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#tw suicide
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it’s october 7th. you hear about the attack by seeing people you followed glorifying the terrorist attack—a massacre, a pogrom—as victory & justified resistance, glorifying a terrorist group that was founded with the explicit intent to kill your entire people
you make a post in which you make it clear you support palestinians and oppose the ways israel has wronged them, explaining that the terrorist group is still not good. you know you will probably get some flacc from the pro-Hamas side, but naively underestimate how much.
you get thousands of notifications on that one post, the majority of them hateful comments.
some of the response is positive. multiple messages thank you for the post, expressing bafflement that it’s controversial.
a few Israelis are upset at the loaded language in your post, but explain their problems with it civilly. you called Israel “apartheid”. they ask you what apartheid laws Israel has. you admit you honestly don’t know.
your inbox is flooded with anonymous hate from anti-Israel leftists.
over the course of a few weeks you have received hundreds of death threats, a dozen rape threats. people accuse you of being pro-genocide. you’re a literal Nazi. you’re racist, you thirst for the blood of Palestinians. you’re brainwashed by propaganda, a shill for The Zionist Entity. a few of the hate messages are from literal Neo-Nazis; the overwhelming majority are from leftists, many of them queer.
you are considering suicide.
you see footage of the october 7th attacks. you see footage of the bombings in gaza. you see footage of a Jewish man being murdered at an anti-Israel rally.
a popular creator you follow posts in support of an antisemitic hate group that masquerades as a Jewish organization. this organization regularly posts blood libel and other antisemitic rhetoric, works with groups that are even more explicitly antisemitic, including celebrating October 7th, holocaust inversion, blood libel, “Khazar theory” and others. more than one of the orgs they work with is pro-Putin.
your former roommate liked the post.
graffiti appears on a street you frequent that says “#freepalestine” and “end settler colonialism”
the boyfriend of the friend you spent most of the summer with makes his first post about the war. it’s a reposted comic that mocks and downplays the october 7th attack.
you doubt he’ll be receptive to criticism. he’s shared leftist memes about “monied elites” pulling all the strings and evangelicals being modern day “pharisees” in the past, and getting him to understand why that was antisemitic was like herding cats. you try anyway.
another of his Jewish friends also pushes back. he smugly dismisses her, tells her she’s falling for Zionist propaganda and uses several antisemitic tropes. you go off on him. he just deletes your comment.
you give up. you’re done. you block him.
you see anti-Israel posters and billboards around town
you mention what happened with the guy you went off on to his girlfriend—the friend you’ve grown very close to, who you’ve been listening to as she unburdens her fears for the future and complains about her bf’s BS over the last year. she doesn’t respond to you.
a friend of a friend shares posts tokenizing fringe groups that spread blood libel and have collaborated with holocaust deniers. you know they don’t know what you know, so you explain what those groups are. they seem somewhat receptive, apologize, and take it down
the next day they share several more posts that dip into antisemitic tropes. you mention this to your mutual friend, that you’re worried about them being radicalized. you’re not sure how receptive they’ll be to continued criticism
you have a confrontation with the foaf. in the meantime they’ve shared even more antisemitic posts. they say they didn’t mean to cause you distress but instead of stopping they effectively block you.
the “end settler colonialism” vandalism has been counter-vandalized with the words “commie propaganda” in place of “settler colonialism”. you don’t know if this is an improvement.
a month passes. the friend whose bf you went off on still hasn’t spoken to you. you see she shared a post defending an SJP chapter that posted Nazi cartoon caricatures of Jews repurposed in “Anti-Zionist” memes. you unfriend her on all social media platforms but you can’t bring yourself to block her number.
you see a friend of someone whose couch you surfed when you were homeless harassing Jewish celebrities with “Free Palestine” comments. you block them.
you’ve lost count of how many people you’ve unfollowed or blocked, or who’ve blocked you. friends, content creators.
when a friend takes an unusually long time to respond you worry if it’s because of your posts about antisemitism.
most of the podcasts, youtube channels, and other content creators you regularly engaged with no longer feel safe. you wonder who will be next
a couple friends wish you a happy hanukkah. you don’t celebrate much aside from lighting the hanukkiah and making some latkes.
you see posts about a destroyed chabad menorah, antisemitic comments on Jewish celebrities’ Hanukkah posts.
your neighborhood is covered in pro-Palestine & anti-Israel posters. some are seemingly innocuous, some are JVP “not in our name” posters. some call for intifada. “globalize the intifada” “Zionists fuck off!” “solidarity means attack!”
a man kills himself shouting “free palestine”. you learn about his suicide by seeing posts from several popular accounts you followed glorifying it.
you follow a bunch of jewish accounts on social media and commiserate with them about everything happening
your jewish friends post screenshots of the dead man’s antisemitic, pro-Hamas views. you look at his reddit and find even more horrific shit: anti-Ukraine posts. mocking Zelensky. “elites” are “lizard people”; the only named individual he calls a lizard person is Jewish. you start to notice a pattern: a lot of the people he dislikes just so happen to be jews.
several people you know share a post glorifying this man’s suicide. most are acquaintances, one is someone incredibly important to you.
you wonder how they would respond to your suicide.
you tell the close friend that shared this post how it scares you. you show them the receipts of the man’s antisemitism. their response is a single sentence. they didn’t know about the antisemitism.
they don’t apologize.
you notice none of your irl friends, even your closest ones, interact with your posts about antisemitism. you are able to vent to a couple friends, but no one has reach out to you
you try not to read into it. you try not to take it personally.
you haven’t slept well in months. you’ve always been an insomniac but not like this. you’re not sleeping until 4am, 6am, even 9am. even when you get to bed at a decent hour and get a full night’s rest it takes you hours to get out of bed.
a few weeks go by. the friend with the single sentence response shares a post saying they’re excited and proud to join a group to help palestinians. you’re excited and proud for them.
a couple days later, they share a post about a fundraiser to help a palestinian family get out of gaza. you note to yourself this is a much more effective & less concerning form of activism than the pro-suicidal antisemite post.
your friend shares another post about the fundraiser. it’s a joint post between their group and another group.
you open the other group’s page
the page is just a wall of signs from rallies. you swipe through one after another: “from the river to the sea”, “by any means necessary”, justifying/denying the atrocities of october 7th, calling for violent revolution. anything done in the name of resistance can’t be terrorism, all Israelis are terrorists. Jews aren’t indigenous; they’re white colonizers. holocaust inversion. other vile, thinly veiled violent rhetoric
you feel sick to your stomach imagining talking to your friend about it.
you already feel like you’re burdening the few friends you can talk to about this. you already feel like you think about it too much, talk about it too much. but you can’t not think about it; it affects every aspect of your life.
you’ve filtered out relevant keywords on more than one social media site to avoid the worst of it. some still manages to leak through.
there isn’t a single friend you regularly interact with that you don’t fear the moment when they will switch from listening to your concerns to seeing you as the evil zionist or indoctrinated hasbaranik they’ve been warned about.
it’s not an irrational fear. it keeps happening. you knew it would then, and you were powerless to do anything about it before, and you continue to be as it happens again and again.
you don’t know what to do about any of it.
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emmetofthestars · 16 hours
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well i got something
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wu-sisyphus-gang · 18 hours
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Jaune: *pointlessly risks his life*
Weiss: What’s the matter with you?! Do you want to die?!
Jaune: What do you want from me?
Weiss: Answer the question!
Jaune: Yeah. I got a special hollow point to make sure it blows the back of my head just right. I wake up every day and think of a reason not to do it.
Weiss: Holy fuck Jaune.
Jaune: Just let me go, man.
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fairycosmos · 13 hours
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i can't think of a reason to stay alive but i'm not brave enough to kill myself
i've been in the same predicament for a few years now and i am really really sorry you're going through it too. often i zoom in and try to find minuscule reasons from moment to moment. the air on my cheeks and a warm meal and that sort of thing. thar sort of crap. doesn't work some of the time but it works enough of the time that i'm still here. i really really hope you take care of yourself and are able to find a small moment of respite soon. you do deserve better and i hate that things are so difficult. sending a lot of love. x
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borderline-culture-is · 19 hours
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tw suicide mention
Bpd culture is having to fight suicidal thoughts on a daily basis since you were 11 years old and still ever time you think about therapy etc you're like "am I really doing bad enough for it?.. Nahh"
-🕸️
.
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martitheevans · 3 days
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Robert Sean Leonard is so funny because his most famous roles are 1) Guy who killed himself because he didnt want to be a doctor, and 2) Doctor
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ggomos-maribat · 2 days
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Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian
Masterlist
Chapter 1: the assassin and his servant | AO3
CW: Suicide, blood, injury, referenced childhood trauma, mild violence
It is no surprise that the League of Assassins has its own fair share of enemies at its tail. Yet recently, there has been an onslaught of attacks, prompting its members to switch between the network of bases—its young heir is no exception. The third base to house Damian sits between two frosted peaks towering over a Tibetan village, first founded by the demon's daughter herself. Though the instigator of the attacks is unknown, it seems that the abilities of the opposing group is nearly on par with the trained assassins. Damian has scoffed at this piece of information; no one stands at the same level as the League.  
Unfortunately, Damian has been kept away from the frontlines under Talia's strict instructions despite his insistence to fight. Knowing his status, Damian begrudgingly complied to escape and hide. Even if the food is cold and the night wind sometimes sneaks in to bite his bones, he sits still to wait for news announcing that it's safe to return to the main base.   
He sits up on his creaky bed. The ends of the sheets are fraying, and the floors are ice cold, with the gray and brown meshing into a drabby color. The only semblance of a decoration is his twin katanas leaning off the side of his bed frame. It's a far cry from the home he knows, though his routine is mostly unchanged: training from dawn to dusk. But he can tell this day is different. From the commotion happening outside the room and the lingering tension in the air, Damian deduces that another attack is on the way.  
Finally, his thoughts are confirmed when he hears the door open. "Master Damian?"  
He has his back turned to her, his servant, but he can already picture out her presence. An unsteady stance dwarfed in a thick coat, calloused hands wrapped in fingerless gloves, cheeks that have lost a tad bit of their rosiness nowadays, and hair pushed back into twin braids. A child just like him, but raised an assassin nonetheless. "Lady Talia wishes for you to be relocated again. We will use the back tunnel and rendezvous with our guides halfway down the mountains. They will escort us to out—"  
"Where are we relocating to?"  
". . . I don't know, Master."  
She swiftly moves to the side to pack his things. Damian picks up his weapons, biting back the habitual click of his tongue. He's sick of the cycle, feeling like a coward running away endlessly. "And why can't we hold them off?"  
"We do not have enough people. Between guarding the Demon Head and the Pits, and covering all bases . . . The enemies have become too much to handle." Marie ties together the strings of the backpack, before strapping a rolled-up sleeping bag on top.  
"If our assassins are competent enough, we would not be struggling ," Damian hisses.  
The servant doesn't reply, but he catches the twitch of her upper lip. Like him, Marie has been forbidden from fighting the enemies, but she has been helping with the supplies and cleaning, apart from assisting him in training. She should know how weak the League has become.  
"We will leave in five minutes," she says, offering his coat to him.  
"What if I don't want to leave?" 
"I am sorry, Master, but Lady Talia said—"  
"Nevermind what Mother said. I can do it. I can fight."  
Marie's expression changes just a little, and her hand reaches up to clutch her sleeve. He knows that even though she serves under him, she mostly answers to his mother. And defying Talia had greater consequences. It is not the first time Damian has wanted to go against higher orders; Marie has often eased him into not breaking the rules. 
"I think it is better for you to reserve your energy for training, Master. Let the rest of us worry about the enemies." 
"Tt. Grandfather should do something about this."  
When Marie finally persuades him, they venture out to the winding halls. She navigates expertly, avoiding the rings of the gunshots and clashing of swords. Damian knows that they are near the exit when he feels the chilling gust of wind. The rocky snow-topped terrain welcomes them outside—there is only white and gray for miles that everything looks like a lifeless desert. Damian blinks against the sunlight, puffs of fogged breath floating along his vision. In the snowy landscape, Marie looks even paler, as if her skin has become translucent.  
The swords on Damian's back feel heavier too. He has found that fighting in the cold is more troublesome—his joints are hardened, and the blood rushes out of his limbs. The stiffness of his muscles limit his movement and the thin air makes it difficult to breathe. Their escape party is too vulnerable, and if they were to encounter a hostile group, he will have to make the kill quick.  
He glances at Marie every now and then. Her skills are average, and she looks smaller when bundled up. He doesn't miss the way she favors one foot when she trudges in the snow. Though she has been mentored by Talia, she is not like his mother, nor like the other women he is familiar with, like Nyssa or Lady Shiva. She's practically dead weight for Damian. An easy target.  
He doesn't remember when she first started serving under him. He only recalls huffing in annoyance seeing the tiny girl hanging around on the sidelines as he trained, occasionally joining him for a spar. He only knows her as the one who brings his food, supplies him with his secondary weapons, escapes into other bases with him, and acts as his mother's slave. She looks more attuned to the civilians in the towns Damian sees during his missions, not someone who has blood in her hands. Rarely does she show emotion, not even some annoyance or defeat when he easily beats her during practice, not even flinching when the other servants delivered sharp slaps on her arms, not even a hint of awe like when Damian first gazed upon the second League base in Nepal. Her expressions are usually blank or incomplete, as if she suppresses her reactions.  
She marches close to him, head darting around to check for danger. Damian stops and asks, "How long until we meet the guides?"  
"We have one day of travel, Master."  
"One day? Could they have not sent a plane?"  
"It's too risky…"  
Damian clenches his jaw. A day of hiking through frozen hell. He pulls his hood over his head and quickens his pace.  
"Wait, Master, we should slow down." Marie calls after.  
He doesn't care. The faster they walk, the faster they can meet up with their allies and get out of there.  
"Master, wait—" A thump sounds out. Damian looks behind him to see Marie scrambling to get up. 
"Tt. You could have stayed behind if you can't even walk."  
Marie mumbles her apologies while catching up to him. "We should keep ourselves from tiring out quickly. There is still a long way to go."  
"What if the enemies catch up to us?" 
"They will not." She purses her lips. "They should not know you're escaping. They should not know you're here in the first place."  
"They always know." Damian continues along the nonexistent path. "I'm certain there are moles here."  
As they keep walking, Marie sometimes wobbles with the humongous bag but she doesn't trip again.  Damian doesn't keep count how many steps they have taken or how long they walk, but soon he starts to stagger and shiver, and the sun fades away slowly. Marie directs them to a small cave carved out on the side of a cliff. It is small and still cold, but it will do for the night. Damian gives in to his aching legs, putting his swords in front of him, while Marie sets up the camp. She kindles a humble fire and takes out the supplies to make a meal.  
"A seating mat, Master?" Marie lays out a folded cloth off to the side. Damian crawls to it wordlessly, leaning against the bumpy wall and draping an arm over his eyes. 
She hugs her knees and watches the boiling water. "There might be a storm tonight. I can cover up the entrance, but I do not know how well it will hold up."  
He doesn't reply.  
"Any food you prefer, Master?" 
"What difference does it make? It's all tasteless meal kits."  
"But—" 
"I don't care. Whatever you can make."  
"If we wake up early, we can reach our destination in time," Marie continues, "It is colder in the morning but I have heat packs in the bag."  
“...” 
Damian peeks as she cooks a simple stew. The aroma spreads around the cave, mingling with the shadows created by the fire. The warmth chases away the chill just a little. His servant seems to note his unwillingness to make small talk, so they eat their meals in complete silence, basking in the crackling flames instead. Marie unrolls the sleeping bag and positions herself near the opening of the cave with a knife in hand.  
"Please get some sleep, Master Damian. I will keep watch," says Marie.  
Damian rolls to face the ceiling. Camp-outs are often bleak, and he practically has to sleep with one eye open. But owing to the soreness of his body, he drifts into deep slumber. He has no clue how long he sleeps but when he wakes up, the fire has gone small and the numbed pain in his back has become more persistent. Damian sits up to see Marie staring off blankly into the foggy snowstorm. She's trembling badly and her chapped lips have turned into a light shade of blue. They make brief eye contact before she jumps up to push out the little snow starting to pile up at the opening.  
Damian averts his gaze, buries deeper into the sleeping bag, and thinks to himself how foolish it is for her to stay awake and away from the fire.  
He lies awake instead of going back to sleep as the  cold has won over his drowsiness. An eternity of gazing up at the darkness, his eyelids begin to feel heavy— 
Damian's hand darts up to grab the wrist hovering over him. “What are you doing?” 
Marie recoils back in surprise. "Hea—heat pack, Master. You looked cold."  
"Tt. Forget it. I will get one myself if I'm cold."  
Marie nods weakly, lowly muttering her apologies again, and returns to her post.  
***
The next time Damian wakes, it's from noises nearby. The morning light has spilled into the cave, and the fire has reduced into ash and some smoke. The second thing he notices is the lack of Marie's presence—Damian scrambles up and runs towards the cave opening to see his servant locked in a fight with a stranger just on the edge of the cliff. An enemy assassin perhaps. He has her pinned to the ground, but her fingers are tightly wound around his neck. Marie lets out a choked scream when the man jams the hilt of his weapon on her injured foot.  
Damian immediately pulls out his katana and swipes at the enemy's neck. He tugs Marie by the collar and kicks the man's large body off the drop. After looking around for other assassins he looks down on his servant, who's already making a makeshift splint from her knife holder despite her ragged breathing and the cut running across her hairline. 
"Where's the bag?" Damian asks, wiping off the hint of blood from his blade.  
Marie's eyes widen up at him, and they slowly follow down the height of the cliff.  
"Really? You can barely hold off an enemy and you've lost our supplies?" Damian's hand clenches around his sword.  
"I am sorry, Master, I was packing up and—and I was about to wake you." Her voice wavers. "I—I still have some food in my belt—" 
" Save it," he cuts her off. "We have to get down from here as fast as we can."  
Even if that assassin is a lone wanderer, they can't risk another similar encounter. If that happens, Damian isn't certain if he can keep himself alive, much less the both of them, especially if they're overwhelmed by numbers. He curses at his stiff hands; he could've been much faster if it were any other circumstance.  
"I—I am sorry, Master," Marie gasps out.  
"I said save it." Damian begins to hike again, and she follows while limping after crawling into the cave and packing up his sleeping bag.  
He's surprised that she survived and held off the assassin, but she did so sloppily that her injury was aggravated. Because of that, they will be slowed down indefinitely, unless he chooses to venture on ahead. That is the truth in the League of Assassins: that kind of weakness isn't tolerated, even if she has some ability to defend herself. Those incapable are quickly rooted out, and those who are prodigies train to become more vicious.  
Damian momentarily halts when he observes that the path has narrowed down. They can still cross and climb down, but after one wrong move, they will be falling into a merciless death. He tests the rock, moving one step at a time and clinging onto the shallow crevices of the wall.  
He turns to Marie. “Climbing gear?”  
She bows her head in guilt. “Inside the bag . . . Master.”  
“That is your own fault,” he spits out. “If you cannot cross this, I'm not helping you.”  
He feels her trying to follow closely, but her balance is dangerously off. Damian watches as she struggles to walk through. Her breaths are unsteady as she keeps her gaze on her feet. On top of that, she's shivering more than the previous day.  
When Marie makes a misstep and gasps sharply when she slips, Damian jumps in to grab her sleeve to keep her from falling. She swallows and thanks him, to which he sternly directs to hold onto him as they cross. It takes them a longer while than he hoped for, but they finally come towards a more spacious and safer landing. Still, the bottom of the mountain is still too far to see.  
“I thought Mother sent you to escort and protect me,” he tuts, looking down at her as she collapses on her knees to catch her breath. “Yet you are slowing us down and putting both our lives in danger.”  
“You . . . you are right, Master. Forgive me.” She coughs a little, rubbing the area near her wound. “But I was trying to protect you—”  
“You were as good as dead if I had not stepped in. Who were you trying to protect?”  
“I apologize for my inadequacy.” She has lowered herself into a deep bow, head touching the snow. “Please punish me or kill me as you wish. We are nearing the meeting point anyway; I will be of no use soon.”  
“Tt. You don't even deserve to perish by my hand.” Damian looks down at her in distaste. The heir of the League should not be accompanied by such a servant in the first place. It's already a miracle that she has survived for this long, and he doesn't want to get rid of the little help she can offer. Perhaps as a convenient shield if they encounter enemies again.  
“Stand up,” he orders. “You are delaying us again.”  
She carefully does so, but when she shows her face again, Damian is nearly taken aback, seeing her again up close. Her forehead is smeared with dried blood and the side of her face is slightly swollen. But what surprises him is her usual dead eyes are now glistening with tears.  
“You are right, Master. I should not delay us any longer.” Marie sniffles, moving over to the edge.  
“Wh—what—”  
“I am sorry for not meeting your expectations. There is no excuse for my actions.” She takes out her knife.  
“Wait—” 
“Our allies are nearby; it will not take long.”  
Red. All that fills his vision is red: bold, flowing red against the canvas that is the frost. The intricately-carved hilt sticks out of her abdomen, spreading the ghastly color into her clothes. The blood isn't anything new for Damian to see, but he has never seen it like this.  
The white sky and red.  
Her white fingers and red.  
The white shine of the blade and red.  
Heavy drops spill onto the snow, then crushed underneath her boot as she sways backwards.  
“Please take care . . . Master Damian.”  
Before he can tell his body to move, she has disappeared by the hand of gravity, falling until the fog covers up. Damian wonders where the scream he hears comes from until he realizes his throat is hoarse.  
***
Damian jolts awake, cold sweat slithering down the nape of his neck. It takes him a second to realize that he is in his bedroom in the Wayne manor, and the sun is yet to rise. He shivers even though he feels warm, as if the memory of the cold has followed him back to reality. Frustrated, he tugs hard at his hair as he tries to even out his breaths.  
He just dreamed of that again.  
Next Chapter →
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polteergeistt · 1 day
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Atlantic
TW : suicide, blood, graphic description, guilt, hospital, major character death. It's nasty and sad.
Damien finds Vessel in a critical situation. He is quick to be sent to the hospital. Damien wonders if there was anything he could do.
For this fic it would've been better to use Vessel's real name because his family doesn't call him that but I will NOT use it so whenever a family member calls him Vessel pretend it's his real name.
Damien kept turning in his bed. He couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort that made all of his limbs just wrong. Several years earlier, he would have sought his mother, or perhaps his brother, but as his dad said, he had to stop being a wus. He was becoming a man, and he had to act like it.
The boy got out of bed and left his room. He could walk in the dark across the corridor with ease. He let his hand guide him, trailing along the barrier around the staircase. He quietly made his way to the bathroom. He stepped in and turned on the light, about to reach for a cup and pour himself some tap water, but then he saw him.
Vessel.
On the floor. Unmoving.
The carpets were stained with dark red blood. A few painkillers were scattered across the floor. The sink had lost its white uniform color, covered in blood that was starting to dry, a razor blade at the bottom. Vessel's form was still on the carpets in a position that seemed very uncomfortable. Blood was gushing from his slit-opened wrists. He wasn't breathing.
No no no no ! This couldn't be happening !
Damien let out a scream that tore his throat, matching his heart that felt like it was collapsing in his chest. His eyes stung as tears flooded them, so much that they were quick to spill. He fell to his knees and shook the lifeless body of his brother by the shoulders.
"Vessel wake up ! Vessel !! VESSEL !!!"
Damien's chest was shaken by violent sobs as he cradled him. In panic, he grabbed bandages and wrapped them around Vessel's limp wrists. It was a messy job, but the blood was now staining the bandages alone. His hands were shaking and he could only breathe through broken cries and gasps.
No. No. Please. Stay with me. Please.
When the ambulance arrived, everything went very fast.
They took Vessel's body and left. It was hard for Damien to let go of him, but with his life at stake, he couldn't get himself in the way of those who actually had a chance to save him. His mother hopped in the car and Damien went with her. She told him to stay home, but out of sheer panic, he quite litterally yelled at her, begging to come with her. The might of his demand convinced her. When they arrived at the hospital, they had to stay in the waiting room for what felt like hours. Damien was holding a fabric tissue to his face, covering his lower face, blowing his nose occasionally and wiping his tears that just couldn't stop flowing. It might've been the middle of the night, but he couldn't bring himself to sleep even if he wanted to. And that's when he started to spiral down.
Please... Don't go... Don't leave...
Damien couldn't help but wonder. How could he not see the signs ? Wasn't he supposed to be there for Vessel like Vessel was there for him ? He should've known. He should've been there sooner. He should've checked on him more. He should've seen the signs. He should've been aware. If Vessel died tonight, he would be responsible for it. He felt sick. His throat tightened at the thought. It felt like his ribs had grown spikes and they were inching into heart slowly but painfully. He honestly believed he deserved a few slaps, a quite kind punishment for how badly he failed his brother.
Am I not worth living for ? Am I not enough ?
The minutes stretched into hours. They were invited into a room from which they could see the surgery block. They could only see the backs of the doctors and Vessel's body under a green sheet, and hear the monitor beeping steadily, yet too slowly to Damien's taste. He watched with endless attention. He wanted to see his brother's peaceful face. He wanted to see the colors return to his skin.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
If Vessel didn't survive, Damien was sure to never forgive himself. Without him, he was all alone, all lost. Damien needed to see his big brother's eyes shine when he listened to his favourite music. Damien needed to be pushed around by him when he was bothering him. Damien needed to listen to him talking about random science facts again so he could call him a nerd. Damien needed to have his brother by his side.
Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep...
Each beep sounded further from the previous one, ringing every alarm in the boy's body. His eyes, red and puffy from crying, widened as the tears came back. He struggled to breathe as his throat tightened in fear.
Vessel. No. Please please please.
The rush in the doctors' motions did not appease him one bit. He followed their every move, a sob shaking him as he saw the blood staining the green sheets covering his brother's body. Then... Then...
Beeeeeeeeeeeep...
Flat line.
The doctors' heads lowered. Vessel was dead. Damien buried his face in his hands and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. His breathing was ragged and he felt sick. He could barely feel his mother's arms bringing him into a tentatively soothing embrace. A very futile and useless embrace. Nothing could console him. He knew he had a part of responsibility in this. There were so many things he could've done, so many things that could've prevented this, and he didn't do them. Now Vessel's corpse was laying on a surgery table, lifeless and cold, and his blood was dripping off and making a mess on the floor.
Damien couldn't be there in time, and now Vessel was dead. If Vessel could feel again, Damien was convinced he would hate him, and quite frankly, he hated himself too.
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ohnogenshverse · 12 hours
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I've rewatched Monodrama (Sparkle's trailer) because it's cool but now with the context of 2.1
Is she playing out Aventurine's story???
There is only one bullet left, wanna play a game? What's your wager? The life of a faker. Looks like someone's in my way. So what? Let me tell you what foolishness is. Pretending to be smart, like you do. Then, what is a fool? Knowing when to act clueless, like I do. Do you get it now? What is elation? Me! I am elation!
I mean, between the "life of a faker" as a wager, playing a game, "pretending to be smart" and "act clueless" (the scene with Sunday and Ratio), all the self-sabotage imagery and almost straight up suicide and the fact that he was invited to join the masked fools it all oddly fits
Idk maybe someone smarter will tell me I'm wrong, but I think that's interesting at least
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bugbashir · 2 months
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When I was a very suicidal trans activist in Texas, Benjamin Sisko saying “sure, you would [die for your people]. Dying gets you off the hook. The question is: are you willing to live for your people?” changed and possibly saved my life. It’s up there with “if we are going to be damned, let us be damned for who we really are” from Picard. Star Trek not only shows us a better world, it teaches us how to make it there
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A six year old wanted to be run over by a truck so he could be with his family, but he ended up dying from hypothermia... if that isn't one of the most heartbreaking statements to read I really don't know what else to say, because this is just a child. A six year old boy. The world has failed you. The world truly has failed the children of Gaza in so many ways.
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animentality · 1 year
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All the links to the above charities here.
Brianna Ghey's family:
STA:
Gallop:
Mermaids:
GI:
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werewolfetone · 1 year
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Oh that's what it means is it
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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 days
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Ruby: Why would anyone do drugs or kill themselves.
Jaune: Use my name when you’re addressing me. Won’t you?
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fairycosmos · 1 year
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instead of killing myself i will watch documentary about the ocean
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borderline-culture-is · 14 hours
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(ventish, sui & abuse/stigma mention)
BPD culture is your fp telling you they feel like they're walking on eggshells with you and knowing you could explode any second makes them feel unsafe being with you; so, you want to kill yourself so you will never be able to abuse them like that again because you just love them so much and why can't they understand it's not intentional, you're not trying to hurt them, why can they never understand?
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