#cw suicide imagery

[devileaterjaek]

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 3 Portable (PSP) Join our community on //Discord// Support me on //Ko-Fi//

[jichanxo]

love trial [from oct/2022]

[wild0moon]

someone pls teach him proper trigger discipline

[outerjersey]

Little accidents. A fatal misstep.

Heartbreak taught you well.

[zipsunz]

1:43 pm

[incendavery]

[swordofmoonl1ght]

Henry Bemis from The Twilight Zone 's 1959 Episode "Time Enough At Last" is autistic-coded (before autism was even a discussed and understood diagnosis): the gifset

People always talk about the protagonist of the original series episode "Minitature" being autistic-coded, but what about Henry Bemis, the protagonist from one of the most famous, if not the most famous, episodes? I've always felt a lot of sympathy with him, despite other people finding him awfully unlikable - including even other fans of the show.

As an autistic person myself, I can see some of myself in him, too, including the rather grim measures he is at one point considering going to, once he is all alone in the world... as the unfortunate reality is that autism can be a terribly lonely and alienating neurodivergency, and there is therefore a disturbingly high rate of suicide among autistics. As much as I love celebrating autistic joy, acknowledging our unique struggles is of paramount importance, too.

[reverintherevery]

Your silent ghost Cole au is so interesting to me I’d love to hear more abt it if you wouldn’t mind

You want to hear about MY AU???? hehehe [brushes hands evil-y]

(TW: Suicide Imagery)

okey so. Silent! Ghost AU is basically:

How would the events of the show play out if Cole is forgotten the moment he turns into a ghost aka he is forgotten the moment he dies?

His “Turning into a ghost” happens way more violently in this scenario. Yang cuts his throat, and hangs him, making it look like a suicide, Cole is disoriented for a few days, not really aware of what happened. When he makes it to the bounty everyone thinks he is a ghost working for Morro. When Morro goes to attack the Ninja, noticing that the rest of the Team doesn’t remember Cole, he pretends Cole is with him, going as far as to call Cole “His beloved”.

Morro’s Plan? If the Team thinks Cole is important to him they will attack Cole to get to Morro. Cole will have no option but to defend himself in return… Besides, an earth Ninja on his side? The Preeminent would be pleased with him if he got the Earth Master on their side.

And since Cole was made Mute when he died, there is no way for him to ask for help. His plan is flawless.

The story is a rewrite of Possesed, Skybound, DotD, and hands of time. And is meant as a slow burn redemption Arc for Morro, in which he slowly realizes the error of his actions and stars falling in love with Cole.

Sadly for him, it might be too late when he realizes all the damage he caused, and Morro might end up having to ask for help to save Cole from the path he sent him in.

sorry for taking so long to respond. Also feel free to ask more questions! 🫣

[sunny-sightings]

There's no way out of this, is there? ✂️🌸

[citadelss]

Still images under the cut :)

[eightfreak]

THEY ALL! OH YES! THEY ALL

REACHED FOR

THE GUN

THE GUN

THE GUN

Something about being a tool (and one in high-demand, at that)

[devileaterjaek]

Shin Megami Tensei - Persona 3 Portable (PSP) Join our community on //Discord// Support me on //Ko-Fi//

[townofcrosshollow]

This project is currently unnamed and very early, so I'm not sure about sharing it anywhere more official until I've written more and gotten a better handle on it. But I'm happy with it so far. Synopsis: A suicidally depressed man discovers a dying fallen angel in the woods. In nursing it back to health, he not only finds a reason to keep living, but discovers a darkness in his heart he'd never even imagined. Massive CW for suicide, depression, alcoholism, religious imagery, and a little gore.

Every day when the early morning sun was hovering just below the horizon (on the days he wasn't blackout drunk), Samson would put the noose around his neck. He'd originally tied it what, a month ago? It could have been two or three by now, as a cocktail of SSRIs and vodka had started to turn time into a haze of half-remembered days. The calendar on the wall was two years out of date, the clock on the stove blinked all zeroes after a power outage (he didn't have the manual to figure out how to reset it), and his cell phone was at the bottom of the lake out front.

Samson learned how to tie a noose in Scouts. Or more accurately, he figured it out himself fucking around with ropes while the other kids were following instructions. It had been a poor approximation of the real thing as used for generations of cruelty, but he'd tied it secure and gotten it to tighten around another boy's neck. It was a joke, obviously, but they didn't see it that way. That was the last time he went to Scouts, but only the first of many nooses he'd tie over two decades. This one felt nice and strong, secured to a beam in the roof of the old cottage's attic with a stiff hitch knot. It was an old polypropylene rope his daddy used to use to keep the boat in place by the docks. Maybe the reason he hadn't kicked out that stepladder yet was the image of this stupid fucking blue-and-yellow striped rope around his rotting corpse-neck when they found him, bloated and maggot-ridden and leaking fluids all over the attic floorboards. "What a pathetic bastard," they'd say, and they'd be spot on. But the walk to the hardware store was long, and he sold the truck to stock up on liquor, so he was caught between laziness and his last remaining shreds of dignity.

Today that shred went out the window. Samson found her number on the side of the fridge where daddy used to keep all his contacts (daddy always had a shit memory even before he got old, and he passed it on). He tried dialing it into the old landline and only realized he was still paying for that shit when the call connected and her voice came through loud and clear. "This is Cynthia Dawn, I'm not at the phone right now. Leave a message and I'll get back to you." Her voice was soft like downy feathers and blindingly bright. The voicemail Samson left was probably worth a restraining order. So that noose was looking nicer than ever, and that stepladder was looking flimsier than ever.

Samson would never find out if he was really gonna do it that day, cause in that split second before, as he stared out at the sun rising over the lake, the room went ablaze with a light more effulgent than any he'd seen. In an instant his vision went white, only pierced by soft little pins of red and green and blue, like when you press down on your eyelids with your fingertips. No matter how tight he squeezed his lids closed, hoping to banish the flash, it was like he was staring straight into the sun. Tears started streaming down his cheeks and drenching his beard.

And then it was over. The light retreated out through the attic window, leaving Samson's world dancing with colours like an impressionist painting. He stood there a long moment, heart heating in his neck, mouth dry, wondering if he'd just seen God or if a stun grenade had been silently lobbed through his window. With shaking hands, he slipped the noose off his neck and climbed down off the ladder. He took a few tentative steps towards the window, pressed his hands against the glass, craned his neck to look out. The lake was so placid it was like time stood still, stained golden by the sun's rays spilling out over the horizon. Out to the left side of the cottage, the shed where daddy kept all his fishing shit back in the day. It was untouched, both by him and by whatever caused that light. But off to the right, where the woods sprung up around the old slipway, there was a dying remnant of that glow that bleached the leaves and filled the sky with an odd haze.

He grabbed one of daddy's rifles from the safe and slipped a hunting knife in his jeans pocket before setting off out the back door. The lawn that spread out from the cottage to the road was overgrown, dotted with those little white wildflowers. It would've looked picturesque, if it weren't for the rusting lawnmower, the dying garden twisted with weeds, the dilapidated guest house that hadn't been used in a decade. Actually, come to think of it, this might have been Samson's first outing beyond the cottage walls in weeks- he'd been subsisting on canned food, liquor, and over-prescribed Zoloft for god knows how long.

So for the first time in weeks, he walked down that old paved road until the sign for Fire Route 41 came up on his left, just past the slipway. The gravel road seemed to wind on for eternity through those woods, dotted with the occasional cabin that lay vacant- it was just coming up to the end of the off-season, and soon eager tourists would swarm the lake looking for a fantasy of the life Samson grew up hating. For now, though, the woods sat still apart from the glow that beckoned him.

The light faded as the determined man grew ever closer, threatening to be extinguished any moment and leave him at a loss. A few times, he wondered what he was hoping to find at the source of that divine glimmer. The face of God? Salvation? Some kind of science-fiction portal that could whisk him away from this existence into a more prosperous one? He clutched the rifle against his chest as he stood there on the edge of the woods, the epicenter of the glow just a few dozen feet away. It was waning dangerously low now, no longer capable of blinding Samson, leaving the spot looking like a sun-bleached photograph. Whatever he was looking for, he trudged ever closer to his prize.

And through the trees, in the underbrush, a thing unlike any that Samson had seen revealed itself. At first he wondered if an egret had been shot down, as a layer of downy white feathers was scattered about the trees like berries in spring. Just past the treeline, a pair of massive white wings spread across the ground, broken and twitching like a thing about to die. They glittered like fresh snow as he got closer, rifle raised to put the poor thing out of its misery. And then the wing shifted like a bolt of pain had rushed through it, and he heard a cry of anguish unlike anything bird or beast could produce. Something soft and melodic, like a piano screaming in pain but trapped by the beautiful temperament of its keys. And when those feathers moved away, beneath them, Samson saw a writhing, contorted body of nude flesh punctuated by cuts and scrapes that oozed a thick golden fluid. The bird-thing turned, craning its neck, looking up at the man that towered over it. Its lips were parted as if in prayer, its eyes staring down the barrel of daddy's gun.

Samson lowered the rifle as he looked into the face of God.

Next part

[theworldibuilt4you]

[Snake rubbed the back of their neck anxiously, their tail thumping softly beside them.]

O-only one way to really find out, huh? I... guess I'll confess. At some point. I don't know.

Ugh... why is this so hard.

Anyways.

I guess an apology would be the best thing to start with when I see him next... And hopefully just... move on from there.

[They paused to glance outside their window at the forest outside, happy to temporarily think about anything but their feelings.]

I mean, cold weather doesn't stop moss from growing. I would know; it's one of the few ways I keep the cold from freezing me solid during the chill seasons.

Speaking of, I should probably start preparations now, since it's almost fall... need to get ahead of the brumation mental fog...

-🐍

"....What the fuck do you MEAN it's almost Fall...?"

"....I-I... I was brought in at the beginning of the Spring... What... What do you MEAN it's...-"

[lostinthewoodsomewhere]

Everyone wants the big chair, Meg...

Been chipping away at this one for a couple of weeks, and I'm really happy with it!

[flowercrowngods]

cw suicide mention & imagery

original play idea where people seem to live their normal lives but the audience gets the feeling that something’s wrong, there’s a tension and there are things that obviously go unsaid that hang in the air between the characters uncomfortably long enough until the last member of the audience has filled in the blanks in their own way.

there is a figure off to the side, a very young man in a suit, watching them, unmoving and silent, and as the scenes and progress, as characters leave and appear, as the setting changes, the young man is always there. no one interacts with him, but there are moments when they almost do. when the characters stop what they’re doing when they stand close to him, and appear to listen. but there’s nothing.

the sound of TV news reports, all playing over each other, create an uncanny and uncomfortable buzzing that never, never stops, and there are too many to really make out the words. they get more silent the closer they get to the young man in the suit, quieting down to nothing when they stand by him to listen — but the characters seem unaware of the change. so does the young man, statuesque though he is.

then there’s a little girl, covered in dirt, her hair askew, her cheeks rosy — the image of having spent the day outside, playing in the dirt, a smile on her face, her eyes big, as she skips towards the young man and asks, “can we go now? can we play?”

the young man cards his hands through her hair and says, “you go ahead, i’ll be right there.”

but still he stays there, seated.

everything continues as before, but the characters slowly undergo a complete change in character, in routine, in appearance. the old man who wore suits is not dressed in sweats and old, worn out, dirty shirts. the sweet, kindhearted young adult is now quiet and apathetic. the woman who, in the beginning, was talking her friend’s ear off and could barely stand still is unmoving now, staring out into nothingness.

the buzzing and bustling background noise is slowly, gradually getting louder as the characters become increasingly nonverbal and unmoving. the lights dim down.

then all at once, after a crescendo, the noise stops suddenly, the lights turn off completely, before, with warm, yellow light, a woman we’ve seen before — as she stares into nothingness — appears on the stage, slowly approaching the young man as if unsure of her body but undeniable in her grace.

they smile at each other for a moment.

m, whispering: you’re not supposed to be here, not yet

w, cradling his cheeks: i was always supposed to be here long, long before you

m: i know. i’m sorry, i—

w: i know. i forgive you. i’ve always forgiven you

m, after a while: but not yourself

the woman shakes her head.

w: a mother will never forgive herself for burying her child, and a father will forgive himself even less. (a beat) you have such a handsome face.

m: it’s not your fault

w: so beautiful, those eyes, i’ve missed you so much

m: listen to me, it’s not your fault!

w: and your hair! papa would be so glad to know that—

m: mother. mama. listen to me. it’s not your fault

w, tearful and whispering: you were supposed to be fine. you were always supposed to be fine. it was never supposed to be this bad, we were supposed to help, but—

m: i know. i tried, i really did. both times

in that moment, the little girl comes skipping on stage again, approaching them with her wagging ponytail.

g: what are you doing here, mama? will you play with me now? it’s been so long!

the woman gasps, her tears getting the better of her as she falls to her knees and pulls the girl to her chest, who readily returns the hug

w, sobbing, kissing her cheek: hi, baby. yes, i’ll play with you, of course i will. let’s go.

the young man helps his mother up, allowing her to pull him into a hug, and she whispers: “as much as i love her with all my heart, i’m so proud of the young man you’ve grown into. and now i have you both, just as i always did.”

the young man brushes a kiss to her cheek, then lets her go, watching as his mother disappears with the little girl.

m: i have to stay a while. i’ll follow you soon.

(woman and girl, hand in hand, exeunt)

the lights dim, and the buzzing returns, accompanied by the sound of dragging footsteps the audience cannot see, until everything’s back in total darkness. the noise stays. growing louder in increments, leaving the audience uncomfortable and unsure if this was it.

as they quiet down, we hear a man, sobbing uncontrollably, before eerie silence takes his place, too.

the curtain falls.