#te suicide

[alaskan-wallflower]

Tw:: Suicide and a/h mention

when the curtis parents died, the day after the funeral darry was at a job interview pretending like nothing happened. because in his mind nothing did happen. he planned the interview a week prior. his parents are still alive and well. he’s not single parenting his brothers. he’s not more of a father than a brother. he didn’t just watch his parents be buried. he didn’t. he tells himself as such. and he immediately gets the job and starts working his tail off. but he’s providing for his brothers and his parents. they’re not dead. they’re not dead. months go by and around three months later darry is in his room alone. he just heard pony say he would rather have soda stay with him at night over darry. and it stung. he felt a limp in his throat as he simply nodded. that night he sleeps with his door cracked open with the small sliver of hope that pony would choose him again. that they could go back to old times. that pony was still able to get out of bed. that soda would genuinely smile instead of putting on a forced facade because he was essentially gluing them together. he spends a few hours just staring at the ceiling before something catches his eye. his football trophy. he swears he hears his dads voice telling him “it’s gonna be okay, Junior.” and darry loses it. he closes the door and just absolutely breaks down. he shoves away all his football trophies. he doesn’t bother being careful. it’s all gone. his old life is all gone and this is going with it. he doesn’t bother being careful. his parents are home and there’s nothing he can do. after he shoves the box of now half broken football trophies away he sneaks downstairs to the liquor cabinet. he hasn’t done it much. he had gotten a bit tipsy with two big on more than one occasion but he knew that was going to be nothing like what he was about to do. he wanted closure. he wanted to feel numb. and so he grabbed the bottle of his father’s favorite that he’d let darry have a few sips from as a late teen and sneaks back upstairs and closes the door. he looks at his old football uniform. he stares at it. he remembers the nights he spent quietly crying because he didn’t think he would make it on the team, or he didn’t think they had enough money to buy a uniform. but he also remembers on his thirteenth birthday where his dad had worked double shifts the entire month and scraped together the money for a uniform. He looked on the back. “Curtis 23.” it read. he took it off the wall and held it. Then he approaches his helmet. His father had written on the inside of it. “I’m always proud of you, champ. Even when you can’t hear me say it.” and he looks into his reflection on the dark surface of the helmet.

There he sees his dad. But it isn’t his dad…it’s him. It’s his reflection. He blinks once and it fades away and all that’s left is his broken facial expression as he cups a hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs as he pops the top off the liquor bottle and drinks it. it burns. but he knows in twenty minutes the pain will dull. it always did. He spots his switchblade. The one his mother had protested against him having but his father insisted he would need it. Hell, was social status so dangerous that *his own father* thought he had to carry one? The drunken haze came quicker than he thought. It hit especially hard in his empty stomach, which gurgled and churned with alcohol and dispair. He stared into the knife before thinking. They’d be better off without him. He couldn’t even hold it to whether. He had been sneaking alcohol like a grounded kid on more than one occasion. He imagined Soda and Pony sleeping in the next room. He imagined them and how they seemed to get along so well and he wished he could go back and not take his younger brothers’s clingy love for granted. He didn’t even realize what he was doing until he saw red on his hands. Even in his drunken state he knew what he was trying to do. He couldn’t take living anymore. Not like this. Not without his dad. But he had to keep going. For his brothers. He was conflicted. but he pulled himself together. he bandaged his wrists sloppily and honestly didn’t even register anything until he woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, crusted blood surrounding where his throbbing wrists were and the stench of alcohol and vomit filling his room. (this was from a mini fic i wrote called blood and crust veneer)

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

Me: writes fanfic about the mercs comiting suicide just to respawn therefore having to face the consequences of their actions

Also me: they’re so silly 🥰

[avituses]

Ignorance is bliss

Batman 48 got me feeling feelings again goddamit

[barvin0k]

BRELYNA 💕🌠💗💨🌺🐦🌷🫐 ft. pretty clouds 💖☁️

[silusvesuius]

nnnnnnnnnnnnno maa'am

[birdsribcage]

ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˢᵃᵈ ˡᵃᵗᵉˡʸ ˢᵒ ᴵ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ʲᵒᵘʳⁿᵃˡᶦⁿᵍ ᵃᵍᵃᶦⁿ, ˢᵒ ʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ʷʳᵒᵗᵉ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ, ᶦᵗ'ˢ ᵃ ᵗʳᵃⁿˢˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵉᵐᵇᵉˡˡᶦˢʰᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ ˢᵒ ᶦᵗ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈˢ ᵃˢ ⁿᶦᶜᵉ ᶦⁿ ᴱⁿᵍˡᶦˢʰ ᵃˢ ᶦᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ᶦⁿ ᵐʸ ⁿᵃᵗᶦᵛᵉ ˡᵃⁿᵍᵘᵃᵍᵉ.

"Honestly, it’s strange being wanted. I remember not too long ago, on my knees, praying to some god I didn’t even fully believe in, begging him to make me desirable. Back then, I thought all it took was being skinny, like, once I was small enough, everyone would like me more. I’m still not skinny, which sucks, but I discovered that if I make myself just pitiful enough, they like me—or at least, they get entertained enough to toss a little attention my way. And I mean, who am I to be picky, right? Beggars can’t be choosers. Even if that attention comes at the price of oversexualising myself for their entertainment, or enticing their saviour complex by being a dumb lost girl who they can swoop away in their white horse and shinning armour.

Sometimes I watch my friends who just started having actually relationships, and the way they look at one another so tenderly and hold eachother while whispering things only they can hear, exchanging cute smiles and soft kisses... I can't help but think that I will never be loved that way. Most times I don't even feel worthy of that tender, soft, kind of love. Maybe some people were just made to be alone.

And yet, the attention I receive is fleeting—like a fire that burns bright and fast, only to fizzle out just as quickly as it appeared. I’m just like a new toy, exciting and shiny until the novelty wears off, left discarded once the wonder fades. And for some reason, I still can’t stop chasing it, even though I know exactly how it ends: with me hurting, crying, and wondering if I'm not lovable enough.

'A toast to Emily, always the bridesmaid, the bride'.

[fuckin-depression]

I CAN'T BREATHE

AND

NOBODY SEES IT

[lavina-arts]

Today was my fucking 14th birthday and I just wanted a nice day I didn't even want a celebration and of course what happened?

Just on the first day of this week, my siblings gave me a mental breakdown, but I was guilty, I fought with my family all week, I was beaten and humiliated by my siblings for hours yesterday, but my parents still accused me of being stupid, as if the other person wasn't their own child, they hated me, how freakish and useless I was. They said I was a naughty disappointment and that they wished I was never born. The whole week went by like this, I went to bed crying every night, and the only gift I got for my birthday was the new scars on my arms that I gave myself.

Happy birthday to me.

[trans-androgyne]

Honestly weird of you to act like terfs DONT want transmascs dead. They absolutely do.

I’m sure a nonzero amount do but after hours of poring through TERF rhetoric I just don’t see that sentiment from them as a whole. They do want to detransition us which for many of us is the same thing as wanting us dead by suicide. But I don’t think it’s appropriate to treat that exactly the same as them very directly and overtly wanting transfems to be assaulted and killed. It doesn’t mean it’s not still harmful, but we can point out the harm without misrepresenting their ideology. Their mistreatment of transmascs just functions in a very different way. If there is evidence to the contrary, I’d like to see it.

[jack-the-killler]

ee

[ulanxxxs]

Lucien Lachance x Antoinetta Marie［ Fanfic ］

The Elixir of Death

This story is set in 3E 428, five years before the Oblivion Crisis, on the night before Antoinetta’s first contract. (For the background and prologue of this story, please see this post.)

I’m deeply moved to have finally turned something so dear to me into a story after holding onto it for so long 💖

Before you read, please note:

CW: Violence, Murder, Abuse, Imprisonment, Suicide

- I’m still learning English, so there may be some awkward expressions.

- I have a preference for dark themes, so this and future works may contain violent content.

Please read with that in mind🥺🙏✨

-----------------------------------------------

A month had passed since Antoinetta Marie was welcomed into the Sanctuary. She had begun her new life as a novice assassin. Her dedication to training brimmed with vitality, and her blue eyes shone with hope.

On this day, a small party was being held in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. It was a modest dinner gathering to celebrate Antoinetta’s birthday, but the family members were in high spirits, congratulating her on her new life and enjoying each other’s company in lively conversation. Even more special, her first contract awaited her the next day.

The candlelight gently illuminated the dining table, making the smiles of her brothers and sisters shine. Antoinetta had not received such blessings since her early childhood. The scene before her eyes brought back memories of days once filled with unconditional love. However, those recollections were fleeting, gradually dissolving into nothingness.

Yet, in this special gathering, the presence of someone Antoinetta dearly respected was missing. The one who had saved her life when she was on the brink of death, her life-saving benefactor who gave her a miraculous opportunity for a new lease on life. The one she wished to express her deepest gratitude to before her first contract, the one she had quietly fallen for.

The absence of Lucien Lachance, the Speaker who governed this Sanctuary, cast a shadow over her joy.

The silence of the midnight hour spread throughout the underground space. Antoinetta lay on the bed in her room, staring blankly at the light. Watching the flickering flame somewhat eased her tension about her first assignment, and her eyelids grew heavier. She wanted to extinguish the light before falling asleep, but she surrendered to the comforting blur of drowsiness.

Antoinetta was anxious. The fear of failing her mission and being killed was undoubtedly terrifying, but unknown fears were merely products of the imagination. However, it was the pounding heart, the stiffening body, the halting of all thoughts that were caused by the familiar fears.

She would rather choose death than be taken back to the Imperial Prison. That was Antoinetta’s fervent wish. The harrowing memories of her past continued to gnaw at her heart, casting a single dark shadow over her otherwise hopeful new life.

Antoinetta did not precisely remember how many people she had killed up to that point. Killing had been a means of survival on the harsh streets, but it was fear that drove her to murder. The countless abuses she suffered in prison had pushed a young girl to commit ruthless serial murders.

“I could do it again,” Antoinetta thought as her consciousness began to fade.

To overcome fear, one must kill—each time she plunged the rusty knife, each time she struck with a sack filled with stones, each time she sank her teeth into and tore at the filthy flesh, the voiceless whispers of Sithis echoed in her ears.

“You are guided because you followed that revelation,” said Death’s emissary who saved her. The hand the man extended to her was cold, yet somehow warm, and Antoinetta never forgot the thought that this might be what death felt like.

“My savior... ���

Whether it was a dream or reality, she murmured these words and then noticed unfamiliar footsteps coming from the hallway. Half of her consciousness had already drifted into sleep, but she could tell that the sound was gradually approaching her. It couldn’t be, she thought, opening her eyes. This was no dream.

Antoinetta’s heart began to beat a little faster. A small hope that had begun to sprout was desperately suppressed by the fear of disappointment. Despite her internal struggle, the footsteps came closer and finally stopped in front of her room. A sharp knock echoed through the room.

In a high-pitched voice, Antoinetta responded and jumped out of bed. Holding her racing heart, she hurried to the door, took a deep breath, and slowly opened it.

“Speaker—you’ve returned!”

He had likely returned to the Sanctuary and headed straight for her room. Lucien was still wearing his black robe, the hood not yet removed. Antoinetta tried to discern his expression hidden in the shadows, but as soon as she caught sight of his prominent nose and the area around it, she was overcome with embarrassment and hastily let her gaze wander downward.

As if to escape, she shifted her eyes to his hands and noticed a sleek red fabric. His black leather-gloved hands held it, and it had a slight thickness, indicating something was wrapped inside. While she stood frozen in surprise, Lucien slowly extended the bundle towards her with both hands.

“This vial has been filled with a most deadly poison. If ingested, it will likely cause death, probably instantly.”

He moved his hand closer, encouraging her to open the bundle. With a tense expression, Antoinetta reached out towards the bundle and gently pulled at the edge of the fabric. Revealed from the luxuriously glossy silk was a golden pendant. At the end of the softly shining chain, there was a small vial.

“If you seek salvation and drink this poison... death.”

As Antoinetta raised her face at these words, Lucien nodded gently. She carefully took the vial in her hand and stared intently at the liquid inside. It was clear and colorless, but it shimmered like a jewel. A strange liquid indeed. Without being told it was poison, no one would ever suspect it.

“Thank you very much. With this, I can...”

To overcome fear, one must kill—Sithis has no words, but her unconscious mind chose this. The leader of the Sanctuary knew that death would be an elixir more powerful than a hundred consolations or encouragements. That method would give her strength.

Antoinetta clasped the vial with both hands, bowing her head and closing her eyes as if in prayer. The story of the lonely girl who decided to kill her aunt, after what seemed like an eternity of darkness, was finally moving into a new chapter. Her intertwined emotions coalesced into a single tear, which fell down her cheek.

“I heard tomorrow is your first contract. Try not to get yourself killed... I wish you luck.”

Through her tear-filled eyes, Antoinetta saw Lucien’s smiling face. The faint light from the room flickered in his eyes. She remembered that this same gaze had enveloped her on the night he saved her from her fading life. Her eyes did not waver as they remained fixed on him, but time did not stand still.

Lucien gave a slight nod, then quietly turned and left the room.

His absence accentuated the silence within. It felt as though a spell had been broken, and Antoinetta stood there in a daze in front of the door.

Unspoken emotions swirled within her chest. It would likely be several weeks before she could see him again. She desperately wanted to see him one more time, to imprint his image on her memory, so Antoinetta impulsively dashed out of her room.

The lanterns mounted on the walls faintly illuminated the hallway. Looking ahead into the dim light, she caught sight of the black-robed figure.

She wanted to call out, “Speaker,” but no further words came. Antoinetta wordlessly watched his receding back.

The outline of his black robe gradually blurred, blending into the deeper shadows. Soon, his figure became a mere shadow and vanished into the darkness.

[venacoeurva]

Well the more you know, at least

-Please so not reupload, edit, or use.-

[lieximhuman]

im gay. wait i was gonna say something then i forgot and uhm. im gay hjad something to do with it.

uhm. kill yourself

so- i screamed and my firend said i "became a girl", girl what. she said i sounbded like a classmate. she changed it to afeminate. I'm wearing pink pijamas- what is happening???????????

im crying laughing whaT the fuck.

im manly apperantly idk what the fuck we really need to give this project in in negative minutes the fuck

[xxskyethetiredemoxx]

Venting yet again. Tw for self harm and suicidal thoughts.

Honestly, at this point, idk if there's even a point to trying to stay clean. Like, I'm probably gonna hurt myself again in the future. Might as well do it now too! It's not like I have anything to lose, is it?

Tbh, I might as well fucking die, cause what's the actual point anymore? Who's gonna care? Maybe a few people might be sad for a bit, but I doubt anyone who's friends with me of all people actually cares. All I do is cause people more pain. I should only be causing myself more pain, not people who've done nothing wrong, and have just been nice to me. My friends are amazing, but like, I am so fucking sick of living purely for other people.

I know that this was kinda unfiltered, I'm sorry, please don't report me, I can't fucking deal with it.

[birdsribcage]

Really wanna cut myself rn but I'm afraid I'll go too deep

[fuckin-depression]

Can't stand myself

Can't even look at mirror