#Trigger warnings for mentions of suicidal thoughts

[stellarvoices00]

Can I even call it a relapse if I never got any better??

[degeneracyismylegacy]

I hate that BPD and other cluster B mental illness are so "girl coded". Where are my BPD boys at ? My unstable dudes rep ? My guys with female rage, who have ED, who self harm ? Who have so little representation of their disorders and personnality that they are fans of fictionnal girls BPD coded wishing they could have the same characters being boys ? Who headcannon their favs as transmascs ?

I swear to god, I have all the love in the world for transmascs and trans men who struggle with cluster B disorders, who are unstable, addicted, suicidal, self harming, who have ED. Because we never are seen. The little representation that exists are girly girls most of the time. But you are in my thoughts. I see you.

[fightingalgth8rs]

Sneak Peek from my Detective AU (Yes I've started writing and no I still don't have a title).

trigger warning: mention of suicide and murder

The summer the Mapplethorpes were killed and my sister drove her car off the bridge was sultry and languid and I didn’t know what I was doing in Little River. It must have been a Friday because the smell of fish crackers that my neighbour fried every Friday, as if it were some sabbatical ritual, in the same old ‘reused’ oil could’ve woken this guy up. That is if he wasn’t dead as hell. He lay on the floor in his pyjamas with his brains scattered all over the rug and my gun in his hand.  

“We’ve cleared the premise, madam.”

It was six forty-five in the morning. I didn’t tell anyone that I was going to Three Mile Creek to kill myself.

I figured that was more information than people needed, plus it might interfere with my travel plans if anyone found out the truth.

“Forensics are sweeping the area madam. It’ll take about an hour.”

Six forty-seven. I should’ve been lying dead in a rain drenched ditch. Now there was a dead man in my apartment. What a day!

“Madam?” DC Wallace Wilson’s voice came cutting once again through the channel of my thoughts. An hour ago I was hoping I’d never have to hear from him again.

“Madam? I-”

“Yes I can hear you Wallace. Thank you.”

“You do understand madam that this can have strange consequences for you. I mean he was found in your apartment. And the gun. And th-”

“I said thank you Wallace,” I held my arm out, welcoming him to leave my presence as soon as he deemed fit.

“But don’t you think-”. His smirk was sickening.

“Honestly Wallace what do you have against me?”

He rubbed his greasy palms together. “I’m sorry you feel that way about me Sylvia. I only want what’s best for you.” He leaned over and I could smell his strong masculine body spray that unnerved every cell from my nose to my brain.

Something about this man unsettled me to the marrow of my bones. And it was strange because only my mother had ever been able to that to me.

“I’ll see you at the station.” I turned away and shut the paling wooden door behind me. The hallway loomed endlessly in front of me. The sounds from the gathering crowd outside prised their way through the plaster in the walls and crashed at the shores of my senses. Coupled with the silence of the corridor, the aching moan of the old building and the murmur of the forensic guys, the rustle of their plastic bags and latex gloves, made by breath hitch up in my throat.

Little River had found yet again to keep me at home.

🌞Meena. x

@reloha @do-angels-dream-of-starry-seas @dtmsrpfcringe @literatemisfit @helpits4am

@aq2003 @princeloww @davidtennantgenderenvy @suburbia-and-brentwood-market

[allowed-to-take-up-space]

Something I've been thinking about a lot is the way my father would critique and stereotype every single person he saw, yet still insist he wasn't judgmental.

We are in the car, my dad driving, me in the passenger seat. I am a child, maybe 11 years old. My father points at the girl standing on the corner, waiting for the light to change. "Yikes. Good thing she's out walking. Looks like she needs it. Bet she's hoping she'll fit into the outfit she's wearing someday."

"Dad, that's not a nice thing to say about someone."

"It's fine. She can't hear me. I would never say something like that to someone's face. You know, MY dad was homophobic and racist, so at least I'm better than that."

Maybe that girl on the corner didn't hear my father. But I did. And I've never forgotten it. Or the time I finally admitted to him - after YEARS of being a suicidal teen - that I was extremely depressed, and he told me I was one of those kids making shit up for attention, because HE had been in a car crash at one point and experienced REAL depression.

And yet I always ponder, now, how I could possibly be so insecure. Why I cannot just accept myself and move forward. Why I look at myself in the mirror with disgust.

It's HIS voice that echoes in my head. It's HIS nasty remarks that I remember. It's HIS judgmental opinions that I have to rid from my brain, every single time they pop up, because I KNOW better.

Even though I haven't spoken to my dad in several years now, the way he treated myself and others invades my mind constantly. His negativity has shaped so much of me - of my LIFE - and last time we DID speak, he still refused to take any accountability for the multitude of ways in which he hurt me (this specific topic not even covering 1/10 of the ways in which he did).

Furthermore, this makes me think about all the people who utter "harmless comments" about others when they don't think someone who might be hurt by that is listening. I've been privy to many conversations that have left me feeling hollow, without the folks making those judgmental comments realizing that what they've said applies to me. And I don't often feel safe enough to stand up for myself.

I wish folks could realize that openly passing heinous judgment on strangers is a gateway to passing judgment on people you care about.

"I would never say something like that to someone's face."

You said it to mine.

[elementaskylos345]

Urik's Journal

A series of stone tablets that carry the weary words of one man isolated at the top of the Watcher's Spire, struggling to survive and struggling to keep his mind.

This is written specifically with a humanized au in mind, so don't freak out when things have bones

!!Trigger Warnings in tags!!

Higher beings these words are for you alone.

Not really, but it feels like only higher beings can survive this madness. For those that find this journal collection in the future I am Urik, assistant to Lurien the Watcher. So much has happened over the last few months and everything is so overwhelming right now. So. I've decided to begin journaling to gather my thoughts and keep myself sane.

So, day 1, I suppose. I'm trying to keep quiet so the husks outside don't claw at the door. Thankfully the stone of these tablets is soft enough to chisel and not make too much noise. I don't think I'm in any real danger but I hate that noise. Knowing they were once my friends and coworkers makes their shambling and mumbling and feral clawing utterly unbearable. I can't stand that I know it's them out there.

Despite everything the king has done, sacrificing so many, the infection remains. it was all in vain. I can only hope that this infection is not happening in other kingdoms.

•••

Day 2

With the telescope in this room I can watch the ground even from this great height… I hate it. I wish I could put an end to this. So many people die every day. I can't see fine details but I can see enough. I don't know if I can say I'm lucky, trapped at the peak of the tallest building in the city but at least I'm safe. I don't think I'll be watching the ground below.

On a vaguely related note I'm beginning to run low on food. Though this may only be the second day of the journal I have been stuck in Lurien's room for what I think is a few months now. I'm down to just a few bags of the rations that were handed out. Thankfully it's pretty nonperishable so I can stretch it out over a week or two I think but I need to figure something out quickly. Getting food last time nearly got me killed. I'm no fighter, I'm just a man.

•••

Day 4

I've skipped day 3 as nothing interesting occurred but I eat fresh meat today. I managed to lure a vengefly inside using some of the dried mushroom and managed to cage it. I still need to actually kill and prepare it but I still managed to catch something! Vengeflies don't fly this high up enough to make this method consistent but this is still progress.

I will need to venture outside of this room and possibly outside of the tower. If I keep my distance I might be able to get by without conflict but I don't count on it. The husks outside still seem to have some function of the mind left. They speak things on rare occasions, calling on Master Lurien or even myself.

•••

Day 5

By the king I miss seasoning. But I live another day and feel better than I have in weeks. Maybe it's in my bead but the fresh food feels good. However, I still need a consistent source of food. If I can get down to the bridge or just above I could set up a few traps there. I'd need to make traps and get past the guards but it seems a decent enough plan. I'll think of some back-up ideas but that one feels very plausible.

•••

Day 8

The plan did not work. I made a few traps that worked somewhat consistently in tests and caught one vengefly but when I made my journey down to the bridge I was attacked by one of Elite Guards. I lost the traps and now have a nasty gash across my back. I think I can treat this and prevent infection but this is bad. I'm sat against Lurien's resting podium. He cannot help me but his presence is comforting…

I dread what might happen in the coming days.

•••

Day 10

I am in a great deal of pain.

Day 11

I stepped out onto the balcony today. I intended to wash the wound on my back but I stood outside for a good while feeling the rain fall on me. I wept. My situation is bleak. I am alone, I have dwindling supplies, there is nothing but death, and there is no end in sight. I feel the infection swimming in the back of my mind, tempting me closer. I hate this. I hate it all. So much death and so much pain all from one angry and spiteful god. I can't help but ask why. Why us? What crime did we commit to warrant this violent reaction?

I think I'm going to sleep for a while. I'm so tired. I know it's risky to dream but I'm not sure what I live for at the moment.

•••

I've lost track of the days. The timer system in the tower broke down and I've not the skill to repair it. It has been at least 3. I am out of food. I've tried to trap a vengefly but with no luck. I'm not exactly sure what to do. I'm scared to leave the room. I'd pray to the Pale King but he won't answer. He can't help me. He's already failed his kingdom. What could he do to help me?

•••

I need to do something. The rainwater is plenty abundant and rich in minerals but it simply isn't enough. I could sneak into one of the floors below. I need to. I will bring one of the candle holders as a weapon. If I perish… oh well I suppose

A few hours later. I was unsuccessful but I did fend off a Lance Sentry and steal her weapon. It's not food but I guess I'm better prepared for a dangerous encounter? I'll try again soon. Maybe. I'm exhausted mentally so I might go hungry another day.

•••

I'm going out again. It is the next day I'm pretty sure. I'm going to get something.

I found some dried mushrooms near the Watcher Knights. It's not much but I'll take it. I'm beginning to regret hiding up in the tower and not attempting to flee while there were enough people between me and the husks to attempt to break past the walls. But I couldn't abandon Lurien. He may not need me now but I feel I have a moral obligation to remain at his side. I still need to hunt for food since I ate all I found. Hopefully I can lure in a vengefly or something.

••▪︎

Ask and you shall receive. Captured and cooked a vengefly. I feel energized so I might go down to try and retrieve the traps I dropped. In hindsight trying to set the traps up so far away was a poor decision. They might catch something but they're pointless if I can't reach them. It may not be the best source of food but I might set the traps up either by the telescope or balcony. I'll try the balcony. Hopefully the infection has made them less intelligent and they won't avoid this area after some time.

I have returned. One of them was destroyed and one was damaged. That leaves me one functioning trap. I think I can repair the trap but I'll do it later, I need to set the first one up

•••

Same day, different journal. Retrieved my broken traps and set up the one working trap. I have to admit writing and planning my survival has kept my mind busy. The infection whispers to me but I can mostly ignore it. The voice does grow louder and the light in my dreams brighter but I don't feel myself getting lost just yet. It's certainly inevitable that the infection will claim me but for now I survive. For who and for what sake I still can't say. Maybe I don't want to leave Master Lurien. He's all I have right now. I swore I'd watch over him… that's probably it. I live for him

I'm not sure if he's even aware in his eternal sleep but I will be here and I hope he knows that.

▪︎••

I've repaired the second trap and set it up. I've also scraped a bit of bone marrow out of the tiny bones of the vengefly and ate that. It tastes surprisingly good for being uncooked. The other bones have sat too long to be safe to eat but I'm taking note of this for the future.

Unrelated but I'm glad Lurien had so many stone tablets laying about. I was never a fan of the silk parchment. The humid air and wet conditions make keeping them maintained rather difficult, especially now. They may be easier to write on but they won't stand the test of time.

Back to my survival. The traps are set up and I can continue to scavenge. My wound is healing and I think I've grown used to the pain, it certainly makes getting around a bit easier. I can at least stand up straight again. I will go out and look for food and supplies after I sleep for a little bit. I have learned how to avoid the husks up here so they have become a non issue.

•▪︎•

A few scraps.

I shouldn't be surprised I'm struggling but I'm still frustrated. Food was tight before the infection got this bad so it's only logical food is tight now but this feels absurd. I know the other residents and guards had to eat and the places where the food was stored is behind danger. I'm just complaining. Of all the places to be trapped I feel like the city is probably the worst. Most of the food came from outside the city. But the king sealed the gates. He only trapped us all here. He sealed our fate.

I wish these fucking birds would just take the bait. I'm not eating nearly enough.

•▪︎▪︎

I apologize for my vulgarity in the last journal but I feel my frustration is justified. I've nibbled on one of the canvases just to lull the need to chew on something. It will not satiate my hunger and I think I just feel worse now but it felt good in the moment I think. I moved one of the traps to the telescope. Maybe them being farther apart will increase the chances I catch something - anything. I might need to do something drastic at this point

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Before I write on the subject of this journal I want to preface - I am ashamed of what I've done. I am desperate and in a situation most bleak but this does not make what I did any better.

I now have food for a few days. The way I acquired it is awful. His name was Elgor. He was in charge of overseeing the guards' scheduling in the spire. He was a kind but stern man before the infection claimed his mind. I often shared lunch with him when our schedules allowed it. I did not target his husk out of any hatred or any reason other than desperation.

I used the lance I acquired from the Sentry I fought a while ago and attacked him. He slapped me around with a surprising amount of strength but I ended the encounter as quickly as I could. I never thought I'd ever need to butcher a man let alone eat one. I had to cover his face with rags to not look at him while I did it. I question now if being a mindless husk would be better than this. At least the husks seem to be protecting each other.

▪︎▪▪︎

I am still reeling from what I've done. I hope to write a full biography for Elgor from this. I feel dirty. I feel as though I've defiled his corpse. I've noticed the husks up here seem more anxious in his absence which makes me feel worse. I'm questioning if I should've just starved. I've apologized to Elgor countless times and I can only hope some part of him somewhere knows I did not want to do this and that I regret it.

Despite my feelings I can't bring myself to ditch his body. I killed him to eat and at this point I should go through with it. I've already started. I'll give him as proper a burial as I can when I can.

•▪︎•

It has been several days. Elgor has sustained me and I've dedicated the energy he gave me to preserving his memory as best as I can. I've wrapped his body in cloth and hope I can bring him to ground level soon. I think I've made peace with what I've done, I'm not quite sure. I'm not sure I feel a whole lot right now.

I have caught one vengefly and have decided to wait until I kill and eat it. I have far more energy now so I can begin my search for a stable food source once again as I am NOT doing what I did to Elgor to someone else. I refuse to. I can't.

••▪︎

After a few more days I've finally made progress. I've gathered a few days worth of rations from one of the guards’ rest areas. This isn't anything sustainable but I'm so, so happy about this. I thank Elgor for giving me the energy I needed to get to this point. I'm also getting better at avoiding the husks.

Though the light is getting brighter, it's getting louder. She calls me by name. I'd almost forgotten my own name. I'm torn between hoping for my continued survival or giving Elgor the burial he needs. There's no way I'm getting to the resting grounds but perhaps I can send him off into one of the rivers that flow through the city. I doubt it would be the burial he'd want but I don't have much to offer.

•¤▪︎

The infection rings in my mind. I'm thinking about it more and more. So I risked it and took Elgor to the ground. It had been so long since I was on solid ground. I found a somewhat secluded area And watched his body disappear below the surface of the water. I stayed there for a while and wept for him. I feel terrible. Just a few days before the infection becomes a bigger issue I cannibalize what was left of him. The husks do not speak anymore, the only word I've heard is “attack” from the Flying Sentries, but this doesn't make things better.

I'm going to spend time with Lurien. I really need it right now.

¤•▪︎

My mind feels not my own. I fight to regain myself. All in vain. All in vain. The king failed. The king failed us all. He killed us all. I just want to go back to the way things were. I wish I could see my friends’ eyes full of life, I wish I could speak with Lurien again, I wish I could be happy again, I wish the light never descended upon this land. I miss the peace, I miss my friends, I miss my life. I'd give anything to go back to that.

פ¤

Lost all of them. Lost all. Lost. Master's given life for naught. Not worth. The cost too great cost too great. Lost all kingdom life light. None left left to grieve. Non left to give. How much more must we suffer?

¤¤¤

Master, light calls.

•°×

I'm not sure how but I still remain. This journal comes many days after the last. Maybe even weeks. Time eludes me. Reading over my last three journals and am astonished the infection didn't take me.

It is very hazy but I sat by Master Lurien and I think I was trying to fight it off. Perhaps I was thinking of what remains and how empty the future feels because I remember giving up. I so clearly remember it because that's when the infection backed off. It still rings like windchimes In my mind but it's less overbearing. I don't understand. Why am I still alive? I've never seen anyone get so close to the edge but pull themselves away.

Even as I write I don't fight it. I don't have anything to fight for. I'll update my journal series if I'm still aware and I deem it necessary I suppose.

×▪︎°

I ponder if being infected would be better than this. There is nothing for me here. There is nothing for anyone. This place is no better than the wasteland outside of the kingdom borders. At least with being a mindless husk I would not need to feel this pain. it's not even the physical pain it's the mental anguish. I cannot put into words the despair I feel

It's indescribable

I want revenge but seek revenge on a king that abandoned us. I want things to change but they will never change. I want to be happy but this hellish place will not allow that. Master Lurien, I'm sorry, but I don't know how much more I can endure. How much more I can despair. How much more I can hate. I crave a death deeper than that of the body - I don't want there to be an afterlife. The gods of this world are unbearable and I want naught for them to hold my soul. Let me fade. Let me become nothing.

*▪︎+

It has been a very long time since I've written in this specific series. My words are written elsewhere. I am in a much more stable position and state of mind. Still not a mindless husk. I acquired some edible fungus from the edge of the city and have started a small farm. I recently relocated the traps to a lower floor as I'm far more adept at navigating the spire and its dangers. I've also made more of them.

I've picked up many hobbies to keep myself occupied - painting, carving, crafting, singing. I've also explored some of the city. Most of what I've seen has been completely destroyed. I don't explore often. Not much to see unless I want to depress myself. I've fallen into a consistent routine and found a reason to continue living.

I swore myself to Master lurien. I'd be forever at his side. I think I've mentioned this in previous journals but I've decided my days will be spent preserving him and what he did for this fallen kingdom. The bastard king may have failed us and sacrificed so many, including Lurien, for nothing but Lurien was loyal to the end. He sacrificed his life for that fool. So I'll make sure his name, who he is, and what he did is not forgotten. I hope Herrah and Monomon have someone who would do the same for them as well.

×*●

Much time has passed and I once again return to my journal. I feel I need to on occasion to remember who I am and who I was before the infection became an issue. I had forgotten my name. Urik. It feels so foreign. Disconnected. I had to dig around for my first journal just to find it. This series of tablets has been discarded to a corner almost entirely. Perhaps I need to focus on myself some to reconnect with who I am.

But perhaps not. I don't think I'm that important anymore. I will live here, preserve here, and die here. Simple as that and I am at peace with and find comfort in that. There's nothing else for me so why concern myself with things that won't matter in the long run. For all I know I will be nothing more than a corpse in a month's time. It changes nothing. I've written all I can about Lurien. This will likely be the final entry in this series since I am not what matters here in this spire. What matters is my master.

@●¤

My past self is a damned fool for not realizing just how much time “the rest of my days” could be. The time gaps between these entries keeps getting longer and longer. I'm certain the time frame between the last two was almost a whole year. No clue how long it's been since I last wrote since it feels like eternity. I can only write, watch, and read and paint the same damn things over and over and over and over again until I need something new.

The infection has become something of a friend to me, one of the few constants of my life. It tells me things and I acknowledge them. Its influence over me fluctuates. Some time I am in a daze and some time I am barely affected by it. But despite everything it's done I can't see my life without it anymore. I'm definitely just lonely and borderline mad but I've nothing else to share to the no one that will read this, so.

@#■

Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above.

●¤°

What the hell was I on last entry? I don't remember writing that and just stumbled upon it in Lurien's Journal room. Maybe I was having some kind of infected bout or something. Oh well I guess

#■•

I have not experienced fear this intense in an eternity. Someone entered the spire. Someone bested the Knights below. Someone sought to hurt HURT Lurien. I managed to convince them otherwise sending them off to a strange sight I found below the city. I've locked down spire from the Knights room to up here. If that THING BASTARD comes back they aren't getting to him. To one will hurt Lurien. The seals must remain. They cannot be broken. They will not break. Never break.

@◇>

The ground shook with a might I have not felt in forever. A deep bellowing roar from the waterways. At least we're safe up here. Never breaking seals. Lurien is safe. Forever safe. The light is gone and my mind is empty. It's quiet. Quiet. Too quiet. I hate this. Why is it gone? Gone from me? I can't stand the silence. Empty empty silence. Loud and far too quiet. I need to fill the void. I can start in darkness but I need the background noise I can't stand it can't stand it can't stand it CANT STAND IT

The anger has returned. DAMNED KING

He killed us all, trapped us all, doomed us all. Nothing left for us because of him. No more life no more light. No more. Nothing but empty. Empty. I can't understand why Lurien was so loyal to a fool. A fool that used him. Doomed him. Killed him. I suffer in silence. Silent. My mind is empty, my will is shaken, and my voice is meek. But I remain. Remain at Lurien's side. Never leave. Never forget. Never abandon.

[gayregina]

Put the demons to sleep

A fanfic by gayregina

So hi. This is the story of Armand from his early life made into an one-shot switching povs from Armand to a outside narrator(you understand I don’t condone certain actions but present them through Armand’s clouded judgment). It’s based mostly on the books but I had Assad in my mind the whole time so you understand the geographical differences. That being said, be aware of all trigger warnings that come with Armand’s tragic background. English isn’t my first language so I am sorry in advance for any grammar mistakes. Enjoy:)

-

This story is a lullaby hauntingly hovering above the dark skies of Venice. The tale of a small boy so angelic, they say he was a dream. His bronze skin glimmering under the sunlight, inviting all to gaze upon him. His black curls so beautifully framing his soft features, shielding his neck and ears. The deep brown eyes were like pools of honey; alluring and once you stared into them you were deliciously trapped within the sweetness. Sometimes they resembled a crystal clear mirror, other times they were your largest secrets whispering back to you, unraveling your very being in quite a humbling way.

With the charm of a little girl, he got his way around the city. His master was never seen beside him watching the crafting of the ships. Never became witness to the easy smile his lips would settle on. The curious and unbothered demeanour that early teenage years required. In those moments, he was allowed to be a free and careless boy named Arun. Always full of dreaming. Instead, Amadeo had a place in his master’s bed, victim to the twisted love he learnt to be grateful for.

Arun had been a slave and Amadeo was bought to worship. His inexperienced hands trembling on the rough unfamiliar skin. His face plastered on walls and ceilings and canvasses, his master’s depiction of the boy being one of angelic beauty. Always being praised for it, always being craved because of it. His body captured begging for affection at the feet of the elder and now forever displayed for the strange to see.

Amadeo would grow up eventually, his maker whined, no longer a cherub but a young man. He would rid himself of his naivety and leave the venician home behind. Disregarding the ticket that granted him a spot in the arms of his master, his beauty lost to time. So Amadeo bargained with his master, bargained with the devil. His life was given away and Amadeo was no longer. Lover of God he could never be again.

Now only Armand remained and he resembled the boy only on the outside. But even his eyes were no longer welcoming. Instead, they seemed like little fires burning far away inside his head, rearranging it or perhaps freezing it to preserve it from the damage of death. He didn’t recognize a home anymore, if he ever had. His mind now forever closed off to his maker, their bond forever changed. He could only drag his perpetual body through the mist of the unknown and hope he wouldn’t drown.

Endless nights followed, accompanied by powers rooted so deep within him yet so unfamiliar, they frightened him. A twisted thing he became, hiding away in the darkness of Rome’s underworld. The only need of his that was met was the blood and only that sufficed. Now the luxuries of his past life rung so far away in the distance like they were once a mere figment of his imagination. No sunset he ever saw again, its rays no longer hugging his body but harming it. Only enduring he knew those days, hard and filthy. Forever cursed he felt in the body which had once been the very reason he was spared. No person was enough to pull him out anymore, not if he wasn’t willing to give up the control, to give into the light.

Arun was once heard laughing through the maze of tea plants nearby his family’s home. Amadeo could be heard moaning through the hard walls of his master’s bedroom. But no one would hear Armand screaming if he threw himself into the flames that were calling to him to join the children of darkness that perished before him. A pile of ashes his maker would find in the morning and a single strand of hair abandoned further off. A souvenir from enduring, he would think. A reminder of the innocent, if you will. Would he be missed? Would his maker grieve the loss of his child? What place would await him after? Would he get a glimpse of the pearly gates or was he always meant to suffer in a prison?

A child, a juvenile and a monster he had been. A lover, a whore and a hunter he had played. Who was he if not a role he had been given? Who was he outside of people’s shallow perceptions of him?

The boy was never seen again. They say he surrendered to the illness, his body now traveling in the water of the Mediterranean, cold and stoic. His face a mirror of pain and his eyes closed off in shame. None would witness them again, no one would be drawn by their spell. His loose curls floating around his face, almost creating a soft pillow for his eternal sleep. His numb hands crossed over his abandonment, the life slipping through their fingers agonizingly. His pale skin sickened his form and sucked the charm out of it. A single tear of regret rolling down his cheek, alone and bitter. No rest for Arun, no salvation for Amadeo. No place for Armand in the new world. And so he became a legend and a mystery, his essence always lingering around the paths he had chosen and the sheets he had been offered.

Only a madman had once sworn demons were near, the eyes of a beast he vowed he had seen. Amber like the morning sun, he had said, tempting him to taste the fire. The young boys of the town listened breathlessly and stricken by the story, they whispered it around the neighborhoods. The devil is here, they had said, because the tale of something horrific is the kind they always sought out. But the men, mature and thoughtful, knew who it had been, the ghost of his short lived existence back again to haunt the dark streets of Venice. Amadeo, they hummed as they walked, the familiar lullaby still fresh in their minds. They prayed the spirit wasn’t angry at them, they prayed for his soul to cease its search and find its place.

Arun’s laughter could still be heard around the decks, Amadeo’s body still lost in the abyss. And Armand, known to none, a faceless boy masquerading as a gentleman was hiding around the corners, humming along the rhythm of his life story, a stranger now to its twists and details. He stood, waiting. Forever waiting.

-

I would love to hear your thoughts!

[saebaragi]

wrost therapy session ever. i should kill myself to prove a point real quick.

[coffeecat1983]

Mario Bros: "Thanks for Everything" mini sequel. pt 1 'One week later'.

Spoiler for "Thanks for Everything extended edition" and TRIGGER WARNINGS! Contains drinking to cope, character death, and implied thoughts of s*icide.

From the prompt: "I'm not drunk enough for this."

The whiskey burned its way down his throat and he coughed. The heat spread down his stomach and then up his spine, making the cool stone he was leaning against feel even colder. He blinked as he poured a little onto the ground, his already muddled mind hesitating before attempting to speak.      "You gotta hav' some, too." he muttered before taking another slug. A blink of surprise as a firefly danced over to him before flitting away. He gazed around. Fireflies bobbed lazily, the only real signs of life amid the cold stone and granite that surrounded him. Stone and granite covered in names that he could barely read in the fog of alcohol.    Raising the bottle he motioned to the headstones. "Cheers." Sliding down a bit he glanced at the stone behind him.

     "This wasn't suppos'd to happen, ya know?" The stones around him listened in cold silence.      "We ca...came inta the worl' together. 'Sposesa go out, too." he rubbed furiously at the tears that stung and threatened to fall. "W-Why'd you leave m-me?" He kicked his heel at the dirt, scattering the grass that was trying to take root. "Wh-Why'd I make tha' stupid promise? Shoulda followed..." His hand fell to his side, grazing the small carry-bag he had brought with. He looked at it before taking a long drink from the bottle, gasping for air as he put it down with a hard thump.      "Not drunk 'nuff for this." he muttered, closing his eyes. In the distance he made out the faint sound of a car door closing and people talking. Ignoring it he took another drink, slipping deeper into a muddled fog.    Giovanni sighed as the figure beside him unlocked the gate to the cemetery.      "I'm sorry to bug you at this hour, Dampé ." he apologized. "But he left a while ago and Marie thinks he's here."      "Don't sweat it, Gio." the elderly grave-keeper said as he pushed open the gate. "I'm just surprised he got in with the gate locked."      "That's my lil bro, once he puts his mind to it, he'll get into anything or anywhere." Giovanni sighed, rubbing his head. "He's been like that since he was a kid."      "Hope you find him." Dampé said as he stood aside.

Arthur didn't even hear the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path or the shuffling as they moved to grass. He winced as the cell phone's flashlight landed on him. "M'm not drun'." he mumbled, thinking it was a police officer. A hand reached down towards him.      "C'mon Art," his oldest brother said gently. "Let's go home."    Stumbling to his feet Arthur chugged down a few more gulps before Giovanni could stop him. He then poured the rest of the bottle out onto Tony's grave.      "Cin-cin, big bro." he gripped Giovanni's shoulder to keep from falling and they made their way back to the entrance. As Giovanni got him into the car and buckled in, there was a soft cough from behind him. Turning, he found Dampé was holding the bag that they had left behind.      "He forgot this, but if I were you I'd toss it out, Gio. And get him some help." Accepting it, Giovanni pulled out what was in it and he felt his stomach lurch.

   He was holding a large hunting knife.

END By "CC"

[thethingything]

I just realised that since my fursona is an insect and those have to be filtered on Art Fight, I can't actually put him on our team card if I want to then put the card on our profile which like, I get it, but it is kinda frustrating.

it's also frustrating that for the set of phobias that need to be filtered, you can't specify which one you're filtering for and it all just gets put under "sensitive content" which isn't really helpful because like, there is stuff in that category that I want a warning for (like needles) but also stuff in that category that I'm totally fine with (like insects) and there's no way to tell which one it'll actually be without just clicking the image. it's not super helpful as an actual warning because I have no idea what it's warning for

[lil-playful-pup]

new years resolution

die or have a good time trying

[thelostsisters]

i really wonder if they’re going to change sam and henry’s ending now, bc as good of a choice as it was not to have bill suffering in the aftermath of frank’s death like he did in the game, i feel like having two episodes back to back that end with a character choosing to take their life after losing the one person they love would be… a lot

[aestheticallygory]

The monotonous ticking of a clock ricocheted off the walls of Shuichi's room. The boy brought in a shaking breath with each stern blink of the hands, his mind blank as he focused on the action.

The soft banging on his bedroom door broke Shuichi's silent reprieve. he bit his lip at the sound of his uncle's voice on the other side.

"Shuichi?" The man said slowly his low rumbly voice pushing the boy's head into his knees.

"Hey bud, I know today was...... rough, a-and I know you probably want to be left alone right now, but I just wanted to let you know that what happened wasn't your fault OK?"

The ticking clock bellowed out in the silence. Shuichi didn't answer.

"......right ok, I love you 'kay buddy? Just...... don't blame yourself for this" With that final statement the man walked away from the door his footsteps off time with the clock.

Shuichi waited until he heard the faint noise of a door shutting before allowing the tears to fall from his eyes.

Truly he was horrible disgusting person, to make his uncle worry and care for him. To allow himself to believe for even a second that maybe his parents had been wrong about their genetic waste of space. To believe that he was anything but a failure who was too selfish, to useless, to naive.

It was such a show of infallibility that Shuichi wondered how he had deluded himself into believing the lie for so long.

digging uneven nails into his arm, he rocked back and forth swallowing back cries that would be far too loud in this empty space.

Shuichi didn't deserve to be heard.

Didn't deserve to be comforted.

Didn't deserve to be loved.

The stupid useless Ultimate detective deserved to die alone in his room hung by a cord.

but of course, the moron wouldn't do that. A coward he was, Shuichi would simply allow himself to waste away instead. To sit in his misery and filth as the world slowly floated away with his conciseness.

it was an end so predictable that Shuichi already felt bored by the concept

.

.

.

Months passed in cold dark isolation

the sound of his uncle's voice outside his door appeared less and less and Shuichi both abhorred and loved it.

Jīn deserved better than him

the bright stark light of his computer screen became his new normal the sound a comforting backdrop to his muddled misery

Something that stood out to Shuichi though was Japan's newly named guardian, Median.

He was short in stature with eye's so bright that they nearly got Shuichi to stand.

Then two others joined him.

A tall girl with an uncannily comforting presence and a burly boy whose glare could cut through diamond.

Shuichi found himself marveling at the group of hero's and with an energy that he had thought to be long dead. He filtered through every video featuring the group.

He found himself in awe of the fact that they could help people like that. That they could fight against the lost one's who brought even the best of ultimate's down to their knees.

He wished with all his heart that he could be like them. That he could help people and bring hope without the selfishness of his previous tries.

But Shuichi knew that would never happen. He wasn't special, he wasn't Ultimate, he was a worthless coward who sat in his room and leeched off of a man who deserved better than him.

Shuichi should just stop dreaming.

It was easier that way.

.

.

.

A tired man sat in the loveseat of his living room staring at his nephew's door in despair

what could he do?

what could he do?!

he looked down at his phone starring at the picture of the Ultimate Pianist's Hall. She was hosting a show this weekend and had lowered the prices of tickets wanting everyone to attend.

.

.

..

Jīn knew what to do

Maybe it wouldn't help everything, but even one day outside.

One moment of reprieve

One chance to just talk, might make all the difference.

He ordered a ticket to the ultimate Pianists showing unknowing of what he had just set in motion.

[lotus-ignis]

I don’t want to be. I don’t want to live. I don’t want to die.

I just don’t want to be.

I don’t want to die in a suicidal way. I want to die in a stopping way. I don’t want to die because death seems better, I want to die because life seems worse.

Every day there’s something new, everyday there’s someone new.

Every day people live, every day people die. Would it be so bad if I became one of them? My parents are stressed; I am stressed; everyone’s stressed.

I don’t want to partake in life; I don’t want to be bothered; I don’t want to be alone.

I don’t want to do anything; I don’t want any help.

I am my own person; I am dependant on everyone.

I hate everybody; I have never loved more.

I feel like I’m in the wrong spot; I don’t want to leave.

There is more to life; this is life.

I want to see the world; I don’t want to leave my room.

I love my mother; I have never hated anyone more than her.

She is a wonderful mother; She is a terrible mother.

The sky is endless and the ocean is endless and life is endless and everything is finite.

I want to eat till I’m fit to burst; I don’t want to eat a morsel.

I feel so very loved; If I died nobody would care.

I’m underestimating myself and my ability; I am nothing.

I am being dramatic; I am being me.

I am calm; I am filled to the very brim with anger.

I want to carry and warm the world; I want to tear it to shreds.

I love myself more than anyone else; I absolutely despise myself.

I want my mother to have the best life that there is; Sometimes I think I wouldn’t care if she’d die.

I want to be on my own; I’m scared of being alone.

I am completely normal; I am weird.

I want to be in a city, constantly surrounded by people; I want to be in the woods constantly alone.

Don’t talk to me; Don’t ignore me.

I want to keep going; I want it all to stop.

I am filled with motivation for change; I have never felt more drained.

I want to cry; I can’t cry.

I want to be vulnerable; I can’t show weakness.

I want to express myself; If I tell them they’ll laugh.

My parents love me; My parents think I’m a laughing stock.

I want to make people laugh; I don’t want to be laughed at.

I don’t want to be mocked.

I don’t want to be belittled.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to life.

I don’t want to sleep.

I don’t want to be awake.

I don’t want to eat.

I don’t want to starve.

I don’t want to love.

I don’t want to hate.

I don’t want to be.

Who cares what I want?

[bittersweetblasphemy]

.

this might be kinda out of the blue but

with everything going on, and the fact that this is coming at me immediately after my mother telling me what a failure and a disappointment i am for my birthday

at least i'm fucking alive. yeah things suck, but at least i have that. if i had listened to my family, maybe id have a degree that i took out of pressure. maybe id have flunked out from my unmedicated adhd that they knew i had but didn't tell me about. maybe i'd have gotten a somewhat reliable job because of whatever degree i got. if i got that far.

but it wouldn't have lasted. between the pain im in from the disability they dont believe i have, the toxic environment, current events. i have no doubt i wouldn't be here.

the simple reality is that, despite every mistake ive made, or plans that didn't pan out due to events outside of my control, im still here. and im still glad to be here. i havent thought about offing myself once since i moved out from under their roof.

idk i just had a minute to myself in the middle of everything and tried to think for a minute what my life would be like if i'd listened to them. and no matter what way i looked at it, i know that there just wouldnt have been a life anymore.

i know that comes off as really dark, but it makes me feel really grateful for what i have right now, and it makes me want to fight that much harder for it.

[severinewrites]

What Does It Mean to Die?

🍓 ๋࣭ ⭑ 🌼 A Monologue About Death 🍓 ๋࣭ ⭑ 🌼

What does it mean to die? Does it end all of our suffering in this horrible world? Does it help us be free from our unhappy lives? Maybe it does, perhaps it doesn't...

As a young adult, I always tend to think about death Death has always fascinated me... I fantasized about my death and funeral... What caused my death or what will my funeral be like? Will my friends visit me? How does dying feel? Is it peaceful or painful? How will my loved ones react when I pass away? Will they cry or not? Will they miss me when I'm gone? Will they remember me when I'm no longer in the living world?

These thoughts... It's disturbing, isn't it? Why does a young adult like me fixate on death? Because I wanna disappear in this world... I don't want to suffer anymore. I don't want to hurt myself by living in this cruel world... I'm tired... I want to end it all, all of it. Maybe I'll be free from suffering...

- Severine

[spookyyenna]

TW: Mentions of sui3ide, self-harm, and depression

I'm honestly at the point in my life where I honestly have nothing else to live for. These past 3 years have been nothing but fucking torture and there were times where I wanted to get a knife out of the kitchen and just get it over it. Or at least start cutting so I can actually feel something because what's the point of continuing? My mom's dead. My best friend/ex is dead. All of the happiness and joy I had died in 2019 and whatever I had killed itself during the pandemic. As for me? I'm next. So, whoever reads this, friend, bot, or someone who doesn't give a shit...thanks for reading. Hope you have better luck than me.