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the-edgy-fuckerz · 3 months

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"Mental health matters" until its a minor struggling with substance abuse

"Mental health matters" until someone doesn't want/refuses help

"mental health matters" until someone struggles with an addiction

"Mental health matters" until someone is unable to do 'basic' hygiene

"Mental health matters" until someone is deemed violent and scary

"Mental health matters" until someone doesn't 'look like' their struggling

"Mental health matters" until someone has bulimia or bed

"Mental health matters" until someone wants to get worse

"Mental health matters" until someone is a dropout or unemployed

"Mental health matters" until someone has disturbing intrusive thoughts

"mental health matters" until someone is delusional

"Mental health matters" until someone struggles with hallucinations and hearing voices

"mental health matters" until someone is extremely scared of other people

"Mental health matters" until someone has violent outbursts

"Mental health matters" until someone has trouble masking/ can't mask their illness

"Mental health matters" until it doesn't fit your romanticized view abt it

(feel free to add onto this)

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schizodiaries · 5 months

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a guide to hearing voices

(Note: this information was given to me by my therapist and is not my original writing. The information provided in this post comes from the UK based mental health charity known as Mind, and is paraphrased by me.)

What are voices?

A hallucination is a perception you may have that is not shared by those around you. Hearing voices is a type of auditory hallucination where you hear voices when no one is present, or that other people cannot hear. Some examples of voices you may hear include:

Hearing your name called when no one is around.

Hearing things as you fall asleep.

Feel as though you can hear other people’s thoughts.

Threatening voices that tell you to do dangerous things.

Friendly voices that encourage or support you.

Multiple voices arguing or talking with one another.

There are many reasons why you might hear voices. Some reasons include lack of sleep, hunger, physical illness, being under the influence of drugs, grief, abuse/bullying, physical illness, trauma, spiritual experiences, or mental health problems such as psychosis.

How can I help myself cope?

Understanding your voices and how they relate to your past may help you feel more in control, recognize when voices cause problems, stand up to your voice, or develop a better relationship with your voices so they don’t interfere with your life.

Some questions to help you think about how your voices relate to you are:

What was happening when I first heard voices?

Where was I and how was I feeling?

What did the voice say?

What did they sound like?

Do they represent a person or a problem?

Are there any patterns to the voices?

What do the voices want me to do?

What do I want to do?

It may be helpful to keep a diary and record when you hear voices or what they say. This can help you identify patterns and understand how they affect you over a period of time.

Here are some suggestions to help you feel more in control of your voices:

Ignore them, block them out, or distract yourself.

Give them times when you agree to talk to them and times when you won’t.

Tell them to wait.

Stand up to them, ignore their commands and threats. They have no power over you.

Try to ignore the voices you don’t like, and focus on the ones you find easier to listen to.

Use grounding techniques, like taking note of the things you see, hear, smell, etc.

The recovery approach

This helps reframe the way we see recovery. The main principles of the recovery approach are:

Live the best life you can have the you can with your experiences and the consequences they’ve had.

Focusing on what you can do, not what you can’t.

Making your own choices and being your own person.

Seeing recovery as a journey, not a destination.

Seeing setbacks as ways of learning more about yourself.

Maintaining hope.

How other people can help

If someone you care about hears voices, you might find it hard to understand what they are experiencing. But there are many things you can do to help support them.

Accept that their experiences of voices are real, even if you don’t understand it.

Try not to make judgements about what hearing voices means for them.

Learn their triggers.

Remember that they are still the same person you’ve always known. Hearing voices doesn’t change who they are.

Ask them what would help, and avoid making assumptions.

Reassure them that they are not alone. There are lots of reasons why people hear voices.

Encourage them to talk about their experience. To you, to a doctor, or to a support group.

Learn more about the experience of hearing voices and fight the stigma.

Help them seek treatment and support, if they want it.

#mental wellness #psychosis #schizoaffective #hallucinations #hearing voices #coping skills #coping mechanisms #schizophrenia

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afraidtoblink · 10 months

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Hearing Voices & Unusual Experiences & Psychosis & Schizophrenia & Etc

Hearing Voices and Co 101

Community overview of hearing voices by BC hearing voices network and Hearing Voices Network of South Australia

A rare community and medical overview of hearing voices by Understanding Voices

Medical and Mental Illness style overviews of hearing voices (separate from pages on psychosis and schizophrenia, which is kinda nice) by Mind UK and Rethink Mental Illness

Explanation of psychosis by Likemind UK

Explanation of schizophrenia by Project LETS

Lived Experiences

“LUNAR: a psychosis zine” by feyxuan, interviewing 6 folks with lived experiences

"A Bipolar, A Schizophrenic, And A Podcast” hosted by Gabe Howard and Michelle Hammer aka Schizophrenic.NYC

“MadHaus” podcast by Maddie Jericho, who also is part of Students With Psychosis

“Living Well with Schizophrenia” Youtube channel by Lauren

“The Collected Schizophrenias” by Esmé Weijun Wang, book review with quotes here

Dealing with Life

Lists of coping strategies by Hearing Voices Network Aotearoa New Zealand, Hearing Voices Network Australia, and Manchester Hearing Voices Group

Advice from young people hearing voices by Manchester Metropolitan University

“Dealing with Psychosis” toolkit by Early Psychosis Intervention program in Canada

List of Hearing Voices Networks around the world on Intervoice website

Peer support groups for folks with “schizophrenia or a schizophrenia-related illness”, family and caregivers, and a helpline by Schizophrenia and Psychosis Action Alliance

#hearing voices #psychosis #schizophrenia #schizophrenic spectrum #resources #actually psychotic #mental health

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idcfriend · 9 months

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I'm Back!!!

I absolutely love eldritch protagonist so...i have more eldritch yuu brainrot!🎉

...............................💜..............................

So at first glance yuu seems normal just a completely normal gender neutral individual but the more time people spend with them the mpre they notice that sometimes their smile is a bit roo wide....their teeth and fingers a bit too sharp....how they sometimes move as if It's not something there used to

On one occasion the idiot trio was being to loud in the morning and Yuu hadn't slept that well or at all really....that's when one of the others noticed how Yuu seemed too quiet...how they seemed stalk towards the unsuspecting trio as if they were prey soon when they were near they rose to their full height (and damn why hadn't any of them ever noticed how tall Yuu is!?) and with what could of mad even the bravest of men cower in a corner in fear....growled with bloodlust and a voice that of something from your worst nightmare( Yuu honestly doesn't know why everyone looked so scared when they after growled in frustration when Ace, Deuce and Grim were being too loud, they didn't think they were that scary...)

Another time Yuu was too tired to care much about anything much at the moment (unaware of the way that an uncanny air of apathy seemed to hang around them, like someone who was looking down on something that was simply lesser and they couldn't find in themselves to care one way or the other and settled on indifference) so the other first years decided to ask Yuu questions to see how much they could get them to answer in their sleep deprived state (jokes on them Yuu is a CHAOTIC MESS and simply bullshits their way through life when they don't sleep enough so their answers were...a little unsettling to some)

First question was from Ace: which was simple enough but-

"So prefect what's your favorite food?"

The others looked at Ace in mild surprise expecting him to ask something embarrassing

Ace looked at them in annoyance "What? Yoh have to build up this kind of stuff"

Yuu simply looked up from their desk and answered (sarcastically mind you it's just that for some reason their very good at acting?)

"the souls of those who have sinned far greater than any mortal and have seen that which should never be seen" and promptly face planted back on to the table

Meanwhile the others are a little unnerved by that answer and by the chorus of voices that seemed to answer with Yuu but only a little because this was THEIR prefect no matter how...not normal they were and they'd fight anyone who even looked at them wrong

Next was Deuce

"Favorite pass time?"

They braced themselves for the answer

"going on relaxing walks-" they looked at Yuu confused because that was such a...normal answer?

"-and putting the fears and horrors of others and the world on paper, eternally etched into a part of my collection" they then...relaxed? Because of course such a hobby would suit their eldritch friend (Yuu simply meant they like to draw horror stuff in one of their many sketch books)

Surprisingly Sebek went next

"how do you deal with those that harm the ones you protect?" he asked mostly to get more ideas on how to protect Malleus

At that they could feel the way the surrounding air around Yuu seemed to go eerily silent as they let out a growl that could of had mistaken for a beast

"You hunt them down one by one making them feel fear like no other, you hunt them like the measly wretched being they are and then I'd make them know pain, that which would be a thousand times that which they inflicted on those who are MINE" throughout all this Yuu's form began to change slightly their fingers becoming claws and gaining a black tinge that covered their entire hand, their teeth becoming as sharp as knives and a few other changes

Then Grim went up to Yuu and hugged them seemingly knowing why Yuu reacted so drastically

"Calm down henchman, no one's going to hurt us we're safe"

That seemed to calm them down as they looked up and chuckled a bit, "Sorry guys i over reacted a bit but-" Yuu said looking- well more like they were scanning them for any sign of harm, "no one's bothering you guys right?"

At that they seemed perk up as they smiled at Yuu

(Yuu was unaware that they had just implied that considered the first year group THEIRS, and they were also confused why everyone except those they knew gave them such a wide berth in the hallways for a while after)

...........................💜.............................

That's all i got for now! I know it doesn't really make much sense but i swear I'll elaborate more in the future! (hopefully) but there's another thing i wanted to add!!!

So I'm a fan of Technoblade and i like the idea of Eldritch Yuu having their own version of Chat! So like they'd give Yuu advice and help them in their chaotic shenanigans (while maybe purposefully making them seem even more like an Eldritch being because they crave misunderstanding content) So Yuu would have these gaggle of voices that would follow them around that every once in a while others can hear too (Yuu honestly isn't even fazed when all of sudden they have a bunch a sentient voices following them around that's how done they are with Crowley's and everyone's else's bullcrap)

So! I was thinking that certain comments and stuff left on the post i do of eldritch Yuu could be taken as Yuu's "chat"

#im making no sense #but im bored #i crave chaos #and sleep #hearing voices #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu #twst headcanons #twst mc #twst yuu #eldritch horror #eldritch reader #twst x reader #Yuu #Technoblade's chat

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mysterious-secret-garden · 7 months

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Gerald Moira - The Silent Voice, 1898.

#Gerald Moira #The Silent Voice #alone #apparition #ghost #spirit #ecstacy #hearing voices #vision #madness #dead

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bandagedsol · 8 months

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i hc poe with psychosis becouase i have it so here's some ranpoe fluff with this <3

#ranpoe #edgar allan poe #ranpo edogawa #bsd #bsd fanart #ranpoe fanart #psychosis #mental health #hearing voices #fluff #ranpoe fluff #cuddles #they deserve the world #i love them sm #im so ill about them

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sophieinwonderland · 1 year

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I just want to say I agree with your post / reply to "No! If you are hearing voices in your head, that's not fucking healthy." That kind of sentiment can be really harmful. You should seek help if you need it, but what if the voices only say good things to you? What reason then is there to get rid of them? Not everything out of the ordinary is bad, and that's something more people need to realize.

This!

I mean, this is why the Hearing Voice Network compared forcing people to get rid of their voices to conversion therapy.

If someone thinks that positive and supportive voices inherently are problematic and need treated, they're not pro-recovery. They're pro-conversion. They don't care about your personal health. They're only interested in making you "normal."

It's about making people who are different acceptable to and able to fit in with neurotypicals. Nothing more.

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convexicalcrow · 6 months

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Pain jarred through Cub’s shins as he landed on the platform that marked the beginning of the burning dark. Unlike the mines above from where he’d jumped, this place felt wholly alien. This was not a place for players but for Wardens.

It had indeed been a while since the dungeon felt- unfamiliar. Hostile. Not meant for him. Some place he really ought not to be. And yet-

Perhaps it was the lingering skulk in his system but he was certain he could hear whispering. Something- he wasn’t sure he could make out the words, but he had a feeling he knew where this was heading.

His heart was already hammering in his chest, so loudly he was sure the Wardens could hear him as he snuck around the maze. He had already lost his bearing several times and the pressure plates were obstacles he was not yet able to avoid.

He placed a hand on a wall to steady himself. Breathe, he told himself. Breathe and focus. Check the compass.

Something cold shivered up his spine instead as he felt the all too familiar feeling of possession overcome him. He felt- hungry. Like he wanted to roar and consume and feast on the Hermits that would come down here. Feral, too. He tasted blood on his lips as he travelled around on all fours, waiting, hiding, watching.

Tango’s cackling voice boomed in his mind. Tango’s? Or the dungeon’s? Was there even a difference? All he knew was that he called a Warden over and laughed so hard it hurt as the Warden ran over and struck him dead.

That- wasn’t what he remembered when he respawned, of course. He didn’t remember anything at all. But he could see bits of skulk on his hands, under his fingernails, staining his skin, and in the back of his mind spoke Tango, a lackey you are and a lackey you will be.

“Yes, master.”

Cub shivered; the dungeon laughed, and Cub laughed along with it. His heart beat softly in time to the dungeon and time stood still.

#hermitcraft #fanfic #decked out 2 #cubfan135 #tangotek #the burning dark #possession #hearing voices #amnesia #it’s cubs turn to get possessed by the dungeon #I wrote this on my phone on my tea break at work #so excuse any typos etc

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themockingcrows · 1 month

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Let's fight some of the misconceptions about hallucinations. If you have audio or visual hallucinations, either frequently or only under stress or what have you, tell me what they're like and how you deal with them.

I'll start.

My audio ones are music, or murmuring. The music is like a lively adventure 8bit tune, like old Zelda music, or a tasty guitar or bassline from another room to some rock song i can never really put together into a whole thing. The murmuring is like hearing a party in another room, people talking. Sometimes, lately more often, I'll have clips of things stuck on repeat in my head over and over. Tom Cardy's voice has been particularly invasive the last several weeks, but it's always weird because it's not accompanied by the music, it's acapella. It's just his voice.

Visual most often when it's in full swing I'll see little borrower sized shadows darting around my room or on tabletops, just fast enough I can't get a solid look at them. Other times I'll see things form out of the corner of my eye like shadows, especially in corners. If I'm in low light or have my glasses off it's more oppressive and scary feeling because I can feel and see something but not see details no matter how close it gets.

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned these all before on this blog a few times. But I can't help but feel like it's important to bring them up now and then, and to invite others to talk about theirs, so there's less stigma around it. Stigma exists because of misunderstandings and fear, and if we can erase those components then the world will be a slightly better place I think.

#hallucinations #voices #hearing voices #audio hallucinations #visual hallucinations #mental illness

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workingdownthewordmine · 9 days

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Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 3 Unbidden Guest

Bucky's uninvited housemate makes themself known.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 2

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC, Steve Rogers Rating: T CW: Violence, choking, threatening with a gun, bleeding, hearing voices, hearing the voice of an abuser, references to murder, torture, suicide, violence, sexual assault Prompts filled: Fandom Free Bingo Frosty Edition: Stay a while @fandom-free-bingo Fluffbruary: Day 26: Care package, Day 28: Shelter @fluffbruary Winter Wonderland: Covering the other with a blanket @seasonaldelightsbingo Any Fandom Angst: Held at gunpoint @anyfandomangstbingo LGBTQ+: Non-binary!Character @lgbtqbingo

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

“Don’t ask the name of anyone that asks you for shelter.” Victor Hugo

It had been some time since Bucky had wished so fiercely that he could just stop waking up, stop coming back to a reality that became more of a nightmare each time. Before he opened his eyes he pleaded with the darkness to tighten again, to choke him back out of the world. A little longer, even if it couldn’t be forever, even if it could only be moments more before he had to open his eyes to-

A wet cloth on his skin, stroked down his cheek. For a handful of heartbeats, misery gave way to something almost like contentment. Complacency. Deadly. The horror burst through and propelled him into a rush of movement. He couldn’t go back. They wouldn’t take him back.

The body crouched over him was only a dark blur, hurled across the room and into a wall. It crumpled and he was upon it. His charge was clumsy but he didn’t need precision. His hand was around a throat. He’d need hardly a flick of a Vibranium wrist to snap their neck. The figure was smaller than him, pinned in his shadow, starting to tremble with the need for air. He had secured their arms beneath his knees without thinking about it, his shin across their legs to prevent them from kicking him. He was doing better. All that was left was the kill… It would be instant, almost entirely painless. He would not fail this time.

He froze. They weren’t struggling. They weren’t fighting him at all. There had been no raised alarm. No other movement in the room except the two of them. Bucky struggled to focus through blinding panic and burning eyes. He loosened his grip just enough to allow them a breath, and pushed the muzzle of his pistol beneath their chin. “Why shouldn’t I kill you right now?”

They looked up at him without terror, as though the ease with which he could end their life concerned them little. “Look at your hand.” Reluctantly, he allowed his eyes to flicker downwards – perhaps because the words had been more of a plea than a demand or a threat, or perhaps because defying the voice telling him to do what he was made for and kill was taking too much of his concentration. Even in the gloom, he could see the wet shine, and the scent of blood rose thickly from it. He’d felt no pain at all. “There’s no wound. It’ll stop in a few seconds. I – I could have put the bleed in your neck, or your brain. I didn’t. Please. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to hurt you.” He stiffened. Their eyes widened and they spoke more quickly. “If I’d meant you any harm, I could have done something about it either of the times I’ve found you unconscious today. Right? I have no reason to hurt y-“ His hand pressed down again, choking off their words.

“Reckon I can squeeze a trigger faster than you can do your little magic trick.”

“Maybe.” They could do little more than shape the words but just enough of a hiss escaped for him to follow. “Don’t want to bet my life on it. Seen-” They shuddered, desperately sucking in a scrap of air. “Seen how fast you are.”

He growled and shook them by the throat. They pinched their eyes shut as if they expected death to follow. If they’d also started his brain bleeding, he couldn’t tell. “You’ve been spying on me. Sneaking round in my building. Now you’re fucking with me in my apartment. Why?” He shook them again. Their skull thudded heavily on the floor, long black hair escaping their ponytail. “Why? Tell me why I shouldn’t fucking kill you? You don’t want to hurt me? Then what do you want?”

They tried to reply but could only gurgle. He eased off their throat. “Help. Need help.” His hand lifted a little more, answering a deeper impulse than thought. With an effort, he overpowered the voice in his mind long enough to listen. Their eyes searched his as though watching the struggle. His hand tensed on their neck.

“Talk. Fast.”

They swallowed. He felt the fragile movement through his palm. “Shelter. Please. I don’t want to kill you. And,” Their dark eyes tracked his face again. “I may not be an expert on trained assassins but I don’t think you want to kill me either.” Had he imagined the emphasis? Had it been unintentional? Their voice was trembling. Short on breath, laden with pain. He couldn’t be sure.

“Someone wants you dead though. And personally, right? In more than the ‘all mutants are dangerous monsters’ way.”

“A lot of people. That’s why I need somewhere safe. I thought – I mean, you seemed like someone who’d be sympathetic.”

His lip pulled back in a snarl. “Because I’m a dangerous monster too?”

They didn’t flinch as they met his eyes. “Pretty much. You know what it’s like. Not to want to be someone else’s weapon. To not trust the good guys much more than the bad guys. Right?”

The adrenaline was wearing off. His head was starting to swim again. He should finish them fast, then he could sleep. Alone and safe. “So which do you think you are? A good guy or a bad guy?”

“Just a guy. I’m not much of a team player.” He felt a tremor as though they had tried to laugh. They swallowed again. He knew his face hadn’t given anything away, so they must have realised for themselves that apparent amusement was doing them no favours. “Look, there’s no one outside this room who has my back, or who I report to, or – I hope – who has any idea where I am. I just need somewhere to stay, where I can keep my head down.”

It was a terrible decision, really, not to kill them. He would be safer with them gone. He’d have his solitude back. This was his home. Perhaps he could have handled sharing it with Steve if he’d wanted to leave the compound, but not any random stranger who fancied moving in – especially not here, in his apartment.

“What were you doing in here?” The pistol pressed harder under their chin, forcing their head back a little more.

“I was worried about you. I heard you screaming earlier, and I found you in the basement all bashed up. I wanted to bring you back up here but I could only manage one flight of stairs. Vibranium’s heavy, I guess. Didn’t really know how I’d get you past the traps either – I unfastened some of trip wires but it seemed pretty obvious there’d be more inside. Didn't fancy killing either of us. I came to check on you later and you weren’t where I’d left you – figured you’d got back up here by yourself. I was going to just leave you to it but when I passed by the door there were weird noises. I knocked. You didn’t answer and the noises got weirder so I looked for another way in that you hadn’t rigged to blow up or eviscerate visitors.” Their eyes flicked towards the open closet, the one he’d been trying to block back up. “You were passed out again. You were breathing like shit and your skin and eyes were all red. I was worried.”

They tried to shrug. Their own breathing wasn’t so hot either. He eased off their throat just a little more. Their words had brought his discomfort into much clearer focus. Now he couldn’t help but notice how his breath was whistling and every inch of exposed flesh felt like it had been splashed with acid.

“You got down to the basement through there, right?” Another glance at the closet. “Not surprised you feel like shit. Insulation’s made of fibreglass. Not stuff you want to handle, much less breathe.” They frowned up at him. He could almost have believed they actually were as concerned for his welfare as for the ease with which he could end their life right now. Probably an ability to make someone bleed into their own brain with a thought was quite a confidence boost. If they could really do any such thing. What evidence did he have? His hand? Could have cut it on something and just not noticed. A quick enough thinker could take advantage of that, sure. After being thrown half way across the room and slammed into the floor. With a gun pressed to their head. Probably. And he had to concede that anyone who could do shit like that would definitely be a sought-after commodity for the worst people. Someone like that was definitely not the kind of unknown factor he wanted hanging around, right?

When was the last time anyone had sought him out to ask for help?

“Sit up. Slowly.” He released them and shifted away, gun still readied.

They waited until he’d made some space between them before awkwardly levering themselves upright and raising both hands level with their shoulders in surrender. “I, uh, I’m not armed. I mean, not in any way you can confiscate without decapitating me, which I’d really rather you didn’t. But I guess, if searching me makes you feel any better about letting me stick around, you can…”

Bucky looked them over. The baggy hoodie, the same that had been used for a pillow earlier, and cargoes could have hidden any number of weapons, but they’d made a decent point – if they’d been planning to kill him it was a risk and a waste of time waiting until now. He shook his head. “Just don’t make me regret my trusting and forgiving nature.” They offered a casual salute and even a small grin. “What time is it?”

A shrug. “Don’t know, but probably after ten. Here. Drink. Pretty sure your throat’s still full of glass fibres.” They reached into a cardboard box beside them surrounded by a few scraps of rope and tossed a bottle over to him, then rolled their eyes dramatically when he didn’t reach for it. “Not that convinced I’m not trying to kill you, then? Here.” They grabbed another bottle, cracked the top, and took a long swig. He watched their throat working and found himself recalling that movement under his hand. They recapped the bottle and offered it to him. “Monkey see, monkey do.”

The smirk was infuriating but he found his lip curling in return as he took the bottle. “Don’t push it.” He drank, and kept drinking. The cool water was unbelievably soothing to his sore throat. He drained the bottle and grabbed the first one, downing half of it before freezing with it still at his lips.

“Relax, okay?” His eyes darted to their face, startled to find a sympathetic frown. “I promise, it’s as wholesome as water stolen from struggling communities by billionaires can be.” His narrowed eyes received a shrug. “What? Wouldn’t be fair to lie to you.” He grunted and finished the bottle.

“You’re really weird, you know that?”

“Mutants tend to be.”

Bucky sat and watched, rolling the empty bottle between his palms, while his… intruder? Visitor? Neighbour? Pulled over the box and rummaged inside it, ignoring or not seeing the way he tensed.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?” They glanced up, blinking. Was it possible that they’d actually forgotten he was there in the last twenty seconds? It sure seemed like it. He nodded at the box. “Oh, just kind of a care package I put together. Meant to leave it outside your door but then you sounded like you were dying so I figured a get well card and a blanket might not do the trick. ‘S not much. Food, meds such as I could find, blanket – but you’ve got that already. Getting it down that climb with my face covered to keep the fibres out was hard enough without packing it any heavier, but there’s some more stuff over in the other apartment.”

He looked over at where he’d been lying, and stared in surprise. They were still in his hallway where he had passed out. He remembered dimly the pounding at the door, amplified by fear and disorientation, which must have been their knocking. His sleeping bag hadn’t been here then. Nor had his pillow or the unfamiliar sleeping bag stacked underneath his own. And there was the blanket, lying where he must have thrown it off when he woke up… and attacked them, he reminded himself with an internal wince.

“You did all that?”

“Yeah. Would have put you in your bedroom, but ran into that whole ‘Vibranium is heavy’ issue again so I made you a bed out here instead. Won’t be offended if you want to move back. You can borrow my sleeping bag. Oh, and I redid the bandage on your arm but the bleeding had stopped already, even where you scratched it up. You knocked a few chunks out of yourself. I cleaned the wounds and tied them up. Some of them looked like they could use stitches but I’m thinking you don’t really bother with those and I don’t know how to do them. I could probably figure it out with a video tutorial though if, y’know, you want me to try.” They kept talking as they looked through the box, peering at things as though it had been so long since they’d seen them that they were almost unrecognisable. It was a curious sight. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be able to cook in here so most of this is about as edible cold…” They were chattering away as if he hadn’t been holding a gun to their head a minute earlier. The effect was almost soothing. Where was that accent from? Not pure American as far as he could tell. Maybe British with some American or Canadian layered on top? There was something else too – something that spoke to his memories of warmth and spiced air. He was only half taking in the words and it was his turn to realise late that he’d been spoken to.

“Uh… huh?”

They grinned. “Sandwiches. Just cheese. Nothing fancy. I don’t do cooking. Probably a good idea to eat something. Might cushion the little spiky glass bits.” They shrugged. “My mother always freaked out about me going anywhere near our fibreglass insulation. I always figured she was overreacting but you look like shit so maybe not.”

“You go all out with the compliments, don’t you?” He bit into a cheese sandwich. They were right – it was nothing fancy, but it was food and it started to help with his painful, feverish exhaustion at once.

“Pretty much,” they admitted with a shrug.

Bucky was about to reply when a fresh storm of coughs overtook him, filling the air with crumbs. They leant back out of the way, lowering their own sandwich, apparently no longer so keen on it.

“That’ll probably happen for a while. You got a pretty good lungful, I guess.”

“’M not supposed to get sick,” he growled.

“You’re not technically-”

“Or injured.”

“Unless whatever they did to you gave you lungs that can dissolve glass, I doubt being a super soldier’s gonna help much with this. Might even be worse. If you can’t get sick, I’m thinking it’s because your body attacks anything that invades it particularly quickly and effectively, so it’s probably throwing a fit about a billion little fibres getting where they shouldn’t and I’m probably not really helping, am I?”

“Your bedside manner really sucks,” he grumbled. The complaint was half-hearted, though. Something had happened to their expression while they were spinning their theory. The gentle coffee-dark eyes had sharpened. The detached enthusiasm had become… uncomfortable. He’d seen too many expressions like that before, usually smiling above him while he was strapped to a table, full of glee over their latest pages of results. His fist curled and he touched his pistol. The movement attracted no attention at all. They’d found a scrap of ancient wallpaper –but still not ancient enough for him to remember it – and started picking at it as though its presence offended them, nails digging fretfully under its edges.

“Planning on building a nest with that?”

They froze and looked vacant for a second. He got the impression they were replaying the last few seconds to work out what he was talking about. In spite of the way his previous observation had jacked up his heart rate, it was a challenge to be afraid of someone who seemed to have so much difficulty just keeping track of existence from one minute to the next. And they’d brought him food and a blanket, he reminded himself. His lips softened into a small smile.

“Uh, sorry, hope that wasn’t sentimental.” They licked a fingertip and attempted to damp the paper back down. “There was a texture.” The explanation ended there.

“A… texture?”

Their eyebrows rose as though his puzzlement was incomprehensible. “Things that should be smooth shouldn’t have textures.” They said it the way someone else might say “tumours”. They gave a little shrug and didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s harder to ignore – tolerate – them when I’m nervous. Really weird, like you said.” He thought he saw a tiny wince. “Sorry, I’ll go back to the other apartment. You should be resting, not suffering through a lecture on the ways my brain is wrong.”

They started to dust themself off and get up. This time the wince was unmistakable. They tried to disguise the awkward movement with a stretch but his eyes tracked the tenderness in their shoulder with ease. He recalled the sound of them colliding with the wall when he’d thrown them off and his stomach churned with a momentary surge of guilt.

“There are painkillers in the box. Oh, and antihistamine cream. If your skin’s too uncomfortable to sleep, it might… And try to rinse your skin again in the morning. Just keep washing the fibres off. Not sure what to do for the lungs but hopefully that’ll be better tomorrow too. If you need anything, I’ll be across the hall.” They offered an awkward smile and took a step towards the door.

“Wait.” He was surprised to hear the word come from his mouth. “Not sure I want you getting up to fuck knows what out of sight over there.” His grin turned out as awkward as their exit. “You can stay. Here.” He cut off their attempted protest. “I’d like you to stay. Y’know, tonight, at least.”

He started to set his gun down, then went to the window to scan the street. The streetlights were on now. The only passers-by seemed natural and uninterested enough. “Just how sure are you that no one’s going to come looking for you here?” He put his back to the window and tried to resist the urge to look again.

“Well, I guess I can’t be a hundred percent certain but I think if they had any idea where I am they’d have come for me before now.” They curled tighter into the corner and Bucky almost laughed when he saw them shoot the window a glance almost identical to his own.

In the moment of strange kinship, he was moved to voice something he’d been wondering about. “You know who I am. You didn’t just stumble onto a guy with a potential safe house.”

They paused, and shrugged. “Well, no, I was looking for you. Got pretty lucky finding you though. Not a lot of guys with metal arms around but there are a lot of people in this city. Then I found you and had to watch for a while to make sure my instincts were right about you. That you’d understand why I needed somewhere to go. That makes me sound like a total stalker… It’s not a weird creepy obsession or anything. I just… heard about you, y’know, and-”

“So you know who I am, the things I’ve done, and you still decided to throw yourself on my mercy?”

He’d expected them to fidget uncomfortably, maybe refuse to meet his eyes. In fact, their gaze locked onto his like a magnet.

“Someone who looked a lot like you did those things. Not you.”

He stiffened. “It was me. A… part of me.” He’d never admitted that, even to Stevie. Why was he doing it now? He wished he could bite the words back, but they seemed unfazed by his confession or his regret.

“Was that part of you given a choice?”

The words stuck on his tongue, tangled in themselves. “We… I could have died myself. Rather than hurt anyone else. Most people would say I should have done.”

Their snort chilled him and he narrowed his eyes. They were just as unmoved by the increased hostility. “Most people don’t choose to die. Not when they’re actually confronted with the choice. So “most people” can take a running jump with their opinions about what any of you should have done. They don’t know what they’re fucking talking about.” He spotted that their hand was knotted into their hoodie so tight that their knuckles showed up pale in the dim light. “And for my part, I doubt it was even an option. Unless you can honestly tell me Hydra didn’t make really damn sure they fucked up your head before they gave you the kind of freedom it takes to kill yourself.”

Bucky could only stare as the words went through him like a laser, leaving a searing path behind them. Something was ready to take advantage of the quiet. It crawled into the ringing silence in his head.

You’d just love to believe that, wouldn’t you, little boy? “Boohoo, poor me. The mean nasty men hurt my feelings and that’s why I tortured and raped and murdered all those people.” It’s a fairy tale, little boy. A pretty lie to manipulate you into letting them stay. We chose you for a reason, asset. We saw the monster in you and leashed it. We didn’t make the monster.

“James?” The name came as such a surprise that it momentarily shocked him out of the guilty hell he’d been descending into. “James… you okay?”

“Don’t.” He gradually got his words back under control and the hysterical note out of his voice. “I – don’t. Don’t call me that.” He forced something like a smile. “I only get ‘James’ when I’m in trouble. I guess you can call me Bucky.”

They nodded, their own smile much more genuine than he had managed. “Bucky, then.” He was fascinated by their ability to look at him so calmly, with no detectable fear or contempt, yet he found himself still wanting to escape their gaze. He felt too seen by those eyes. Like they understood even more than they’d described with such stark and cutting accuracy. He backed up and turned away from them, crouching to straighten his bedding.

“Guess we do have some stuff in common, after all… You know, don’t you?”

“I don’t. Not what they did to you. But I know something about the lengths people like that will go to, to design the sort of operatives they need. And after they put in all that time and effort, they don’t get careless enough to let valuable assets kill themselves.”

The word caused bile to rise in his throat and he whipped around. Could they know? Could they hear? But they’d turned back to their corner, rearranging their blanket and trying to make themself comfortable.

“You can take your sleeping bag back. I’ll be fine with my own.” They waved him off.

“Hang onto it tonight. It’ll help with my guilt. It’s my fault you got all paranoid and trap-happy.” He watched them lean their head on the wall.

He wanted to tell them to at least take the pillow or something, but he had a premonition of how much good that would do. He stood, thinking, for a moment. Then he scooped up the blanket and threw it over them. He crouched to tuck it in, meeting their look of protest with immovable steadiness. And somehow he found himself looking into soft brown eyes a little too long.

“Night,” he muttered, retreating.

No, the voice growled as he contemplated the stacked sleeping bags. Soft. Weak. He glanced back into the corner. Their eyes were closed but they had no talent for faking the rhythmic breath of true sleep. He toed off his boots and climbed into his bag. It was difficult to see them through the shadows but he heard their breathing resume a more natural tempo. When had he last shared his sleeping space voluntarily? He was tempted to think it had been more than eighty years ago, before he’d shipped out. Back when he’d imagined he’d have some control over the course of his life.

And what would you have made of your life on your own? Another groupie for the star-spangled government lapdog? I made you so much more. And this is how you show your gratitude.

The yawning darkness at Bucky’s back reached out for him. Its fingers caressed his spine. He felt himself shaking, his throat closing…

“Hey, Bucky?” The invisible fingers retracted a little way into the dark.

“What?”

“Thanks. For letting me stay.”

How sweet that your new little friend thinks they’re any safer in a room with you than literally anywhere else. Even after your opening pleasantries featured you practically crushing their throat. You must have seen the bruises. I can hear them struggling to breathe from here.

“Y’welcome.” It wasn’t much but for just a moment it interrupted the voice; he searched for more words, desperate to keep it at bay, and to stop himself straining at the quiet to measure their breathing. His eyes locked onto the vague shape on the other side of the hall. “I never asked your name.”

A moment’s thoughtful quiet then a shuffling of blanket. He caught a glint of streetlight reflected in their eyes as they turned their face towards him. “Hive. Call me Hive.”

Note: Our Hive has nothing to do with the Hive who appears in Agents of SHIELD, just a coincidence that they ended up with the same name.

Thanks for reading! Every like and reblog is appreciated and treasured. Feed my need for external validation!

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idcfriend · 9 months

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I have a very VERY strong urge to right a dark sbi/hybrid au fanfic where instead of it being someone from the smp people are possessive of It's an Oc of mine that honestly has no idea how they ended up wherever the fuck they are.

One moment they were setting up their stream and talking to chat when all of a sudden their computer glitches and they wake up in...an alley? Oh and apparently their chat is their too...as voices in their head...yeah none of them of them understand it either but chat seems to find the situation somewhat amusing and at least they're somewhat ok and not alone (technically)...

.............💜................

I'll elaborate more but I'm curious to see if It's something you guys would be interested in reading?

#im making no sense #but im bored #i crave chaos #and sleep #dsmp #dark sbi #tommyinnit #philza #technoblade #wilbur soot #possessive #hearing voices #mcyt #dream smp #dsmp au #mcyt au

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issybettyx · 1 year

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Technoblade myth/legend au, except he’s not as terrifying as the stories paint him to be

Tdlr; Tommy’s a kid who grew up hearing stories of several different creatures and serial killers, Wilbur used to tell him one most nights if he wasn’t yet asleep. It was the legend of Technoblade that scared him the most.

Techno was an immortal being with something to prove, and he saw a blonde kid who thought twice before walking away and took a leap of faith

Or: techno finds his new brother on the side of the road, and tommy isn’t exactly against it

Or or: bedrock bros :DDDD

It’s a bit longer than i meant it to be, so you’re in for the long run (idk the word count i cant check)

Mentions of murder, scary imagery, near death experience

—

One thing Tommy remembered when he was growing up was Wilbur telling him bed time stories. Until he was 8, his brother would tell him stories of travellers, of dragons and talking cats. After his 8th birthday, however, those childish fantasies became something a little… darker.

One night, when Tommy was 9, Wilbur clambered into his bed as usual, a wicked smile on his face. “Today’s story is a very special one, Toms, you know why?” He asked giddily, grinning into his palm as Tommy shook his head, exhaustion already pulled over his head as he yawned, “Because today’s story isn’t just a myth, but a legend.”

“What’s the difference?”

“A myth is usually made up, from a very long time ago, but legends are real historical events that simply cannot be proven because they’re so old.” Wilbur explained, leaning on the wall as he flicked his flashlight on, revealing his wide smile. “Today’s story is about an immortal being named Technoblade.”

Apparently, according to Wilbur, Technoblade’s story started when he was 6. The boy was thrown to the wolves, and that was not a metaphoric statement. The gods found him, bloodied and torn as he lay beside a wolf pup, his arm slung around it as he gathered any last hint of warmth it was willing to offer.

It seemed he was on his last few breaths, but Death took mercy on him, using her abilities to restore him. Except, these restorations had consequences.

From age 6, Technoblade was made immortal. Not only that, but he was gifted the ability to manipulate blood, his blue eyes flashing a bright red whenever he so much as caught a glimpse of dripping red.

However, all powers have their drawbacks. Technoblade’s had come in the form of voices that yearned for the blood his veins pulsed only to control. Voices that willed him into mass murder, that placed him in the middle of battlefields with no choice but to get a few specks of blood on his knuckles.

Wilbur had explained his appearance strangely; his clothing consisted of a white frilled shirt and black trousers, way too fancy for every-day wear. His boots were once black, now brown from the dirt that soaked them. Pink hair was usually plaited, cascading down his back with different flowers sewn into the folds. Freckles dotted his face, and an emerald necklace dangled from his ears that were already overloaded with gold.

“He’s terrified people for generations, wiped out entire armies in his leave.” Wilbur explained, and never before had Tommy felt such fear; purely because this wasn’t a myth, this wasn’t something fake Wilbur had made up on the spot but a legend. Technoblade was real, and their deaths sat heavy on his shoulders in a way he knew couldn’t be too heavy for a man such as him to carry. “People haven’t seen him in centuries, but the worry remains, the wonder of when his return shall be.”

“Where did he go?” Tommy asked quietly, whispering it with such alarm that Wilbur gave him a soft smile, placing his flashlight down in favour of holding the sides of Tommy’s face.

“No one knows, some say the gods finally welcomed him into the afterlife, others say he’s been waiting somewhere far away to be able to pounce at the right moment.” Wilbur elucidated, and Tommy didn’t like that thought at all. Someone so dangerous could be lurking the planet, and all they could do was sit and wait for him to pass through and leave a trail of bodies behind him. “But hey,” the boy started again, and Tommy willed himself to look up, ignoring the fear in his chest, “You’re too awesome, he wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on you, you’re not even an orphan he wouldn’t care.”

Tommy wanted to ask, but after a short moment of deliberation he forgot the question, his thoughts lost to the cold shiver of the night.

“But he’s mean? And scary.” He tried, but Wilbur smiled again, brushing the hair from his face.

“I’ve been studying the stories of this legend for a very long time, and though Technoblade may be told to be mean and scary, I have a feeling he wouldn’t want to hurt you.” Wilbur continued, planting a kiss on Tommy’s forehead despite his hands trying - and failing - to swat him away. “You’ll be okay, Dad will save you either way.”

And Tommy had stuck with that thought; he forced Wilbur’s confidence into his own brain every day for the next few years, and no one ever really questioned it. Well, that’s a lie, many people questions his adamance on why Technoblade was painted in such a terrible light, how their fear was justified but not for the correct reasons.

Tubbo glared at him as if he was insane, and there’s a chance he was, but Tommy would be the last one to admit it.

Aged 11, Tommy had been given homework to write an essay on a legend, and he immediately got to work with Wilbur, finding every story and theory on the legend and writing an extensive essay. It turned out he had to read it in front of his class, and Tommy did so with his chin held high and a smirk on his lips. Once, his brother had said faking confidence soon turned into natural confidence, fake it till you make it.

It was a Friday, and Tommy found himself hissing as he stared at the graze on his knee, frowning as he wiped the antiseptic wipe over it.

“That’s a nasty one.” Tubbo supplied, ever helpful as he ripped open the paster packaging. “Maybe the blood god will return to shove it back inside.” He joked, placing the plaster over it with a satisfied hum.

“If I ever meet Technoblade, I don’t know if I’d run or wave him over.” Tommy scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tugged his trouser leg back down, standing as he pushed down a grimace, “Either way, this blood is staying where it is if I have anything to say on the matter.”

“Whatever you say bossman.” Tubbo replied with a hum, throwing his backpack over his shoulders. “See you Monday?”

Tommy nodded. “See ya.”

Only recently had Tommy convinced his Dad to let him walk home, explaining how he was 12 now and in big school and how he could crawl home without an issue; the man seemed to hace an unspoken hatred towards crawling, immediately telling Tommy how he shouldn’t and how horribly dangerous it was. But ‘danger’ was Tommy’s middle name, so he didn’t take the man’s complaints as heavily as he probably should’ve.

Because of this, he never paid that much attention to his surroundings, idly kicking a pebble as he ignored how quiet the street had gotten, the distant sound of screaming and way too many pattering feet.

Tommy didn’t hear the loud footsteps behind him, filled with a determination that could rock the very Earth they stood on.

Tommy didn’t feel the red eyes on him, nor the furrowed brows or the aura of fear radiating behind him.

What he did hear, however, was a low cough to gain his attention, making him immediately spin around, his own blue eyes meeting blood red, a sharp smirk on his lips with his pink hair tied back into a loose ponytail.

Tommy knew he should’ve ran, logically it was the smartest move.

Logically speaking, Tommy was staring at the blood god and found himself not as scared as he probably should be.

“I-“ he started, cutting himself off when the other noticed his strange state of panic, taking a decisive step back which Tommy immediately copied. “You’re the blood god.”

“I prefer the name Techno,” he replied with a shrug, offering his hand with a smile, “Nice to meet you.”

Tommy stared at the hand for a moment, then back ip at the glistening red eyes. And then he ran for it, jumping over any rocks in his way as he listened for another pair of bounding feet to follow him, but the area was silent apart from his own shaky breaths and jumping heart.

And yet, despite the blood-curdling fear in his chest, Tommy found he could only feel bad for the man. No one deserved to be looked at in the way Tommy had looked at him, no one deserved to have crowds of children scatter at their mere presence.

And maybe the man didn’t deserve the violent voices that screamed in his head.

Tommy knew he should’ve turned back, he should’ve looked and at least smiled, but his body willed him on, and his front door shut behind him before he could even change his mind.

Tommy needed air.

Maybe leaving the house when a violent immortal was on the loose was a bad idea, but he found that he didn’t really care.

In his research, Tommy found so many more things about him.

For example, apparently he had a pet polar bear when he lived in Antartica - apparently because he couldn’t die he thought it would be a fantastic place to live - named Steve, and someone had tried to assassinate the poor thing. And Technoblade made sure they never saw the light of day again.

He was also caught with a book in his hands a fair few times, eyes tracking the page with such ease that only came with centuries of practice.

Tommy wanted to fear Technoblade, wanted his heart to pound in his ears and run when those red eyes glared at him, but he found he simply couldn’t. In fact, the main reason he ran was out of pure shock and confusion, in his righteous opinion.

The air was cold that night, and Tommy didn’t bother repressing his shivers as he shoved his hands into his pockets, slipping in his earphones and letting his feet match the beat. He walked down beside the canal, finding a bench and falling onto it, sighing as he shut his eyes for a moment.

“Hullo.”

His eyes shot open.

At first, that wanted fear thrummed slightly in his chest, red eyes significantly standing out among the dark sky. But the way he held himself was anything but confident, his glasses looked a little too nerdy and his hair looked as if he’d swiftly thrown it up before a quick morning jog.

And, despite Wilbur’s insistence that the man never changed his clothing, Technoblade had a black hoodie on, jeans on his legs and boots on his feet.

The immortal bit his lip, waiting for any kind of movement or response, but got nothing.

“Sorry for, uh, scaring you earlier.” He continued, running a hand through his hair before frowning, apparently realising it was tied up. “I didn’t- don’t want to hurt you, you were just, uh, bleeding.”

Oh. Right.

His eyes only shone red when there was blood.

Some people theorised he was like a shark, that he could find someone simply by the smell of blood.

“Could I-“ he started, shifting his feet on the stone with an uncertain look. “Could I fix it?”

Even after everything, after Tommy educated himself on Technoblade’s abilities, after he spent months preaching about how genuinely good of a person he was, after Technoblade scared him off and didn’t bother giving him chase. After he stood uncertain as if worried he would accidentally hit a fly out of the air.

Tommy still found himself shocked.

Even more shocked at his own words.

“Only if I can fix your hair, it’s fucked up.”

Silence overtook them, and Tommy found himself not even bothering to be scared, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“My hair is perfectly okay, thank you very much.” The man huffed out, crossing his arms over his chest with a frown. Tommy knew he should scream and run and lock himself in a room until the legend forgot he was in there, but instead he found himself chuckling, rolling his eyes and moving over as a silent invitation for the other to sit.

But he paused, glancing at the space and back at Tommy, the boy frowning.

“Are you sure?” He asked, taking a step closer as if he was afraid of the seat barking at him.

Tommy scoffed, “You’re scary, you kill, blah blah blah.” Technoblade froze, Tommy didn’t bothering commenting. “You haven’t killed me, nor anyone since you’ve come back, I have zero reason to be scared of you so sit before I force your awkward ass onto the chair.”

For a moment, Tommy seriously regretted speaking to a god like that. He knew Death would be kicking at his heels until it became weak enough to kill him with a single arrow shot.

But then, a smile broke out onto his face, and he sat down, bringing his legs up and crossing them in front of him. “Where’s the cut?” He asked, scanning over Tommy who huffed, lifting his trouser leg.

But Technoblade frowned, looking at it with a careful eye. “There’s no blood there, wrong leg?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at the now-smirking Tommy, who made a point to rip off his plaster and show off his amazing graze to the one man who could kill him with an injury as such.

It was well known that grazes didn’t kill unless it got infected and untreated, however Technoblade could control any blood he could see. If his mind had a connection to the circulatory system, he could manipulate it.

As the stories had always said, a lost leg would be on equal level as a paper cut.

In Technoblade’s books anyways.

“Woah.” He whispered quietly, going to touch it before flinching back. “Can I touch it? I need to, to uh, heal it.” Tommy shrugged, watching Technoblade move his hand make and carefully press the tips of his fingers to it.

For a quiet moment, nothing happened.

But then, when Tommy leaned in closer, he saw a humming red on his skin, the graze knitting itself back together as if it had never been there in the first place.

It took around ten seconds for it to be fully healed, and the moment the red stopped humming he pulled back, as if worried he would do more damage than good.

“Thanks big man.” Tommy thanked as he looked at his knee, admiration overtaking as a smile continued to sit on his face. “This is fucking awesome.” Then, he looked back at the other, finding an uncertain look on his face as he looked at the canal water in front of them.

His eyes squinted, no longer red but now a pale blue, at the surface of it, a conflicted look on his face that Tommy knew meant danger.

The voices still existed, Tommy knew that much as he watched Technoblade press the ends of his nails into his palms.

The voices demanded blood, and usually took the person closest. And Tommy was sat pretty damn close.

So you know what the best course of action was?

To shuffle closer, demand the man to turn and pull his messed hair out of the hair-tie it was being held back in.

“What happened to your plait, Technoblade?” Tommy asked calmly, mostly as a form of conversation as he brushed his fingers through the man’s knotted hair (a hairbrush would be ideal, but he could work with what he had).

The man didn’t move or say anything for a moment, making a point to stare at his hands as he picked at the skin at the ends of them. “I forgot,” he said, and at the lack of an answer decided to clarify, “How to braid, I mean.” And then. “And Techno’s fine.”

“You can’t just forget, it doesn’t work like that.” Tommy sighed back, splitting his hair into three before moving the one in the right into the centre, swapping their places. “It’s muscle memory, I bet you could do it in your sleep.”

“An old friend taught me how, but when she passed I just… couldn’t,” he tried to explain, but when he knew Tommy only frowned more he tried to fix it, “I forgot because I simply didn’t do it for so long, muscle memory doesn’t matter if your muscles have done everything.”

“My muscles do everything.” Tommy continued, Techno humming as if it made sense, “They flex, and grow, they do a lot of growing. They impress women-“

“How many?”

“Thousands.”

“Wow, quite the muscles.”

Tommy paused to look over the man’s shoulder, a grin broad on his face. “That’s what I said, but Wilbur didn’t agree, Wilbur said that I had no muscles and no women liked me.”

Techno hummed again, letting the hands thread through his hair. “Who’s Wilbur?”

“My brother,” he responded, disdain costing his words, and if it wasn’t for his hands moving without shaking Techno may have slain the man where he stood. “He plays guitar and stuff, massive prick but he’s super cool, so it’s okay.”

“And what’s your name?” Techno prompted, handing Tommy a hair-tie which he took happily, tying the end as he thought.

Once, Wilbur had told him about how Technoblade enjoyed learning about Greek Mythology. Sure he was a god, but old beliefs were still interesting to learn about, and Tommy had spent the entire next three months learning everything he could about them all.

“Theseus.” He replied, flicking the plait over the god’s shoulders, moving in front of Techno and offering his hand, doing a slight bow. “But you can call me Tommy.”

Techno’s smile was wide, accepting the hand before standing. “Well it was fantastic meeting you Tommy, not many people are as… well, not scared I guess.”

“Because many people are pussies, but we’re not pussies are we Techno?”

With a sigh, and a shake of his head, Techno smiled just a little brighter. “No Tommy, we’re very awesome and not at all scared of anyone.”

When Tommy frowned, Techno faltered, and Tommy could see the flicker of worry and self-doubt in the man’s eyes.

“What-“

“Say bitch.” He whispered, staring at Techno who seemed strange bewildered.

“I’m sorry?”

“Say bitch, Techno, say it or you are one.”

“I don’t swear, not when I don’t need to.” Techno responded, his smile returning but with more pride. “You can’t make me.”

“Okay, say ass.”

“That counts.”

“No it doesn’t, Dad lets me say that one.”

“How old are you? Like four?”

Tommy’s gasp was a little too loud, but Techno grinned nonetheless.

“Four? How childish do you think I am?!”

“Well-“

An extra pair of footsteps interrupted them, and Techno instinctively turned to them, eyes wide as he stared at the person new to the scene. Tommy took a moment, groaning in annoyance as he sighed, pinching his eyes before turning.

Wilbur’s brown eyes met his own.

“Tommy.” Wilbur started, his voice cautious as his gaze flicked to Techno, the man stood unsure of who to focus on. “Tommy get behind me.”

“Wilbur it’s fine-“

“That’s Technoblade.” He practically spat, glaring at the god who simply shuffled uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his pockets as he avoided any eye contact. “You’re in danger, so please step away before I do anything stupid.”

“You are being stupid, it’s fine I know who he is.” Tommy replied with a shrug, making a point to pick up Techno’s hand and mess with it, turning it over and moving his fingers back and forth, the owner of the hand staring back with utter confusion. “See? Harmless.”

“Tommy-“

“You’re the one who told me he was fine, and look,” he said with a smile, raising the hand in the air as Techno smiled directly at him, ignoring the other person accompanying them. “You were right.”

“Yeah but he can still fucking kill you! Did you never learn about stranger danger?!”

“I mean he healed my graze, look!” Tommy said excitedly, dropping the hand to lift up his trouser leg, making sure Wilbur was looking at it as commanded. “It’s good as new.”

“Dad will kill you.”

“I’ll kill him first.”

“Not on my watch, he makes amazing pizza and I don’t think I can live without it.” Wilbur told him, seemingly more relaxed as he pointed at the kid, then at Techno with a more careful eye. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He muttered back just loud enough for the other to hear, before turning to Tommy, crouching to his height. “Who’s this Dad of yours? Is he good not only because of pizza?”

“Dad’s the best.” Tommy affirmed, and when Wilbur didn’t disagree it seemed good enough. “He is very boring though, he spends his time reading and going to the library, you’d probably get along great.”

“You horribly concern me, Tommy.” Techno sighed out, and Tommy beamed happily, seemingly taking it as a compliment, “Does he have a name or do I just call him Dad until you give me something to call him?”

“Phil.” Tommy said immediately, smiling as he swung. “Phil Watson.”

What they didn’t expect was for Techno to freeze, not before standing and staring at Tommy with wide eyes.

“What?” Wilbur asked sternly, moving and slowly dragging Tommy away to a safer distance, scanning Techno’s furrowed brows with caution.

“Phil Watson as in Philza Minecraft Watson?”

Tommy and his brother shared an unsure glance, before eventually nodding.

Techno continued to stare blankly.

“You heard of him? He on your hit-list?” Wilbur scowled, tugging his brother closer who tried to struggle out of the grip. Techno frowned.

“If Phil was on my hit-list I would kill the person who asked for his head.” Techno practically growled, and this only confused them both a little more. And then, after a few deep breaths, the murderous glint to the god’s eyes was gone, and he felt back onto the bench with a sigh. “Phil’s a good man, I can’t deny the fact he is likely as good a father as he is a man.”

“You know Dad?” Tommy asked, finally pulling away from Wilbur and sitting beside Techno, his legs kicking beneath him as the god let his eyes drift shut.

“He taught me how to quiet the voices, amongst other things.” After a quiet moment of consideration, Wilbur moved to sit next to Tommy, making sure he was far away from the god even when Tommy edged closer and rested his head on the man’s shoulder. He was always too trusting, Wilbur promised to scold him for it if they came out of this alive.

“But how do you know him?” Tommy asked after a moment, and Techno hummed in questioning. “I swear no one’s seen you in, like, hundreds of years.”

“Well yeah, but-“ he cut himself off, and Wilbur immediately glared at him, as if daring to accuse their Dad of anything. “But he taught me, in secret, a few years ago.”

It was clearly a lie, and Wilbur really wanted to force to truth out, but Tommy beat him to speaking, always eager to say something else. “That’s very nice of him, I like Dad even more now.”

“More than Tubbo?”

Tommy looked at Wilbur, something daring and almost disgusted in his eyes.

“Please.”

Techno laughed, and it shocked Wilbur so much he forgot he was meant to be scared, finding himself smiling as well at his brothers antics.

“How old are you?”

Wilbur laughed this time, mostly at the offended look on Techno’s face.

“Oh god, I’m gonna have to talk to Phil about this, teach you some manners about how to speak to immortal beings.” He sighed out, and Wilbur pressed his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. “Never ask a god his age.”

Wilbur leaned over to Tommy, whispering something in his ear that made the boy’s eyes gleam.

“You’re 7658!”

After a brief moment of processing and quick maths, glared at the kid, and then at Wilbur who was smirking. “You guys know way too much about me, first the Theseus comment, then the braid, now my age which I didn’t even know myself, what’s next?” Despite the tone, the man didn’t seem too unhappy about it (if his smile was anything to go off of).

“Did you know that Death visited you on your 1000th birthday and gifted you a cool ass sword?” Wilbur asked, as if he didn’t know he’d lived through it himself. Techno, for one was astonished. Tommy had that same curiosity he always carried with him wherever he went.

“Do you still have it? Is it still cool ass? Did Death kill you?”

“I mean I feel pretty alive right now.” Techno mumbled, looking at his scarred hands with a frown. “I think.”

“What about the time when the God of Life gave you a wolf big enough to be ridden as a horse, how epic was that?” Wilbur asked, leaning forward as he looked at him, an emotion akin to amazement in his eyes.

“Oh! Oh! What did you name it?”

Techno grinned, “Floof.”

Wilbur grimaced, Tommy seemed to love it even more than the owner himself.

“That is epic.”

Techno grinned, and Wilbur found himself weirdly comfortable in the Blood God’s company, even if he reprimanded himself for it. Tommy seemed to simply be enjoying it, and Wilbur would be lying if he said he didn’t want to join him.

—

“Phil?” Techno’s deep voice rang through the house, Tommy and Wilbur kicking off their shoes and immediately running to the kitchen to find snacks.

“Yeah?” The man called back, no hesitance as if it was a normal occurrence to have an old friend shouting your name. It was also strange because Tommy and Wilbur never called their dad by his first name, the former had explained how it was ‘disrespecting the best man ever’.

And then, after a moment, the door slammed open and fast footsteps followed, even the boys in the kitchen paused to watch their Dad jump down half the steps before pausing, staring right into Techno’s eyes without a hint of worry or fear, but rather relief.

He was immediately pulled into a hug, and Techno didn’t bother stopping the tears, holding him tight with no means of letting go. It felt safe, like everyone in the world who was after him would back off with Phil holding him in such a way.

“I’m sorry.” He cried quietly, and the warm, safe arms only held him tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright mate.” Phil responded quietly, running his hand down the man’s plait with a smile. “Nice plait, did you finally relearn?”

“No your son did it.”

Phil froze, breath pausing for just a moment before finally relaxing, likely having lost a few years off his life from just that minute alone.

“Are they still out?” He asked quietly, hoping for an answer he knew he wasn’t going to get.

“Nope they’re stood right behind you.” He whispered back, and he heard Phil sigh, regretfully pulling away and turning to look at his sons, both as confused as each other. “What did I tell you guys about stranger danger?”

“Well he clearly isn’t a stranger.” Wilbur mumbled.

“Strangers are people you don’t know, I know Technoblade!”

“Yeah, you know that he’s killed a fuck ton of people.” He pointed out, Techno smiling slightly as Wilbur grimaced, Tommy rolling his eyes.

“He fixed my leg though! Look! Dad look!”

Phil was subjected to looking at Tommy’s healed knee, humming in satisfaction. “That was very nice of him.”

“It was! It was! He said he knew you, you helped him! You’re very cool Dad.”

Phil smiled so bright Techno was worried the kid would be blinded. “Thanks kiddo.”

And then, Techno caught Wilbur’s gaze. His eyes were carefully squinted, his mouth even and his hands being clenched and unclenched at his sides.

The kid knew something, so Techno smiled, rocking on his feet as the boy looked on in disbelief.

“Dad why are you friends with Technoblade?”

“Why are you friends with Technoblade?” Phil asked back immediately, clearly deflecting, but the boy didn’t seem to notice, huffing.

“Because he was nice to me! And he didn’t hurt me! And he’s cool and I like cool people!”

“Dad?” Wilbur asked, his father smiling as he looked at him, “How old are you?” He asked slowly, carefully, and clearly with a thought in his head. Phil noticed it, smiling with warning.

“Don’t ask me my age, that’s rude.” He huffed back, standing and ruffling Tommy’s hair. What he didn’t expect was for Wilbur to smile back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Techno said that you never ask a god his age.” Wilbur continued, and Phil paused, glancing back at Techno who sunk into himself. “And he also said you helped him a few years ago, but you hardly ever leave the house unless it’s for shopping.”

Tommy gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth. “You’re old old.”

“I’m not that old.” Phil reasoned, but he knew any attempts at lying would be futile, sighing. “Okay maybe a few thousand years is a bit old-“

“Tubbo’s Dad is old, he’s 40 next Thursday.” Tommy explained, and Phil could only stand baffled, looking to Techno for help, but the man only smiled again, looking into Wilbur’s proud eyes with something almost challenging. “Wow, you’re both old, me and Wilbur are so much better than you two.”

Wilbur nodded in agreement, and Phil sighed, wondering if after everything these boys would be the death of him. Maybe they would, they definitely could if they tried.

Instead, they all decided to settle on the sofa that night, Tommy making the executive decision to fall asleep at Techno’s side, Wilbur dozing off in front of him with Phil running his hands through his hair, Techno focusing only on the telly.

The stories painted Technoblade as a horrible man, a man who yearned for blood and dreamt of the fall of armies, of governments up in flames and orphans at the end of his sword.

But here he sat, with a young boy held close and his friend by his side, an older boy by his feet who had managed to feel comfortable enough in his presence to let sleep take him.

Sometimes stories aren’t always completely correct. Technoblade was living proof of such a statement.

#dream smp #mcytblr #technoblade #tommyinnit #bedrock bros #sbi #sleepy bois inc #wilbur soot #philza #dream smp au #twinsduo #the blood god #blood god techno #its hella long #fluff #hearing voices #:0

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sophieinwonderland · 7 months

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As a psychotic person with (harmful) delusions and hallucinations, I'd like to chip in and say the way people are responding to your switching + imposition guides with "but they're delusions and hallucinations, obviously these are bad" really rubs me the wrong way. Because it feels like they're trying to support people like me, but they speak about delusions/hallucinations in a way that doesn't really make me feel safe around them. Like, they feel like the kind of people to try and reality check me or tell me to "get help" instead of just letting me exist as a psychotic person, y'know? Shuffle me off to the side because anything related to what I experience (including I, myself) must be hidden away until it doesn't exist "like that" anymore. They're making such a huge deal out of this that it makes me wonder how they'd react if a psychotic person like I confessed to them about having delusions/hallucinations. Would they freak out? The way they talk about these things makes me feel like they'd freak out. And then try to tell me they "know what's best" for me and force onto me their own ideas about how I should manage my psychosis. It's something in how they talk about delusions without actually talking about or with delusional people. Arguing over what we experience without listening to the people experiencing it. Inadvertently promoting the idea that delusions and hallucinations can't be managed and gotten to a healthy level that sometimes people just live with, no need to panic about it. Idk, it's hard to put into words

I very much agree.

These posts often come off as very dismissive and othering.

They cast certain conditions and experiences as these just... objectively terrible things all the time... and then dive straight into trying to police how people are allowed to relate to them.

And while the bulk of this latest discourse has been focused on the dissociation aspect, it's not been exclusively that, as the hallucination subject has been brought up too.

See this post for example:

(Fact check: I have no idea what they mean about me "encouraging dissociation" outside of the switching guide, and I've never said schizophrenia is healthy nor do I believe every person with Schizophrenia to be a system though I do think there is overlap and this is one way systems can form. There's a ton of nuance being intentionally and maliciously cut out but that I don't have the time to bother with.)

This feels a lot more like what you're talking about.

The quoted line about treatment for hallucinations being akin to conversion therapy is something attributed to Dr. Romme of the Hearing Voices Network.

The Hearing Voices Movement started in the 1980s in Europe when a patient confronted Romme about the limitations of the psychiatric care being provided. Why, the patient asked, was it OK for Romme to believe in a God whom he could not see or hear but not OK for her, the patient, to believe in voices that she really did hear? To learn more about the voice-hearing experience and to try to help his patient, Romme had the woman’s story told on TV and asked for other voice hearers to contact him. Approximately 550 reached out. Remarkably, many of the people who heard voices did not need clinical help. Writing in the Journal of Mental Health in 2011 after conducting a literature review, Vanessa Beavan, John Read and Claire Cartwright asserted that it was safe to say that 1 in 10 people in the general population will hear voices. Romme eventually compared psychiatric treatment to eliminate voice hearing to conversion therapy for sexual orientation.

What I love about this story is how it shows a psychiatrist who was actually willing to listen to and learn from their patients instead of simply assuming they know what's best.

Psychiatry has a long history of starting with assuming something is just inherently bad and needs to be gotten rid of from the start and building treatment models around that. In this case, Romme was willing to re-evaluate generations of tradition and develop new treatment methods for the needs of the actual patients instead of trying to force people to fit into society's idea of normalcy.

And I think that's what we need more of in the world. To focus on people's own needs and their health first instead of trying to "fix" undesirable traits.

#syscourse #pro endo #pro endogenic #hallucinations #psychiatry #voice hearing #hearing voices #hallucination #multiplicity #sysblr

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