#me x suicide

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

...not my mother saying that I deserve all the backstabbing and backbitching my 'friends' are giving me and the abuse I am experiecing...threatening to smash my head with the small boulder in my backyard...she regrets giving birth to me... :)

Yeah...

She doesn't know I almost succeeded in killing myself in school yesterday and the day before yesterday...

[chxrrylungs]

they're the same ship in a different font and by font i mean treatment of their yellow omnipotent boyfriends

[elfcollector]

DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS (2009) — developed by bioware.

[m1d-45]

will you promise that i'll see you again?

summary: your people refuse reason, and their damage refuses to heal. when it seems as if the whole world has left you, your dutiful knight still remains by your side.

word count: 2.3k

-> warnings: implied suicidal ideation (reader + unnamed side character), reader's previous deaths are mentioned in somewhat graphic detail

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @yuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“you’re one of the only things keeping me going, you know.”

dainslef turned to you in surprise, the even neutrality to your tone a sharp contrast to the rapid pace of his heart. he wasn’t a fool, he knew that the hunt had to be taking a heavy toll on you, but this…

this was more than he expected.

he knew he was one of a pitiful few who saw through celestia’s false puppet, who knew you for you and not their mirage. he knew that the entire world was hellbent on erasing you from existence, that you’d been forced through your own death countless times as teyvat pulled you apart and pushed you back together far from the scene of your would-be murder. he saw the golden scars across your skin, the dried remains of blood lining the wounds you hadn’t been able to patch yet. he’d been the one to wash them away, not minding the refuse soaking into his gloves if it meant your hands could be clean.

he recognized the dull exhaustion in your eyes, the same as the ones he saw in the reflections of lakes. tired, worn, barely there, hanging on by one solitary string that was wound so tightly around a desperate hand.

you had always been his reason for continuing. when the traveller broke down and the ruler of the abyss hid from the sun, you were there. when the chasm’s mud clung to his boots and the memories in his head burned as nails forced between his eyes, you were there. his rosary was kept tight to his chest at all times, familiar prayers pulling him up in the morning and forcing him to sleep at night. he was alive for far, far too long, but you made it bearable. you were his duty, his promise.

he never once thought that he’d be yours. then again, he never thought that he’d have to defend you from the ones you once called friends. time never did pass how he expected it to.

“…leading light?”

you looked down, twirling blades of grass around your fingers. he had led you up to a mostly desolate area of sumeru, west of bayda harbor. it close enough to the sea, forest, and desert that you could reasonably make an escape through any of those routes if need be, while also providing a rather pleasant view. the sky was bleeding red and gold as the sun sank below the horizon, a remarkable sight that fell on blind eyes. there was no use trying to enjoy nature’s beauty when he still kept one hand on his sword and both ears pricked for the slightest sign of danger.

you shouldn’t have to worry about your safety. you shouldn’t have to prioritize based on how likely you are to get hurt, or how easily it would be to make an escape. you still flinched when the wind blew a little too quick, used to it heralding armored footsteps and battle cries. in another life, you were welcomed with open arms, able to enjoy yourself without constantly being on high alert. teyvat did what it could to adapt; the air was still, frozen in time, barely a bird chirping for miles. it was meant to be comforting, he thinks, but dead silence was more unnerving than any breeze.

“i mean it.” he could hear every shift in his cloak around your shoulders, the heavy fabric doing little to soothe your stress. it was yours more than it was his now, to the point he felt claustrophobic wearing it. how long had he been traveling with you? the days blurred.

“i don’t doubt you.” he never would. never could. he’s not sure, even if he somehow wanted to, that his body would allow him to treat your words as anything less than fact. “but i don’t understand what you mean.”

you were a god. the creator, the first, the one that shaped the sovereigns scales and laid the foundations of earth. you predated the archons, celestia, the very skies themselves…

and he, somehow, was a driving motivation for you?

his words must have been funny, a sharp laugh tumbling out of your mouth. it was bitter, humorless, and somewhat raspy. he made note to find some water for you later. “what else could i mean?” you turn to him, some of his confusion lost as your eyes found his. even this burnt out, deep bags set beneath them, you still managed to steal the very air in his lungs. “you’re the only reason i’m still here.”

he didn’t know what to say. what was there to be said, when you were you and he was him? when the world had abandoned you, it made sense you’d cling to what remained faithful. it was merely coincidence he happened to find you first, that’s all. coincidence that you trusted enough not to run from, coincidence that you allowed to care for your injuries. there was nothing to say, because you held nothing for him in particular, only leaning on him out of need. he had to believe that. what was he left with if that wasn’t true? an awkward truth hid beneath his well-known lies, too large for him to see the edges, let alone to contain.

“please… do not say such things again.” to ask of his god what he could not ask of himself was surely some form of heresy, as was willingly laying aside his guard when he was the only one who was tasked with protecting you. he pulled his attention from the tide below, from the rustling trees, holding faith that the world would not be needlessly cruel. he stepped forward, kneeling beside you. even up close, you still seemed painfully small. “it is your own resilience that has allowed you to persevere.”

it’s the earth that leads you from danger.

it’s the water that follows you wherever you go.

it’s the leylines that whisk you to safety.

it’s the wind that warns you of what’s to come.

it’s the you from the past that protects the you in the present.

it’s the you in the present that provides for the you in the future.

it’s you, from everywhere and everywhen, continuing to fight.

and yet you sigh. you look away, across the sea, tracing fontaines skyline. “it really isn’t. i was lucky to run into you when i did.”

you had just crossed the wall back into the forest, burning hot and shaking. he was the lucky one, in truth, to be able to pick your figure out from the sand below. perched on a high cliffside, even mitachurls were reduced to small brown flecks.

you had worn a cryo mage’s cloak, which was what initially drew his attention. abyss activity wasn’t uncommon in the area, but a cryo mage in the desert… that was cause for intrigue. he stepped forward and slid down the steep face in front of him, a slight puff of dust marking his landing in the desolate sand of old vanarana.

he didn’t know what to expect. you stumbled around the jagged remains of a tree, heading for the statue of the seven. he followed, only growing more confused. cryo and dendro did not react with each other, and there was no way to “slow” a statue. a scouting mission, maybe? but why a cryo mage, when pyro would have been far more advantageous in the case of an attack?

he leaned around the corner carefully, prepared for the sight of a staff or the chanting of abyssal magic filling the air. the entire world seemed to be holding its breath, frozen in place and waiting for some trigger to continue.

he saw none of that. you were collapsed at the foot of the statue, faint wheezing only making it to his ears by virtue of the standstill around him. you held no staff, commanded no magic, your chest barely moving with air.

he’d never seen a mage seek out the archons when dying. one hand squeezed the handle of his sword as he crept forward, ready to strike should the situation turn against him. the sand barely shifted beneath his feet, his own heart sounding too loud to his ears. you did not move, showing no signs that you had noticed his approach. he still didn’t trust it.

your cloak was tattered and torn, with thick gloves atypical of a mage. they reminded him more of hilichurl wraps, which was strange considering you wore no mask. your face was instead covered by what looked like eremite cloth, just as stained and dirtied as the rest of your clothes. what he could see looked almost human; in another life, he could believe you were a weary traveller, lost amidst the sand.

he was acting foolish. if the abyss had a human tool, he needed to figure out why. he reached down, undoing the sloppy knot of your veil and letting the brocade fall limply to the grass.

…grass. he blinked, eyes flickering between the ground and your face, not sure which was harder to believe. flowers had bloomed around you, protecting your body from the blazing sands, and he’d be a fool not to recognize the face plastered all over every bounty board.

he didn’t understand. if nothing else, he thought the archons would have enough respect for their creator to know when they were being lied to, yet before him was barely living proof of the inverse. sweat beaded along every inch of exposed skin, deep-set heat exhaustion burning you from the inside out. how could you be a threat? how could they be so blind?

he looked again, the shine of elemental sight straining his eyes, catching flickers of the dendro energy pouring from the statue. you were the only one the archons would feed. you were the only one to make the very earth break its own rules, allowing lotuses to bloom from barren soil. something painfully similar to rage threatened what remained of his rationality, and it took all he had to push it aside.

that didn’t matter. if he went off on some banal revenge quest, he’d be no better than them. your safety mattered more. he picked you up and set aside how calm his curse felt, beginning the trek back to his camp. behind him, the flowers already began to wither, losing their persistence without you to foster it.

perhaps that initial meeting was luck. but these was no luck involved in your trust in him. when you woke up and saw him at your side, you chose to trust him. you chose to believe that he was not like the others, that he would protect you, and he was forever grateful for that trust. nobody could fault you for being angry, for being spiteful about what you were put through and choosing to lash out. nobody would have the right to be upset if you chose to vent your wrath against those that had hurt you.

but you didn’t. you chose, again and again, to believe in the world. you chose to let them live their lives, even if it meant getting hurt again in the process. you chose a quiet life traveling with him over the comfortable life on your throne. to willingly choose to travel with a disgraced knight to spare your people guilt… he couldn’t decide if it was noble or reckless. either way, he was selfishly happy that he was the one to stay by your side.

“i won’t try to convince you. but, please.. do not give up on yourself so easily.” i know far too many who have died by the same hand. “the world and its opinion does not define you. only you get to decide where fate leads.”

you lean towards him, and he thinks you might have passed out- but no, your head lands on his shoulder with far too much precision. he stiffens, not used to existence without a constant pain beneath his skin. “how motivational. you tell all your soldiers that?”

his heart is beating too quickly, thoughts unusually hard to grasp. you’re the only one who could have this effect on him. he only wished it wasn’t now, when your belief in yourself was on the edge. “i mean it. none of this is your fault, and neither are celestial actions the people’s fault. i know that you are hurt, but i don’t want you to accept that main needlessly. you shouldn’t have to view your creation with such pain.” slowly, carefully, he raises the hand closer to you, doing his best not to disturb you as he settles it on your arm. he’s can only hope that the contact brings you as much comfort as it does him. “if nothing else, believe me. promise you’ll at least try.”

he doesn’t think you’ll agree. why would you make a promise to one who represents the heaven’s betrayal? why would you let him hold you close at all, when you can surely sense the bindings of those who tried to kill you wrapped tightly around his soul? he doesn’t know. all he can do is hope.

“…alright, dainslef. i promise.”

twilight has long since fallen, and yet he smiles for the first time in centuries.

[crystallizsch]

🐍: —?! Prefect, is everything alrigh-

💜: Don’t- say anything. Please.

(oh lore? below the cut?)

(cw: nightmares, implied death/suicide <- ONLY AT THE END) — 800+ words — I DIDNT REALIZE IT WAS THIS LONG???

━━━━━━✦

the vice housewarden of scarabia, jamil viper, didn't think he'd be bringing the ramshackle prefect to stay over at his room, and much to his roommate's confusion. then again, the roommate knew better than to question his choices.

it was the end of the day and the vice housewarden was on his way back to his dorm after a late-night errand.

what he didn’t expect was the ramshackle prefect coming out of the shadows and tackling him in a hug.

jamil almost threw down the unassuming prefect out of instinctual self-defense.

but the prefect gripped his back as if she was holding on for dear life— quivering, her head buried in his shoulders, holding back sobs, profusely apologizing over and over and over-

“sorry, sorry, sorry—“

the prefect said she had a nightmare.

jamil just froze, entirely confused.

all this because of a dream? what is the prefect even apologizing for other than whatever this is.

━━━━━━✦

jamil didn’t really know what to make of all of this, but it was hard not to pity the state the prefect was in.

pity. that’s the right word.

he only clarified to himself because the word, concern, briefly passed his mind.

it was not concern. why would he be concerned?

and if it weren’t for pity, jamil would have been annoyed instead. he had to admit, he didn’t know which would have been the worse approach, even though he opted for the former.

plus, this was a side to the prefect that the vice housewarden had not seen before.

vulnerable.

very vulnerable.

as if her walls finally fell. and jamil was able to bear witness behind it.

to choose whether or not to step inside those walls is up for debate in his mind.

no, stop it. not again. there was no point in involving himself more with the prefect this time.

jamil could have walked her back to ramshackle. but they were already in the mirror room, and he didn’t feel like making that trek.

or he might have been too tired and too dumbfounded to think.

yeah, those were jamil's excuses.

━━━━━━✦

it’s not like the ramshackle prefect, yuusha tala, understood either. how this all went down.

why the first person she beelined towards was the one who played a part in her nightmare.

why she felt comfort at his mere presence despite recoiling the moment she looks into his eyes.

either because of fear, disgust, or… guilt?

━━━━━━✦

this phenomenon had happened before.

yuusha and ace got off on a horrible foot at the start, deuce was just another guy that got involved with them by chance, and grim was an annoying cat.

and yet, it felt like she’d known them forever despite having only known them a few months.

there was no way they were all that compatible of a friend group to end up that way.

but the soft spot she felt for all three of them was like they were longtime friends in another life.

and now it’s this… bastard. the one yuusha fell head over heels at first only to feel used and betrayed.

why she keeps giving pretty guys a chance like this is beyond her. yuusha knows she won’t learn her lesson for the foreseeable future, however.

━━━━━━✦

in any case, the prefect finds herself resting on the scarabia vice housewarden’s bed when she could have suggested resting in one of the empty rooms instead. to not trouble him any further.

oh wait. jamil could have brought her to another empty room instead. there’s no way that didn’t cross his mind.

did he assume that would bring up memories?

if so, why would he even care?

the scarabia lounge would have been an alternate choice as well. but would it have been considered rude to put a guest there? even though yuusha wouldn’t have mind?

well. that’ll be a topic for another day.

━━━━━━✦

so the night was pretty uneventful. other than the awkwardness.

wait, actually— jamil wanted to bring up how the prefect had the habit of hugging things in her sleep.

namely him.

even when unconscious, the prefect can’t respect personal space.

but then that would bring up the obvious fact that jamil could have easily woken her up and quietly tell her off. and that he didn’t.

because for some strange reason, jamil felt an odd sense of comfort in her warm yet crushing embrace. and thus pretended not to have known instead.

━━━━━━✦

what was the nightmare, so to speak?

yuusha barely remembered all the details.

except for the feeling of the cold wind tearing through her skin, gravity violently pulling her down—

—and the final, haunting vision of a desperate hand reaching out to her, with an intensely horrified look flashing from charcoal grey eyes.

eyes that belong to none other than jamil viper.

[sanasanakun]

I guess I find the shipping discourse a little funny because fandoms are gonna create ships regardless of the subject matter. I think really heavy, depressing media creates a need for people to see human connection. It’s like a way to cope, you know? More importantly and specific to this game (Mouthwashing), I also find it a little funny just because the devs themselves seem to be leaning towards ~one~ “ship” by retweeting artwork that depicts them as pretty close and protective. They even did an edit of them on that Florence Pugh and that one white guy romance movie with a “what could have been” caption. Sooo tldr the ship drama is kind of dumb. Please block and move on cause the discourse is taking up space on my feed when I’m trying to look for more art of Daisuke lmao

[cedric-k-rossignol]

Placing my bets now that Undertaker's last name is Rossignol, the French word for nightingale. 

In trying to explain to a friend the plot of black butler via the iceberg meme, I've become so convinced that I've figured out Cedric K. Ros-'s (aka Undertaker's) last name that I've rejoined this site to scream into the void.

At least, I haven't been able to find anything on the English/French speaking internet suggesting this theory has been floated before.

Of course, this is assuming you subscribe to the Cedric K. Ros- = Undertaker = Undertaker x Cloudia affair = Grandtaker pipeline. And, that you think he is of French/Breton origin. 

Dates

Important to note that dates and numbers are important in Black Butler's story, both within the fictional narrative and in connection to real historical events (emphasized with the first arc lining up with the actual 'Jack the Ripper' murders). Some examples of this;

1819 is the year in which the real Queen Victoria (and her cousin-husband Prince Albert) were born. 1819 is also the year in which the name 'Cedric' first appears in the novel 'Ivanhoe'. Within the story, this is also right around the time that reaper 136649 attacks Reaper HQ.

1837 is the year in which the real Queen Victoria ascended the throne. In Black Butler, this is year in which Molly G., the first chronological locket on Undertaker's chain, died. 1837 would also be right around the time that Undertaker is noted as having absconded with his death scythe, officially deserting the organization...20 years after a workplace shooting (he must be union).

Prince Albert dies on December 14th, 1861, in the real world. The Phantomhive twins are born on December 14th, 1875 - the 14th anniversary of Prince Albert's death. Vincent is 24 years old when he becomes a father. The manor is attacked on December 14th, 1885 - the 24th anniversary of Prince Albert's death. Vincent is 34 years old when he dies. There's speculation that the story will end on Friday December 13th, 1889 - the twin's last day of being 13 years old, before they turn 14 years old on December 14th, 1889, the 4th anniversary of the attack on the manor.

Vincent Phantomhive is born on Friday June 13th, 1851. Cloudia Phantomhive dies on Friday July 13th, 1866. She is 36 years old when she dies. If you believe that Undertaker's reaper serial number 136649 means he died in the year 1366 (an interesting time period in Brittany, what with the Breton War of Succession, the Hundred Years War, the Black Death...), this would mean Cloudia dies 500 years after he unalives himself.

TLDR, dates matching up with historical events/publications is not coincidental. Yana pays attention to her numbers.

Now, back to Cedric K. Ros-

I've read speculation that the 'Ros-' must have something to do with roses, since Phantomhives are so often associated with roses (and their thorns). Guess what little bird is very commonly associated with roses? Whose song is often associated with melancholy, longing, and mourning? Who so often seems to unalive themselves on thorns?  

"the nightingale...can also be seen to provide a link to something, opening out onto something beyond the self. Heard but not seen, the nightingale represents an intangible presence; a longing that can be either terribly earthly, in the guise of sexual desire, or soaringly spiritual, as when the nightingale represents the soul, rising above."

Some fun facts about nightingales;

Female nightingales are mute, only male nightingales sing - though historically people thought the opposite, so many of the nightingales in literature are female.

It is one of the only birds that sing throughout the night (name means 'night singer').

In Persian poetry, the nightingale is a symbol of a lover who is "eloquent, passionate, and doomed to love in vain" - the object of their affections is the rose, which "embodies both the perfection of earthly beauty and the arrogance of that perfection."

The oldest appearance of nightingales in literature goes back to the myth of Philomela, who was turned into a nightingale by the Gods.

In Shakespeare's poem 'Lucrece', the titular character is inspired to commit suicide when a nightingale leans their breast against a thorn to inspire a song and ward off sleep.

The nightingale also makes an appearance in Shakespeare's 'Romeo & Juliet', when Juliet mistakes the song of a lark for that of a nightingale.

I have read a ridiculous amount of poetry about nightingales recently (there is a lot of it), but I'm going to focus on one Breton piece from the middle ages and two English pieces from the 19th century because they have the most relevant dates (which as previously mentioned, are important).

Laüstic

There is the Breton lai 'Laüstic', composed in the late 12th century by Marie de France (Laüstic' is the Breton word for rossignol/nightingale). Breton lais are a form of medieval French romance literature that often involve supernatural and fairy-world Celtic elements.

"In most of Marie de France’s Lais, love is associated with suffering, and over half of them involve an adulterous relationship... In Marie's Lais, "love always involves suffering and frequently ends in grief, even when the love itself is approved."" 

The lais of Marie de France explore courtly love, a popular theme in medieval literature that began with Troubadour poetry in southern France in the 11th century.

"The courtly lover existed to serve his lady. His love was invariably adulterous, marriage at that time being usually the result of business interest or the seal of a power alliance. Ultimately, the lover saw himself as serving the all-powerful god of love and worshipping his lady-saint. Faithlessness was the mortal sin...The courtly lover, while displaying the same outward signs of passion, was fired by respect for his lady."

Basically, courtly love emphasized the importance of a man's respect and devotion to their lover, and I don't think anyone could doubt Undertaker's devotion to his cause.

Sidenote: I think the French story 'Floire et Blancheflor', one of the oldest and most popular romances of the middle ages, is also incredibly relevant to Undertaker & Cloudia's love story. It also explores this concept of 'courtly love' (involving a fake tomb, a prince disguised as a merchant, and an attempted suicide, no less)...and the flowers associated with the lovers are red roses and white lilies... You can read part one of my theory on Floire et Blancheflor here.

A plot summary of 'Laustic' from Wikipedia: 

Two knights live in adjoining houses, in the vicinity of Saint-Malo in Brittany; one is married and one lives as a bachelor. The wife of the married knight enters into a secret relationship with the other knight, but their contact is limited to conversation and the exchange of small gifts, since a "high wall made of dark stone" separates the two households. Typically, the lady rises at night, once her husband is asleep, and goes to the window to converse with her lover; whenever her lover is home, she is kept under close watch.  Her suspicious husband demands to know why she spends her nights at the window, and she says she does so to listen to the nightingale sing. He mocks her, and orders his servants to capture the nightingale. When it is caught he brings it to the lady's chambers, denying her requests to release the bird. Instead, he breaks its neck and throws it at her, "bloodying the front of her tunic just a bit above her breasts". After he leaves, the lady mourns the bird's death and the suffering she must accept, knowing she can no longer be at the window at night. She wraps the nightingale's body in silk, and embroidered with writing in gold thread, and charges her servant to deliver the bird and her message to her lover, who, in response, preserves the nightingale in a reliquary, a small vessel which he has encased with small jewels and precious stones, and carries it with him always. 

From the Wikipedia on reliquaries;

"A reliquary (also referred to as a shrine, by the French term châsse, and historically also referred to as a phylactery) is a container for relics. A portable reliquary may be called a fereter, and a chapel in which it is housed a feretory or feretery."    "Relics may be the purported or actual physical remains of saints...The term is sometimes used loosely for containers for the body parts of non-religious figures; in particular, the kings of France often specified that their hearts and sometimes other organs be buried in a different location from their main burial."    "In Buddhism, stupas are an important form of a reliquary and may be buried inside larger structures such as a stupa or chorten." 

Interesting, because the wooden grave markers Undertaker carries/uses to conceal his death scythe are considered to be a variant of stupa (as far as I can tell). The grave markers are sotoba inscribed with sutra - also interesting to note that in Japan, nightingales are considered a religious bird because "its song is reminiscent of the intonation of a Buddhist sutra", which in turn ties into the Buddhist prayer beads he wears around his neck.

The concept of reliquaries is somewhat similar to that of mourning lockets, especially if you consider that in the context of courtly love Undertaker was whipped likely worshipped the ground Cloudia walked on and would have treated her like a saint (good for her).

"Reliquaries are decorative vessels, often in the form of a hand, cranium, or other body part that contain the fragment of a saint or someone of holy importance. Some fragments could include remnants of a garment worn by the individual or even a piece of bone that was part of their body."

A famous reliquary is the Holy Thorn Reliquary, commissioned in late 14th century France by John, Duke of Berry (this dude has relevance to Brittany and the Hundred Years War) to house a relic of the crown of thorns.

"The jewels, which would have been keenly appreciated by contemporary viewers, include two large sapphires, one above God the Father at the very top of the reliquary, where it may have represented heaven, and the other below Christ, on which the thorn is mounted."

Sapphires and a crown of thorns are not new symbols in this story - imma leave it at that because I'm getting off topic and this is already ridiculously long.

The Nightingale and The Rose

The short story The Nightingale and the Rose by Oscar Wilde (snake's snakes) was published in the book of bedtime stories The Happy Prince and Other Tales in May 1888��(which lines up pretty closely with when the first chapter of the manga takes place). This is a bleak tale about the selfless and sacrificial nature of true love.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. ‘Press closer, little Nightingale,’ cried the Tree, ‘or the Day will come before the rose is finished.   So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.  And the marvelous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.  But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.  Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.  'Look, look!' cried the Tree, 'the rose is finished now;' but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.  

The emphasis on the nightingale's song also brought to mind the Mother 3 theory and the importance of the music in that game - and the idea that the last names of Undertaker's lockets make a chord progression. IDK that much about Mother 3, so I can't say if there are any other further parallels to draw.

Also who would read this to a child as a bedtime story???

Undertaker. Undertaker would totally read this to Ciel as a bedtime story, who am I kidding.

An Ode to a Nightingale

Finally, there is the poem "An Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats (another one of snake's snakes). 

There is a clear theme of death in this poem, and of life after death/immortality. There is also a sense of longing for death, of the relief death brings - very relevant for all reapers.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

The first stanza mentions 'Lethe', which is one of five rivers in the Greek underworld. "The shades of the dead were required to drink the waters of the Lethe in order to forget their earthly life. In the Aeneid, Virgil writes that it is only when the dead have had their memories erased by the Lethe that they may be reincarnated."

Afaik the only reaper to reference their previous life is Sascha, and there weren't many specifics. This could just be because speaking of their human life is painful, given they all made the choice to end it...Or is it possible HQ alters their memories?

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

The reference to Provencal song is once again a reference to the concept of courtly love (seen in Laustic) that began with Troubadour poetry in Provence, France in the 11th century.

Already with thee! tender is the night,   And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,  Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;  But here there is no light,  Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown  Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 

Stars and heaven reference (Astre/Sirius & Ciel), and a reference to the moon as in the Oscar Wilde story... The Queen Moon, on her throne...

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,  Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,  But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet  Wherewith the seasonable month endows  The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;  White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;  Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;  And mid-May's eldest child,  The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,  The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 

A reference to May (we will come back to this), to musk-roses (symbolizes 'capricious beauty'), and to 'the murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves'. As previously mentioned, Cloudia dies in July...

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time  I have been half in love with easeful Death,  Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,  To take into the air my quiet breath;  Now more than ever seems it rich to die,  To cease upon the midnight with no pain,  While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad  In such an ecstasy!  Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—  To thy high requiem become a sod. 

The suicidal ideation is strong here.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Immortality. The last few lines immediately brought to mind the theory that Undertaker drowned himself.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

The last stanza has the poet bidding 'Adieu' - the French word for goodbye forever which translates literally as 'until God'. Gotta love how dramatic the French are.

From Wikipedia: 

"The nightingale described experiences a type of death but does not actually die. Instead, the songbird is capable of living through its song, which is a fate that humans cannot expect. The poem ends with an acceptance that pleasure cannot last and that death is an inevitable part of life." 

And here's the thing...Keats composed this poem in one day after a nightingale built its nest near his home. Specifically, he wrote it in one day of May, 1819 - the same month and year in which Queen Victoria was born. 

The rest might be me just grasping at straws but the connection to Queen Victoria's birth is what I find most convincing, since Yana has seemingly already sourced Cedric's first name from literature in 1819. I think the setting/plot of the novel 'Ivanhoe' and her name choice of 'Cedric' reveals a lot about Undertaker's past and his motivations, and I think the same could hold true for his last name. I am convinced his name is Cedric K. Rossignol.

God only knows what the 'K.' stands for.

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

Yk, like sometimes, the greatest fault parents do? Think that "yes only i can know the best for my child." While abusing and neglecting and overwhelming them INSTEAD.

Like today was my PTM, and ibgot low marks because of favoritism of teachers with class toppers and because of my stress.

My parents have the greatest hand in my stressed depressed self. They have put me through SOO MANY classes, just because their frnds were like " oH mY cHiLd DoEs ThEsE tHiNgS! hE's ReAlLy TaLeNtEd!" Like to match with the other kids, my parents put me through hell!

I am indian. So we have many types of dances. And all these dances are taught at my dance school. So i do many things at once:

Dances [yes cuz there are too many]

Tabla

Harmonium [vocal and many types of songs like classical and rabindra sangeet]

Cricket

Table tennis 🏓

Swimming

Drawing and art

Tuition: Maths and Science

Tuition: Language and Ssc

And then comes school! There aremany programs of school. And i had went up to even NATIONAL level of AFS EAC SPORTS CHAMPIONSHIP and came 4th in TT 🏓 and my parents are still NOT satisfied.

It's overwhelming me a LOT. And my parents are like:

"But we couldn't do it before so we are making you do them!"

"But it's good for you!"

"Shut up with you stress-talks! There is nothing called stress!"

"How can you be so stressed? You are so young."

"You have no problem with yourself you don't need therapy"

LIKE I NEED THERAPY I HAVE ATTEMPTED SUICIDE FOR THIS 7 TIMES AT GRADE 8!! I DEVELOPED DEPRESSION AND MENTAL ILLNESS AT A YOUNG AGE OF 9! I HAD CUT MY ARMS AT THE AGE OF 11 AND 12, JUST FOR THESE.

AND PARENTS EVEN BEAT AND SCOLD AND NEGLECT THEIR CHILDREN WHEN THEY DON'T GO THE WAY THEY WANT TO!

And then comes school. Fake frnds. Education stress. Pressure. Feels like hell and jail. Grades. And so many other things!

TO HELL WITH THESE!

[theloveinc]

Which BNHA guys do you think try to eat ur ass first time you guys fuck?

My man Kiri has a dick so fat that he's beyond prepared and, in fact, READY to put all his effort into foreplay because he knows that schlong isn't going anywhere without a little prep beforehand.

The first time you fuck, clothes only just having been removed, he mentions foreplay and it's kinda funny because you don't expect such a... manly, big, jock-type looking guy to mean more than just fingering you for a minute or so. You practically think he's joking about it when you're moving to lay down, except -- suddenly he's flipping you right over to press your head into his pillow (gently) so he can eat you out in doggy. From there, it only takes about three or so licks before he's trying to stick his tongue in your ass.

-

Deku... wants to be classy and take things slow SO badly, yet... can't help himself if he's eating you out (which he does on the first date because... classy or not, he's a gentleman who gives head) and is putting his tongue everywhere it can reach.

Especially in your ass, given that he's somehow able to get your knees besides your cheeks with how seriously he gets into it.

-

And Dabi, without question, of course (which gives us Shoto by extension, probably because this asshole told him you can't give head without eating ass, but... whatever, given the circumstances of their relationship)!!!

He's just not about to waste his time going down on you if he isn't able to cover all bases; that means clit, hole, taint, AND rim. PERIOD. Another guy who manages to fold you in half so well you practically can't stand up straight up again, after. He might be a jackass but he's not a slacker when it comes to top.

I also feel like if you told Dabs he was bad at eating cat he'd add that to the list of reasons to k-himself. King.

[yanderederee]

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝒹, 𝒜𝓁𝓁 ℳ𝒾𝓃𝑒

Manjiro sano x reader

cw: suicidal thoughts and attempt of. Yandere heavy.

✦•·································•✦𓆩♡𓆪✦•··································•✦

“Right now. You’re dead.”

Confused beyond belief, you’re stricken with shock. What was going on?

Right now, you were sitting in the hallway of the apartment you lived in by yourself. Yet, face to face with, what appeared to be, your ex boyfriend.

You slowly begin regaining sense of what happened just moments ago.

You recall the endless pit of helplessness you found yourself in after a night out with friends. A night meant to make you feel better from the daily stress of maintaining your life.

Yet all you’ve done is mask, pretend, fake smiles, and stroke the egos of everyone around you, just so someone would give you a shred of attention.

This constant facade of happiness; trying to pretend like cracks cornering your life had finally become unrepairable.

You were becoming more and more damaged as the days pass. And still, not a single person will bat their eye in your direction. Acknowledge that maybe you could use a shoulder to cry on, to rant to.

The fun night filled with fake smiles and empty giggles finally winded down, and once you returned home to your empty apartment, silence surrounding you…

It was time to stop pretending.

Face reality once again that at the end of the day.

You are alone.

As good as dead, until the next conceivable excuse to rope you out came around. Not because it was for your own sake, but to maintain appearances.

“Because we’re friends, right?”

When… was the last time you felt such a connection with another person?

The thought made you laugh and cry all the same. Shuffling further in to the empty space that was temporarily yours, you finally couldn’t talk yourself out of it any longer.

This was reality.

It had been a long time since the last real attempt you made at stifling your own life. The tools were always at your disposal in waiting, waiting.

You were finally successful this time. Ready to finally commit to escaping the never ending cycle of inadequacy and inconvenience.

By now, you should be…

“…Dead.”

The words woke you again from the haze.

Were you?

“It’s okay. You’re dead now. You don’t have to worry about anything, ever again.” The soothing voice promised you so, so sweetly.

Your feint heartbeat and burning eyes proved this point false.

“Why are you here?” You asked quietly. Calmly.

“Because you’re mine.” He answered as easily as it was to breathe.

“Why did you stop me?” You croaked, fresh tears rolling down your face.

“… because you’re mine.” Manjiro repeated slower this time.

Shit. You cried, huddling in on yourself, unable to suppress the tremors that overcame you. There was nothing left you had to say to him.

“It’s okay,” he shushed you, forcibly handling you into his embrace, holding your shaking form tightly. “You won’t have to worry about anything, ever again..”

What kind of sense did that make, you had initially thought. As long as you breathe, you will never be satisfied going on. Continuously maintaining a facade of a person; never truly living.

Having no strength left to fight him off you, or any will to do so to begin with, you curled up into the little bit of warmth he offered, and cried. Heavily, without shame. For so long, you hadn’t even realized, you had cried yourself to sleep.

…

You would soon understand, that he was right; You Were Dead.

When you awoke, the surrounding memories of your old life were gone; as though permanently erased. No childhood photos or memories. No dangly earrings of cute designs.

A new life laid out before you. One where you needn’t put on appearances, now that you never made an appearance to anyone at all.

Because Manjiro only ever wanted you; the genuine, authentic, broken, you.

Time became constructive, as it primarily was. Days blurred. The sun rose and fell again, and again, and again.

The only thing that mattered, or changed, was when Mikey was and was not present.

Though the things surrounding you were expensive, quality, and plush, the only thing with genuine warmth, was him.

You were dead; the only presence of life being Manjiro’s own dead eyes, the same ones that lit up like stars, as if he were a child again, when he saw you in all your pitiful glory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he would smile. The only thing that brought the him or you any sense of life, was eachother.

Two broken halves that became whole once together. That was all you were, and all he was, anymore.

And still, you can’t see how death would be any better. For at least here, you needed only for the one who needed you.

art credit:@110mandarin

[vittoriamurphy]

Oh absolutely

[chipkoy]

I had to draw them in this pose, okay? It’s meant to be

[kamwashere]

just was completely fucking eviscerated by andrew and ryan’s actors on actors interview btw. if u even care.

[llamaisllama777]

When it comes to TSAMS opinions/headcanons/theories, what’s a hill you’re willing to die on?

👏👏

Thank you for this question! Time for a little controversy

Opinions

1.Monty x Earth is the best ship in the show. Don't @ me

2. The Astrals do more harm than good

3.(Not really tsams related, but) Funtime Foxy and Freddy Fazbear are an underrated duo. I love when they interact

Theories

1. All the shows/the whole universe is stuck in a timeloop

2. Dark Sun is Cetus

3. Atlas is Dark Sun in disguise

Headcanons

1. Whenever Nexus commanded someone to kneel, purple chains would form around them and force them to the ground.

2. Jack sometimes sleeps outside Dazzle's room like a guard dog

3. Monty loves to hug Earth's hair (That stuff is stinkin' soft!)

4. Moon is more of an Iron man fan while Solar was more of a Batman fan and Nexus/New Moon was also a Batman fan

5. Earth and Sun both get very deep into role-playing games (D&D, Fallout, Skyrim, etc.. etc)

6. Puppet both loves/hates small spaces. Loves cause it reminds her of her old box she used to sleep in and hates because it also reminds her of being trapped in Lefty

And lastly 7. (TRIGGER WARNING S#idcie mention)

I do still think Sun is/was/probablystillis a little suicidal. I'm sorry you can not tell me that the whole "sometimes I wish I was dead" line didn't mean anything. I do think Sun WAS suicidal but now he's gotten better, but after everything that's happened recently.... I wouldn't be surprised if he was thinking some rather morbid thoughts again.

I know Davis said him and the others would never do anything talking about or doing anything with a character committing suicide but I still have this headcanon.

BONUS! 8. Eclipse is an Eminem fan

@br41nr0t-101 Thank you SO MUCH for asking this question! Rock on!

[corazondebeskar-reads]

no more runnin'

demon!joel miller x f!reader

words: 468

summary: joel comes to collect what you owe him.

warnings: dead dove do not read, major character death (reader), implied suicide, christian concepts of life and death, description of a self-inflicted wound, I wrote this because I needed a good cry and I was processing some feelings that I needed to feel even though they were painful.

PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU READ THE WARNINGS.

viewer discretion is advised. you are responsible for the media you consume.

If you or someone you know is in crisis Call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 (para ayuda en español, llame al 988). The Lifeline provides 24-hour, confidential support to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He found you there. He had a habit of being places he shouldn’t, seeing things he wasn’t supposed to see. Of finding people who didn’t want to be found. 

That was why he was there, after all. He had come calling for what he was owed. And you were finally ready to pay up. 

“No more runnin’, huh?” Joel asked, crouching down. He reached out, brushing your cheek with the back of his knuckles. 

“No more runnin’,” you rasp. 

“Coulda just told me,” he said, picking up your limp hand and inspecting the weeping wound below it. “I never said it hadta be painful. Coulda gone in your sleep.”

You manage a half shrug. “Maybe I wanted to say goodbye.”

He sighs, looking down at the damp concrete. “I would have given ya that, too,” he says. 

You close your eyes, not wanting him to see the tears, but they slip free anyway. He brushes them away with a swipe of his thumb. 

“Ah, shit,” he mutters. “It’s alright. I got ya. You’re not alone.”

He sits down beside you against the brick wall and pulls you into his arms. “This is why I don’t give extra time,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s always harder, sweetheart.”

“My own damn fault,” you say, a shaky laugh through tears. “Goin’ and fallin’ for the fuckin’ demon I sold my soul to.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly discourage ya, did I? But you know I can’t… I don’t…”

“I know,” you whisper. “No heart. Part of the whole arrangement. I don’t believe it for a second.”

“You’re a foolish girl,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it. “I was gonna give you a pass. Gonna risk my fuckin’ neck to send you off to someplace better. But you’ve gone and condemned yourself, darlin.’ Why would you do this?”

“You’ll be there,” you admit. 

“Ah, darlin’,” he said, voice strained. “You ain’t gonna remember me. I’m sorry.”

“Will you remember me?” You ask, voice cracking. Your breathing is shallow, unsteady. 

He knows it’s almost time. He tilts your chin up, pressing his lips to yours. It’s slow and tender, nothing like the rushed and frantic clash of flesh and teeth that you’re used to.

“I could never forget you,” he assures. It’s true, but you can’t be sure. Like he’d say anything else right now, give you anything other than what you need to hear in this moment. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, cradling your head to his chest. “You can close your eyes. I’ll stay with ya.”

“Okay,” you whisper. Your lids are heavy, burdened by tear-laden lashes and too many years, too many losses. You relax against him, feeling the press of his lips on the top of your head once, twice, thrice, until you feel no more. 

[ghostingink]

I love doomed yaoi-fying politics it makes me less suicidal