#suicidal thoughts tw

[support]

Everything okay?

If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone. There are many support services that are here to help. For 24/7 peer support and other resources, message KokoBot on Tumblr.

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For more resources, please visit our Counseling & Prevention Resources page for a list of services that may be able to help.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Yuu is Tired

So idk what this is but I just had an idea for a drabble yk?? A bit angst. Yuu snaps and is GN and is on meds and stuff. I'm get back to reqs afterwards so enjoy

This is also kinda backstory for one of Juatclems reqs I'm working on and potential mean Yuu lore??? Anyways @blushing-concubus since u liked RSA Yuu

The Housewardens along with their vices all sit in Crowley’s office for an annual meeting. By some miracle, Malleus was there, probably because Lilia dragged them, however. As everyone settled in, Crowley took his seat, ready to start the session. “Alright, everyone so today-“

A knock at the door interrupts all of them, “I’m here headmaster, coming in.” You opened the door and visibly stiffened in surprise at everyone there, before giving Kalim a friendly wave back. Your eyes locked with Malleus for a moment, surprised to see your friend here, but a voice snaps you out of your thoughts, “Mx. Yuu, what are you doing here?” Your small smile dropped to confusion. “Did you forget, Headmaster Crowley? You said today you were available to talk to me… You know… About my situation…”

Leona sighed, just wanting to get this meeting over with, he hated prolonging these boring discussions, even more since Malleus was here. Riddle also huffed, such poor planning is making everyone waste their time. Trey put a hand on Riddle's shoulder to calm him. Vil wore the smallest scowl, glancing at the papers in your hand. Crowley looked around at the members there before clearing his throat.

“Ah… Aahhh yes, I totally remember! It was about your way home, yes? Terribly sorry Mx.Yuu but we are having a meeting right now, can’t this wait later.” You paused. Don't get upset. Don't get mad. “Well… I am also a prefect. Maybe I can join in until the meeting ends?” “Yuu, I’m afraid your dorm doesn’t have any other students, this meeting is for actual housewardens.”

Your heart sank at that. Putting off everything yet again. “Well can I just ask you the one question I have? It’ll be quick I swear!” “Mx.Yuu. I am going to have to ask you to leave.” “Right…” You sounded dazed for a moment.

You’ve been trying to have this conversation with him for a full year now. A year has passed with no information regarding your situation. And there has been no support for you as a foreign student both mentally and academically. You've spent a year here in total darkness with no support. “Sorry but uh… I’m not leaving until we discuss this.” “Pardon?”

"I mean…” You refused to bite your tongue now. “It’s not like you would have considered anything they say anyways. You would just drop all your work on me again like you usually do after threatening my basic right to food.” Besides Ruggie choking back snort, the room went deathly silent. “Mx. Yuu…”

“No. None of that. If I dont bring this up now, it’ll never happen.” Your voice was stuttery and a bit wobbly. “I-I I mean- I’ve been trying to talk to you about my situation for a year now and just- every time it gets dismissed or something. I can’t even talk about my problems or get help with my stay here.” Azul and Jade perked up at this, cogs spinning in their mind to create the perfect contract.

“Like, for example, I am always laughed at or humiliated for asking basic questions. I’m new this this entire world and yet everyone expects me to know everything! People are always upset when I dont know of some obscure wizard from a few hundred years ago or old trends that were popular.” 

Crowley sighed, making your blood boil. Your voice sped up, used to being cut off. “It’s really impacting my grade and there's no support for students with similar problems.” Crowley interrupted, “It sounds like you just need to study harder.” You didn't hide your irritated expression. “I did! I have been! I’ve been trying my absolute best but I don’t have a phone and the library doesn’t have anything beginner friendly! I-I mean—``''There are plenty of books in the library and teachers to help, you have no excuses.” 

Your voice trembled, a year's worth of frustration building up, finally coming out. “Okay then, tell me who Nikola Tesla is! Explain to me what Thomas Edison did! If you don't know them surely you must know of Julius Caesar or Cleopatra right?! You see? It's not that easy! And no matter the explanation I give you, you would still need to know more about my world to fully understand anything! And not only that but Grims grades can impact mine? It's not fair!”

You were breathing heavily and you seemed panicked. Crowley tensed up, trying to diffuse the situation. Trey and Riddle both cringed, this wasn’t going to be good. “No, no. Listen to me. I know nothing of this world that I was dragged into! On top of that I have no basic necessities— I barely got my own toothbrush a month ago— and I dont have the medications I need to be mentally okay even though I’ve been requesting them for over a year now! I-I just! ... On top of all of this I need to worry about food and do your job for you. I-it’s just not fair. It’s all taken a toll on my mental health and I just want to go home.”

You locked your eyes with Crowley “Please for the sake of my mental health tell me you have found something. Anything. I need to go home. I need my medication! I can’t be here anymore, I can't take it- I'm scared. I'm scared to even be alone with myself now. I see no way out besides…” You choked back a sob. “Please. Please tell me something. Anything. I can't take it anymore. The stares. the judgement. It's so… suffocating...”

Everyone turned towards Crowley, giving him a few judgemental and wide-eyed stares. Crowley cleared his throat “Mx. Yuu… Finding you a way home is going to take a while. We still don't know what dimension you even—``''Bullshit!” You snapped, glaring at him.

“Bullshit! I had visions about coming here before I did and you were there. Hell, I've been having visions and hearing voices and seeing things since my time here. I don't know if I've officially lost it or what, but…” You paused, to take in a breath. “I mean- You think I managed to deal with all these blots by myself? Don’t get me started on how you expect me to somehow be okay with them after everything too, I have fucking scars on my body that no magic can fucking heal, and you expect me to act like everythings okay?” The housewardens and a certain Vice-Housewarden looked away, guilt building up inside when they watched you pull up a sleeve to show your damaged arm.

“Do you not hear how insane it sounds— And-and-and— you guys don't even have a therapist here to talk to! Fuck, it seems I’m the schools only therapist having to deal with everyones problems and of course no ones there for me because why would they be!” Your voice was getting louder. “I’ve been predicting everything so far! I've been the one having to just… deal with all of this, all while being hungry! It's not fair!” 

You gripped the sleeves of your oversized and dusty uniform. “And I know you have to know something from what I’ve seen. I've reached out to RSA!” Rook’s eyes lock with yours for a moment and you swear you see his expression seem sad for once in all the time you’ve known him. You feel everyones staring at you. Some angry, some guilty, some sympathetic. You can especially feel the shock, most notably from your horned friend along with the floating tablet now on mute.

“RSA, says they know shit about interdimensional magic. I've told them about my situation and they actually offered to take me in and help! Fucking Chenya even said they offer help for foreign students! I don’t know if your just that incompetent or just scheming Headmage, but I am not leaving until you sign these transfer papers. And you are just to transfer me, not Grim. I am still pissed that you dropped him on me and consider us half a student!” Your breaths steadied as you calm yourself.

“I am done, Crowley. I am leaving, and you are going to approve of it.” You stared into the yellow orbs that peaked from behind his mask. Your voice cracked. “Please.” You can't imagine how they would’ve reacted to you foreseeing the future long before you came here. Where NRC is in ruins and the housewardens had to fight a very familiar looking cat…

You don't care if they called you selfish. You e been selfless your entire time here and that got you nowhere. So maybe you have to be selfish...

[bluecatwriter]

This idea, based on the Blood of My Blood AU, got stuck in my head and I had to write it! (Sorry @animate-mush, the cylinders didn't make it into this scene because I was trying to keep it from being like 10,000 words long, alas.) Featuring Jack with his prosthetic hand and destroyed vocal cords, and Vampire Quincey Harker trying to make sense of what he is.

Big TW for suicidal ideation.

~~~

Jack was up late, as usual; he'd just heard the clock strike midnight, but he was scribbling corrections on the latest draft of his paper about therapeutic treatments for epilepsy, due the day after tomorrow to a scientific journal. He paused to push up his glasses and scrub at his eyes. Even though he'd been keeping a nocturnal existence for years, he felt exhausted.

He heard a soft knock on his door.

He looked up in surprise; Lu was usually fast asleep by now, and Arthur would not have knocked. But why would one of the servants be disturbing him at this hour? He turned his pen over and tapped it against his desk three times, which signaled to come in. However, the door didn't open, and then the knock came again. Ah. He knew exactly who it was, now.

He walked quickly to the door and opened it. Quincey Harker stood in the pitch-black hallway, his pupils contracting as light from Jack's study flooded in on him. He was even paler than usual, and trembling slightly.

It was remarkable how much he managed to look like both Jonathan and Mina: he carried himself like his father, that same grave politeness, but had the quick, clever look about him that Mina had always had. "Dr. Seward," he said, his voice sounding empty. "I need to talk to you."

Whatever he was here for, it couldn't be good. Jack nodded to him, ushering him inside, and gesturing him over to his desk. He cleared the papers and set up a one-handed typewriter (they had one in every room of the house, in case Jack needed to mention some technical language that they didn't have a sign for yet). He bade Quincey pull up a chair so they could sit next to each other, and he put in a fresh sheet of paper. He wished Quincey knew his sign language, but this would have to do for now.

Jack gestured to him, raising both eyebrows to invite him to speak. 

Quincey hesitated a long time, clenching and unclenching his hands on his knees. At last, he spoke with a dead serious voice. "Dr. Seward, I need you to kill me."

For an instant, he couldn't breathe.

He heard Mina's voice in her son's: the vow he had taken, the vow he had failed. 

But he also heard his own words, typed out on a typewriter very much like this one, letter by letter since he wasn't fluent yet, as Arthur stood there with tears in his eyes. 

>>Let me die<< Jack had typed, all those years ago. 

And Arthur had said, "No."

(That day, Jack had grabbed the typewriter with his remaining hand and hurled it through the window.)

(And then he had kept living.)

He shook his head, trying to rattle himself back into the present moment, to this child— this vampire child, this child who should not be able to exist— trembling in the chair before him. Quincey was staring at his hands now, his breath stuttering as if trying to hold back tears, and Jack had to reach over to touch his shoulder to get him to look up at him.

Quincey raised his head; his eyes were brimming with what appeared to be blood, which sent a stab of alarm through Jack before he wondered if this was how vampires cried. Focus, he told himself. He reached out to the typewriter and typed one word on the blank page:

>>Why?<<

Quincey gritted his teeth, and held his chin up almost defiantly. God, he looked just like Jonathan right then. "Because I am a monster."

Jack stared at him: the blood welling up as tears, the pallor of his skin, the fangs protruding from his mouth. All the elements that had once raised only fear and terror and disgust in himself. 

Without looking away from him, Jack placed his hand on the typewriter and typed out the words: >>Who told you that?<<

Quincey stared at him as if the answer should be obvious, and Jack raised his eyebrows again, keeping his face calm.

"I read the journals that Lord Godalming gave me," Quincey said, staring at him as if challenging him. 

Jack gave out a small, pained sound, and slumped back in his chair. Of course Arthur would do something like that. Of course Arthur would want to share the documents, to not keep secrets. And yet, Arthur had so little to lose by doing so: he had barely any words of his own in the collection of documents. But Jack's words… all those things he had said and done, the record of his wrongs and mistakes, seemed to rise from the past and choke him.

"I read Papa's words," Quincey continued, still staring him down with those crimson eyes, "the stories of the way he met Father. Everything I've known— everything I am— is horrifying to him." His gaze was steady, but his fangs bared. "And to all of you." The blood-tears slipped from one of his eyes and dripped down his face. "I need you to kill me."

Jack reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. Then he decisively shook his head, and mouthed the word, No.

"You have to!" Quincey burst out, shaking off Jack's hand and jumping to his feet. "You know what I am! I've learned what I am through your words. I thought you of all people would understand!" He whirled to face him again, and the snarl on his face sent all the hair on Jack's neck rising in instinctive fear. "What about Lu's namesake? You were disgusted by her. You loathed her. You said yourself that you would kill her with pleasure when she became like— like me!" He was shaking so hard he looked like he might fall apart.

Jack fought to keep his expression calm; every word hit him like a knife, as if Jonathan's son was slashing into his throat as surely as Jonathan had. (Any moment he would wake up drowning in his own blood…) But these were old wounds, and though they bled anew, the pain was familiar.

Once again, Quincey seemed to have forgotten that Jack could only talk when Quincey was looking at him, and he had to put a hand on his shoulder again. Quincey pulled away, but he had his attention now. Jack motioned to the chairs, and Quincey sank down, blood-tears now trickling down his face.

Jack hesitated a long moment, unsure how to sum up everything he wanted to say. No, it was impossible. So he typed three words:

>>I was wrong.<< 

Jack gulped, staring at the inadequate words he'd typed. He looked at Quincey with all the remorse he felt, wishing desperately that Quincey understood sign language. It was like being back to the beginning of his great silence, when all he could do was scrawl illegible words on paper, or pick at the typewriter to learn to type for the first time. He pointed at the words again, and with his prosthetic hand he beat his breast in a sign of penitence.

Quincey just stared at him, at a loss. Jack made a nervous hum, then started to type, trying to get his typed words to keep pace with his thoughts.

>>You don't have the whole story. When your mum began to turn, your papa loved her just as much. He never stopped loving her.<< He paused, making the only rumbling sound that his throat would make, frustrated at how hard it was to put his thoughts into words this way. >>In the end, he defended her from us. I paid the price for trying to harm her.<<

Quincey's eyes grew wide. He had stopped crying, and the blood was drying on his face now. 

Jack held up his prosthetic hand meaningfully, and touched the scar that snaked along his neck. And how could he convey the enormity of the other losses— of Quincey and Van Helsing bleeding out in the snow? He would never forgive the Harkers for that. But he did not need to. >>I did what I thought I must do. So did he.<< 

He might not have forgiven them, but he did not blame them.

Quincey slumped in his chair, his shoulders dropping. When he looked up, there was something incredibly young and vulnerable in his face. "…Doesn't that make you hate me even more?"

The old Jack would have hated him, perhaps. But he was not his old self. He was not a 29-year-old who felt invincible in his pride and intelligence. He was not a man who drew hard lines and separated everything he experienced into those two sides. He was fifty now, silent for 21 years, and had learned to live with the complexity of gray, of nuance, of the ache of not knowing. 

If Quincey could understand, he could have signed all this. But Quincey could not, so Jack just typed, >>You are proof that love can survive in all places.<< He paused, then added, >>You are a good man.<<

He didn't expect Quincey to burst into tears again, but he did, hunching over in his chair and sobbing. Once, Jack had not known what to do when someone broke down, but now he did not hesitate, leaning over and wrapping both arms around the boy. Quincey leaned into his hug, still sobbing messily. "I'm not, I'm not!" Quincey wailed. "I'm not…" 

Jack wished that he could speak the words aloud, could repeat over and over, You are a good man.

Instead he just hugged him, holding him as he rode the wave of emotions, trying to help him learn, as Jack himself had once learned, that the answer to Please let me die would always be No.

At last Quincey cried himself out, and his breaths grew longer and slower. Jack pulled away and offered him a handkerchief, trying his best not to be unnerved by the amount of blood-tears that had marked his jacket (Arthur was going to have another nervous breakdown when he saw the stains, he thought with a sigh).

When he had Quincey's attention again, he pulled out the sheet of paper, and tore off the last line, pressing it into his hand. >>You are a good man.<< Jack smiled at him as best he could, willing him to believe it.

Quincey gulped. And then slowly, he nodded, crinkling the paper in his hand. With a little sob, he slumped over again, resting his head on Jack's shoulder. Jack pulled him back into a tight embrace.

He doubted that Quincey believed him, at least not at the moment. But he didn't need to. Jack and Lu and hopefully even Arthur would believe it for him. And someday, he hoped that Quincey would believe it for himself, too.

~~~

[hg-deranged-edition]

My contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race! @akichania YOU ARE NEXT.

(WARNING FOR SUICIDAL IDEATION)

———

He lay across from him, fast asleep at night. Eyes fluttering gently in his sleep, off in a dream Steve would never hear about. Chest rising steadily, breaths deep and even, with the lightest hint of a snore accompanying him. Steve couldn’t help himself, he extended his hand and lightly cupped his cheek, to feel it’s warmth. Hot, as Billy usually was during his slumber.

Ever the light sleeper, Billy’s eyes instantly snapped open, mind lagging behind. When recognition flashed across his face, his eyes softened and his lips curled into the slightest smile. Steve’s heart swelled at the love he found inside them, the vulnerability he found within both assuring and terrifying. Steve knew he couldn’t really help when Billy was in trouble.

Billy murmured a sound that was probably meant to be questioning, and Steve just hushed him, trying to coax him back to sleep. Maybe curl him up into his arms so that Billy couldn’t leave. Billy just grasped his hand and held onto it, terribly, terribly gentle. Affection Steve didn’t quite deserve or earn.

With great effort, Billy’s tired mind managed to collect enough coherence to ask “’Was wrong?” and Steve cursed himself for not being able to get himself together enough to save face in front of Billy.

He hadn’t been sleeping.

Couldn’t, really.

“I’m just,” he began, “I don’t. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m just kinda upset.” Billy’s hand tightened ever so slightly, brow twitching together in worry. He was quiet for a moment before muttering “You’re not ‘just upset.’ You never are.” he paused, looking deeply into his eyes, and Steve found it horrible that Billy knew him so intimately when he didn’t deserve someone so… well, whatever Steven is.

Incapable. Is probably the word he’s looking for.

“You don’t gotta tell me,” Billy began anew, “but you have to know I care, right? So like, I can listen to you, even if it doesn’t make sense, and only you know what you’re talkin’ about. Gotta repay the favor and everything, right?” Steve nodded, not quite trusting himself to talk. He found the way Billy looked at him unbearable; so imploring and kind. Defenceless. It’s a beauty that suited his face, really. Billy laid their hands betwixt them on the mattress, and Steve felt a lump form in his throat.

He wanted to get closer so bad. He wasn’t quite sure he could do that without crumbling.

Despite himself, Steve felt himself speak.

“I. I’m just, I’m so sorry, fuck, Billy. I’m fuckin- dumb as shit, slow and I can’t even see what’s right in front of me, and I can’t even take care of myself.”

Billy’s face saddened, and he crawled closer to Steve. “Steven. Steve no, don’t say that, baby. You know you’re not stupid, we’ve talked about this before.” Steve hiccuped at that, and his first tear fell. “No, no I’m just. I can’t help but feel it. Dad’s right, I’m fuckin stupid as shit, I can’t do shit and I can’t even get college. I don’t understand things even if they’re repeated to me a thousand times and I- I can’t even-” at that, Billy just smushed Steve’s face into his chest, and held onto him tightly. “I don’t know what you’re on about. Your dads the dumbass, not you. It’s not your fault the man can’t explain things right and then gets mad at you for his own mistakes.” Billy pressed a kiss atop his head.

Steve just weeped at that, because Billy didn’t understand. Steve’s failure was Billy.

He completely, and utterly, failed him. Didn’t recognize that Billy needed help until it was far too late- his body having received permanent damage already and only awaiting it’s final blow. He should have noticed- should have realized that something was wrong, not clutched on so tightly to his and Nancy’s joke of a relationship. Should have gotten his head out of his ass and seen the reality in front him instead of being so damn hung up.

Because Billy was dead now. And Steve would never get him back, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he turned the past over in his mind.

Billy was still shushing him, arms crushing him as he only wailed harder. Couldn’t seem to be able to stop himself from crying, either, judging by the wetness seeping into Steve’s hair.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, “baby, why are you acting this way?” His hand was petting through Steve’s hair, a thousand gentle, repeated kisses gifted like they could ease the hurt away. Steve’s head hurt from crying, the sheer force of his sobs giving him vertigo. The last time he cried that hard was a week into the future, and for this past body, it was when he was 9 years old and begging his parents to stay back home.

Eventually, Steve managed to calm back down. Belatedly he noticed that Billy had been patting his back and murmuring a lullaby. One he realized was probably among the last few remnants of his mother’s love. “Thank you,” he muttered, “for everything.” His throat was hoarse. Billy just kept singing with a slightly pained look on his face. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

---

When Billy’s breaths evened out and his arms loosened, Steve opened his eyes again listlessly. And did nothing. For hours.

He was tired. So fucking tired. From crying, from watching but too afraid to really touch. He was promised an eternity with his love. He couldn’t wait for it to be over.

---

He felt himself begin to slip away, eyes unfocusing through their drought. He’d probably wake up again in a moment, beholding a sleeping Billy from the start all over again. Maybe he’d be too exhausted to keep up any facade of humanity, maybe Billy would curl into him and he’d shatter all over again. Maybe he’d just observe. Silent.

In the beginning, he’d really thought he only wanted this, this last moment with Billy, for all eternity. Now he understands that this stagnant memory was never what he truly wanted from Billy. Sure, he’d wanted one last embrace with the love of his life, not for closure, though. No, never for closure. The mere thought of it repulsed him.

No, he wanted to continue on with Billy. He’d only made a pathetic display of humility, a request born from fallacy. He wanted to wake up together, light streaming from the curtains, feel the warmth of morning. Wanted to get up and bake and make coffee and crack shitty jokes with the guy. Wanted to tangle his hand in his hair and feel disgust when it came back greasy. Wanted to live a life with the fucker.

This wasn’t a life shared together. It was anything but. It was a mockery of their love, the epitome of their shared fatal flaw. It was Billy desparate for Steve to open up, to tell him what’s wrong, and Steve’s throat closing up, locking down. It was Steve getting exhausted from asking where Billy got all his bruises from, only to be met with aggression. It was Billy being on the verge of crying when Steve still held onto the agony from his last relationship and couldn’t focus on Billy’s love.

And, a few days into the future, it would be Steve not recognizing that Billy was acting wrong. That his cold demeanor was caused by more than just a petty argument.

This, this situation, was sleeping with a cooling corpse. Getting lulled back into sleep every time panic ripped through his central nervous system. Being mocked with the face of his lover caring for him, when his own care wasn’t sufficient enough. By god, he should have picked Billy up long ago, thrown him onto the backseat and driven far, far away from here. To hell with everyone else.

But it was too late now, sin rooted too deep into his foundations. This was all he had left.

He sunk his fingers deeper into Billy’s, lashes fluttering lethargically. He should be grateful. Death doesn’t feel so permanent when the star of the funeral was right next to him. Most people yearned for this moment right here, no matter how grotesque.

Still, he couldn’t wait to be dead.

Feeling Billy’s pulse thudding against his skin, Steve sunk back into sleep, hoping to dream of tomorrow before he woke up again.

[sasusakucoded]

tw: suicidal thoughts

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Sarada: I wish I'm mentally strong like you and Papa.. *frowns*

Sakura: *pats her back* I'd say your Papa's mental fortitude is the toughest..

Sarada: Really? I think so too.

Sakura: Don't get me wrong though.. Mental toughness doesn't mean he didn't have suicidal thoughts—

Sarada: Wait, he had? I mean I would too if I experienced everything he went through.. But he's.. He's Papa.. He's Uchiha Sasuke..

Sakura: I think everyone thought the same.. Even me, to be honest. He's an Uchiha. He must be strong in all aspects.. *smiles sadly* But then, he was also just a boy. An orphan.. He felt alone so many times..

Sarada: Whenever I think of how Papa suffered when he was a kid, I feel like my issues are too trivial.

Sakura: No, don't think that way. Everything you feel is valid. It doesn't need to be something grand to feel overwhelmed.. You know what, why don't you talk to your Papa instead? He's well versed to talk about these things.

Sarada: I'm shy.. And like what I said, my problems are nothing compared to Papa's.

---

Sarada: *hears knocking*

Sasuke: May I come in, Sarada?

Sarada: Yes, Papa!

Sasuke: *hugs her tight*

Sarada: Pa—pa! You're squishing me.

Sasuke: *not letting go* You are my child after all.

Sarada: Papa? Wait, did Mama—

Sasuke: *looks at her face; nods* Whatever you're feeling, just know that it's normal.. If you're willing to share it with me or Sakura, please do so.

Sarada: Papa.. Mama said y-you had— You had—

Sasuke: Suicidal thoughts?

Sarada: *nods*

Sasuke: Yes. I think the first time I had it was when I was 8. How was I supposed to live when the very reason for living was gone?

Sarada: Papa..

Sasuke: It's weird because sometimes I felt okay.. But if I saw an opportunity to end my life, I was having second thoughts. It was the easiest way out, you know.

Sarada: B-But you're strong, Papa. You were able to fight those thoughts off.

Sasuke: Because I was blinded by revenge too.. It's funny because both are negative, but the latter kept me going.

Sarada: Are you still— Nevermind.

Sasuke: I told you, you can ask me anything, Sarada. Were you asking if I'm still having those thoughts now?

Sarada: Yes.. Sorry Papa..

Sasuke: I haven't.. After my fight against Naruto in the Valley of the End, never again.

Sarada: Lord Seventh?

Sasuke: *nods* I lost that fight.

Sarada: You were both beaten up, right? Wasn't it a tie?

Sasuke: Yeah. But, I lost to Naruto in the sense that I finally accepted that we had bonds.. And that I didn't want to cut them at all.

Sarada: *smiles*

Sasuke: I really wanted to die at that moment. I had nothing to lose, but had everything to gain. For one, I'd be with my family finally. I'd be with the people— the only people who truly cared about me, or so I thought.. I didn't have to think about how the others would react if I return.. I didn't have to explain myself. But..

Sarada: But?

Sasuke: But Naruto made me realize that there are still people who care about me. Him. Sakura. Kakashi. Even the others. They're not my blood relatives but they're my family.

Sarada: That pushed you forward?

Sasuke: That was enough to make me live and try again..

Sarada: ...

Sasuke: But believe me, Sarada. I had many suicidal thoughts before that. I didn't care if I was being reckless because whatever happened, I was ready. If I succeeded, good. If I get killed, good..

Sarada: Who do you talk to during that time, Papa?

Sasuke: No one. I never told anyone. Actually, I only told your mom when we're already adults.. It was hard.. But once you have a person who will listen without judgment, it will be a lot easier. Sakura is my person.

Sarada: *smiles and nods*

Sasuke: And of course when you were born, I had more reason to live. I'd do anything to keep myself alive. I promised myself that I'll be with my family, whatever it takes.

Sarada: Thank you, Papa.. *smiles*

Sasuke: It doesn't have to be us, Sarada. But know that your mom and I are always here for you.

Sarada: *smiles widely*

Sasuke: That smile.. I hope that's a happy smile. Sometimes the smiliest people have the worst problems.

Sarada: This is a happy smile, Papa! I promise!

Sasuke: *pokes her forehead* You're young and you're allowed to be sad, anxious, scared.. But remember, you don't need to carry the burden all by yourself. *gets a small notebook from his vest; and gives it to Sarada*

Sarada: W-What's this?

Sasuke: It will be our communication notebook since we're not good at verbally expressing our feelings. You write down anything in your mind. Your mom and I will do the same.

Sarada: *opens the notebook* Oh, you've written something already.

How's my dear Sarada? Everything will be alright. I'll cook your favorite food in the coming days to boost your morale. I love you, dear! —Mama

Sarada, I'll be here until you feel better. It doesn't matter if I need to decline a number of missions. Always remember that you're an Uchiha (the best so far) and this is nothing. —Papa

Sarada: *starts crying; gets her pen and writes down*

Mama, Papa, you have always been my rock. You don't know how much your words mean to me. I promise to be more open with you. I will keep fighting like a true Uchiha. I love you both so much. Thank you!

Sarada: *gives it to Sasuke; hugs him*

Sasuke: Let's show it to your Mama?

Sarada: Yes!

[bipolarediaz]

―kay redfield jamison, an unquiet mind: a memoir of moods and madness

[lyinginthesnow]

What makes me lose my mind a bit about Season 2 Kendall is that like— Logan is trying to fully break his will and control him, and Kendall is trying to break his own will in a lot of ways through guilt and self-destructive behaviours, but there’s this tiny stubborn part of him, this desire for self-preservation, that they can’t kill no matter how hard they try. There’s this little instinctual, human voice inside him saying no, I want to live, I want to fight back, I don’t want to be his puppet, I don’t want to drown. Like initially he wants to save Vaulter, and oppose Logan on buying Pierce. Each time he goes up to the roof in “Safe Room”, he comes back down. He confronts Logan when Logan’s getting too cozy with Rhea in “Return”. He seeks out some form of happiness with Naomi (obviously that is self-destructive too given that he knows her presence will enable his drug abuse, but he also does seek connection and joy out of their relationship). But every time this desire to care about himself and fight back rears its head, either he or Logan smothers it. He submits to Logan’s orders regarding Vaulter (“because my dad told me to”) and Pierce. He goes back up onto the roof multiple times. After the confrontation about Rhea, Logan takes him to the waiter’s house, reminding him of his guilt and powerlessness. Seeing that Kendall finds escape in his relationship with Naomi, Logan sends her off the yacht.

So when Logan tells Kendall he is going to be sacrificed in “This Is Not for Tears”, Kendall has reached a point where he obeys without a single protest. “I deserve it. Maybe I deserve it”. But — crucially — Logan disagrees, saying that Kendall has nothing to be guilty about regarding the waiter’s death. Logan’s lines here are really important, because (in my interpretation??) they ignite Kendall’s repressed urge to fight back that has been slowly eroded this entire season, which leads to his decision at the end of the episode. If Logan had responded “yes, you do deserve it”, then Kendall would have walked to his own destruction willingly, giving up, maybe even feeling a sense of righteousness that he was being punished. But Logan doesn’t say that. Instead, he says: “Nah, nah. Not that. NRPI. You’re the best. Don’t beat yourself up. No real person involved. You know, it’s… it’s nothing.“ It’s nothing.

I think Kendall has a realization in this moment which is very similar to the one Rhea has in “DC”, when she says to Logan, “I can’t see the bottom of the pool. I don’t know if you care about anything. And that scares me”. Kendall’s conscience has been eating him up from the inside — but Logan doesn’t have it. He just doesn’t care. The waiter’s death has been weighing on Kendall as the basis for his self-destructiveness (and submission to Logan’s control), but Logan dismisses it so flippantly, almost as if it is irrelevant, since the moral value of that event is currently not related to his own self-interest in using Kendall as a tool. Which is all this ever was. To Logan, it was never about the waiter. It was never some form of “deserved” punishment. It was always just a part of Logan’s game, convenient to him, serving his aims.

So that tiny stubborn part of Kendall comes to life a bit inside him. It says no, no I don’t want to lie down and let you do this to me. I’m not sure he listens to it right away. But it’s there, and it grows bit by bit. No I want to live, no I want to escape, no I want to fight back, no my father is a malignant presence, a bully, and a liar, and this is the day his reign ends

[oxventure-text-posts]

[anti-spop]

the way adora is taught that she doesn't get to choose and that the world would be better off without her... the way her supposed love interest also reinforces that same logic to her...

ppl just never talk about adora's suicidal thoughts. least of all when catra enables them.

[xxtommycoolattasboobs420xx]

Fanart for @randomgooberness's fanfic Headfirst for Halos!! This is a scene from chaper 4 that absolutely destroyed me and I had to draw it </3 (sorry @im-the-real-goobatron again 4 sending u the ask on accident LMFOA)

I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH RGRHRHGRHGR ITS SO NEAT AND THE LATEST CHAPTER HAD ME GOING CRAZY

heres the link btw everyone go read it NOW!!!! also version without text under the cut!! ^-^

meow

[littlespoonevan]

911 really did give all of their main characters heartbreaking backstories, but nothing compares to bobby's story :( truly one of the most heart wrenching things i've ever seen on tv. and he caries that with him every single day :(

god i know 💔 i was rewatching 4x13/4x14 yesterday and his argument with athena over sponsoring the woman who caused the car pileup in 4x09 just reminded me of how gutting it was watching bobby's reaction during that ep as everyone around him made those cutting comments about her, when all he could see in her was himself. and when you think back to what a dark place he was in in s1??? like he openly admitted to not wanting to keep living once he'd saved enough lives to try and make up for the ones that were lost in the apartment fire and that is just. such an incredibly huge burden for one person to carry???????? if they do choose to bring it up again in 7x08 (as the ep title possibly suggests) i'm really interested to see where they go with it now that he's so much further along in his healing journey.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

I've been feeling a bit sad and angsty lately and it is also past midning, and so I got a glorious idea.

Tw// for blood and mentions of stabbing and also hints of bullying, s*icide/s*icide attempt (I'm putting it here to be safe than sorry)

(feel free to fully ignore and delete this ask, thank you!)

So, do you remember how Yuu is actually shown to be somewhat bullied by other students at nrc and how we (you op and a few other anons) have gotten the idea to make the bullying worse (aka the origin of how singer Yuu was created, basically how they were a faceless singer who then ran away from nrc to live their now idol life (I'm pretty sure that's how we also came up with the idea of a depressed/s*icidal Yuu)).

So!

What if Yuu had enough and one day during any class they'd excuse themselves 'to go to the bathroom'. (They went without Grimm btw)

The teacher allowed Yuu to do that and so they walked, but instead they walked to the mirror chamber, their steps a little wobbly from all the past beatings from the other students. Their expressuon was dull as they felt numb, walking to the mirror chamber (and maybe someone saw them and followed them, idk).

Once there, Yuu stood in the middle of the room and from one of their pockets (or anywhere on themselves where they could hide it) they took out a knife/dagger.

Yuu looked at it without any hint of expression as they raised it in the air, both hands gripping the handle tightly and with one quick swing, they stabbed themselves in the stomach, the knife deep inside their flesh as blood poured out. But they didn't stop there, instead, they made the stab wound even bigger, making the blood spill faster as they dropped the knife, slightly wobbling.

Soon enough, Yuu finally fell and hit the ground with a loud thud, blood everywhere as Yuu laid on the ground, their vision going dark.

Now, it is up to you if the prefect survives this or not (if they do then more suffering for them-), but anyways-

I've been thinking about this lately, maybe this will be a breaking point for everyone else or a sign that they fucked up or something?

Also, just already imagining the scandal that this would make for nrc, the school's reputation is now definitely ruined.

- Emiath

BARK BAKR BAKR

I have two ideas:

1. It is a huge wake up call for a lot of the villians as they are forced to realize not only just how shitty they are but they also have to realize just how reliant they were on Yuu to fix all of their problems. I think a lot of them would try to check on them, whether out of kindness or salvaging their reputation.

No matter what though, seeing the wounds Yuu inflicted on themselves really messes with everyone. Especially if they tell others to go away while they're in nurses office, blaming them for what they did.

2. Perhaps they die in the odd haunted Ramshackle. Perhaps they come back as a ghost... or are reanimated into something sinister cause of the blot they're infected with from their time there...

[irondad-defensesquad]

// TRIGGER WARNINGS - suicidal thoughts and suicide attempt (overdose).

this is really dark. i'm not in any danger right now btw, i just wanted to write this down. please take care, don't read this if the themes are triggering to you.

--

"hey, mr. stark. it's me again. how are you doing? how's the trip? you've been away for a couple of days now, haha..."

peter doesn't get any answer. he sighs.

"i guess my patrol hasn't been too bad. but school has been really stressing me out. sometimes i wish i could give up the decathlon too, but i already left band and a bunch of other things... i dunno, i don't think i can handle things the way i used to."

he stares at the night sky, listening to the whole city. it never sleeps and neither will peter.

"ned has been sick all week. it's nothing serious at least, but he needs to rest. and aunt may has been working so much, and i know that's my fault. i rarely see her now with all her night shifts. may still calls me and texts me, but it's not the same, y'know?" peter continues. "and i know you and happy have more important things to do, that's totally fine."

as peter says that, he starts tearing up.

"... i wish i could've told you to stay." he pauses. "that's really selfish of me, i know. you don't have to drop everything for my sake. i wouldn't want you to do that. i just..." he sniffs. "i miss you, mr. stark. i-i feel like i don't have anyone else right now."

he half uncovers his face so the tears don't make his mask gross.

"... you know when you come home and you don't feel anything? even after you had a good day or you didn't feel like shit all day? but then you get home and you see how empty it is... you wish you could disappear, somehow? because you don't want to go back outside, but you don't want to be home, either. there's nothing for you in either of them."

the emptiness is there, in peter's long silence. it's there with the lack of the other line. it's always there and it will be there no matter how busy peter may be, or how hard he may laugh with his best friend, or how happy he might be when he sees his mentor. because in the end, peter is not fulfilled. he will never be.

he can't stay home, he can't stay outside. where should he go?

...

"mr. stark..." peter gulps, despite the fact tony will likely not hear it. but he needs to say it before it's too late.

"... i love-"

you've reached the limit of voicemails.

even his phone is telling him to shut up.

peter inhales but he can't filter out his frustration. he growls and throws his phone to the ground. and it easily cracks in many pieces. oh great. how is he going to get a new phone now? how is aunt may ever going to pay for a new one?

he's sobbing violently in his empty room, his chest hurting and suffocating him. his cries echo in the lonely apartment.

he can't do this anymore.

he can't be alone anymore.

he's so tired.

peter has nowhere to go, like all the walls are closing around him, and he knows he'll get crushed and no one will save him, not even himself.

he needs to go. how? to where?

this pain is too much for him to handle.

peter wishes he could sleep. he hasn't slept well in days.

... he remembers tony left him some enhanced medication. not necessarily for sleeping, but they do leave peter sleepy. maybe if he takes enough, he won't even feel them and he can sleep for once.

peter just takes the pot of pills and he doesn't even know how many he grabs and puts in his mouth. he takes all of them in one huge sip of water. the effects don't happen in an instant, but peter can tell his mind is spinning and things are blurring.

he drops in his bed, knocking something over. it reminds him of when the effects of the spider bite hit him. he thought he was going to die then.

peter starts crying.

he's fading and fading...

and he couldn't even say goodbye to anyone. or "i'm sorry". or "i love you".

peter can only hold onto the blanket, the only thing he can hug right now.

what he would give to have a hug from tony now.

but tony is not coming, is he?

the black hole in peter is sucking everything in. all the light, all the hope, all the fear... there's nothing else left.

maybe this is for the best.

for everyone.

... he can vaguely tell his suit made a noise. he doesn't know what it is. and it doesn't matter anymore.

he's going to sleep.

he'll sleep now.

he'll...

...

[artistfingers]

the other night, the “makes me want to kill myself” mental refrain of the night spontaneously morphed into “makes me want to eat myself” and I mean,,,, at least it made me laugh ?

[spielzeugkaiser]

[MASTERPOST]

Jaskier needed a break (he still has nightmares) and when Geralt woke up and couldn't find Jaskier he thought for a moment... Poor Geralt did get scared senseless for a second and Jaskier hasn't realised yet what just happened.

[sakakisilverlining]

[This was posted privately.]

"If things go to shit, will you jump off with me?" It repeats in my head over and over. Yes. Yes, I will. Anything. Anything for you. You won't have to mask your feelings no more. We won't hurt anymore. We won't be sad and dead. We'll be happy together. Death doesn't have to be lonely. I love you, Ethan. I love you more than you realize. You're my heart and soul. I'd do anything for you. Anything you ask of me.