#tw: past suicidal ideation

[ellie-says-nop]

I've been looking for a suit for my brothers wedding and my mom had been super supportive and helping me too. Today i kinda gave up and settled for a jumpsuit even though it is more fem than id like.. but it was fine. I went out with a friend later that day that suggested mens suits and although id thought about it i hadnt really looked... when I told my mom about it she said that what i had was really good and got teary eyed saying to not so this to her too if i can help it.. my brother was already doing so much to not do this to her... (my brothers fiance posted a pic of him today with bright colored nails 🙄and other more big wedding stuff)

Now everything she said made me feel horrible and i immediately told her i was getting the jumpsuit that its perfect and its all good.

I keep thinking that i am closer to coming out that it wont be that bad..

I am wearing more masc outfits, i have more i guess gay things on my walls, i talk about people differently, i talk about my future more, im open about not wanting kids, i wear more pride stuff, i am out to most of my friends.

but the moment she said that, i wanted to take everything ive done to be more comfortable all the progress ive done and shove it all in the closet again because the sentence i said made her have that reaction.

One fucking sentence.

And I am back to when i started 2 years ago.. my struggles with my sexuality and gender is not really about me thinking i am wrong, or about me and God idk.. its about what my parents reactions is.. what i cause to them i guess.

That is what kept me alive all those years ago when i was struggling with accepting myself and all the other bs going through my mentality ill mind..

But now it hurts. What kept me alive 10 years ago is making it get bad again.. and i don't know what to do...

[wombpala]

dean suicidal ideation is like. no I'd never KILL myself bc that's selfish and ignoble and probably somehow gay it's not that I want to KILL myself I just happen to know that 1 day, probably very soon, I'm going to die epically in battle. and okay fine. so maybe it will look cool (like in the movies). and maybeeeeee I will have some super noble honorable quippy poignant last words lined up... and maybe just maybe it will be a little sexy when I fall into the embrace of the simple elegant hero's death that has been denied to me for so long and cement my archetype and do what I'm supposed to do the only thing I know how to do and put my vengeful spirit to rest once and for all.....but I don't want to kill myself or anything 😎😎

[ronkeyroo]

Hanging On ✄ - - - A Thread

[inkykeiji]

i’m currently making a list of reasons to stay alive and i just need you all to know that you’re on it, every single one of you.

thank you for being here with me, thank you for reading my writing, thank you for sending me the sweetest, cutest, most thoughtful little messages and questions. it means more to me than you’ll ever know, and i love you so much

[einsatzzz]

I passed my exam let's fucking goooooo!!!! This is one hell of a huge thorn off my chest, like this whole exam thing has been deadass constantly plaguing and stressing me out for a whole year, I'm so glad it's REALLY over now.

I knew I'm gonna receive the results around this time and even if I told myself to not give a fuck abt the results (self-worth≠exam results) my brain says otherwise (and mental illness also doesn't work that way unfortunately😔). So had to shut down and lock down my brain for a while when I can 😭😭 I even slept for like 14-16hrs each night shfvshvfsv don't wanna do anything stupid (I did try to reduce my sleep hours to normal amounts the other day, but got an anxiety attack instead from being awake when im not distracting myself)

Anyway, I think I can sleep a bit more peacefully now. I'll slowly go answer the asks and reply to dms/notifs tomorrow, I'm just so relieved right now that this is my current state -> 🫠🫠🫠🫠

Note: I also defeated my first boss (and a few minor bosses) in eld/en ri/ng yipeeee (<-forgor to continue playing for a while but needed a distraction, now i've made good progress there)

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

★This is a prompt fill for @nuttynutcycle's amazing Prompt 404, full credit to her for this idea.

Original Prompt

"They sent you? After everything I did? That's hilarious." The villain laughed through bloodied lips."And I'm the sadistic one."

The hero didn't respond to the shell of their tormenter. They remembered the villain as vibrant, invincible: a showman of suffering. Not coated in dirt and bruises in a cell.

"After everything I did, I'm surprised you can even come near me." The villain said softly. Their gaze didn't waver. "Unless this is your way of asking for more."

A shudder ran through the hero and they tasted bile at the thought.

-continuation starts here-

TW: Implied past abuse, scars, choking, suicidal ideation

"Stop," Hero breathed out, looking everywhere but at their nemesis.

They let out a cold, shrill cackle, or at least, an attempt at one, throat so dry, it sounded more like a strangled cough. "Stop? Come on, you know me better than that, Hero," they purred, the voice grating against the crime-fighter's eardrums.

It had taken them so long to be able to stop hearing their once-torturer's voice ringing in their ears, its hold so mercilessly powerful on them, it had managed to escape their nightmares. For some time, the words 'auditory hallucinations' had seemed so fake, part of a poorly fabricated illusion.

They didn't even know how they were standing here, why they'd accepted. It's not like Superhero had forced them. But it was easier said than done. Nowhere near as terrifying as being face-to face with them. So much so that the bars between them seemed pointless, half-invisible to the hero.

"Come here to have a go at me too? I'm quite popular amongst some of the members of your agency, it's about time you of all people showed up here." The villain may have been smiling as they said it, tone laced with cold, indifferent amusement, but their eyes told a different tale, the look in them practically screaming broken and exhausted.

Hero wanted to retch at how disturbed they were by the criminal's state. "Fragile," they'd called them, back when they spent their days waking up to a boot pressed into their chest, continuously mocking their empathy as an attribute only possessed by the weak and foolish.

Right now, their old enemy was trying to hold on to whatever shreds of their pride they had left, by way of tormenting the crime-fighter, who by all other means had the upper hand here.

"No," the crime-stopper answered, appalled. In spite of the clear disgust in their tone, they weren't really sure if they'd meant it with all their being, as their gaze flitted over to an old, jagged scar, in an unappealing, dusty shade of pink on their left forearm, revealed as the sleeve of their somewhat baggy sweatshirt fell lower against their arm. They pulled it back again, a force of habit, worrying their bottom lip between their teeth.

The second they'd managed to escape, they hadn't wanted anything more than to rip them to shreds, to make them suffer what they'd done to them tenfold. The hero had scratched at the skin of their wrists and screamed their throat raw, even in the safety of their own bed, wishing to tear the villain's world apart, brick by brick as though it was a building.

Seeing them like this, it should've felt cathartic. It should've brought the hero some sort of twisted satisfaction that their tormentor was getting a taste of their own medicine, maybe even worse.

But all they felt was a cold, mind-numbing emptiness, a disturbance that settled at the pit of their stomach and twisted it into knots. If they searched hard enough, they'd swear that they even felt a pang of sympathy for the shadow of their once all-powerful tormentor.

"Of course not," Villain drawled lazily, staring at the crime-stopper with a chilling mix of amusement and contempt, horribly reminiscent of their past self. The criminal got up, stretching their limbs casually, moving as far as the chains would let them. They stared down at chipped, broken nails with an impossible amount of blood and dirt accumulated underneath them. Before, the villain had always looked immaculate, but instead of kohl underneath the cruel, icy blue eyes, there was an ugly trail of bruises and crusty blood mixed with dead skin.

But even looking like the personification of death, the villain still managed to be spiteful. "Nothing could make you lose that foolish weakness of yours, Hero. You'll always be a goddamn bleeding heart, too bloody nice and pathetic to deal any real damage. Don't you have any dignity?" they spat, and they sounded genuinely frustrated, their eyes narrowing, the most emotion they'd displayed since the crime-stopper had entered their cell.

Hero didn't know exactly when their hands had twisted the key into the lock, when they'd raced into the cell, slamming the villain into the wall with an audible thud, the force drawing a sharp gasp from their adversary's throat. They weren't sure when their fingers had clawed at the criminal's throat, keeping a vice-like grip on their neck, their nails digging deep into the already damaged skin. It was almost as though their rage had possessed them, coursing through their veins like poison, speeading heat through their body like wildfire.

"Oh, you think that it's hard for me to hurt you? You think that I haven't dreamed of the day where I put you through hell? Show you how it feels like? There were times when all I could think of was how much I wanted your blood on my hands, how much I wanted you dead!" they snarled.

For the first time, true, unabashed fear had flashed across Villain's features, eyes wide, their lip quivering as they choked in the hero's grip. But the bastard smiled at them, trying so desperately hard to be sharp and taunting. Instead, it was weak, full of pain, as every muscle of their face twitched and struggled to keep it up. Tears streamed down their face instead, and the hero slightly loosened their hold on their throat.

"Do it. Kill me how you've always wanted to, Hero." The villain's voice had only ever been smug, full of power and entirely lacking emotion. All it was now was soft and broken.

Whatever had taken over the hero faded as they removed their fingers from their neck, their mismatched eyes softening. They involuntarily winced at the bruises and bloodied scratches left on their neck.

Even through all their cruelty, the villain had been more merciful to the hero than the criminal's current tormentors were to them. They'd let the hero eat, not that they really had the apetite, gave them the basic rights of showering and clothes. Sometimes, they didn't even hurt the hero, usually when they felt they'd had enough. It was agitating to think of their once-captor's virtues, but the hero wasn't one to deny the truth.

Except here, the villain was clearly starved, their face gaunt, cheeks sunken, and the tatters they had for clothes hung loosely off their emaciated frame. Their body was covered in numerous scratches, deep and barely healing, some even clearly infected.

"I came here for closure. But now, I'm going to get you out of here." Maybe the villain deserved some sort of reckoning for what they did, but not like this. Not remorseless torture that left them wishing they were dead.

Villain's eyes widened as they held their breath as the hero began unlocking their chains. "This isn't legal," they murmured.

"Like I give a damn," the hero replied tersely. The villain had become so frail that they had to lean on the hero all the way.

Hero's eyes flitted over to Villain's cell one last time, contemplating again whether they should just let them rot and get their revenge, but their compassion overrid any of their darker thoughts. Empathy, they realised, was not a weakness. It is what separates man from monster. It stops us from falling into stupors fuelled by rage and bloodlust. It is the tool by which we hold power over our own emotions. It is a strength of priceless value, if only people would stop being so blissfully ignorant, hiding in the silky duvets of their own selfishness.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[stardust-sunset]

(vent in the tags and under the cut. don’t read if you don’t want.)

sometimes i wonder if people would care if i was gone. there’s just no point anymore tbh.

[imperator-titus]

Ghost from the Past [Part 9]

The Gang finally figures out what Eletha's problem is.

Had this one written out for a while. Features a lot of my triggers because I'm fucking insane. Sometimes you just wanna punish yourself, right? That's normal?

CW: General Mental Illness issues, Mentions of past abuse and suicidal ideation, Also the Super Secret Weird Trigger

(Prev)[Part 8] (Next)[Part 10] [Master Post]

No one saw Eletha leave her tent for two days while they braved the shadow curse and all its challenges. Astarion would’ve stayed upset about this if he wasn’t excited about Raphael’s offer of help. Gale told him that they should wait and see before making any deals with devils and now Astarion was giving him the cold shoulder.

Worried and sick of the mood in camp, Gale convinced Bonnet to let him into her mistress’s tent. There he found her in a curious state: not quite elven trance, but not quite conscious either. Tentatively, he shook her shoulder, but she didn’t rouse. Clenched in her hand was a tattered scrap of cloth, perhaps a remnant of some once-fine robe or doublet.

“Pardon me,” he whispered as he decided his next course of action. Reaching out with both magic and the tadpole, he murmured softly, “Do let me know if I’m intruding.”

Something connected and his mind was transported to someplace else. The ground was just a shade different from the sky, creating a sense of boundless emptiness. Here he found Eletha sitting on the edge of- Well, it was a rather large hole with no discernable sides or bottom, just complete darkness.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any tea or cake,” she told him listlessly, eyes not leaving the hole. Her skin was covered in scratches and her clothes were torn. “Poor reception for a friend. Wizard friend.”

“May I… sit?” Gale asked hesitantly, peering into the hole only to be met with nothing. Eletha nodded and he sat down beside her. “Is this what troubles you?”

“Mm. I’m losing it, aren’t I? Out there.” She didn’t wait for his answer. It was rather obvious that if he was here, he felt that she was in danger. In a haunting sing-song voice she went on, “Down, down, down. Spiraling down. Cracked like an egg, to hatch or to eat? The dry leaves sound lovely, under our feet.”

Well that’s concerning, Gale thought to himself. “What is in the hole?”

“Something old. Something bad. Lorelai.”

“Ah, your childhood name, yes?”

“Bad, evil, mean old Lorelai,” she said by way of answer, using the tone of a child talking about a monster in a book or a hated schoolmarm. Then darkly, like that hated schoolmarm, she added, “Little Lorelai doesn’t know any better.”

“You know, I was quite the scamp back in my day too. That’s how I met Tara. My parents denied me a kitten, so I summoned a tressym instead,” he explained with a fond smile and a twinkle in his eyes. He went on about other ‘naughty’ things he did as a child, such as summoning mephits or destroying things with errant magic. He felt that if he could get her to accept that making trouble as a child was a normal part of growing up, then she might begin to forgive herself for whatever she’d done.

Gale’s happy memories only served to weaken the edge of the hole further, bits breaking off every now and then. While speaking about his mother, how much he loved her, the hole suddenly emitted a disturbing sound. A wail mixed with crying, piercing and discordant. Gale stopped his story, training his senses to make heads or tails of what was happening. The wail faded as voices rose in its stead. Elven voices, melodic and refined, called out “Lorelai.”

“Lorelai, you are too young to make such decisions,” Eletha said in Elvish in a man’s voice. It sounded stern and agitated, almost hostile. “Non Moverē.”

She recited the incantation for a Hold Person spell with perfect precision, but it was only an echo of a memory. Whoever had cast it was highly skilled.

“You must set aside your feelings for the good of us all. I did not raise you to be a brat, A’Sum. This is a blessing,” she said in a woman’s voice. It was sharp and disappointed. This voice called upon the Weave to calm her daughter’s emotions.

“If you cannot behave, then we will make you behave, my blood or not,” a second man’s voice said through Eletha’s lips. It snarled, full of revulsion. “Impero tibi.”

I command you, from the tongue of an expert spellcaster. Young and inexperienced, Eletha would have been unable to resist.

“I… I think I understand,” Gale said after waiting a moment for her to continue. “It will be okay. You have us now. We won’t let that happen.”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” she said in her own voice, streaked with pain. “It’s always been here. It’s not going away this time.”

“What-”

A monstrous black claw shot out of the black hole. Gale threw himself back, only to fall out of Eletha’s tent.

“What in the hells was that about?” Karlach asked, looking down at him with confusion.

“I was trying to help,” he answered, trying to rub the befuddlement out of his head.

“MmMmh, breakfast?” Eletha asked blearily, poking her head out of the tent flap. “Can I have eggs?”

“No, Lethi, go back to sleep,” Karlach told her, pushing her friend back into the tent when she appeared to be asleep sitting up.

“So. What hot gossip did you two discuss?” Astarion purred as he approached Gale’s tent, where the wizard was currently writing in his journal. Despite his attempts to seem otherwise, it was clear that the question came from a place of concern.

“Do you remember anything of your families?” Astarion glared at him.

“No. All I know is what little Eletha has told me. They were semi-important.” Gale hummed in response, distracted. “Why?”

“Nothing. Only something to consider.” Astarion huffed with false humor. Scratching his beard, talking more to himself than Astarion, Gale said, “It’s a shame Cazador made you forget your old life. Of us all, you can relate to her the most…”

“I’m not sure I understand the similarities.”

“Held against your will by someone who claims to love you, to be your family. Made to behave. Bodies not yours to command,” Gale explained rather compassionately. Then he grew pensive again. “What did she do, that necessitated such methods of containment? Is it the action, or the reaction, that is affecting her?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It’s always ‘I did a bad horrible thing, I’m evil, I can never be forgiven.’ Things like that.” Astarion laughed then sighed a little sadly. “Oh Gale. First a goddess. Now an insane elf. How does it feel to fall so far?”

“Does driving your first lover into the arms of pain and madness hurt worse or less than all the blood on your hands?” Gale sniped. Astarion startled, then bristled.

“That’s not fair,” he warned.

“Any more fair than what you just said?” Gale asked, getting to his feet. Standing tall, he had to look down at Astarion a little bit. 

“Keep your meddling paws out of other people’s business,” Astarion growled.

“Why must you treat me like an enemy? We want the same thing: for her to get better. To do that, I’m afraid we must meddle in her business.”

“It’s not just her business, is it? It’s mine as well.”

“The business of a man buried over two centuries ago.” Gale tilted his head and the harshness left his eyes and voice. “You’re worried that she can’t forgive you.”

“Of course I am!” Stupid wizards. Why did they have to be so smart and also so slow at the same time?

“Mm, I find it unlikely. You hold a special place in her heart, broken or no,” Gale told him rather academically, picking something up from his desk. In his outstretched palm he held the scrap of cloth from Eletha’s tent. With a pair of tweezers, he carefully dissected it, revealing a lock of curly white hair. When his tweezers tried to brush the hairs, they were rebuffed. “A preservation charm. I can only assume that this hair once belonged to you, perhaps the garment this cloth came from as well. With a few tools and a wizard’s expertise, she could have easily found you in Baldur’s Gate.”

“But she didn’t. The one civilized place on the Sword Coast she’s never visited,” Astarion said harshly, hovering between shock and anger.

“There are many possible explanations. Eletha is a proponent of choices. You chose to leave, so she respected your choice. Perhaps she was afraid that you never loved her, or that you hated her for waiting so long to follow.” Gale carefully resealed the token so that it could be replaced in Eletha’s tent. “Perhaps she had no choice but to let you go. There’s no telling until she feels ready to explain.”

“I’ll put it back,” Astarion said after a moment, holding out his hand. Gale placed the token in his palm, only to gently take hold of his hand.

“It is a shame. I was hoping to encourage a relationship between us. Eletha was always interesting, a mix of mysterious and open, having lived a rich life of adventure. I had an impression that she found me interesting as well, but she is so clearly afraid of being hurt again.” Gale looked at their interlocked hands fondly. “I suppose I could say the same for you.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and emitted a soft sound of sweetness before threading his fingers through the loose waves of hair at the back of Gale’s neck. Pulling him down slightly while raising himself up on his toes, Astarion pressed their lips together in a needy kiss.Gale’s mouth opened slightly in a surprised gasp and Astarion found his tongue with his own.

Neither kissed like a novice, but it felt different. Electric. With the orb stabilized by Mystra, Gale didn’t fear the sudden excitement of flesh touching flesh or the sound of someone’s moans in his ears. Even Eletha’s light touches and chaste kisses on his head threatened to explode his heart after so long without a person’s touch.

He was suddenly aware of how clammy his hands had become. His body was shaking and his head felt like it might float away without him. A pit of sickness sat in his stomach and Gale pushed Astarion away just a little bit. Before Astarion could misunderstand, he said shakily, “I think it has been too long for me. I am a starving man eating more than his stomach can handle.”

Astarion’s face went through a range of emotions, from hurt to annoyance and finally thoughtfulness. “Eletha had that reaction too. I just assumed she was drunk, but the only thing you seem drunk on is the taste of my lips.”

“There is some truth to that,” Gale agreed with a light laugh. Holding a hand to his heart, he said, “I assure you, I enjoyed that very much.”

“I should… put this back,” Astarion said hesitantly with a small smile, indicating Eletha’s token. “Maybe I’ll come around later. Discuss… what was it we were reading now?”

“I have no clue.”

“Mm… I have done a number on you,” Astarion purred in self-satisfaction before leaving Gale’s tent.

Thankfully, Bonnet wasn’t sitting in front of Eletha’s tent when Astarion attempted to sneak in. The bear would’ve probably mauled him on sight otherwise.

He sat for a moment, just watching her breathe, fighting some internal demon. Very carefully, he placed the token in her open hand, which closed and retreated to her chest.

---

It was late and everyone was seeing to their evening routines when indecipherable elvish yelling grew louder in Eletha’s tent.

She emerged, a leather wallet in one hand, her face red with anger. Everyone was gathering, but she only had eyes for Astarion. Pointing an accusing finger at him, she yelled, “How dare you go through my things!”

Astarion chuckled nervously, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, like anyone else has an interest in my journals? The place where I keep all my intimate thoughts and memories?” Eletha sneered, narrowing her eyes. Astarion went from nervous to confused.

“I didn’t take your journals,” he insisted, biting off the urge to call her ‘darling’ or ‘my dear’. He knew by now that it could upset her more just as much as it could make her melt. “And even if I did, it would only be to figure out what’s wrong with you so we can move on.”

“What’s wrong with me?!” Those closest to her tensed, preparing to stop her if she decided to settle this with a fight. Those closer to Astarion gravitated towards him, to get between them if anything went wrong.

Instead, Eletha undid the complicated tie of her wallet and dumped the contents out onto the ground. A seemingly endless flood of books, papers, and scrolls fell out. Giving it one last shake to make sure it was empty, Eletha dropped the wallet on the pile.

“They’re yours now. Have fun,” she growled at him before returning to her tent. 

Those nearby rushed forward as a slight breeze caught the papers, threatening to blow them into the campfire. Everyone gathered to deal with the mess.

“Interesting. A bag of holding, but just for paper?” Gale pondered aloud as he inspected the leather wallet before setting it aside. Astarion snatched it up with a little glare. He was pretty sure he just got blamed for Gale’s sticky fingers and he wasn’t about to let the wizard take something Eletha just entrusted to him.

“She certainly needs it,” Shadowheart remarked, gathering some journals into a stack and setting them next to Gale, who immediately started organizing them.

“Wow, so many for this Lorelai person,” Karlach said after a while of picking up letters and putting them into a semi-neat pile. 

“That’s her childhood name,” Gale explained, becoming excited by something he’d noticed. “Elves pick their own name when they reach one hundred years of age.”

“Oh.” Karlach went from confused, to understanding, to confused again. “Why are they all still sealed? Seems weird, keeping letters you didn’t even bother readin’.”

Gale was deaf to the question, reading the oldest of the journals. In a stilting manner, as he not only had to translate Elvish, but a child’s Elvish, he read aloud to himself loud enough for them to hear. 

“Father said that I should keep a journal, so I can always remember what happened to me. Today isn’t my birthday, but another elf was born last week. Mother said they were worried I would get upset that I was no longer the youngest and wouldn’t get all the attention, so they gave me a gift. I don’t think the new baby wants the attention I get. All Father and Mother do is yell at me for not doing what they want, but I don’t understand what they want. Maybe Astarion will understand. But right now he is just a squishy ugly baby with BIG GOBLIN EARS. They are SO BIG. I hope he grows into them, like the hunting dogs’ puppies.”

On the other side of the page was a crude child’s drawing of what appeared to be a fat baby’s head with cherubic cheeks and some rudimentary curls. Attached to either side were massive elf ears. Surprised, Gale guffawed most uncharacteristically and turned the journal to show everyone. They all laughed, except Astarion, who grumbled in embarrassment.

“Mother says I have to take care of Astarion, it is my ‘role.’ All the Mothers tell me that I should prepare myself, even if it might never happen. Having to take care of him makes me feel gross. The way the Mothers talk about babies makes me feel grosser. I tried taking him away from them, so they’d stop making me feel bad and wouldn’t make him feel bad either, but they yelled at me and made me sit in the rocks again. It’s not Star’s fault. He’s just a baby. One day he’ll be my age, will he feel like this too? All the other children are so much older than me, they treat me like a baby too. I feel like I’ve grown up a lot in a year. I have to grow up just enough to protect Star but still be his friend.”

“Oh, that’s heartbreakin’…” Karlach breathed, holding her breath as she listened. The others were listening, reacting in their own little ways. Lae’zel was still cleaning up the mess. Shadowheart knelt, appearing as if in prayer. Wyll took special interest in each thing he picked up so he could put it in the appropriate pile. Halsin listened with compassionate sadness, while Astarion sat like a statue, frozen in place.

Gale skipped ahead, his wizard’s mind able to quickly read and catalog the information, especially as the Elvish got better. Something made him smile. “Astarion keeps stealing my socks. Why socks? At least they’re clean socks. A lot of stuff keeps going missing and showing up somewhere else and I think it’s him. A lot of them let Astarion into their caravan for no reason and let him do what he pleases, but I’ve seen him sneak into our caravan before to steal my socks. Whenever I catch him, he sticks them on his ears and says ‘I can’t hear you! I have feet for ears!”

Everyone but Astarion laughed once more.

“That’s so strange… It looks like she wrote or drew something every day, but there’s a whole year missing. The pages are ripped out.” Shadowheart pointed out, having flipped through a few of the journals herself. “She said Astarion left when she was 35, so the year after is missing.”

Everyone was making comments about him, but Astarion was deaf as he picked out a bundle of papers from the pile. One edge of them was jagged. He undid the piece of string holding them together and unfolded them.

“Lorelai will behave. Lorelai will eat. Will drink. Rest. Do as she is told. Stay. Not bite off her tongue. Not use the fire. Not practice the sword or the bow or with hands. She will not talk back, she will not scream or raise her voice. She will speak only when spoken to and always be polite. She will not interact with outsiders. She must always be accompanied. Always be clean. Lorelai will be a good girl. Lorelai will apologize for what she’s done. I am a good girl. I promise to be good. I am sorry for what I’ve done.”

The torn pages lined up with those tears in the journal. The first page after was a depiction of a black circle. Taking the journal from Astarion, Gale pointed at the picture. “I’ve seen that. In her head. ‘Something old, something bad. Evil, mean old Lorelai.’”

Gale flipped past some more drawings and lists of typical adventurer things like how many supplies she had and where she was going. Then it went back to a sane depiction of a journal.

“I am not a good girl. I will not do as I’m told. I will not behave. I will eat and drink to spite them. I will bite my tongue when it suits me, when its sharpness cannot aid me. I will speak loud and clear when I please. I will be alone. I will not apologize. I am not sorry for what I’ve done, my only regret is that I let them control me. I won’t let anyone control me ever again.

“I am never coming back. I will never forgive these transgressions against me. I will not forget them, but I will bury them, in a hole deep and dark and bottomless inside me. The hole they made in me, where my heart and family should be.

“I don’t believe that Astarion left in order to leave me behind. He loves to chase and be chased. But I will always wonder, if that was true, why didn’t he turn back to find me? Maybe they were right. I will grant them this small token of grace. Maybe I was abandoned, as I abandon in kind.

“I am far from my 100th year, but I shake off the yoke of my name. Everyone I meet will know me as Eletha, a name Astarion always liked, and I will fashion myself a Nighstar. Who will ever know it’s not true? I might not ever be important, these might be the only words ever written about me, but when I speak this name, I will know that I am more than what I was meant to be.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sad or brave…” Wyll whispered to himself.

“What’s… E… Sum? Hey, I’m getting pretty good at this Elvish thing!” Karlach said excitedly, holding up a letter she’d been inspecting. Gale, Shadowheart, Halsin, and Astarion went blank-faced.

“It says, ‘To my Son’,” Halsin explained gently and quietly, so Eletha couldn’t overhear them.

“I do not understand. As in a male child?” Lae’zel asked.

“Yes, Lae’zel. And seeing as Eletha is a female child…” 

Shadowheart laughed nervously, pinching Halsin’s arm to get him to shut up. “Maybe it’s for Astarion! And she just… forgot about it.”

“As nice as that seems…” Gale started darkly, holding Eletha’s journal with the pages ripped out, “With the knowledge I have, of all the theories I’ve considered, and the fact that I can recognize Eletha’s hand, it is most likely that this is to her son…”

Everyone sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then Karlach looked at Astarion and offered him a strained smile. “Congratulations?”

“That paper seems awfully old. And it looks like it was never sealed,” Wyll pointed out, taking the letter from Karlach. “She never sent this. Why keep it? I guess it’s like the others. Felt too guilty to burn it? Thrown in the bag and forgotten?”

“We shouldn’t read that, right? Even dictating every event of her life for over 260 years is less personal than that,” Shadowheart insisted warily, carefully taking the letter from Wyll and handing it to Gale.

“It is, however, the center of the problem,” Gale explained firmly. “If anyone is to read it, it should be Astarion.”

“Why should I read it?!” he yelled out, his voice cracking. Some of them leaned away nervously. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy! This is crazy! This is insane! And not the least bit funny.”

“It is okay to be upset,” Halsin told him gently.

“Of course it’s okay! This is very upsetting! I’m sure for someone like you, this would come as no surprise! Almost two months ago, I was just a vampire spawn hunting for my master. I’ve had an old lover show up who wants to play mindgames, go insane, and now this?!”

“I don’t think it’s mindgames, bud,” Karlach said, going through a journal that appeared to be in Common instead of Elvish, although sometimes the script slipped and she had trouble reading it. “Look. 50 years ago. She met an elf on the road, they hit it off, they try to give it a go, she has a lot of nasty feelings after. Talks about this black pit, yeah? And it gets all hard to read. Then she says someone named Mellia found her and took care of her until she got better.”

“Mmm, sounds much like now. She’s spiraling,” Shadowheart said, taking the journal and reading the same bit like they were in some book club with only once copy.

“Down, down, down, spiraling down. Cracked like an egg, to hatch or to eat? The dry leaves sound lovely under our feet,” Gale repeated in a hollow sing-song voice, stroking his beard in thought.

“That’s right fucked.” Some murmured in agreement. Karlach looked at them all, hoping for an answer. “So what do we do? Hide all the booze? Make her stay awake?”

“Honestly, she was fighting harder before this little… break,” Wyll remarked. “I’d be happy if we could get back to that.”

“Eletha has been avoiding this since the beginning. This is an invitation as much as it is an explanation. She needs to say these words herself, so she might share the burden,” Halsin explained with the dispassion of a healer trying to be taken seriously at the expense of compassion.

“I didn't want to go to that hag, but Wyll was right. Damn those foolish boys and their foolish sister. People go to hags for a reason. They want something and there is payment. They are desperate and stupid and they don't understand that. I left Ethel and Mayrina alone because the girl made her choice. My parents, Astarion’s parents, the whole clan, they took my choice away from me.

“I can still hear that hag’s mockery in my head. ‘A dead dog is a better mother than you. Just as selfish and stupid as this girl. You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to smother a babe before it’s even born.’

“She’s wrong. I made the right choice, to walk away. He didn't deserve a mother like me. No child does. 

“If Mellia turned me, could she make me forget, like Astarion? Could Aluin just say some words, wiggle his fingers, or brew me a potion? Maybe this adventure will be my last and it’ll be some other elf’s problem in a hundred years. I’m sorry for haunting your reveries, my next life.

“I’m sorry, everyone. I wanted to protect you, to be strong for you. I wanted to be a shield against the cruelty of the world, but I’m afraid my steel is brittle and my wood rotten. I can’t be your mother any more than I could be his.”

“The rest is… scribbles,” Gale explained in saddened resignation, flipping past indecipherable text and grotesque attempts at artistry.

“Maybe we should put these away,” Halsin said, taking the pouch from Astarion and carefully putting journals in one by one. The others made tidy piles in front of them and passed the pouch around, until Gale was handing it back to Astarion.

“She did say that they were yours now,” he explained when Astarion started to push it away. “Although. A bag of holding just for texts? I would gladly take it off your hands.” 

“No, you can’t eat this one,” Astarion growled, putting his body in between the bag and Gale. Gale chuckled and smiled, easing the tension around the camp.

Astarion sat in his tent, alone, staring at the things in his lap. One was the wallet, and on top of it, the well-worn letter. He fingered its edge in agitation. A little tear formed and he panicked. Very carefully, he set it aside and opened the wallet once more. He placed the letters into little piles. Letters addressed to Lorelai, unopened. Letters addressed to Eletha, in smaller piles by sender. There were quite a few from people named ‘Mellia, Your Sanguine Companion’, ‘Aluin of Suzail’, ‘Tyrlumin, Your Melodic Cha’, and ‘Bromthrum Starkhammer, Provider of Fine Crafts.’ There were miscellaneous letters, some very old, from people thanking her for heroic deeds or just simple acts of kindness. There was even one thanking her for the exceptional quality of a set of mink pelts she provided that went into making a coat for some king Astarion never heard of.

He read them, because he couldn’t help himself. She seemed very close with her humanoid companions, which probably explained why she had so many letters.

Mellia, mysterious and charming, her oldest and possibly closest friend. They met when a pack of gnolls were terrorizing some little farming town. They banded together to slaughter every one. Eletha was just passing by, Mellia was a vampire and had an accord with one of the village leaders. It made his blood boil, he couldn’t think of a higher vampire and not see Cazador, but her letters were so… sweet. Not fake sweet. She would recount some event or vista that made her think of Eletha and their adventures. It was hard to imagine a vampire soaking with an elf in a hot spring up in some monster-infested mountains, but they apparently had 50 years ago. ‘I am glad that I could keep you away from the edge once more, my lovely friend. Maybe it is time you venture to Baldur’s Gate? I will gladly join you, and I know that you have other friends that would answer the call.’ A band of hardened adventurers, showing up at Cazador’s palace, demanding he relinquish his favorite spawn? A story for the ages… 

Aluin the human mage, whose words read nothing like Gale’s. Even as he grew older, his boyish exuberance could still be heard in his retellings of discoveries and mishaps. She lost her eye protecting him from a warg and guided him back to Suzail. To return the favor, he offered her a magic eye. It allowed her to peer into memories of places, things, and people, to see them as they once were. Aluin wanted her to take him on many adventures and he always thanked her from the bottom of his heart for every scrap of artifact she sent to him from her travels. There was a subtle love in his words. 

Tyrlumin, a half-elf bard, whose age she could not discern. He often talked to her like she was a child, but had his own childish penchant for getting into trouble. They met on the road, nothing special, but they were drawn to one another. It seemed he used her for inspiration in some of his songs. He would run into her, seemingly not by accident, and they would travel together until he would disappear in the night, leaving behind a note. It was often a dirty limerick.

Finally, Bromthrum, a purveyor of high-quality dwarven goods, trading to princes, wizards, and thieves alike. She came to his aid upon the road as he was waylaid by bandits. They shared a fondness for drink and smoke. He sounded enamored by her elven beauty and the artistry she employed in battle. She seemed drawn to his complete lack of similarities to elves. He gave her steep discounts on goods and she protected his caravan when she was around.

Astarion didn’t touch the sealed letters. Maybe he had some sense of propriety. They were all so old… It seemed they stopped only 50 years after she left the Dales.

Then there were two. For their E’Sum. For Astarion Ancunin, Baldur’s Gate.

This, too, was old, but not as old as some. Likely, this letter would have never reached him. The furthest it might have gotten was to Cazador, and then what jealous hellfire would his master have rained upon him for receiving a letter from a long-lost lover?

It was meant for him. That meant he could read it, no? It found him, after all these years.

Astarion snuck into Gale’s tent.

“Can I help you?” Gale grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I need you to read this,” Astarion insisted, shoving the letter at him. Gale moved away, offended as Astarion pressed the piece of parchment into his chest.

“I think you're capable of reading.”

“I can't do it.”

“Then don't read it.”

“But it's for me.”

“Then I shouldn't be reading it.”

“Dammit Gale, can you just do this for me?” Astarion hissed. “Can you stop being an emotionless pompous arse for one minute?”

“I'm not emotionless, I’m exhausted. That wasn’t exactly easy on me, either. I didn’t even tell you some of the horrible things in those journals,” Gale explained, but took the letter anyway. A little hurt he said, “Is that how you see me?”

“Gale, I need the attention now, or I'm going to start stabbing people.”

“How is that different from usual?” Gale muttered as he opened the letter. “Dear Astarion, stop being dramatic and let Gale sleep.”

“You’re aware of how much of an ass you are, yes?”

“My Star,” Gale started, ignoring him. He actually put a little emotion into it. Astarion listened intently. ���Aluin says that writing letters is healing, that ordering our thoughts to communicate them helps us understand ourselves as much as it helps others understand us. I’m not as good with words as Mellia or Lumin. I guess you don't know any of these people. They are friends I've made along the way and if we meet again, I want you to meet them. They’ve helped me a lot, taught me that I deserve to be loved and helped. I don’t always believe them, but it is what it is. Do you remember Heilar saything that all the time, when you’d tell him I beat you unfairly during sword practice? I wonder if I still can. 

“I spent a long time hating you, but I always loved you. I never wished ill on you, even when I hated you the most. I always wondered what I did to make you leave me behind. I always wondered if you thought I'd follow. I wanted to, but our parents bade me stay. Then they made me stay.

What is it like, in Baldur’s Gate? I always wanted to go to Waterdeep instead.” Gale's eyes lit up suddenly and he opened his mouth to make some quip, but when he looked up, Astarion was the picture of anxiety, biting his lip, knees to his chest, fear in his eyes. 

“It took me a long time to accept responsibility for what happened. I would always say to myself that you left a mess behind, you did this to me, that it was all your fault. It was best that you left, because if you'd stayed, I don't want to imagine what you would have done. Would you take their side, or defend me tooth and nail? I couldn't bear it if you were just another person I couldn't forgive. But I wouldn’t want our family’s blood on your hands either.

“I don't know his name. I left as soon as I could. I'm sorry that I can't tell you anything about him. I would think that your parents would try to write you, but maybe they think it meant nothing to you. They try to write me, but I can't read them. I don't want to read them, but I can't destroy them.

“No matter how many friends I make, how many people I help, I will always know that I am a callous monster. Despite how rare it is, despite what it would mean for our families and our people, I didn't want to keep the thing you left behind in me. Knowing it was there filled me with a sickness that went beyond any story the Mothers told me. I was no longer myself, I was just a vessel. I found myself repulsive. I tried to find some way to be rid of it, but our mothers caught me. 

“At first they aimed to tame me with guilt and shame. They told me I was irresponsible, cowardly, a disgrace, for trying to throw away this blessing that felt to me like a curse, a punishment. There were only hard eyes and sharp words for me. I became desperate and tried my own ways of removing my curse. When they denied me that, I tried to bite through my own tongue to spare myself the pain of my burden and it the pain of having me for a mother.

“They took turns, holding me with their magic, giving me no choice but to do what they deemed right. I looked out of my eyes on a world that became hostile and full of villains, faces made of cruelty. The body that moved was not my own, but I still felt that awful feeling in my heart, felt trapped in my own skin just as much as in their power.

“I'm not sorry that I left, so why do I feel guilty? Broken? I'm not sorry for being broken. Was this soul always broken, throughout its many lives?

“I made a deal with a fey. In exchange for never bearing children again, I am cursed to burn by the emptiness of the new moon. It hurt, at first, but not as much as that year hurt. The fey thought me mad for requesting such a simple silly thing and not real power. Maybe I am. You have to be pretty mad to make a fey question your request.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I forgive you. I don't expect you to forgive me. I hope you can still love me, as unlovable as I am. 

“Ever yours- Lori”

At some point, Astarion had placed his head in Gale’s lap. So caught up in the letter, Gale didn't notice. Now that he was done, he freed up a hand to pat Astarion’s head. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Gale whispered tiredly, still stroking Astarion’s hair. “It’s going to be okay. Tomorrow is another day.”

[mx-heartacoustic]

Why the fuck do I exist? Did God create me just to ruin others? I’m the cause of so much problems. If I didn’t fucking exist maybe things WOULD be better. Why the actual fuck did I do this. I’m a terrible fucking person. I wish I could just go to sleep & never wake up. Everything I fucking do ruins others. I ruin everything. Literally. How the fuck did I even get here? How am I still alive? Fear of death? Spite? I’m not sure. But I don’t want to be here anymore. I wish I could jump from the school rooftop & never look back. It’s so tempting. One day, I’ll try. Maybe by then I’ll have fixed all my mistakes.

[meowzet]

not sure who needs to hear this, but yes, if you can, you should buy new toothpaste. you should buy new clothes. you should buy new necessities.

you should also buy things that you don’t need to live, but want. you should buy those new plushies, that new video game, those concert tickets that take place in four months.

even if you think that you’ll kill yourself next week. even if you think you won’t be able to utilize those things because you’ll be dead. you’ve been conditioned to see everything as short-term, under the guise of killing yourself ‘soon’.

even if you think you’re going to kill yourself tomorrow, buy that long-term thing! ♡

[everlastiingiimmortals]

Contains spoilers for 1.4 companion mission.

It was quiet in Scalegorge Waterscape. Once more, not a soul disturbed the sacred delve, leaving the soaring seabirds and distant waves to fill the silence in the wake of such a deadly battle.

Not a soul was present but one.

Jing Yuan sat quietly on the steps before the High Elder's statue, staring out into the Lunarescent Depths and the roots of the Ambrosial Arbor. It'd taken... more effort than he'd have liked to admit to convince Yanqing to leave, not wanting the boy to see him picking up the pieces of his past life alone. It had taken far too little effort at all for the others to go.

The occasional rumbles of the great draconic beasts in the sea were a welcome reprieve from the deafening silence in his mind.

High-Cloud Quintet... It is time to say goodbye.

It was only fitting for the one who'd gathered them in the first place to be the one to finally disband them in the end, but oh...

"...What a terrible way to say goodbye, Master," Jing Yuan murmured aloud, unable to keep himself from bowing his head. "You didn't even bid me farewell." None of you did.

It wasn't fair of him to expect that, especially not if the aching in his eye had anything to say about it. What good was a proper farewell if he would run into them again, and again? This chapter might have ended, but their stories were not over - not yet.

"I can only hope that you'll allow me a proper goodbye at the end." Or better yet, take me with you when the time comes... please.

His armor, suddenly, felt tight against his chest. The rings against his heart were all too present, too firm and uncomfortable under his shirt, so he wormed his fingers under his collar to catch the chain and pull them out.

They glittered in the light, catching it with a stunning turquoise glow that revealed the delicate veining within each crystalline band. Despite the centuries, their beauty hadn't been tarnished in the slightest, and the names on the inner curves of each ring were as clear as when they'd first been engraved.

饮月，应星，

...景元.

He was sure each band's twin was lost. But why had he kept the third? "You kept the bracer... would you have kept this, too?" Jing Yuan didn't think he wanted to know the answer. "Unlike him, I had nothing to give you except half my heart."

If only retrieving it could be as easy as retrieving this ring had been.

At least his aching lessened briefly tracing Yinyue's name on the first ring. I did my best for him, my heart. I hope it was enough.

Eventually, the absence of the rings' weight against his chest became too much to bear, and they were silently slipped back against their proper resting spot.

What a laughable notion it'd be, Jing Yuan thought wryly, if the people of the Luofu now were to ever learn their general almost married two of the Xianzhou's most heinous criminals.

The sounds of the sea were a siren's call now, drawing his longing gaze. To sink weightlessly, and have all the pain of a miserable life wash away... The image of Blade's distraught face as he woke on the stone floor of the Dragonvista Rain Hall once more flashed in his mind. He'd tried, too. Countless times, he'd tried. Not even lightning, not even when imbued with the blessings of the Reignbow Arbiter themself had he been successful. In the end, he couldn't do anything for Yingxing at all. He closed his eyes.

If it had been me instead of her... Would this tragedy have befallen us? I was unable to stop anything. What was the point of sparing me?

...

I want to forget.

Eventually, as if waking from a deep slumber beneath the earth, Jing Yuan pushed himself to his feet. He didn't look back towards the waters, didn't look up at the cold, proud statue as he passed. He didn't hesitate as his boots left stone and hit sand, making their way towards the waiting starskiff hovering on the shore.

There was one more goodbye to be had.

[feriowind]

okay ive been thinking a lot about BIG ANGST where kraken Ed, in his anger and hurt, tells Stede that Stede ruined him, not realizing just how devastating those words would be to Stede. Because I think Stede’s self-confidence would be so closely tied to what Ed thinks of him, because Ed is the person who’s opinions he would consider the most important....

like i think if Stede heard those words, it would genuinely shatter him, because, in Stede’s mind, if the only person who was capable of loving him decided that Stede was worthless, then was there really anywhere he would ever belong?

suicide ideation/thoughts under cut

Stede would lose a lot of will to keep going forward after... Despite fearing death, outright rejection from Ed would cause him to spiral because Chauncey was right, he’s a monster, he doesnt deserve good things and only brings misery to the people around him. He shouldn’t have been born after all, and he dreams about no longer existing

and if the reunion takes places aboard the revenge, Stede would go out at night, alone, to stare at the waters and maybe become a little TOO mesmerized by them.... Nearly tumbles over but is saved by Ed who was keeping to himself but spotted Stede and was keeping an eye on him.

And yeah... Stede not understanding why Ed helped him, should have just let him fall over so things can be good again

and Ed, who had probably even threatened to kill Stede earlier, can’t abide this. He thought he’d be happy to see Stede hurting, but as angry as he is at Stede, seeing him this miserable and broken hurts Ed too, because Ed doesn’t want a world without Stede in it.

and Ed locks Stede in his quarters with him to make sure Stede can’t attempt to end his own life again, all the while Stede is just CONFUSED and tired.

aaand that’s about all ive thought up currently, will work on this in my brain some more lmao

[sodalite-fulll]

Sometimes I think I’m immune to the parasocial relationship thing but today I learned my favorite asmr content creator is a raging bigot and I almost threw up

[moved-to-piersgender]

Im not sure why the phrase "spicy brain" is frowned on tbh, because like, it seems to be a euphemism. It's someone verbally defanging something pretty fucking shitty. It's less uncomfortable than "hey, sorry I had to cancel bro i couldn't stop thinking about killing myself last week : D my mind was racing and catastrophizing at the speed of sound bro : D" I could be totally wrong tho

[soft-girl-musings]

sometimes i get the overwhelming urge to text all my friends how much i love them but the last time i did that i think half of them thought i was gonna kms so :]

[lostandbackagain]

the internet is always hostile to people with ocd but I don't think yall understand the way you've been posting lately has me about to kill myself