My collection of Chainsaw Man one-shot fan-fictions.
SPOILERS FOR THE MANGA WITHIN THIS CONTENT (Please read with caution if you have not caught up yet!)
Rated M for 'mature' for some sensitive themes
~ Check the chapters' individual warnings for...
WARNINGS AND INFO: - Swearing and one usage of a homophobic slur (I am queer and this is a piece of fiction; disclaimer) - Many warnings for elements of mental health struggles including suicidal ideation, guilt, shame, repression, internalized hatred, hopelessness, etc. - Separate warning for self harm: please do not read if you are at risk of hurting yourself from this stuff! - Many descriptions of SH including both physical and mental forms of it; self deprecating language. - Again, please do not read this if that is too much. - Also, there's some brief sexual content! (R: mature)
A/N —> This is just an additional reminder: please do not force yourself to read if you're not totally comfortable with the content present. I understand people have triggers (as do I) and so I would be more than happy to welcome you back for the next chapter. Thank you for reading thus far!
I don't know much about the specific numbers and resources for different mental health crises, but I do know that in the United States there is 988, which is supposed to be a 24/7 service for mental health, I believe all ages. If you're struggling, please do not be afraid to seek help. I have my fair share of mental health issues, and if anyone needs a safe space to burrow when they feel down, here it is.
Do not be afraid to be yourself (anonymously and privately, of course) here when reading my works.
- xoxo Lavvy :)
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"PERFECTIONIST"
Marbled wood floors stretched for seemingly miles, spanning the distance Pingtsi dreaded having to walk every morning to practice. With each panel in the hard floor, she approached further to her own recurrent demise, watching as the ground basked in her fear and ate each little twitch of her skin as she remembered the way it was plucked and slapped from the practices before; her instructor was a shrewd savage, tearing her to pieces with only her words and a long, wooden ruler that battled against her arms, saving the violence of her bare hands as imagination for another day's reality.
Pingtsi was in her senior year of university, and had been a musician since the eighth grade. From age fourteen to age twenty-two, she'd been nothing but loyal in her relationship with music, never messing around with other hobbies. Though, in her earliest memories of music, the passion was stronger, and the incentive to play, pure interest in the hobby, was far greater. Out of anyone she knew, all of her three friends, she was the only one that got along with, and in fact actively loved, her parents. They were good people, like really good. They had no idea about the dystopian war they sent their child to four years ago after she graduated, and Pingtsi also knew she couldn't bear to see their sweet faces filled with grief when she told them who made those cuts...
Check. Once again, something she cannot fail.
If her music teacher was so insistent on performing a lobotomy through words alone on her fucked brain that couldn't tell the difference between a quarter note and and eighth note, Pingtsi would surely assist and beat the shrewd to the punch—she would take samples for a blood test, pressing that dull, worn out, traumatized razor blade along the edge of her wrist and slice, carving into the whorish flesh her teacher hated, she hated, the skin of a failure, which was always open to the air, never receiving enough time to heal every carefully crafted scar to its original state. She created herself a graveyard of expectations, failed opportunities to be successful.
