosure, was nothing if not beautiful. It disguised the oppressive heat of the days and the biting cold of the night, masking it as a cage far more gilded than it really was. One day, Tommy would realise that Dream knew best and join him, become the perfect protege to carry on his work if something awful truly happened, but to get there required harsh methods. Not that Dream minded much- after all, Tommy’s reaction to anything, positive or negative, was endlessly fascinating. He could repeat each experiment again and again.

The sound of seagulls overhead and the lapping of waves onto the silver-gold shores, picturesque if you ignored the bloodstains that never quite came out, were only interrupted by the absent hum of Tommy, shaking hands working quickly with knitting needles. It was simple work, but it was work that kept him occupied, let him be useful to Dream even while he learnt to behave, and most importantly, made his face light up whenever he finished some strange creation or other. It made Dream’s day to see Tommy that happy, even if he did have to be harsh.

It was the look on his face whenever he was around Wilbur, or that goddamn ram. One day, it’d light up the room around Dream, too. He could be family, too.

“What’re you making today, Tommy?” Dream said lightly. It took the slightest thing to get the kid rambling, and Tommy’s strange ideas made a far better thing to ruminate over than the inherent untrustworthiness of the world outside of him. Their talks were a ray of light in a frightening world, an oasis in a desert of backstabbers.

“Uh, well, y’know how I make shit for you?” Tommy’s eyes darted around nervously. “I mean! You’re my best friend and all, I know that, but, y’know, I know they abandoned me, but L’Manberg is still my family and stuff, so I, uh, I wanted to make something for them, and-“

Something virulent and acidic pooled its way into Dreams’ mind. Family. Something safe, something warm. It was a word that meant no one would hurt him, no one would do anything to him that made him feel weak. It meant happiness, it meant fascination, it meant the fascinating conversations he had with Tommy, and it meant he didn’t have to feel on edge anyone would betray him, twist the knife, and throw him away once they were done. It meant they’d love him. It meant they’d get rid of the boredom fogging over his mind.

Why did Tommy get to have a family, when Dream didn’t? Why was Tommy spared being treated like a tool by everyone when Dream was betrayed again and again? Why did Tommy, fucking Tommy Innit of all people, get to keep that naïve look on the world that Dream had torn dowover and over again painfully? Why did Tommy not see him as family, too?

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Dream barely even realised that he’d slapped Tommy until he felt blood coating his fingers, Tommy holding a broken nose and looking shell-shocked. He deserved it, Dream couldn’t help but think. He deserved to feel some of the pain that Dream felt.

“Your family? Your family?” The laughter bubbling in Dream’s throat was completely humourless. “Tommy, you idiot! They abandoned you! They fucking hate you, Tommy, and quite frankly, I can’t blame them! You’re so- so obnoxious, so goddamn obsessed with people who don’t give a shit about you for some reason! You’re like a little parasite, always clinging on to people and draining them dry. And y’know, I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

“Dream, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“

He cut Tommy off with another blow to the head, disorienting him as Dream pulled him by his scalp to the water and pushed his head under.

Dream felt a lot like he was drowning. That’s how it felt, like being stuck without a raft in the middle of an ocean, alone. And if Tommy was going to- to rub that in his face, he’d make sure Tommy knew just how it felt.

Tommy flailed around, but his frail limbs couldn’t wrench him free from Dream’s grasp. It stung as he clawed desperately at Dream’s arms, but the adrenaline Dream was hopped up on left him uncaring of the pain as all he could think of was making Tommy feel the pain he felt, making him pay for being such a privileged little brat. All that was in his head was blind rage, poisoning his mind.

When Tommy’s struggles weakened, Dream pulled his head roughly out of the water, letting him hack up the water in his lungs and take a few laboured breaths, before shoving him back under the water. Again, and again, and again, the jealousy in the pit of Dream’s stomach never dulling even after he lost count of the number of times Tommy went under the waves. Nothing seemed to be enough- still, all Dream could think about was how dare Tommy be allowed to have had a family? How dare he rub that in Dream’s face? That was all he ever wanted and could never get, yet Tommy just flaunted his around like he was better than everyone else. And he wasn’t. He wasn’t.

The feeling of the struggling slowly weakening, even Tommy’s desperate fighting for life dulling, suddenly shocked Dream into realising what he’d done. He let go of Tommy, letting him crawl back to the shore as he stared at his hands, horrified. 

Not at what he’d done to Tommy- he’d done worse, and he had worse planned, all for the greater good. But that was the thing- it was for Tommy’s benefit. He beat and broke Tommy to build him up better, happier, a rightful protege to serve by his right hand. He had many experiments planned that would be painful and unpleasant, yes, but it’d be to make everyone undying, able to live happily forever.

This? This was pure anger and jealousy, rage and longing mixed into a violent outburst he couldn’t control. It was a show of weakness, a show of the emotions he’d tried so hard to purge.

And Tommy hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? He didn’t know that the others rejected him, treated him like scum, didn’t listen. It wasn’t his fault they’d favoured him unfairly, because Tommy was special. He was the only other person who felt like a person and not just a simulacra, a broken AI. The masses who hated him must long for that, and Tommy must mistake that for love.

But only Dream could really love Tommy, because only Dream took upon the responsibility to beat some sense into him like any good guardian should do to a misbehaving child. He was the only one worthy of being called family, and one day, Tommy would look upon him the same way he looked upon Wilbur. But it’d take time. Maybe even centuries or millennia. And that was fine; that wasn’t the poor kid's fault for having bad influences. Dream just needed to be kind as well as strict, to help mould his corrupted mind into something healthier.

Looking up, the poor kid was shaking, and he flinched away from Dream when he moved, shielding himself instinctively and letting out a pathetic sob. There was a terror in his eyes that seemed so satisfying when he deserved it, but just made Dream feel inexplicably bad now. He opened his mouth and shut it, too frightened to even speak. Maybe if Tommy was being a brat, Dream would have felt proud for shutting him up. Now, the quiet was sickening.

Dream took a gentle step towards Tommy, making soothing noises like he was a wounded animal. “Shh, shh. It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m sorry, Tommy.”

He gave Dream a long, disbelieving stare at that. “… Sorry?” he said, in such a quiet, strangled voice it broke Dream’s heart.

“Yeah. I just- you didn’t do anything wrong, right? You’re just naïve. That’s not your fault, Tommy. I- I just, I was so mad at what they did to you, y’know? And I just- I lashed out. And I shouldn’t have. It’s not your fault that they hate you.” Dream reached down and gently ruffled Tommy’s sopping wet hair, hoping it might comfort him, but he just stayed completely still, looking at Dream warily.

Prime. Tommy really knew how to play the guilt card.

Dream picked up the discarded mess of thread, and threw it in the ocean, ignoring how horrified Tommy looked. He’d understand later. He would. “See, look, it’s all done now! It won’t happen again, it’s fine. I’m sorry, Tommy. I- we can do whatever you want for today, if that makes it any better. As long as you stay here, we could- we could play with the tridents, or- or we could make a cobblestone tower, or whatever you want!”

Tommy let out a choked sound, and his eyes darted to the floor. “I- could I just have a hug? I need a hug.”

“Of course.” Dream knelt down and wrapped his arms around Tommy gently, taking care to avoid the bruises covering his bony form. His clothes were sodding wet, and Dream wouldn’t have been surprised if they were heavier than he was.

He pretended not to notice when Tommy buried his head into his cape and whispered “Thank you, Wil.” After all, that was the closest he’d ever got to calling him family.