#suicide ideation cw

[blinkpen]

digs into my unposted doodle files and shares a combo meal

babygirl was unstable to begin with but has been gaslit into total insanity just beneath the surface your honor + a bug trying to ignore the lethal siren song of a fluorescent lightbulb's mind numbing hum

[ethanhibiki]

Locking the world just traps everyone else. Makes it more dangerous. I’d just stay where nobody could feasibly find you.

( @adamscatalyst )

uts . not goimg yo. magt er soon an y ways.

[fictionkinfessions]

Been thinking of dying a lot

I just miss home and as someone who is distinctly not human in a very human world trying to survive without the one person I desperately need, I don't want to do it or be here anymore

x

[oh-tobeafrog]

My thoughts on “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost in the context of Malevolent Part 26. The poem made me cry so I have to talk about it now

First of all: I believe this poem is about death, or at least it is about death within the context of Malevolent. The woods and snow symbolize death, while the narrator is remarking on the beauty of death and perhaps desiring to enter it, to die.

“Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.”

I believe the mentioned “he” is death and the fear of death, since he owns the woods that symbolize death. His residing within the village shows that the fear of death is found within community. As Arthur believed he had lost everyone he held dear when Kayne erased John’s memory, he began to stop fearing death. His isolation made him stop fearing death. (I think it’s noteworthy to say that Arthur has always somewhat been this way. After losing so many people, his lack of self-preservation instincts, as shown in his impulsivity and daring nature, show that perhaps he has always thought he deserved to die. However, I think this feeling was greatly amplified after he lost John, which sent him spiraling throughout the last season.)

“My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.”

The horse. Hear me out. I think the horse could be compared to John. In the poem, the horse doesn’t show fear at death; it simply gently questions why its rider has stopped by death, in between structures. (Perhaps the lack of structures shows that the speaker currently has no purpose, or nothing significant reminding him to hold onto life other than the horse.) Ever since Arthur got John back, John has been confused and frustrated, but loyal. There was a specific moment in Part 26 in which John says he doesn’t understand why Arthur is acting this way, but he will continue to guide Arthur in spite of his confusion. This reflects the horse’s confusion, yet its willingness to stay with the speaker. Additionally, the symbiotic nature of a horse and its rider could be compared to John and Arthur’s situation (shh don’t make it weird 💀). Also, the words “easy” and “downy” continue the positive or at least neutral connection to death, as again Arthur is viewing death as an escape/rightful punishment right now.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.”

Yeah. This one really speaks for itself. Arthur believes that death is “lovely” because it is “dark and deep.” He not only believes that he deserves death, but he believes that death would be the easiest way out—it would certainly be easier than having to face himself. But, John reciting this poem to him shows that there is hope—there is a future. There is more to both of their lives. Arthur has “promises to keep” to John, to Faroe, and to himself. The repetition of the last line emphasizes it; there is a way forward, together, and a long way to go before death.

[starsburned]

"Well, hello there, gorgeous! Do you come here often?" Yeah, he's talking to a bottle of bleach and pulling over a glass. "Ah, I really shouldn't... but... you're just so beautiful that I might take the risk. How could I say no?" And he's pouring some. He'll just... take a sip. It's fine.

[laufire]

"You killed my friend."

[Caption: gifs from The Good Wife. Kalinda has snuck in and is standing alone in front of Jeffrey Grant's cell. Through the bars, she asks him, calm, "You want to die?". The young man nods, pitifully, and Kalinda raises her hand to show a belt. She tells her it's his and she took it from Property. He stands up and walks up towards her, eager, while Kalida says the guard will be away for ten minutes, giving him enough time. The camera focuses on the belt, as Jeffrey touches it reverently through the small squares formed by the bars. Looking straight at him, Kalinda starts to slowly pull away the belt, and his fingers try to follow it, and Jeffrey looks at her with shock and fear. He asks what is she doing, and Kalinda tells him "No, you are gonna live with this. You know Will was a good man, and I loved him, and he was trying to help you. So you live with that." She puts the belt back in her pocket and with trembling lips he starts begging, saying "No. No, no, no, no. Please!" as Kalinda steps away for good.]

[lunarscaled]

"Today I'm gonna think about laying on some train tracks."

[novastrae]

more meakashi-hen ending quotes tht belong in decie's study tag

[askbrett]

FMK: Dottie, Bree, JBI

I know what my answer would've been a month ago. Now I feel like these three would rather kill me so. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I should make life a little easier for them by doing that to myself. @askdottie @askbree @thejbi K all of them with an Uno Reverse.

[amvguy]

love, make me clean > the pure and the damned // dean winchester

[kjack89]

Heart Tattoo

For Day 3 of @themiserablesmonth: Heart.

ExR, modern AU. CW: discussions of suicide ideation and depression.

Read on AO3.

Enjolras made a contented noise, nuzzling Grantaire’s back before pressing a kiss to the tattoo of the Tree of Gondor on Grantaire’s shoulder blade. Grantaire shifted in bed next to him. “You’re obsessed with my tattoos,” he said languidly, sounding sleepy and blissful as he rolled over onto his other side to face Enjolras.

“That’s not true,” Enjolras said, defying his own statement by ducking to kiss the Captain America shield on Grantaire’s arm. “Though if I was, you really can’t blame me, can you?”

Grantaire reached out to cup Enjolras’s cheek. “I can’t blame you for most things,” he said with a chuckle, leaning in to kiss him.

Enjolras turned his head to brush his lips against the heart outline tattooed on Grantaire’s left wrist. “This one’s probably my favorite, though.”

Grantaire made a face. “Why?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Probably because it’s the most mysterious,” he said. “You’ve never told me about that one.”

“I’m sure I have other tattoos I haven’t told you about.”

“Like the tattoo of Crash Bandicoot on your left calf that you had to get because you lost a bet to Bahorel?” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire laughed. “Fair point.” He rolled onto his back, reaching over with his right hand to rub absently at the tattoo heart. “I don’t know, I don’t think about this one much. It was my very first tattoo, you know, from when I was 16.”

“And is there a story behind it?” Enjolras asked, though he hastened to add, “Not that there needs to be a story behind a tattoo to make it valuable.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Good boy,” he said approvingly, though he paused before answering further, his smile fading as he stared at the ceiling. “There’s not a good story,” he said finally. “I got it because I was clinically depressed, and suicidal, and thought pretty regularly about slicing my wrist open and bleeding to death.”

He said it bluntly, without any sugarcoating of hedging, and Enjolras swallowed, hard. As many times as he had heard Grantaire talk about this before, he would never get used to it, would never fully be able to tamp down the protective instinct that rose automatically in him, even if what he was trying to protect him from was the ghosts of his past. “But you got a heart tattoo instead.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said softly. He snorted and ran a hand across his face. “It was my desperate attempt at ‘it gets better’-ing myself. I told myself that if I just held on, maybe someone would one day love me enough that I wouldn’t want to kill myself anymore.” He jerked a shrug. “And so I got the tattoo so that I would see it every single day and remember it.”

Enjolras stared at the small black outline stark against Grantaire’s wrist. “That’s—”

“Bullshit,” Grantaire supplied, with a a wry twist to his smile. “Unhealthy, codependent, irresponsible, even.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t know that I’d say that.”

“I do,” Grantaire said. “Waiting for someone to rescue you might be romantic in the movies, but in real life? In real life, it’s just pathetic.” His tone turned bitter. “Especially when what they’re rescuing you from is your own mental illness.” He sighed and shook his head. “No one can love you into wanting to live. That’s just not how it works.”

Enjolras hesitated before asking, “What did your therapist say about it?”

Grantaire made a face. “My therapist said that there are worse coping mechanisms. That if it worked short-term enough to stop me from doing something stupid while I figured out other, better coping mechanisms, that it was fine.” He huffed something that might have been an attempt at a laugh. “Then we had a long and involved conversation about my mindset when it came to seeing love as something that would save me, et cetera ad nauseum.”

He waved a dismissive hand, and Enjolras caught his wrist in his hand, running his thumb over the tattoo before asking softly, “Did it work, though?”

Grantaire rolled over onto his side so that he was again facing Enjolras. “It stopped me from slitting my wrist,” he said dryly. “It didn’t exactly stop me from doing other stupid things that could very easily have killed me.”

“But were you trying to kill yourself when you were doing those other stupid things?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire took a long moment before hedging, “That’s a hard question to answer.”

“Is it?”

Grantaire sighed. “It was less about actively trying to kill myself and more about not caring if I lived or died,” he said carefully. “But the latter doesn’t mean I wasn’t at least tacitly undertaking the idiocy I did while thinking it might one day kill me, and being ok with that.”

Enjolras knew that the idiocy he was referring to mostly involved drugs and related poor life choices, and he nodded slowly. “And now?” he asked, his words sticking in his throat just slightly.

Grantaire’s eyes flew to his. “I haven’t felt that way in a very long time. You know that.”

Enjolras did. But still— “I do. But it doesn’t hurt to hear it.”

Grantaire’s expression softened, and he tugged his wrist out of Enjolras’s grip so that he could take his hand instead. “No, it doesn’t.” He took a deep breath. “There will always be a tiny little voice in my head that tells me every time something bad happens, or I fuck up, or when absolutely everything is going right because my brain is just plain wired incorrectly, that I should just kill myself.” He twisted their hands so that he could brush a kiss against Enjolras’s knuckles. “But it’s a very, very tiny voice, like the voice that tells me when I look at the opossum that sometimes wanders into our yard that I should pet his belly.”

Enjolras barked a laugh and shook his head. “Please do not pet the opossum, or I will make Joly give you his lecture on rabies.”

Grantaire smiled slightly. “I won’t. And I won’t kill myself either. I have my meds, and I have a great therapist, and I have a lot healthier coping mechanisms than inane tattoos.” 

Enjolras managed a smile as well. “That is true.”

“Plus I have you,” Grantaire said simply. “And while you’re not a solution to my many, many problems, you’re still pretty fucking great.”

Enjolras leaned in and kissed him before resting his forehead against Grantaire’s. “I love you.”

“I know,” Grantaire whispered, kissing him as well. “Now let’s go to bed because I’m getting too fucking old for these post-sex heart-to-hearts.”

Enjolras laughed lightly and both men shifted so that Enjolras was in his usual position, his head resting on Grantaire’s chest instead of his pillow, Grantaire lightly stroking his hair. Both men were quiet for a long moment before Enjolras lifted his head to tell Grantaire, a little stubbornly, “I still think it worked, though.”

Grantaire sighed. “Enjolras—”

“It did make you hold on long enough so that someone would love enough that you didn’t want to kill yourself anymore.”

Grantaire’s hand stilled. “If you’re referring to yourself—”

“I’m not,” Enjolras said quickly. “I’m referring to you.”

“What?”

“Maybe the someone who loved you enough so that you didn’t want to kill yourself anymore was you,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire was quiet for so long that Enjolras almost sat up to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep on him. But then Grantaire whispered, “Maybe.”

Enjolras traced a finger across Grantaire’s stomach. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“When am I ever?” Grantaire asked, a smile in his voice. “But it’s something to discuss with my therapist, at least.”

Now Enjolras did sit up, just enough so that he could kiss Grantaire once more before telling him, “For what it’s worth, whatever made you decide to stick around, I’m really glad you did. Because even if me loving you was never the solution, it’s been pretty fucking great.”

Grantaire wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. Enjolras ducked his head to rest it once more on Grantaire’s chest, and Grantaire bent to kiss the top of his head. “Yeah,” he said. “It sure has.”

[lucassinclaer]

Hey if you wanna be sad and cry over max some more, just do what I do. Sit and think about how she had to save her life for what, days??? By listening on repeat to a song that makes her think about how much she wishes she could've died instead of or with Billy.

hey.

why would you say this to me??

[ethanhibiki]

Make your choice. We both die, or I go home and we can figure this out.

- ♤

pl ease cl me home

[fictionkinfessions]

it's all my fault. they all died because of me, all because I was a coward. and my friends here don't know what I'm really like. what I've done. how all of it was my fault. i know everyone's done awful things as kins but... fuck. i can never forgive myself. everyone died because of me. i ended the fucking world. i didn't mean to, but i did. everyone i loved. they all died because of me. im an awful person and im so scared people will hate me when they figure out what I've done, because i deserve it. i probably should've just jumped off that cliff when i ran away. it would've been better for everyone.

s

[hexcoremagician]

@knightfeared asked:

[ lonely ] sender finds receiver alone in a dark room ( Jayce @ Viktor )

𝗜𝗧 𝗛𝗔𝗦 𝗕𝗘𝗘𝗡 𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗛𝗘 𝗛𝗔𝗦 𝗕𝗘𝗘𝗡 𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗚𝗢 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗧𝗢 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗞, 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗬𝗘𝗧, 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗩𝗜𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗗𝗢 𝗜𝗦 𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗧 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗥𝗢𝗢𝗠 𝗔𝗧 𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥. Curled in on himself, the gifted scientist lays there, in nothing but his back & leg braces and white boxers, a crimson-colored blanket thrown haphazardly across his thin, pale thighs.

He feels raw, too raw and vulnerable, as he lays there and tries to find serenity in the soothing black. Viktor clutches his leg like he grasps at the fragile mortal coil that winds in his chest, and quietly sobs into the metal that bands around his deformed leg. When Blitzcrank had alerted everyone that he had fainted, a part of him had hoped that he hadn't woke up -

The decline of his health is more dramatic now that his illness had progressed, and Viktor had never wanted the slow demise that came with his health. He wanted it to just be over.

Fighting had left him weak. And tired.

His mass of messy hair is even more unkempt, dark brown strands wispy and out of his face, yet sweat is making some of it stick to the back of his neck.

He's always known that he was going to die. The pollution of the undercity had made his condition worse, and after being seen by the doctors of Piltover, it just made things more final.

He would never see Jayce's - their - HexTech dream completely through. Ten years, Heimerdinger had said, when he barely had a month.

Viktor's voice is choked out even more by sobs, but he's raised in volume. His body shakes, and he's shaking and crying so hard that he doesn't notice as light suddenly breaks into the room. It illuminates his form: his back is to the door, showing off the metal fused into his spine.

It's only when he pauses in a hiccup does he realize that someone has opened the door. A loud sound of surprise leaves his lips as he scrambles to roll over and cover himself, shame spiking his features. His spine. They'd seen his spine -

He squints. The silhouette is familiar, bulky, muscular, and it's the cowlick that gives him away. Jayce. Jayce Talis.

" - Jayce?" he breathes, sniffs, and tries to make his voice steel, "What are you doing here?" Of all places.

But seeing Jayce standing there makes something in Viktor's chest twist, and arms open, reaching for him. Viktor has never wanted to be touched before. But he wants it now. He wants to be held and cry, like maybe if he sheds enough tears, he won't be dying, won't be counting the sands that drain in his hourglass.

"Please. Please," he whimpers, "Jayce."

[unicarcass]

gamers im gonna be completely fucking honest i think i have been in dire need of something but i dont know what that something is. but also i dont think wanting to run into traffic is a sign ive been coping very well