#warning: suicidal ideation

[eirenical]

OK, so I missed WiP Wednesday AGAIN, but I'm getting closer? From earlier in the fic this time, set after Monk Wuliao brings Li Xiangyi and Di Feisheng back to Pudu Temple to do what he can to heal Li Xiangyi from the Bicha Poison...

[Other snippets posted, not necessarily in order.]

*

Di Feisheng moved to the other side of the pallet, taking Li Xiangyi's hand in his, pressing his fingers against his wrist.  It was exactly as the monk had said.  The flow of qi was slow, weak, already stagnating, no longer the swift coursing river to Beifang Baiyang's storm, now barely a trickle.  He could force his own neili into Li Xiangyi's body, could send it surging through that system and wake it to his own rhythm, but in Li Xiangyi's fragile state, that would surely cause more harm than good.  The monk was right.  The strength that could save Li Xiangyi had to come from Li Xiangyi himself.  He looked up, nodding once in the monk's direction.  "Do your work, monk.  I'll make sure that it takes."

The healing that followed was one of the more gruesome experiences that Di Feisheng had ever had the misfortune to witness, and he had been raised in the Di Fortress where children as young as five were slaughtered every day.  The poison had to be fought back not once, but again and again and again, drawn away from organ systems vital to the body and into places where it would do less lethal damage.  But with each new place the poison was sequestered away, Li Xiangyi's body weakened, meridian after meridian going dark and unresponsive, that powerful neili draining away until there was barely any left.

Li Xiangyi's heart faltered twice, stopped entirely a third time, and only the monk's shouted instructions and a surge of Beifang Baiyang at the right moment kept it beating.  Li Xiangyi was sitting upright by the end only by the grace of Di Feisheng sitting in front of him, arms entwined with his to support his body as the monk and his needles worked their will.  As last night, for one brief moment only, Li Xiangyi's eyes slid open, lucid amidst the torture of this healing, to lock with Di Feisheng's, the message in them clear as a shout to one who understood him so well.

Let me go.

No.  That was the one thing that Di Feisheng could not do.  Where there was life, there was hope, and Di Feisheng would not give up his unless there was no other choice remaining.

Li Xiangyi's eyes slid closed again, his entire body jerking between Di Feisheng and Monk Wuliao, an anguished cry escaping his lips just before he coughed up what seemed a river of dark, thickened blood.  Di Feisheng pulled him close, supporting a body that now shook with violent tremors as Monk Wuliao fought to tame the last vestiges of the poison in Li Xiangyi's system.  When it was over, and all was silent, Di Feisheng dared to draw back, to look once more on that pale countenance.  In quiet shock, he breathed out: "…what have we done?"

From behind Li Xiangyi, the monk's exhausted voice explained, "Such a healing is not without cost, Di-mengzhu."

Di Feisheng shifted his grip, pulling Li Xiangyi's limp body into his lap and tipping his head onto his shoulder.  In the scant few hours since they had begun, most of the muscle mass Li Xiangyi's frame had carried was gone, eaten away by the poison as it was sequestered away in his system—not eliminated, nor truly detoxified, the monk had been clear that that wasn't possible with the skills he had—leaving behind little but skin and bones.  The high cheekbones remained, but the full cheeks were gone, leaving behind a gaunt expression in a deeply changed face.  And worst of all, that formidable neili, that deep, surging river that was Yangzhouman, was all but gone.  Only the smallest stream remained behind, circulating through Li Xiangyi's heart meridian, protecting the only ground they had managed to save.

He pressed his face into Li Xiangyi's chest, despair welling up despite his best efforts to focus on what they had managed to save.  Li Xiangyi was alive.  But how long could he remain so in such a state?  What kind of life could he live?  And what damage had been done in the hours he had been out of Di Feisheng's sight to leave him believing that this broken, diminished existence was the only life he deserved?

Question after question after question.  And Di Feisheng would get no answers until Li Xiangyi awoke.  He listened intently as the monk detailed what he should do for Li Xiangyi over the next few critical hours, how he could help, and more importantly, what might cause harm if he was too overzealous.  When all was said and done, he laid Li Xiangyi down on the pallet, drawing the covers over his still form, and curled around  him, protecting him in the only way he could.

[nerdytextileartist]

@arrowfam-events

[notaplaceofhonour]

An American man self-immolated in the name of Gaza, and I’m seeing two different responses:

from American leftists, acting like it’s a brave/commendable thing while do

from Palestinians, begging people not to do this

This is a man who was incredibly mentally unwell and committed suicide, initially planning to livestream his suicide, and people are applauding it—which inevitably encourages more people to follow suit, throwing their lives away too. And for what? How has this helped Palestinians in any way?

Suicide is not the answer—not to your personal struggles and not to global conflict and geopolitical struggles. If you find yourself around people who are encouraging you to see suicide as a beautiful or commendable political act, get out.

Think of all the good things you can keep doing for Gaza if you keep living. Think of your loved ones. Think of your own life. Your life has value, and you deserve to keep living.

I think Ahmed Fouad Alkhatib, someone from Gaza, put it way better than I can in this tweet:

[blueskittlesart]

Now that you're gone

[m1d-45]

will you promise that i'll see you again?

summary: your people refuse reason, and their damage refuses to heal. when it seems as if the whole world has left you, your dutiful knight still remains by your side.

word count: 2.3k

-> warnings: implied suicidal ideation (reader + unnamed side character), reader's previous deaths are mentioned in somewhat graphic detail

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @yuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“you’re one of the only things keeping me going, you know.”

dainslef turned to you in surprise, the even neutrality to your tone a sharp contrast to the rapid pace of his heart. he wasn’t a fool, he knew that the hunt had to be taking a heavy toll on you, but this…

this was more than he expected.

he knew he was one of a pitiful few who saw through celestia’s false puppet, who knew you for you and not their mirage. he knew that the entire world was hellbent on erasing you from existence, that you’d been forced through your own death countless times as teyvat pulled you apart and pushed you back together far from the scene of your would-be murder. he saw the golden scars across your skin, the dried remains of blood lining the wounds you hadn’t been able to patch yet. he’d been the one to wash them away, not minding the refuse soaking into his gloves if it meant your hands could be clean.

he recognized the dull exhaustion in your eyes, the same as the ones he saw in the reflections of lakes. tired, worn, barely there, hanging on by one solitary string that was wound so tightly around a desperate hand.

you had always been his reason for continuing. when the traveller broke down and the ruler of the abyss hid from the sun, you were there. when the chasm’s mud clung to his boots and the memories in his head burned as nails forced between his eyes, you were there. his rosary was kept tight to his chest at all times, familiar prayers pulling him up in the morning and forcing him to sleep at night. he was alive for far, far too long, but you made it bearable. you were his duty, his promise.

he never once thought that he’d be yours. then again, he never thought that he’d have to defend you from the ones you once called friends. time never did pass how he expected it to.

“…leading light?”

you looked down, twirling blades of grass around your fingers. he had led you up to a mostly desolate area of sumeru, west of bayda harbor. it close enough to the sea, forest, and desert that you could reasonably make an escape through any of those routes if need be, while also providing a rather pleasant view. the sky was bleeding red and gold as the sun sank below the horizon, a remarkable sight that fell on blind eyes. there was no use trying to enjoy nature’s beauty when he still kept one hand on his sword and both ears pricked for the slightest sign of danger.

you shouldn’t have to worry about your safety. you shouldn’t have to prioritize based on how likely you are to get hurt, or how easily it would be to make an escape. you still flinched when the wind blew a little too quick, used to it heralding armored footsteps and battle cries. in another life, you were welcomed with open arms, able to enjoy yourself without constantly being on high alert. teyvat did what it could to adapt; the air was still, frozen in time, barely a bird chirping for miles. it was meant to be comforting, he thinks, but dead silence was more unnerving than any breeze.

“i mean it.” he could hear every shift in his cloak around your shoulders, the heavy fabric doing little to soothe your stress. it was yours more than it was his now, to the point he felt claustrophobic wearing it. how long had he been traveling with you? the days blurred.

“i don’t doubt you.” he never would. never could. he’s not sure, even if he somehow wanted to, that his body would allow him to treat your words as anything less than fact. “but i don’t understand what you mean.”

you were a god. the creator, the first, the one that shaped the sovereigns scales and laid the foundations of earth. you predated the archons, celestia, the very skies themselves…

and he, somehow, was a driving motivation for you?

his words must have been funny, a sharp laugh tumbling out of your mouth. it was bitter, humorless, and somewhat raspy. he made note to find some water for you later. “what else could i mean?” you turn to him, some of his confusion lost as your eyes found his. even this burnt out, deep bags set beneath them, you still managed to steal the very air in his lungs. “you’re the only reason i’m still here.”

he didn’t know what to say. what was there to be said, when you were you and he was him? when the world had abandoned you, it made sense you’d cling to what remained faithful. it was merely coincidence he happened to find you first, that’s all. coincidence that you trusted enough not to run from, coincidence that you allowed to care for your injuries. there was nothing to say, because you held nothing for him in particular, only leaning on him out of need. he had to believe that. what was he left with if that wasn’t true? an awkward truth hid beneath his well-known lies, too large for him to see the edges, let alone to contain.

“please… do not say such things again.” to ask of his god what he could not ask of himself was surely some form of heresy, as was willingly laying aside his guard when he was the only one who was tasked with protecting you. he pulled his attention from the tide below, from the rustling trees, holding faith that the world would not be needlessly cruel. he stepped forward, kneeling beside you. even up close, you still seemed painfully small. “it is your own resilience that has allowed you to persevere.”

it’s the earth that leads you from danger.

it’s the water that follows you wherever you go.

it’s the leylines that whisk you to safety.

it’s the wind that warns you of what’s to come.

it’s the you from the past that protects the you in the present.

it’s the you in the present that provides for the you in the future.

it’s you, from everywhere and everywhen, continuing to fight.

and yet you sigh. you look away, across the sea, tracing fontaines skyline. “it really isn’t. i was lucky to run into you when i did.”

you had just crossed the wall back into the forest, burning hot and shaking. he was the lucky one, in truth, to be able to pick your figure out from the sand below. perched on a high cliffside, even mitachurls were reduced to small brown flecks.

you had worn a cryo mage’s cloak, which was what initially drew his attention. abyss activity wasn’t uncommon in the area, but a cryo mage in the desert… that was cause for intrigue. he stepped forward and slid down the steep face in front of him, a slight puff of dust marking his landing in the desolate sand of old vanarana.

he didn’t know what to expect. you stumbled around the jagged remains of a tree, heading for the statue of the seven. he followed, only growing more confused. cryo and dendro did not react with each other, and there was no way to “slow” a statue. a scouting mission, maybe? but why a cryo mage, when pyro would have been far more advantageous in the case of an attack?

he leaned around the corner carefully, prepared for the sight of a staff or the chanting of abyssal magic filling the air. the entire world seemed to be holding its breath, frozen in place and waiting for some trigger to continue.

he saw none of that. you were collapsed at the foot of the statue, faint wheezing only making it to his ears by virtue of the standstill around him. you held no staff, commanded no magic, your chest barely moving with air.

he’d never seen a mage seek out the archons when dying. one hand squeezed the handle of his sword as he crept forward, ready to strike should the situation turn against him. the sand barely shifted beneath his feet, his own heart sounding too loud to his ears. you did not move, showing no signs that you had noticed his approach. he still didn’t trust it.

your cloak was tattered and torn, with thick gloves atypical of a mage. they reminded him more of hilichurl wraps, which was strange considering you wore no mask. your face was instead covered by what looked like eremite cloth, just as stained and dirtied as the rest of your clothes. what he could see looked almost human; in another life, he could believe you were a weary traveller, lost amidst the sand.

he was acting foolish. if the abyss had a human tool, he needed to figure out why. he reached down, undoing the sloppy knot of your veil and letting the brocade fall limply to the grass.

…grass. he blinked, eyes flickering between the ground and your face, not sure which was harder to believe. flowers had bloomed around you, protecting your body from the blazing sands, and he’d be a fool not to recognize the face plastered all over every bounty board.

he didn’t understand. if nothing else, he thought the archons would have enough respect for their creator to know when they were being lied to, yet before him was barely living proof of the inverse. sweat beaded along every inch of exposed skin, deep-set heat exhaustion burning you from the inside out. how could you be a threat? how could they be so blind?

he looked again, the shine of elemental sight straining his eyes, catching flickers of the dendro energy pouring from the statue. you were the only one the archons would feed. you were the only one to make the very earth break its own rules, allowing lotuses to bloom from barren soil. something painfully similar to rage threatened what remained of his rationality, and it took all he had to push it aside.

that didn’t matter. if he went off on some banal revenge quest, he’d be no better than them. your safety mattered more. he picked you up and set aside how calm his curse felt, beginning the trek back to his camp. behind him, the flowers already began to wither, losing their persistence without you to foster it.

perhaps that initial meeting was luck. but these was no luck involved in your trust in him. when you woke up and saw him at your side, you chose to trust him. you chose to believe that he was not like the others, that he would protect you, and he was forever grateful for that trust. nobody could fault you for being angry, for being spiteful about what you were put through and choosing to lash out. nobody would have the right to be upset if you chose to vent your wrath against those that had hurt you.

but you didn’t. you chose, again and again, to believe in the world. you chose to let them live their lives, even if it meant getting hurt again in the process. you chose a quiet life traveling with him over the comfortable life on your throne. to willingly choose to travel with a disgraced knight to spare your people guilt… he couldn’t decide if it was noble or reckless. either way, he was selfishly happy that he was the one to stay by your side.

“i won’t try to convince you. but, please.. do not give up on yourself so easily.” i know far too many who have died by the same hand. “the world and its opinion does not define you. only you get to decide where fate leads.”

you lean towards him, and he thinks you might have passed out- but no, your head lands on his shoulder with far too much precision. he stiffens, not used to existence without a constant pain beneath his skin. “how motivational. you tell all your soldiers that?”

his heart is beating too quickly, thoughts unusually hard to grasp. you’re the only one who could have this effect on him. he only wished it wasn’t now, when your belief in yourself was on the edge. “i mean it. none of this is your fault, and neither are celestial actions the people’s fault. i know that you are hurt, but i don’t want you to accept that main needlessly. you shouldn’t have to view your creation with such pain.” slowly, carefully, he raises the hand closer to you, doing his best not to disturb you as he settles it on your arm. he’s can only hope that the contact brings you as much comfort as it does him. “if nothing else, believe me. promise you’ll at least try.”

he doesn’t think you’ll agree. why would you make a promise to one who represents the heaven’s betrayal? why would you let him hold you close at all, when you can surely sense the bindings of those who tried to kill you wrapped tightly around his soul? he doesn’t know. all he can do is hope.

“…alright, dainslef. i promise.”

twilight has long since fallen, and yet he smiles for the first time in centuries.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Love you more than everything, loved it more than anything

Loved everything more than anything

[waywardsou2]

Drunk!Logan x Drunk!MaleReader Part 2

You guys were hounding me like crazy for the next part so here. I whipped this one up for you. Get it whilst it's hot and fresh! @oktcunez @raetastic07 @a-short-ass-disappointment (if you would like to be tagged for future one shots let me know)

Summary: Logan didn't get you. And you didn't get Logan, you were mad at the world and you had taken it out in Logan. So now you decided to take it out on yourself.

Word count: 1.9k

Tags: swearing, self-harm, suicidal ideation, worthlessness, self esteem issues, survivors' guilt, trauma, blood, graphic violence, can be read as platonic or potentially romantic

(If you haven't caught up on part 1 you can read that here)

You storm out of the bar cursing and muttering to yourself. You vent your frustrations to the night air. Why did he hold back? It’s not like it would have hurt you for long. You've taken bullets to the lungs, claws couldn’t be anything different. And it wouldn’t matter anyway, your body wouldn't let the injury stay there for too long. The punctures would have been filled again within minutes.

Minutes ago he was ready to throw you around like a rag doll but as soon as you give him an opening he hesitates.

Coward, can’t even punch the guy who was cussing him out and pushing him around, did he really think you were that fragile?

You mutter to yourself a little louder. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much that he was so uncaring when it came to you. You were the newest member to the team and he always over looked you, he could be rough with the other team members but at least he acknowledged them. He always seemed to just pass over you. What was his deal?

It didn’t matter, you were mad at yourself for even caring. What good was it seeking approval from someone like that

Wait, no. You didn’t want approval. That would be stupid, you didn't need approval. You never did. And this guy was no different. He was nothing to you.

Except he was, because if he wasn’t you wouldn’t be having this battle with yourself.

You skulk down the adjacent ally to the bar and start to vent your frustrations louder. You wished your body would allow you to feel pain, prolonged pain. You wish it didn’t heal. You wish you had scars to show for your losses, for the battles claimed with victory and the battles ending in defeat. But no, your body was as pristine as a newborn baby and like a psychopath you wished your skin would scar and scab and peel and break and bleed. It did. But never for long enough.

Sure the mental pain was bad, excruciating even. But you had nothing to show for it, no real loss. No real pain. Nothing that signified that you were even struggling the way you were. The only sign anyone knew something was wrong was the fact that you went to drink every night. But that was normal for a few of the team members so it was nothing to ask about. And no one asked so you didn’t tell anyone.

Although you find it hard to believe that you would tell anyone even if they did ask. But it wasn’t your place to complain, there are bigger problems in the world and people with worse situations than you. Some trauma was nothing compared to that.

But deep down you knew it wasn’t just “some trauma” it was the reason you were here in the first place. Your mutation manifested during a school shooting, you stepped in front of a group of middle schoolers and took the bullets. But instead of being thanked for saving those kids you got incarcerated and experimented on until you broke out. Having to live off grid until Charles found you.

That’s what you get for trying to be a hero when you weren’t. Because you weren’t, it was a simple fact. You weren’t heroic, you weren't special, you couldn't perform feats of strength, and you definitely couldn’t protect people.

You punched the wall of the bar, the skin on your knuckles splitting from the force. Good.

But like usual the skin flaked off, dying as it was replaced with fresh clean skin. The only trace of your injury was the tiny trickle of blood sliding down your finger.

You punched the wall, again and again and again.

Meanwhile Logan was still sitting on the floor where you shoved him off, he watched after you as you stalked away and walked out of view. He was holding out his hand like it was burning, trying to keep the heat away from himself.

What the hell had you been thinking, you had made him mad, sure. But he wasn’t going to actually fight you. He just wanted to scare you off so you would stop. Things didn’t go well when people pushed his buttons. It wasn’t a threat, it was the truth. He couldn’t always control his rage and you prodding him was dangerous. He needed you to stop but what you had done, or attempted to do, left him speechless.

He knew of your regenerative powers and reinforced skin but there was no way he was going to willingly attack a team mate. He had been watching you ever since you joined the team. Keeping an eye on you but making sure to keep his distance. You were fierce and strong. Capable but reckless. Due to your regenerative mutation you threw yourself in the path of others. Like a human shield. I

f it weren’t for your mutation, he might have said you were suicidal. That was before tonight. Now he might have said and believed it was true.

He’d been purposefully keeping his distance from you, he didn’t want to scare you off or intimidate you. He was told that he could be very confronting at first so he wanted to give you time to adjust. He guesses this is what he gets for following Scott’s advice. It seems keeping his distance had the opposite of the intended affect.

But tonight, had just thrown a spanner in the works. He couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the fact that you always seemed rearing for a fight but what you had just tried to do had thrown off his entire image of you. Not necessarily in a bad way, but a way that made him want to close the distance. He was concerned for you, and he could tell you were carrying something heavy. Like everyone in the X-Men they all had a ball and chain with them. A past life that had brought them here to Charles’ school.

But yours was still unknown to him, and he assumed to everyone else except Charles.

Picking himself up from the floor he drops some of money on the bar next to yours and follows you outside. He sniffs at the air, following your scent and the alcohol intermingled in with it. As he follows your scent something else joins it, something sweet.

He turns a corner to find you in the back alley, beating up the brick wall of the bar, your knuckles bleeding and then healing over. You don’t hesitate between each punch, your hands not even completely healed before you strike the wall again. Over and over and over. Blood covered your hands making them a deep crimson in the shadowy back alley. The same deep colour was dripping from the walls, making the brickwork look like it was crying. The cracks in the bricks filled with your blood. Were those cracks there before or after you began your barrage?

The scene laid out before him was haunting. In a mere split second Logan had gone from an annoyed but concerned walk to a horrified sprint. He slams into you and pulls you away from the wall. Spinning the two of you around and pushing your back into the patch of blood on the wall. From this close the smell of the blood overwhelmed him, but he struggled through it. He grabbed your hands and pinned them to the wall beside your head. He didn’t want to risk you trying to get away or hurting yourself again.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed into your face

You glowered back, he could see now that you had tears falling from your eyes. You weren’t yelling or sobbing or making any noise. He could hardly hear your breathing you were that quiet. You hadn’t even made a grunt as you split open your own skin.

You didn’t speak now, you didn’t want to say anything. You didn’t have to explain this to him. It wasn’t his business, and he didn’t really care. He wasn’t asking because he cared. He was asking because he thought you were insane.

He looked down at you with his brow furrowed. He couldn’t figure you out, there was something missing in the now twisted image he had of you. The why. Why you were here, not just here tonight but here with the X men at all. Why?

“Why?” he asked, his voice still rough but softer than it was gruff. Unlike his first question  

“Why what?” you asked, you were being stupid on purpose. Pretending like this whole situation was completely normal. That you hadn’t just been injuring yourself on purpose and were now trapped between your teammate and a wall.

“Don’t do that, just answer the question”

You didn’t want to, you didn’t want to be here anymore, it was a mistake coming here to drink and picking on Logan. You just wanted to disappear but he pressed you harder.

Repeating the same question

“Why?”

“What was the point?”

“What was wrong with you”

He was begging you to answer him, his voice was overwhelming, yelling at you for an answer until you snapped. His voice reverberated around your head until your skull cracked from the strain of it.

You fight against him as you yell but he holds on, he doesn’t even flinch as you scream “Because I can’t fucking die! Because I will never have a scar left behind to show what I’ve done! To show what I’ve been through! Because if I don’t come home with blood on my hand’s no one will know that I ever did anything worth anything! Because if I can’t bleed then everyone who has ever died won’t be able to rest knowing that the person who failed to save them doesn’t even have a scar to show for his failure!”

And it was out. Your words were out of your mind and into the world. The sound carried away on the wind, the world and now Logan knowing the secret you had kept hidden. Like a locked box at the bottom of the lake. That had been pulled from the depths and sprung open from years of rusting in the water.

Logan didn’t let go of you, in fact he held on tighter. The truth making him scared for you.

No, not for you.

Of you.

Because a person who still went on trying to do everything for others despite all the pain they held inside was someone stronger than any foe he ever faced. Any enemy he was ever going to face.

You looked away, staring down at Logan’s chest. Unable to look him in the face despite the rage you felt against him. It was all bundled up inside of you like a raging fire burning down its containment. And you were starting to burn him, you didn’t want to, but you knew you already had. Scorched him like everyone else in your life. No matter how hard you tried to douse your own flame people kept adding fuel to it.

But that rage wasn't fading and you had to direct it somewhere. You pulled your arms forward and ripped them away from his grasp. Some of the blood on your knuckles smeared onto his hand as you pulled away. You put your hands on his chest and shoved as hard as you could. Causing him to stumble back from you. Releasing you from his arm cage.

"Get the fuck away from me" you hiss at him.

You turn to leave down the alley and you bump into his with your shoulder for good measure.

You make your way to your car and speed out of the parking lot and down the road. Once again leaving Logan in your dust.

Oh my god I couldn't help myself but I'm leaving you guys hanging for a part 3. If you want to see where this goes (maybe I'll even turn it into a mini series) then let me know!

And as usual I take requests so if you want to see anything in particular then send me an ask!

Edit: if you happen to be coming back to re read this, yes. I did change the ending because I had no fucking clue how to connect the next part so something needed to shift. Sorry to disappoint but it moved to fast for me to be able to probably continue the story.

[disjointed-art]

Catch my breath Part 2: sprout page 7

Tw: Steve low key talking about unaliving…it is not explicit suicidal ideation but Please skip this page if you’re no okay with this theme!!!

Basically Eddie assumes that’s what he means when he says “give up” which Ed’s isn’t wrong but Steve doesn’t admit that yet.

Me forever projecting onto Steve with my awful mental health from high school 😘

—

—

Happy Monday! Only one page because the weather here is gross and rainy. I also impulsively cut my hair but it actually turned out great so slay!

Full comic

[tempural]

hoping to get back to finishing up commissions i owe, and responding to emails and such. hope it will be within the week! brb

[kylekreepsmeout]

Just gonna dump some of my art for my recent story concept

It’s about Alice, a serial killer who’s in a committed relationship with an eldritch demon named Eldeboth and feeds it sacrifices. It follows her struggle to maintain relationships with people while trying to uphold her murderous routine

[eirenical]

Mysterious Lotus Casebook | Lian Hua Lou | 莲花楼 | Episode 13

"Li Xiangyi wasn't always right. I'm older than you. I've heard a lot about him. When he was young, he was very petulant. The downfall of the Sigu Sect was partly his fault." -Li Lianhua on Li Xiangyi, Mysterious Lotus Casebook Episode 19

[Do not repost. Do not remove caption. Thank you!]

Bonus:

You know the drill (or maybe you don't if you're new? *waves*)… all my thoughts and images descriptions behind the cut:

[Above the text are five gifs depicting a mildly heated conversation between Li LIanhua and Fang Duobing from episode 13 of Mysterious Lotus Casebook. Li Lianhua has just revealed that "A-Fei" is Di Feisheng, the leader of the Jinyuan Alliance. Fang Duobing is upset and demands to know what Li Lianhua could have to do with him. Li Lianhua explains that Di Feisheng wants him to save someone, but that Li Lianhua doesn't want to save this person. Fang Duobing goes on to say that Li Lianhua shouldn't save this person, because he must be a bad person if Di Feisheng wants him saved. Li Lianhua agrees that this person is a bad person and that he won't save him, that it's more important to save Fang Duobing now. Bonus gifs show Fang Duobing protesting that he is talented and might have felt a bit funny before but he's fine now... and then promptly passes out. Li Lianhua rushes to his side.]

First of all, the entirely of episode 13 drove me completely feral in so many ways I still can't put it concisely into words. But the core of it sits right here in this exchange. There is so much evidence in the first 12 episodes that Li Lianhua doesn't really care if he lives or dies or, at the very least, that he's resigned himself to dying, but this is the first time we see him say outright that not only doesn't he care if he dies, but that he, in fact, WANTS to die.

"He asked me to promise him to save someone. [...] There are people in this world who can only be saved by me. Unfortunately, I don't want to save them."

After this episode, we know that there is only one person that Di Feisheng wants to save. And that's Li Xiangyi. And here he is admitting out loud that he doesn't want to be saved. That he wants to die. And moments later, he agrees with Fang Duobing that this person Di Feisheng wants saved is a bad person. That he is a bad person. And you can see it in his face that he wholeheartedly believes it. He's said as much before. Every time he talks to Fang Duobing about Li Xiangyi, he paints him in the worst light possible. Everyone else gets the benefit of the doubt in his stories, except himself.

His self esteem is in the toilet, he blames himself for most of the things that went wrong 10 years ago, and he actively wants to die.

And that paints Di Feisheng's desperate need to save his life and Fang Duobing's equally desperate need to save Li Xiangyi's character and legacy in such a poignant light. They both want to save him in their own ways, but Li Lianhua is right: the only person who CAN save him is himself. Because without that will to live, without that willingness to forgive himself, then no matter what either of them does, he isn't going to go along with it.

But the thing that really truly breaks me in all this is that IT STARTS TO WORK.

Just a few episodes after this, Di Feisheng steps in to save his secret identity, all but begging Li Lianhua to let him help, and Li Lianhua AGREES. And in the aftermath, when he's suffering, Di Feisheng steps in to feed him spiritual energy to heal him in whatever small way he can against the poison and Li Lianhua allows that, too. And you can see in so many of these little ways that his attitude is starting to shift, just a little. That maybe he's starting to entertain the idea that he could live. Because Di Feishing has enough will to live for both of them and he's not afraid to keep applying it like a baseball bad against Li Lianhua's suicidal ideation.

And then we have Fang Duobing. The quote below the gifset is from episode 19, and once again we have Li Lianhua tearing down Li XIangyi's character. But Fang Duobing isn't going to stand for that.

FDB: Someone said that to me before, but I've studied him. He should be proud of himself! LLH: There's a fine line between proud and arrogant. "Arrogant" is not a good word. FDB: He was proud because he had faith. Faith is a great word. No one is perfect. Neither was he. There are shadows wherever there is light. Yes. Maybe Li Xiangyi was too proud. But he established the Sigu Sect to make the jianghu a better place where the strong didn't prey on the weak. Look at those guys. They're just a bunch of selfish posers! LLH: If Li Xiangyi knew that someone could understand him so well ten years later, he'd be very glad.

He ALSO has enough faith for both of them. Li Xiangyi would be very glad... and Li Lianhua is very glad. You can see him in that moment, testing his weight against the possibility that maybe, just maybe, even though he wasn't perfect, he wasn't as bad as he believed himself to be. Maybe there was some good in him. Maybe it wasn't all in vain. Maybe he does deserve at least a little forgiveness.

And that push and pull between Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing should, by all rights, be acting like a tug of war to pull Li Lianhua apart. But it doesn't. It's pulling them all forward. Towards healing. Especially Li Lianhua. And he's not there yet. It's still going to take time. But the seeds of it are being planted. And we have so many more episodes still to go and I have no doubt things will go pear-shaped at some point, but to go from this *points up at gifset* to tentative healing in a matter of 6 episodes? That's huge. And I'm so happy he has them both. TT^TT

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

More of modern au Mariano's prison arc!! He sure is normal and okay. This one is VERY heavy so no shame in needing to skip it!

TWs: Suicidal thoughts/ideation, starvation, institutional abuse, abuse of power, dehumanization, exposure to low temperatures, neglect, captivity (of the prison variety)

The moonlight streamed in, turned crisp and sharp by the winter air. The blanket he was issued wasn't enough to keep it off of Mariano's skin, or out of his bones. It crawled in under the blanket with him and curled in close.

It sighed across his shoulders and neck. Its kisses made his nose numb. He couldn't feel his toes or fingers anymore.

Mariano could see his breath every time he exhaled.

It didn't matter. No one would do anything if he mentioned it, and this was normal anyway. February was always the worst in isolation.

Vaguely, Mariano wondered if he'd die in his sleep. It wasn't really cold enough for it, but for all he knew it was just a particularly dry night. The mattress pad rustled as he curled onto his side, tucking his fingers between his sides and his biceps.

His shoulders and hip ached, the cushion almost nonexistent between Mariano's body and the concrete. The persistent shivering wasn't helping much either, but that was just how one spent winters in solitary confinement.

Dying didn't sound so terrible.

His parents wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. They wouldn't have to keep sending him money for commissary. They wouldn't be blamed for raising a monster anymore, because the evil would've died behind bars. He wouldn't be able to hurt anyone ever again.

Maybe dying would be warm.

Mariano could make it warm. His hands gripped his sides tighter. It would be so easy. He wasn't warded. It was too dangerous to ward him permanently, would make him too sick. The guards didn't want to deal with it, and it wasn't like the charges he'd catch for using his magic would matter if he was dead. All he had to do was wrap his hand around his own throat and cast. He wouldn't feel it for more than a second.

He swallowed against his own icy palm. He didn't realize he'd put his hand to his throat. It trembled in the cold air.

He wouldn't be hungry anymore if he died.

Mariano's stomach ached, chewing on itself. They'd forgotten to bring him lunch and dinner. Sometimes that happened on shift changes. It was probably why he felt colder than usual. It was fine.

He wouldn't be thirsty, either.

No food meant no water. Solitary confinement meant that he couldn't just go get water, because his cell was never unlocked and left unsupervised. He could drink from the sink, technically, but that had made him violently ill the last time he'd tried. The pipes were too old, the nurse had said. The guards had laughed. Mariano didn't blame them.

It would be so easy.

It would be as easy as breathing.

Mariano exhaled, and only a plume of condensation from his breath met the air.

It didn't help. There was no sense of peace. No comfort. Mariano dying wouldn't make a difference. It would just make his parents sad. It would just annoy the guards. It would make strangers happy. It didn't help.

Mariano's hand slid to his chest, over his heart. It wouldn't make things better. It wouldn't even really make anything worse. It would just happen. He brought his hand to his hair and started slowly sliding his fingers through his own hair like his mother used to do. Like Luis used to do.

It didn't help.

It didn't hurt.

Mariano slept.

It was fine.

[marcobodtlives]

The AoT universe is like an upsettingly unimaginably easy place to die in.

And yet arguably our top 2 most willing-to-unalive-themself characters survived the ENTIRE time.

Shoutout to Reiner and Historia for surviving despite definitely not wanting to for a majority of the time. (And having a major impact on the plot for doing so).

[foileadeux]

im silly im silly im silly

[asherisawkward]

What mental illness does Philip have?

I’m just going to briefly list what I’ve noticed and what others have noticed for him. I am not trying to demonize or harmfully depict any of what I list, and I have several of the disorders that I’m listing while another suggestion was made by someone diagnosed with that disorder. Some of these aren’t actual disorders but are instead symptoms or behaviors I’ve noticed in him.

Having said that, I’ve noticed traits for the following:

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (Related to the Grimwalker cycle of death and rebirth)

*Unspecified Schizophrenic Spectrum Disorder (hallucinations and “delusion” associated with the BI inhabitants)

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (Incredibly obvious)

Possible Trauma-Induced Memory Issues (Portraits in Hollow Mind)

Substance Dependence/Addiction (palismen)

Unspecified Anxiety Disorder (Dread and anticipation leading up to the expected betrayal of Grimwalkers, the creation and use of multiple back-up plans)

Major Depressive Disorder Symptoms (Lack of care for his own degrading state, inability to care about other things)

Lack of Regard for Safety and Health (Continued use of palismen, putting himself in dangerous situations [Eclipse Lake, Stonesleeper incident, betraying the Collector], continued use of curse despite negative side effects)

Lack of Care for Life/Possible Suicide Ideation (“I just need to live long enough to see this through,” indicates a lack of regard for his own life and a lack of plans after something that takes significant effort; when I was at my worst, I had this feeling of, “I’ll do this one last thing, and then I’m done” that he seems to mimic, and he doesn’t even notice or care that his body is decaying in WAD)

Self-Harm Issues (Cut his ears and carved glyphs into his arms, continued to absorb palismen and transform when it negatively affected his health)

*This is the diagnosis suggested by @streya-nova. I’ve read it, and they make a ton of great points. Additionally, one of my aunts has paranoid schizophrenia, and I’ve recognized some overlapping symptoms. Their discussion of this is in the link below.

I hope this all made sense for you!

[obstinaterixatrix]

"Hey... Tomorrow, you're going to die."

Minazuki Satsuki, 16 years old. By all accounts your average 2nd year high schooler, apart from being a social misfit always declaring her classmates' impending deaths.

They've nicknamed her Usotsuki (Liar).

But her eyes alone are special. What she sees with them are...

The grand return of Ryoko-sensei, author of Shi ni Aruki!

A horror-suspense manga fighting backwards against fate.

--For every death(question), there must be a reason(solution)--

happy femslash february, this one’s going to be a weird one—it’s not a romance, but it is constant high stakes Heated Drama among female characters. right now it’s on its 9th volume, and it looks like the series is about to hit its last few arcs.

each arc is essentially the investigation of a future corpse in order find out time of death, cause of death, and other clues that can help prevent the death. there’s allergic reactions, science accidents, electrocution, premeditated murder, a beheading… it’s a very dangerous school…

satsuki does this while being ostracized by the majority of her classmates because she has a reputation for telling people they’re going to die. there’s some pretty intense bullying and multiple impressively rancid high school gals. and abuse. it’s a pretty heavy series. but you see, the reason I have this as femslash february rec post—despite it not being a romance—is because:

it really is Like This throughout btw, though komachi also has… well…

This Stuff going on. anyway, it’s vaguely under the yuri umbrella in the same way teppu is (though liar satsuki hasn’t had two female characters symbolically depicted as getting married in the mma arena) (yet). this would be good for folks who like high stakes high tension action/mystery/supernatural stuff and also gay undertones