#attmepted suicide

[nightfallsystem]

whgy do i even have to go to school i dont want to and the only thing its done for me is made me self harm and attmept suicide way more

why is it like required like i dont care abt anything anymoer n the only thing it does for me is increase my mental health risks

#tw self harm #tw suicide #vent

[thesleepy1]

You C-Could’ve Just Told Me Y-You Didn’t Want Me

A/N: I stumbled upon the MorMor fandom again and thought, “What the hell, why not? Most of this is either depressing, sad or kinky. Right up my ally.” Unbeta’d as always. 

 Pairings: Jim x Sebastian 

 Summary: Moriarty really did it. He killed himself and Holmes. But did the great consulting criminal think of the outcome? Did he think of what would become of his tiger?  

 Word count: 2,591

 Warnings: Please do not read this if any of the warnings trigger you, I’m touching on many heavy subjects and there will be a sad ending. Please be aware of what you can handle. There is no shame in reading the same coffee shop AU over and over again. Please proceed with caution. Major character death, death, suicidal thoughts, suicde, attempted suicde, violence, language, depressing thoughts, mourning, grief, poor coping mechanisms, blood, alcohol consummation, 

 Moriarty really did it. Jim’s really gone. No warning. No notice. No caution. No nothing. Just a single message plastered on the building in front of his window.   

 “Behave tiger.” 

 Sebastian learned on the news that night after not having heard from his boss, the man he thought of as a friend and more. The newscaster focused on Holmes’ leap from the building, but all Sebastian cared about was the body being dragged off the scene. That same empty gaze he had grown to adore, the same slicked back hair he wanted to run his fingers through, the same sickly pale face he wanted to feel under his fingertips. 

 Gone.

 Just like that. 

 He had never told Jim about the beating in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach, the constant searching for him in a crowd. But the man must have known. He read Sebastian like a favorite book. Had memorized every line, every page, every chapter, everything. Jim had known and yet he was still gone. 

 The arguably new fridge in his kitchen had not seen the sight of alcohol since it was installed. Sebastian had swore off of the thing since his parent’s passing. He had seen what it did to people. But tonight was an expectation. And so was the next day. And the next week. And the week after that. And the months that followed. 

 The only reason he left his small flat was to get more. Nothing else mattered anymore. Time passed as it always did when someone died. Sebastian had no right to be mad at the human concept of time, but he had to have someone to blame. Something that made sense. Because if time was allowed to move on as if nothing happened then time was a bastard.

 Jim wasn’t just some concept a man with too much time on his hands created. Jim was more then every human life was worth and more. Jim was also a Westwood wearing bitch. 

 The man just won’t let Sebastian die. Appearing in front of him at his worst moments.

 One morning or afternoon, he wasn’t sure, he was awoken by the sound of polished shoes on his tiled kitchen. His first thought was Jim, just like every other thought he’s had for the past year. Time wasn’t even really a thing. But alas, when he opened his exhausted eyes, because his bed was just a place marker, he was greeted by the sight of an old woman in a suit. 

 “Good day,” she spoke in an central London accent, too polite for a shirtless man in his pants. 

 “The prostitute lives a floor down.” 

 She seemed to be taken aback by his comment, visibly flinching. Her lips pressed together a moment before she spoke, “I’m here for you on behalf of Mr. Myrcroft Holmes.”

 “Tell him to go fuck himself.” 

 “That can be arranged, but for the time being he wants you to meet him at his estate. He sent me here to make sure you were alive,” the woman said sternly, regaining her composure. Jim wouldn’t have even faltered at his comments.

 “Tell him I’m dead.” Or will be if he could find the tenner he kept hidden in his couch cushions. He was due for another bottle. “I’ll even give you a blood sample. Just give me a knife.” 

 The woman seemed unimpressed, taking in the state of the flat. Things were askew, he knew. That was the point of grieving wasn’t it? Being self destructive to the point of insanity? Give him time, grieving takes time, everyone suffers differently. He could no longer count how many times he’s been to Bart’s, just sitting on the ledge. The fact that jumping, falling, seemed like a simple matter to see Jim again should frighten him but...it doesn’t. He’s just biding his time until he’s had enough. Unsure what’s holding him back, waiting. 

 That was a lie and a half. He had jumped, twice. First time a moving truck broke his fall. The movers had called an ambulance and he was rushed to the hospital. That was eight days after Jim shot himself through the skull.

 The second was last night, morning? Some twenty hours ago that was foiled by a short woman who wore her hair in a low ponytail. She had given him some sort of speech but he just tuned out her voice and threw away the slip of paper with her number on it. He didn’t need pity. 

 “That won’t be necessary. I can inform my employer of your beating heart and he will arrive here himself,” she turned on her heel and headed for the door, her hand lingering on the handle before turning back to him. “What made him worth suffering for?” 

 The door clinked shut. 

 More than the bastard realized.

 “Calling me a bastard and a bitch? On the same day? I’m honored, Sebby,” came Moriarty’s voice from the arm of the couch. “Really, just wonderful what you’ve done to the place.” 

 “What are you doing here?” Sebastian groaned to the figment of his imagination which was also a shit eating bitch. 

 “Picking flowers, what do you think I’m doing?” 

 Sebastian couldn’t help but grin at the comment. He knew Jim wasn’t actually here but if he could fool himself for an hour or so. The calmest hours he granted himself once a week.

 “C-could you hold my hand?” Sebastian begged in a whisper, not looking up at the gaze of his one sided lover. 

 “This again?” He could hear Moriarty rolling his eyes. “I guess, but only for a moment.” The ghost held out his hand, far enough to make Sebastian work for it. He always did, forcing himself to move, to crawl, fight tooth and nail with his useless body to get up and hold Moriarty’s non-existent hand. 

 Moriarty’s hand was cold. That was how he imagined it if he had ever gotten the chance to hold it. Moriarty’s hand was soft because he never had to do any dirty work. Nails filed down and clean, pristine. The real Jim would never, but Sebastian let himself have this. 

 “You’re crying again. I thought this was supposed to be my moment.” Moriarty lifted his face to meet his, wiping the tears with an invisible force. “Can you not make this about yourself for one moment? It's starting to get on my nerves and Daddy wants the spotlight so SUCK IT UP.” 

 Sebastian clenched Moriarty’s hand, nodding and willing himself not to cry. It never worked. “Why did you have to leave?” it came out as an uncontrollable sob.

 “Things were too boring. I needed a change of pace. What’s better than being a ghost?” Moriarty licked his tears clean but more poured down.

 “I-I could h-have-”

 “You could have done NOTHING to change my mind. Even your subconsciousness knows that, Sebby.”

 Seconds, minutes, hours, days, who knows passed as Sebastian cried into the arms of a dead man. He curled into Moriarty’s side, a trembling ball of compressed pain. The alcohol was wearing off at this point and he longed for another hit. Something stronger perhaps. 

 Just anything to make him forget for a while, because while he permitted himself to cry with Moriarty, feeling nothing at all felt better. Just empty, mindlessness. Unconsciousness. Anything but this. 

 “Why...why won’t you-you let me die?”

 “Because you know I would be furious if you died. Rage wouldn’t even cut it if you met me in hell.” Moriarty brushed back his overgrown hair, messing with his beard just because he could. 

 “I want your rage instead of this. Please,” he begged, rubbing his head against Moriarty’s chest. “I-I had a gun stashed here. I knew exactly where it was and how many bullets were in it. Jim...he...the real Jim took the bullets out.” He picked at the loose strings on the couch, unable to face his mind. “He-” he croaked, “He took them and put them in his own gun. I-I checked and everything….” Pressing the heel of his palms to his hand Sebasatian continued in between gasps. “I want them back. I want my bullets back. I want him back. I want him. I want him alive and here. I want to hold him and let him hold me. I want him. I want Jim. I don’t care if-if he never wanted me. If he-” It pained him to keep talking, to admit this in his worst moment. “If he did this just to get away from me...I just want him back.” 

 “You’re being awfully selfish today. What if I really did this to get away from you? And now you want me to come back? Sebby, please. Be realistic. If all of this is because you’re useless, and it can very well be, then I don’t want you.”

 “So that’s it? You won’t even let me off myself?” Sebastian mumbled into his sleeve, his eyes stung from crying and he was too dehydrated to continue.

 “Behave tiger.”

 He didn’t clean himself off or made himself look presentable like he did with Jim. He just smoked as he tried to find himself a cab to the other Holmes’ estate. Apparently that wasn’t needed due to the fact a black car pulled right up next to him, the front window lowering to reveal a driver that motioned for him to get in. 

 Sebastian did so, flicking off the cigarette before entering. The driver didn’t speak, not that he would reply, but the man looked like he wanted to. A new guy who was still learning the ropes. 

 “D-” 

 “Talking out of turn will get you fired, or killed,” Sebastian repeated the phrase Jim had told him the first day he worked for the man. Back then he didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he wanted a quick, high paying job. 

 “Rude,” the driver murmured before pulling into a driveway. He stopped the vehicle and gestured for Sebastian to exit with a roll of his eyes. Sebastian wondered then what the other Holmes would do if he blooded up the driver. Getting himself killed had crossed his mind numerous times, bar fights and ally robberies, but he was too skilled to allow himself to be disarmed. But the Holmes were of a different story altogether. They could have him killed in an instant if they felt like.

 “Well are you going to leave or what?” 

 Holmes would probably do nothing, not for a driver this chatty. He left the vehicle with Moriarty on his tail, “You’re useless, you know that? I tell you to do one thing and you do another. Well you come to hell, don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.” 

 Sebastian resisted crying in the home of Jim’s worst enemy’s brother. It wasn’t worth it, he told himself. Whether he believed himself? He didn’t feel the tell tale wetness on his cheeks so that was something. 

 “Good day,” the elder brother greeted him, not a hair out of place despite the fact that his brother was dead. 

 “What do you want.” 

 “Getting straight to business I see. Very well then,” Mycroft thumped his cane on his hardwood floors of his parlor. “I have an assignment for you, think of it as a favor if you will.”

 “Fuck off,” he turned on his heel to leave only to freeze in place. Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway, as alive as the day he was born. Not a wound or sign or anything that said he was dead or had been. Just standing there.

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. 

 “Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty’s right hand man and one sided lover from the state of your appearance. How is crying over a man who will never love you going?”

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 The other Holmes rolled his eyes, “I’m trying to get him to work with us Sherlock, not plan our murders.” 

 “I can’t say the same for him though,” Sherlock smirked, like he was getting a rise out of seeing Sebastian like this. A caged, striving tiger pacing.  

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 “Sherlock.”

 “Mycroft.”

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 “If you want to kill me just do it. I won’t fight back,” Sebastian stated, meaning every word. He just wanted the release of death. If anything his dying might please Jim Moriarty. Having someone watch the life or what was left of it, drain from his eyes. He could only hope. “Just kill me.” 

 “On the contrary. We want you alive.” 

 “I’m useless alive or dead,” he repeated what his mind told him.

 “I can assure you, you’re m-” 

 The gunshots shattered the parlor windows. Glass burst from their constricting frames, a shower of shards raining down. More gunshots followed, a dozen barrels at the least. Sherlock and Mycroft ducked for cover because they wanted to live. Sebastian stayed where he was because he would rather not. 

 A shot pierced his side immediately, then another and another. His legs could no longer support him so he fell forward, the side of his face pressed up against the rough carpet. He was staining it red, a stark color against the shades of brown and white. 

 Rope ladders dropped the sky, bodies lowering from out of view helicopters. They entered in pairs, shooting up the parlor room and everything in it. Over the sound of gunshots nothing could be heard then it stopped like a conductor silencing an orchestra with practice.

 A suited man entered the ruined parlor, his arms spread wide in dramatic flare. “Daddy’s back, Sherlock!” 

 “Jim Moriarty,” Sherlock exclaimed, smiling from his cover behind a bookshelf. “Glad you could make it.” 

 “I missed you, Sherly.”

 Sebastian could only smile from the floor. 

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 And all it took was for him to be bleeding out on the floor from gun wounds. Dying. Unable to feel his arms or legs. That was all it took for Jim Moriarty to come back.

 His grin pained his face from disuse, but he couldn’t stop it. Joy didn’t cover what he was feeling. The love of his life, forever one sided; the man he yearned to stay by, to hold, to drink and live alongside was fucking alive.

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 “Y-you’re alive,” he gasped from the floor, his blood cooling but his smirk never faltering. He wanted so badly to drag himself to Jim Moriarty but he couldn’t feel the warmth in his limbs. The man was right there, breathing, standing tall, and looking so jubilant. Sebastian really was useless. 

 “Tiger?” Jim Moriarty’s act flickered when he heard the sound of Sebastian. He turned to face the fallen sniper and every set of eyes in the room followed. 

 “Y-you’re here,” Sebastian choked on a laugh, his eyelids heavy. “You c-could’ve just told me y-you didn’t want me.”  

 “SEBASTIAN?!” 

 His eyelids closed shut. What remained of the feelings in his limbs dispersed. His labored breaths evening out until he disappeared altogether. His hearing was the last to go but even that shut down. He was dead. That was all it took. 

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Sebastian Moran is dead.

#mormor #jim x sebastian #james x sebastian #james moriarty #jim moriarty #sebastian moran #sherlock #mycroft #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #William Sherlock Scott Holmes #bbc sherlock #death #suididal #tw suidice #suidicidal #attmepted suicide #suicidal thoughts #violence #language #depressing thoughts #depression #mourning #dealing with grief #grief/mourning #grief #poor coping mechanisms #blood #alchol tw #alchohal

[alittlelifenovelquotes]

***TRIGGER WARNING: Traumatic memories including abuse, suicidal thoughts/ideations/actions, self-harm, violence, and rape*** “The hyenas returned, more numerous and famished than before, more vigilant in their hunt. And then everything else returned as well: years and years and years of memories he had thought he had controlled and defanged, all crowding him once again, yelping and leaping before his face, unignorable in their sounds, indefatigable in their clamor for his attention. He woke gasping for air: he woke with the names of people he had sworn he would never think of again on his tongue. He replayed the night with Caleb again and again, obsessively, the memory slowing so that the seconds he was standing naked in the rain on Greene Street stretched into hours, so that his flight down the stairs took days, so that Caleb's raping him in the shower, in the elevator, took weeks. He had visions of taking an ice pick and jamming it through his ear, into his brain, to stop the memories. He dreamed of slamming his head against the wall until it split and cracked and the gray meat tumbled out with a wet, bloody thunk. He had fantasies of emptying a container of gasoline over himself and then striking a match, of his mind being gobbled by fire. He bought a set of X-ACTO blades and held three of them in his palm and made a fist around them and watched the blood drip from his hand into the sink as he screamed into the quiet apartment.”

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

Part IV: The Axiom of Equality. Chapter 4, pg. 389

#a little life #hanya yanagihara #quote #depression #ptsd #trauma #abuse #suicidal thoughts #suicide attmept #self-harm #cutting #sad #sadness #hopelessness #panic attack #rape #violence

[wrymbloods]

i started replaying v’s route and even though ive never wanted to make a mysmes oc, for some reason this route demanded i make one oops ,, under cut is a drawing of her and some ramblings  cw for suicide mention

eun-jeong grew up in a foster home and never felt like she belonged there and didn't have anyone she could feel close to. she drifted through her adolescence without making any friends or goals in life. after graduating high school, she immediately gets a job and moves out. at some point, she gains the attention of ray who see's himself in her and yearns to get closer to her and have her join mint eye. at 23, after losing her job and attmepting suicide, ray reaches out to her to test him 'game.' she accepts without really thinking, not knowing what else to do with her life. she quickly grows close to ray, finding herself flattered by his kind words and actions and feeling a desire to know him better and spend time with him, something she hasn't felt before. it doesn't take her long to realise that the 'AI's she's talking to are real people. she had been skeptical from the start, but it wasn't until jumin mentioned c&r in a phone call that she truly knew. however, she kept pretending in front of ray that they were AIs because she was worried of him throwing her away if he found out. during her numerous chats with the rfa, she started to get envious of the the close-knit bond the members had with eachother and wanted to be a genuine part of it, and not because of some scheme she had been roped into. and even more so, she wanted to get closer to v. she frequently called v and would always look forward to seeing him in the chatroom. she was torn between ray and rfa, genuinely enjoying her time with ray and being able to relate to him, but refusing to believe him when he said how corrupt the rfa was. it wasn't until ray sent the email to 707, and eun-jeong saw he seemed to enjoy the pain he was causing, that she began to wish that she could leave him and the 'paradise' he promised.

#yeah idk what it is about this route that made me want to make an oc #like jumin is my fave charac but something about v's route just draws me in so much\ #also how many art styles can i go through in a week lol #apologies if i got the korean for her name wrong #yam draws

[achronicghost]

Big TW for suicide attempts and ideation.

I don't really know what to say about this. It's just weird seeing it all together. I couldn't find anything for 2017 or 2019 but I don't think I forgot, maybe I just didn't post about it. Though in 2017 I did mildly OD again a couple days before the 10th, but it wasn't consciously anything to do with this, nor was it another attempt.

I don't necessarily get triggered by the date anymore, but I do get really sad and have an urge to close myself off for the day. I guess it gets easier, but not really? I don't know.

-a chronic ghost

Transcript under the cut:

10th September 2012: so, obviously, I am not dead. God I feel like a failure.

10th September 2013: My suicide attempt was exactly a year ago. Wow. I wish I could tell myself that I would get friends. I would learn social skills, my speech would get a lot better... I wish I hadn’t gotten that desperate because now, a year on, I can see that I should never have attempted this. Of course, it may have been necessary to get me the help I needed and do have, but yeah. you get my point? wait it out because it gets so much better. maybe not the best but it’s worth waiting for.

10 September 2014: Oh. Yeah. I forgot. 2 years since I tried the first time idk. Uh life has not really gotten better in fact I did a full 360 how about that. as in off meds again, unstable as hell and self destructive just in a different way. oooh and i still kind of want to die.

10 September 2015: Its the 3rd year anniversary of when I first attmepted lol. Its also suicide prevention day (week??). And idk. Seeing the word everywhere is triggering.

10 September 2016: Why am i still alive why didnt i succeed back then. I wish i had something inspiring to say like ‘im glad i didnt die lol life is worth it xxxx’ but nah i just feel guilty for still being alive and not being actively suicidal anymore

10 September 2017

No entry available

10 September 2018

man im all kinds of fucked up arent i

10 September 2019

No entry available

10 September 2020

haha anyway time 2 force myself to play animal crossing.

im gonna catch bugs til i fall asleep n forget sept 10th exists

10 September 2021

Fuck I almost made it through the day without realising the date

#achronicghost #journal excerpts #suicide #suicidal ideation #suicide attempt #2012 #2013 #2014 #2015 #2016 #2017 #2018 #2019 #2020 #2021 #september 2012 #september 2013 #september 2014 #september 2015 #september 2016 #september 2017 #september 2018 #september 2019 #september 2020 #september 2021 #september 10

[jiggie]

oh jeez i found my public suicide attempt and i....... 

why is this still up on the internet.......... i was so out of it at that point i did not even describe waht was happening at all dGNSGNDG i remember being like oh fuck.... i just came on here like an asshole to die and i didnt even say bye to my friends so i wrote some  like half legible goodbye post specifically for my guys before i got caught and was rushed to the hospital?? FMGDSKG????? 

#suicide 0 #IM SAFE BUT IM TALKIGN ABT A PREVIOUS SUICIDE ATTMEPT SO BE CAREFYL????????????

[goffilolo]

The ghost AU: izuku dies from the jump Still drinks quil and fucks with shin tho

i honestly dont ever remember why i drew izuku as a ghost. the white colour is on his head wound form the fall so i suppsoe, but then again is till drew him with long hair, so maybe he died again some time after? maybe like an angst scenario where he had a relapse and attmepted suicide again, this time succeeding. the ghost fo izuku haunts shin and bakugou to this day

#demise!au #ghost!au

[helenakilledtheblog]

I binged for the first time in 3 weeks

My cousin attmepted suicide. I had to. I didnt know what else to do. I hope i havent lost all my progress.

#mia #ana #thinspo

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

New Normal Sharks

My brother-in-law Rocky is a Harley ridin' outdoorsman. One day we asked his wife Judy if Rocky watches a lot of teevee. Judy said "How many times a year is Shark Week broadcast? "

Sharks

Always a new normal for sharks.

They used to be swimming around minding their own business or being a cool gang name for West Siders rumbling with Jets. Then Peter Benchley came along followed by Stephen Spielberg and all of a sudden sharks became public enemy number one. We sent out the vigilantes who slaughtered sharks at an unprecedented rate far in excess of the feeding that sharks were doing on humans.

Next thing ya know, there was Saturday Night Live with the Land Shark. Women would hear a knock on their apartment door and when they asked who was there, they got an unintelligible answer until they opened the door and were immediately devoured by a walking shark.

Now sharks were a joke.

Still the one sided war between sharks and sharkhunters persisted.

Next was Sharkboy....a kid with fins who had shark superpowers.

Shark as half human hero.

Then gigantic, super-intelligent sharks like the one who devoured/interrupted Sam Jackson smack dab in the middle of Sam's rousing speech about how if everybody worked together they could defeat the sharks.

Then the jokes...

What's the difference between a bass and a shark?

A shark is a hundred times bigger than a bass and is trying to devour you.

Then shark week

Then Sharknado Thousands of sharks flying through the air and devouring people as they flew into business offices or dropped on washed up actors from out of the sky. Sharknado became a sensation and was the genesis for at least five successors.

Sharks were a big hit on cable.

Last week, we saw the two latest iterations in the new normal of sharkdom.

The first was a "film" on SYFY called Zombie Shark. Yep, once again a scientist trying to save the world accidentally creates another super shark who has the ability to come back from the dead and thus destroy human civilization. Not only does the shark come back from the dead but also people that he devours come back as regurgitated zomboids. Furthermore, the shark is named Bruce in homage to Speilberg's mechanized shark in Jaws (named after Stephen's lawyer) has the ability to communicate with other sharks and has started a herd of contagious zombie sharks who are intent on devouring a tiki bar. The patrons of the tiki bar decide to fight back again to rescue humanity using chain saws and weedwhackers.The tiki bar bartender attmepts a Sam Jackson Henry the Fifth at Agincourt speech as they foolishly prepare to attack the sharks in the water. He warns the human army..."Don't get bit....If they bite you, you'll turn into a zombie."

On my couch, I ad libbed/improvised the next exhortation

"But if YOU bite THEM.......

Lynn finished it off

"They'll turn into morons."

We started laughing as we tried to imagine the behaviour of moron Zombie sharks.

The movie swam/sank on to its final inxeplicable resolution.

Another new normal in shark world.

Finally, we rented the new version of Suicide Squad starring Idris Alba. Margot Robbie. John Cena and Sylvester Stallone. We kept waiting for Stallone to show up. He never showed up until the cast of credits revealed that Stallone was the gigantic walking shark god who was really a ferocious fish out of water looking for new friends.

Yup...good old Sly Stallone was trying to save his career playing a gigantic, walking, talking, heroic, sympathetic shark. Pretty sure that in the next new normal, Stallone's Supershark will get a movie of his own...perhaps fighting off zombie moron sharks as they attempt to swim up Niagara Falls to spawn in Canada as they attempt to get the hell out of Buffalo.

Can't wait.

Sharky 2, 3,4, and 5.

Pretty sure Rocky's gonna tune in, if he's not out fishing or shooting into a barrel.

[brunhiddensmusings]

current status- talking someone down from suicide attmepts

[ao3feed4reylo]

via AO3 works tagged 'Star Wars - All Media Types' read it on AO3 at http://ift.tt/2GsH1I4 INTPSlytherin_reylove97

by INTPSlytherin_reylove97

At nineteen, Ben Solo dropped out of college, was diagnosed with depression, and was sent to live with his godparents, Jyn and Cassian Andor- Erso. He thought he would hate it, but for once in his life he has a place to call home. A companion fic to ‘Trusting December’.

Words: 605, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Of the Seasons

Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen

Characters: Rey (Star Wars), Cassian Andor, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Jyn Erso, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker

Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Young Rey, Sort of Reylo, But because they are together in the future, Jyn and Cassian Parents of the Year, Mention of Suicide Attmept

read it on AO3 at http://ift.tt/2GsH1I4

#IFTTT #AO3 works tagged 'Star Wars - All Media Types' #Kylo Ren/Rey #Reylo #TheLastJedi #StarWars #R

[thesleepy1]

Bundle Of Joy

A/N: A nine hour shift and five hours of sleep later, this fic is based off of a headcanon by @riddlersboyfriend Go blame him for the angst because it's not my fault this time! Hahaha, the power I hold and the lack of sleep behind my eyes makes a perfect combination for fic writing. Unbeta’d because of obvious reasons. :D

“i am currently thinking VERY hard about a post-reichenbach mormor au where,,, idk, sebastian finds a baby?? somewhere?? decides to raise them?? just sad heartbroken sebastian putting his all into caring for this tiny little scrap because he doesn't know what else to do (help me)”

Pairings: past Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Summary: Jim Moriarty is dead, Sebastian had people confirm it. With his handler gone, there isn’t much reason to go on. Picking up a gun is too difficult for Sebastian these days so he decides on a high bridge, but before he can go through with it the sound of a crying baby draws his attention from the railing.

Word count: 4,688

Warnings: post-reichenbach, suicide attempt, alcohol abuse, smoking abuse, mention of child death, foul lanague,

It was cold and foggy, that much Sebastian could recall from that night. Windy from his memories, because he had forgone a coat, he was planning on jumping off a bridge, a coat was useless in that situation. The cold was accepted. The sound of the river far underneath him could be heard because of the ungodly time or night. Or very early in the morning. Sebastian couldn’t tell before and he could hardly tell now.

There was frost on the railings, so cold underneath his hands that his fingers grew numb. Sebastian didn’t know why, but he had chosen to do this sober. Less chance of surviving the fall if he had to guess. A good beer would only loosen his body, he’s survived car crashes before from over drinking. Best if he did this quickly, no need to prolong his suffering anymore than he had.

Jim had granted him some extra years that he would not have originally given himself, and while they were not the happiest of memories, he had lived a life worth giving a damn about. Not enough to keep the great consulting criminal alive, but enough to look back upon and think, “I did this, I’ve lived this life.” Not anything to be proud of by any means, but it was a life worth considering.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons Sebastian hesitated then, on the other side of the railing. Or perhaps it had been the sound of a shrieking baby.

His head had whipped around, assuming that some mother on a late walk was trying to convince him not to take his own life. But he came up short. There was no one there, just the endless sound of tears and a scream that belonged to powerful lungs. It just won’t stop, the crying. The tears from this helpless thing that he could not see. He was going insane, that was the only explanation. The shrieks of the babe sounded too much like the ones in his own head, the sharp thrill of it that assaulted his ear drums.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

The crying didn’t stop, instead it was spurred on by his yelling. Sebastian didn’t know why but he swung his leg back over the railing to investigate where exactly the noise was coming from. Quite frankly he had nothing better to do and he could jump off the bridge at any given time. This mere intervention won’t take long to deal with.

He walked the concrete path besides the road, hand on the railing so when he was done looking around he could fling himself over with a jump. The rush of water against his ears would be a welcomed sound instead of the racket of some overgrown sperm. The relief of it would have him smiling.

“Mama!”

Sebastian followed the distinct word like a bloodhound, the babe’s voice becoming more and more clear as he neared a little wicker basket next to a rubbish bin. It was stereotypically really, something out of one of Jim’s dramatic French films. An abandoned baby in a basket.

But it wasn’t a baby. At least not anymore. Sebastian didn’t have much experience with kids, except with his younger brother. But they were twins with a smacking difference of twelve minutes. However, Sebastian knew enough to know that this was at the very least a toddler, a no less than a year old kid.

That someone had left to die next to a literal trash can.

The kid looked up at Sebastian when he approached. She had these big beady brown eyes filled with tears that made her look so small. They drew you in like quick sand and before Sebastian knew it, he was stuck. He stared at her as much as she stared at him. Her dark brown hair was ear length, matted and covered with dirt and grime. There were little puncture wounds on her earlobes like she had earrings once upon a time; but there was a slight tear at the edge as if they were so hastily removed that her ears were a little ripped. Someone must have been very desperate to be so rash with a little kid that could barely talk.

Sebastian’s fists curled at the state this kid was left in. Even her clothes looked like patchworked rags with poorly sewn seams. Tears made streaks through a dirty face. The night was so cold without a drink. It felt numbing with a jacket a size too large. The kid must be paralyzed. Anger radiated off of Sebastian before he knew what he was doing, a low frustration growl left his chest.

How dare they be abandoned.

The little girl sucked in a breath at the noise Sebastian made. He imagined what he must look like to her, a big, tall, scary blonde white man with enough scars on his face to be mistaken for a pin cushion. But instead of bursting into more tears like most people did, most grown adults did, her mouth curled up into a smile before the most heart wrenching sound had Sebastian on the ground.

Sebastian Moran picked up the little kid with as much care as a train assassin had. He cradled her close to his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin. She laughed again against the funny feeling of his months-old beard. It was contagious, her snuggling close and laughing as if she was not left for dead. This kid barely learned how to process words and she was already twice the man Sebastian will ever be. Sebastian joined her laughter, the sound was so foreign in his mouth that he surprised himself with the sound.

“Joy Moran isn’t that bad of a name, is it?”

-----

Sebastian’s flat was not equipped to handle a kid. It was hardly equipped to handle him on a good day and with how long he had been without Jim, his house was in a worse state than he was. Which was saying a lot because he had just adopted a kid from the dumpster.

Suffice to say, some changes had to be made.

Sebastian had brought the basket from the bridge. He’d made a note to burn it after he got a better carrier but for now that was where Joy was currently laying down for a nap. Her own clothes were dirtier than he was after missions so they had to go. For the time being Joy was wrapped up in his own clothes, the few clean ones still left hanging. He left her on his sofa after clearing away some of the beer bottles for room.

Then he turned up the radiator and began the most torturous thing known to man, cleaning after his own mess.

Joy softly cooed in her sleep and while it was the cutest thing, she was no help to Sebastian. “Traitor,” he muttered under his breath so as not to wake her.

Blaming a toddler wasn’t going to make himself feel any better, so for the first time in a long time, Sebastian did something for himself. He went around his small flat picking up trash; beer bottles to six different brands because the depressed man needed variety, too many empty cigarette boxes, the butts themselves, old take-out boxes to the three same places that had grown mold, dirty laundry, and the most important thing to pick up, his weapons.

By the time he had locked all of his equipment in the space between the walls the glaring sun was up. It was around noon if Sebastian had to guess. Never being the type of person inclined to cleaning, it had taken him much longer than most to go through the list of chores, cleaning the dishes, tidying the kitchen, making his bed, doing the laundry, and onwards. A truly endless list that Sebastian gained respect for the people who did this on a daily basis.

Fortunately, Joy had slept through it all, surprisingly soundless when she had made it very evident that she had a voice that demanded to be heard. She was just silent through it all. Sebastian didn’t vacuum because he was afraid to wake her, but he wasn’t being quiet either. Worry grew from the pit of his stomach like a lead beanstalk. He had never ran so quickly to the couch, to the too still wicker basket with Joy laying in the middle wrapped in his clothes.

Silence. He couldn’t hear a single coo or little baby gurgle. No movement. Sebastian reached out his trembling hands, pulling the bundle of clothes and the still body out of the basket. Sunshine came in through the open windows, but Sebastian felt as cold as the early morning. She was so small. And Sebastian could count the times he held her on one hand. They had only known each other for hours, perhaps half a day, but Sebastian had hoped for more.

He-

He thought he had more time. That he would watch this little bundle of goodness grow into her own person. Watched as she experienced the world and made it her own, watch the light in her big brown teddy bear eyes. Be her guide when he was without anyone to confide in, be the person he had needed when he was young. Make damn sure that she had the best life that he could provide because this kid deserved the world and more. When Sebastian needed her the most she was there. And the babe didn’t even realize it, couldn’t even comprehend how much she meant to him in such a short amount of time.

Sebastian was violently shaking. His little bundle of joy. Why wasn’t he allowed this one mercy? When so many before him had done what he did, had killed more than he could begin to imagine. Worse men who twisted and nurtured human greed and malice like animals; who’ve done so much worse. Why did they get to feel like they belong? Why did those monsters get to feel loved and remembered? All Sebastian wanted was to do one good thing. One selfish, greedy thing.

Tears fell from his eyes as he brushed the dark wisps of her hair from her face. Dirt still clung to her face, the tear streaks showing soft brown skin underneath. Sebastian brushed the grime from her chubby cheeks, his burning tears trickling down to her face. Once the tears had started, they couldn't stop. He was sobbing, sucking in air like he was drowning and in a way he was already dying.

“I’m- I’m so sorry,” he croaked to the babe in his arms, to the little bundle who shone like glass in the sunlight. “I didn’t mean for it to end this way. I’m so sorry, Joy. I couldn’t do more for you.”

The loudest sneeze Sebastian had ever heard made his heart fly out of his chest. Joy was so small but her lungs were too big for her little toddler body. She took one look at Sebastian’s hideous crying face and began shrieking herself. Sebastian had never been happier to hear her cry.

“It’s okay, Joy, it's okay,” he cooed in a soft voice he didn’t know he was capable of. The crying must have done someone to his voice box. “Papa’s got you.” He gently rocked her as he stood up. “No one can hurt you,” he soothed, walking over to his quaint kitchen. The kitchen sink was filled halfway with warm water and soapy, scented bubbles for sensitive skin. Sebastian had once liked to treat, had cared about how his skin smelt and felt.

“We’re going to get you cleaned up, okay?” Sebastian made sure the water wasn’t too hot and gently set Joy in the sink. He wiped his tears away with a dish rag and faced his little bundle of joy with a soft smile on his face. It contoured his scars in a funny way, he knew from pictures Jim had kept on his phone. Joy seemed to like it as well because she had stopped crying in favor of splashing bubbles onto Sebastian to keep the smile one his face. “Papa loves you so much, kiddo.”

-----

There used to be a time where Sebastian was hyper aware of time. The very passage of it he could feel under his feet, the turning of the world made known by the twisting sun and moon. Every second was accounted for, his way of coping then. A little stopwatch to see how long he could last before the thought of some good, strong rope became too tempting to pass up. But with Joy Moran in his life, time flew by in the blink of an eye. A year had passed since the day Joy had entered his life and he barely felt it.

He could see it though; could hear it every morning when he woke up, every afternoon when he ate, every night before he went to bed. In the blink of an eye Joy had grown a year older. She ran through their little flat any chance she got, she sang from the top of her lungs so everyone could hear, and she grabbed for anything she could get her little hands on. And for a two year old with a pair of lungs twice the size they needed to be, she was quite quiet when she wanted to be.

Especially, when a stranger with her papa’s face showed up at the door.

“What’s wrong, Bundle?” Sebastian asked from his hiding place behind the currents. He had yet to win a round of hide-and-seek ever, and while Joy liked to go easy on him in the fourth round or so just to make things fair, she was never this quiet when they played. “Joy?” Sebastian called out again, leaving his hiding place in favor of going down to his knees to be on Joy’s level. “Everything alright?”

Joy shook her head, the ribbons that Sebastian spent too long on flapping like bunny ears. “You’re at the door,” she whispered, which was an occurrence once in a leap year.

“I’m right here, Bundle,” Sebastian tried to reassure, pulling her in for a hug just to prove his point. He let go and patted her head teasingly. “Do you want me to hide in the doorway?” Sebastian joked, glancing at the door just as the handle turned.

In a heartbeat Sebastian had Joy in his arms and sprinted to the wall where his equipment was kept. He positioned himself against a corner with a vantage point over the door and the windows, a loaded handgun sliding into his waiting hand after he pounded the wall. Joy hid her face in the nook of his neck, her arms wrapped around his neck. How she had known there was someone at the door when even Sebastian hadn’t heard the tell tale signs was a topic for a different day. Right now, his focus was on the intruder that could pick his locks without making even the smallest of sounds.

“You should-”

Sebastian pulled the trigger before he realized who was in the doorway. Joy shook in his arms in fear but she held in her yell like a champ, not giving herself away to the enemy. He was so damn proud. And even more impressed that she wasn’t joking when she said he was at the door. Sebastian guessed a part of him was.

Severin Moran kneeled in their doorway, getting his blood all over their shiny purple rug. Joy had picked it out herself. “I love you too, fucking cockhole,” cursed Sebastian’s twin.

“Oh, dear, I heard a gunshot. Is everyone alright?” came Richard’s voice from down the hallway before the man came into view. “My god! Severin, what happened to you?”

“That fucker shot me!”

“Hey, watch your mouth. There’s a kid here,” Sebastian scolded, putting the safety on his gun and tucking it back from where it came. With his free hand, he rubbed soothing circles on Joy’s back. She didn’t make a peep, still wary of the pair in the doorway. “Shhh, it's okay, Bundle. They’re family.”

“Awww, Sebby,” Richard grinned like a puppy, ignoring the fact that Severin was still hissing on the floor. “You think of me like family?”

“You two are married, right? Or did I have to spend six months planning a wedding for nothing?”

“They’re married, Papa,” Joy piped up, her silent spell forgotten in exchange for pointing out the obvious. Though for someone who only had two years of experience in the world, it was quite impressive. Joy turned her head to face Sebastian head on, urging her papa to listen to her. “Look, look, they have rings!” She pointed at Richard’s left hand and the golden band around his finger. “Ten karat gold, I think, because the diamonds are placed all weird.”

Three sets of surprised eyes whipped to the little girl in Sebastian’s arms. She tugged at her ribbons to straighten them without a mirror. Richard’s dark beetle eyes widened in recognition, the two Moran twins had their mouths slightly ajar, confusion painted their faces as reflections. “Kind of cheap,” Joy stuck out her tongue in disgust. “Get a pretty blue diamond on a silver ring next time. Those are pretty.”

“Next time?” Severin asked in confusion, his hands clutching at his leg to stop the bleeding. “What do you mean next time?” The younger blonde shook his head, whipping away sweat using his sleeve. “Kid, it was a miracle I pulled him,” he pointed to Richard who closed the door shut behind them. “Do you really think anyone else would put up with me?”

“Everyday I’m surprised he hasn’t strangled you in your sleep,” Sebastian chuckled, tousling Joy’s hair. Her little hands smacked his hand away when they got too close to her ribbons.

“Believe me, I’ve been tempted,” Richard said in a mock serious tone, walking over to get the medkit from underneath the couch. Sebastian always had it fully stocked, just in cases like these. This was hardly the first time Severin had tried to break into his flat. The previous time Sebastian smashed half a dozen beer bottles over Severin’s head before the dumbass took the hint and left. Richard was more than qualified to patch his husband up at this point.

“Nuh-uh!” Joy shook her head, crossing her arms at the implication. “You’ve never been. You love him.”

“You’re not wrong, kid,” Severin said between huffs of pain as Richard ripped off a section of Severin’s pants with the swiss army knife Severin kept in his pocket. The ruined cloth came out with crude drippings of red. Richard positioned himself so his back was to Sebastian, using his body as a cover so Joy didn’t have to see his impromptu surgery. “But you don’t even know who I am. I didn’t even know Sebastian went out and got some b-”

“Don’t make me wash your mouth,” Sebastian warned, the teasing tone in his voice all gone. Severin knew damn well that Sebastian was a man of his word. They had grown up together after all.

His twin rolled his eyes, gladly taking the balled up rag into his mouth. Richard was quick and experienced with his hands. He had the bullet out in a matter of minutes, the stinking little thing landing on the destroyed rug. “First you don't tell us you have a kid. Second, you don’t tell us how much of a push over it made you? I thought we were friends, Sebastian.”

Joy nodded and hummed in agreement. “Papa can be a stick in the mud sometimes.”

“Who told you that?”

“The lady that takes your money. But she used words you don’t want me to use. She’s pretty mean, Papa. I bit her once.”

Richard finished up wrapping the wound on Severin’s leg, getting up to clean the mess they had made. “Haha, she’s definitely a Moran,” Severin laughed, letting Richard wipe me off without his usual complaint.

“Of course I am,” Joy stated proudly.

Richard smiled at that, wiping his hands clean with a rag and warm water. “I believe introductions are in order.” He raised an eyebrow at Sebastian to object. The older Moran twin merely sighed in resignation knowing when he was defeated. If only he was defeated with a knock at the door instead of his brother bleeding out in the doorway. “I’m Richard Moran, but you can call me Richie. It's nice to finally meet you.”

Richard held out his hand to shake. Joy took his hand in her small one and turned it over, tracing every line with her free hand. Richard allowed her to analyze his hand, curious to see what she could deduce.

“Was it your mama or auntie’s banoffee pie recipe?” Joy asked curiously, a knowing glint in her big brown eyes.

Richard had seen the look before. Oftentimes when he had looked in the mirror. And many more times when watching his twin. “It was my mother’s sister's recipe,” Richard answered, “But you already knew that.”

“Did you bring any for me?” Joy asked hopefully, eyes darting around Richard and Severin’s persons for the tooth rotting pie. Severin held out his hands to show her he had nothing. She slumped in disappointment at being overlooked. “Next time you cover over, please bring some for me. Oh! And you could draw my name with caramel. My name’s Joy, J-O-Y.”

“Joy, huh?” Severin tried the name out, “Well, I guess I’m Uncle Severin.” Severin shook his head lightly, “How old are you, kid?”

“Two!” Joy held out two fingers to show Severin who was still on the ground.

“You didn’t tell me about my own fucking niece for two whole years?” This was to a guilty Sebastian.

A dark look clouded Sebastian’s eyes. He let Joy back down on the ground. His whole body held in a breath like a prisoner, body as tense as rope pulled taunt. “Just a year,” he replied gruffly, taking the ruined rug to throw out. “I’ve only had her for a year. After-” he released the breath and sucked it back in. “After Jim was gone, I didn’t know where to go. Found her on a bridge.” The implication was clear enough, Sebastian didn’t need to explain further. He left the room to deal with the mess he had made.

“You made him upset,” Joy said clearly to the couple that remained. “You got to go and say sorry.”

“He made me upset too, Joy,” Severin told the girl, taking a swig of the bottle that Richard brought to clean his wound. “I kind of want to be a part of my brother’s life. Especially after what he went through with the boss,” Severin continued absentmindedly.

At that a thoughtful, yet unreadable look passed Joy. Richard couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or something else, perhaps something dangerous if she shared more similarities with him than he had originally speculated. Richard had never seen that expression before but there was a first time for everything and he was not one to underestimate an ally. “Do you know who the boss is?” Richard tested the waters before the shark returned.

Joy hummed out a non committal tune, considering whether or not to answer Richard. The two year old was more strategic than most historical generals alive decades before she was born. “I do, a little bit,” she said vaguely, eyeing the empty space where her chosen rug had sat. “But Papa doesn’t let me know more.” Her gaze returned to Richard’s, big brown eyes met beady black ones. “Papa doesn’t want to remember. But you know him, don’t you, uncle Richie?”

“Tell me more about the boss.”

-----

Sebastian had been warned that babies didn’t get much sleep, but he was never warned about three year olds with too much energy for their own good. He had never gotten much sleep in his years working as an assassin for hire, the process of sleeping for more than a several hours a night was too taxing on his heart. But nowadays he was lucky to get an hour or two before the little pitter patter of footsteps announced the present of the queen of the flat and her need for attention.

Sebastian loved Joy more than the world itself, but he sure did miss his sleep. “Good,” he looked at his bedside to see the time of night. Or more accurately day. What kind of three year old woke up at five in the god forsaken morning? “Morning, Bundle.”

“Papa! Papa,” Joy frantically greeted with a grin and shouts followed by leaps into the air. If Sebastian wasn’t so tired, he would be thoroughly amused.

“Joy, Joy!”

“Come, come! There’s someone like me!” With that she spirited out of the bedroom without a care for the people living downstairs.

It had been a little over a year since Joy’s first meeting with Severin and Richard and ever since then it had been harder to ignore that Joy was a little different from toddlers her age. For one she could speak in proper sentences with vocabulary that Sebastian needed a dictionary to understand when she wanted to, just to mess with him. For another, she could read and write things Sebastian didn’t even learn in his last year of school before deploying, much to her teachers' joy and dismay. She simply saw the world differently from he did and there was nothing wrong with that. It just meant that Sebastian got to have a slightly different fatherly experience.

Like waking up at five in the morning to his three year old toddler turning on the news of all things.

“Look, look!” Joy eagerly pointed at the telly, the flashing lights blinding in the near dark room. On the new channel the tagline had Sebastian grabbing at the walls to stable himself. “Famed Detective Returns From The Dead '' Footage of the damned man flashed onto the screen as if to rub in Sebastian’s face.

He looked the same. He looked healthy even. Alive.

Breathing.

Alive.

“Do you see him, Papa? He’s like me!” Joy’s excited tone brought Sebastian back to the world of the living. Her smile made his heart both freeze and burn out of his chest. “Oh, look at him! He’s like me! He’s looking and seeing. He’s watching the camera all funny but he’s really staring at the cameraman that fancies him. Like- like Uncle Richie and Uncle Severin. But he doesn't like the cameraman like that, of course. He likes his doctor.” Joy laughed hauntingly at her own joke and the familiarity of it made Sebastian want to reach for a gun at his hostler that hadn’t been there for a long time.

“He’s like me, but...he’s kind of slow,” Joy said mournfully, saddened by this realization. “I knew before I turned on the telly that the cameraman was obsessed with him. He carries the camera in a certain way. Have you noticed that too Papa?” Joy didn’t wait for a reply before continuing, “Like he was trying to impress someone, “Look at me! Look at how strong I am. Look at how I stupidly edge near danger, how daring!” Do you think his boss knows he kills so he has something to show on the camera?” Joy looked at Sebastian expectantly for an answer. She still saw him as an equal, as someone worth confiding in and that fact alone had Sebastian scooping her up in a bone aching hug.

“I’m sure the cameraman makes it very obvious. Most first timers do,” Sebastian explained, subtlety wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Oh, they do! They do, Papa! The cameraman makes it too obvious, but he’s still a cameraman. Someone’s letting him play. Someone wants him to keep playing.” Joy clapped her hands like she was watching Sunday morning cartoons. “Do you think it's the boss?”

Sebastian didn’t have to ask about which boss she was talking about. He merely shrugged because he didn’t know.

#post reichenbach #attmepted suicide #death tw #tw sui thoughts #tw suidice #alcohlism #alcohol #addiction #smoking #mention of child death #foul language #mormor #sebastian moran #sebastian moran bbc #bbc sherlock fanfiction #richard moriarty #richard brooke #richard brook #severin moran #severich #bbc severich #oc tag #occ #original child character #prompt fill #headcanon fill #Joy Moran

[myparty]

i wws watching a show and there was a suicide attmept and they c*t annd there was no warning and now im cryin g i dontn know why it triggered me so hard this timme im so desensitized to it

#i see my scars all thh time and it deosnt make me cry or panic but #seeing sommeone who was playing out the dramatic suicide attempt stereotype made me like #freak out bc i look like thhat to othern ppl #im sorru i dnt know why im postinng abt tjis #i justg #suicide m #self harm m

[alittlelifenovelquotes]

***TRIGGER WARNING: Suicidal thoughts/actions*** (with hopeful conclusion) 

“But what Andy never understood about him was this: he was an optimist. Every month, every week, he chose to open his eyes, to live another day in the world. He did it when he was feeling so awful that sometimes the pain seemed to transport him to another state, one in which everything, even the past that he worked so hard to forget, seemed to fade into a gray watercolor wash. He did it when his memories crowded out all other thoughts, when it took real effort, real concentration, to tether himself to his current life, to keep himself from raging with despair and shame. He did it when he was so exhausted of trying, when being awake and alive demanded such energy that he had to lie in bed thinking of reasons to get up and try again, when it would be much easier to go to the bathroom and untape the plastic zipped bag containing his cotton pads and loose razors and alcohol wipes and bandages from its hiding place beneath the sink and simply surrender. Those were the very bad days.

It really had been a mistake, that night before New Year's Eve when he sat in the bathroom drawing the razor across his arm: he had been half asleep still; he was normally never so careless. But when he realized what he had done, there had been a minute, two minutes-he had counted—when he genuinely hadn't known what to do, when sitting there, and letting this accident become its own conclusion, seemed easier than making the decision himself, a decision that would ripple past him to include Willem, and Andy, and days and months of consequences.

He hadn't known, finally, what had compelled him to grab his towel from its bar and wrap it around his arm, and then pull himself to his feet and wake Willem up. But with each minute that passed, he moved further and further from the other option, the events unfolding themselves with a speed he couldn't control, and he longed for that year right after the injury, before he met Andy, when it seemed that everything might be improved upon, and that his future self might be something bright and clean, when he knew so little but had such hope, and faith that his hope might one day be rewarded.”

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

Part II: The Postman. Chapter 1, pgs. 143-144

#a little life #hanya yanagihara #quote #suicide #suicide attmept #depression #despair #hopelessness #pain #trauma #past #suicidal thoughts #choice #hope #going on #moving on

[animetrashchild]

I am going to ask myself the aesthetic asks because no one else will: Part 5

Painting: what is the best halloween costume you have put together? If none, make one up. I made a corset for a Red Riding Hood costume once which was pretty cool. This year I am hopefully going to do Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle.

Lighting: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done while drunk or high? Me and my ex got back together whilst high on MD but I wouldn’t say that was a bad thing. I have attmepted suicide whilst drunk and done some really fucked up things that impacted other people rather than myself which I wish I hadn’t done.

Thunder: what’s one thing you would never do for one million dollars? Give away 2 million dollars? This is not the best question because there is a lot I wouldn’t do for one milion that I would do for more.

Storms: You can only listen to one song for the rest of your life, or only see one person for the rest of your life. Which and why? I would only listen to one song and it would probably be Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd. I couldn’t choose between Leo, Ollie and my mum.They are my closest friends and I love them all so much in different ways.

Love: have you ever fallen in love? Describe what it feels like to realise you’re in love. It feels like waking up for the first time and dreaming the best dream all at once. It is like feeling weightless and complete. They are fireworks on bonfire night, they are a rainbow, they are the brightest stars, the prettiest flowers, the most memorable of sunsets. It was like being hit in the face with a train at full speed and enjoying it. It was like jumping face first off a cliff and not caring what was below. It was the most amazing thing I ever felt, knowing that I was in love with someone and they were in love with me. Until they weren’t. And that is the worst feeling

Clouds: if you’re a boy, would you ever rock black nail polish? If you’re a girl, would you ever rock really really short hair? I’ve rocked really short hair twice in my life and although I like it I prefer my hair being really long.

Coffee: what’s your Starbucks order, and who do you trust to order for you, if anyone? Preferably nothing because I think the company is scum but if I had no choice I would order one of those mango passion fruit frappachinos and I would trust my mum and Leo to order it for me because they’d tell the barrista my name was mermaid or something

Marble: what is the most importat thing to you in your life right now? Honestly, my mental health and happiness. I am so fed up of being unhappy and wanting to die that I am making an effort to be happier and do things that make me feel better.

Le fin.

#aesthetic questions #my life #i honestly spent like 3 hours on this #i don't know why #sorry #josey talks