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#cw: suicide ideation

smuttyandabsurd · 2 months

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Off Days (England x Greece)

Title: Off Days Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, Greece; England/Greece, minor America/England Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Suicidal Thoughts Summary: After Alfred's death, Arthur is left with a void in his life, and he goes to Greece to relive the memories of their last holiday together. There he meets Herakles, a young Greek man who unexpectedly guides him to a path of healing.

This fic has been in WIP hell for 10 years, but I finally found the push to finish it. Originally written as a follow-up to an even older fic The Ghost of You.

Thank you @cluster-bi and @all-turns-to-moss for your help and insight.

Read it on AO3.

The phones were ringing all around, and Arthur kneaded his forehead as he weathered through a viciously abusive barrage from an irate customer.

“Sir, please lower your voice or I will be forced to terminate this call.”

When the customer screeched at him for being a stupid script-reading monkey (“Sir, please try to keep this conversation civil...”), told him to fuck off (“…this is your second warning…”), and finally, to go kill yourself, he ended the call with a tight-voiced, “I am terminating this call. Please call again when you can hold a professional conversation. Good day.”

He hung up and punched in an idle code before the phone could ring again, then rose to his feet. Fifteen minutes, he signalled to his harried-looking team leader who gave a terse nod.

It was not as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before. He had thought of it, repeatedly, but only as a shadow which he had never voiced aloud. He did not have to do it now that a customer had said it for him: Go kill yourself!

His walk in the bitter spitting cold brought him to his usual haunt, a pedestrian overpass stretched across a busy road at the back of the office building. He leaned against the railings, nursing a Styrofoam cup of milky tea from the vending machine. A tonne truck blared as it bounced along under the bridge. He wondered what it would feel like to fall under those wheels.

Vaguely, on an unconscious impulse, he stepped onto the bottom rung of the railings and leaned all his weight forward. All that stopped him from falling now was a thin sheet of rusting metal digging into his hips.

It felt… wrong. It felt very wrong, and a primal survival instinct screamed at him to step back!

No, no. If he was going to do it, he was going to do it right. He would do it on his own terms, which was most certainly not at the back of a dilapidated office building at the behest of some prick over the phone.

Ten minutes later, he was back at his desk filing for a two-week holiday request. His team leader would have to approve it; it was getting near the end of the business year, and holidays were not transferable over to the next.

He spent the rest of the day looking up cheap flights to Greece in between phone calls.

It was stiflingly hot when he landed in Heraklion International Airport. Mercifully, an air-conditioned coach had been arranged to shuttle him and other tourists to their lodgings for the week. They sped past brown scrubs and fields of olive trees with the sea looming to the left, lapping mutedly under a harsh afternoon sun.

Arthur closed his eyes, feeling a wave of nausea as the coach hurtled along. He imagined Alfred beside him, combing warm gentle fingers through his sweat-dampened hair and murmuring comforting endearments.

“You’re going to be alright, babe.”

There was no Alfred, but he did remember to bring his motion sickness medicine. He took them with a swallow of water before leaning back into his seat with a sigh.

After booking into his room, Arthur dumped his suitcase, stepped out of the compound, and went over to the corner shop he had spotted on the way in.

The shop was well-shaded inside from the sun and dust. He browsed a few souvenirs on display before collecting a fresh bottle of water, a Cornetto ice cream (mint-flavoured, which had been Alfred’s favourite), and a box of Paracetamol. He had to point at the last item through a glass case so the shop owner could retrieve it from behind the counter.

It took some time for the large-built and rather sleepy-eyed Greek to tot everything up on an old cash register before finally intoning, “8 euros 30 cents.”

A cat leapt onto the counter and stretched atop a stack of newspaper as Arthur peeled a tenner from his wallet and handed it over. “Keep the change,” he said.

He was leaving the shop, pulling the Cornetto out of the bag and gritting the tip in between his teeth, when he happened to glance back.

The Greek youth was picking up the cat and cradling it in the crook of a strong tanned arm.

A pleasant sea breeze picked up in the evening, but Arthur was forced to shut the windows against a cloud of mosquitoes.

He had just come out of the shower, the water tasting salty on his skin. Rubbing a towel into his hair, he padded over to the dresser and picked up a box of matches, striking one alight. He lit a few lemon-scented tea lights and spent a few minutes spacing them out around the room as further ward against the mosquitoes.

A tea light was left on the dresser, which sat with a long unflickering flame before a row of pill bottles. Most were painkillers or sleeping pills, but there was also a haphazard collection of cough and cold medicines in blister packs he had dug up from the bathroom cabinet back home. They were all over-the-counter medication he had bought from different drugstores over a period of time.

He took the box of Paracetamol from the corner shop and placed it with the rest. A grim satisfaction settled on his face as he studied the growing pile.

There was also a framed photograph of himself and Alfred leaning on the dresser which had been taken two years ago at the beach. Alfred was handsomely tanned, wearing a white shirt that clung tightly to a soldier’s physique, and his eyes were as blue as the hot Greek summer sky in the backdrop. He had his arm around Arthur as they posed, Arthur standing a little more stiffly but looking just as happy.

He picked up the frame and smiled faintly at the memory of that summer holiday, just before Alfred was dispatched. He gazed longingly at Alfred, wishing he could touch and kiss him and take in his scent – a mixture of fast-food grease and mint chewing gum, and some cheap dreadful deodorant he insisted on using.

“I love you,” Arthur whispered before he could stop himself, a verbal habit resurfacing now that he was back in Greece even though there was no Alfred to reciprocate his love.

He was seeing a lot of the young Greek man from the corner shop.

There were the morning visits for bottled waters and mosquito repellent, and lately he even took to dropping by in the afternoons for refreshments. Half a week flew past in this way. Today was a Thursday and, as evening approached, he found the youth working behind an open bar whilst he was out on a walk along the beach.

Their eyes met and lingered with a familiarity, forest into olive green. It was becoming difficult not to acknowledge him properly after all the times they have seen each other.

He went over to the bar and glanced along the row of beer pumps before deciding on one.

“I’ll have a pint, please,” he said, tapping on his choice.

The youth pulled out a fresh glass. “3 euros,” he said as he pulled him a draft.

“Cheers.”

One pint led to six as the sun dipped and extinguished itself in the ocean. A chill stole silently over the beach, and after two whiskeys and an ouzo shot (courtesy of a high-spirited bar owner), Arthur found himself doubled over a gutter at the front retching up his guts.

The vomiting had started with chunks of a half-digested fish dinner before turning into liquid bile. Shivering and heaving wretchedly, he took turns clinging to a man – young, handsome, firm muscles – and pushing him away, unable to make up his mind.

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with abuse, as the stranger caught him from tripping onto the pavement and into his own vomit.

“Come with me. We will go somewhere quieter.”

He was half-walked, half-dragged out of the bar and back onto the sand, led away from the thumping, pulsing music and partying undergraduates who were drinking themselves into oblivion.

The sea air breezed over Arthur, drying the perspiration that was sticking his clothes to his skin. His head was clearing and his roiling stomach was beginning to settle. After half a minute’s walk, he felt a lot better. He leaned into the stranger’s arms, trusting him a little more.

After some time, they stopped at a piece of driftwood log and sat down. The world was spinning, and Arthur dropped his head into his hands with a low moan.

“Drink this.”

He was offered a bottle of mineral water, ice cold and dripping with condensation with the cap already twisted off. He accepted it gratefully, rinsing out his mouth of vomit and bile before drinking his fill in big greedy gulps.

“Thanks!” he gasped after he had finished.

The stranger took the bottle from him, capped it, and placed it gently in the sand before him.

A cloud cleared from the moon, and Arthur could finally focus on the stranger’s face. It was none other than the Greek youth from the shop and bar. He was still in his bar uniform, smelling of dish soap water and stale cigarettes. He had on his usual stoic face that was not unfriendly.

“What’s your name?” he asked in a deep but youthful voice, his olive-green eyes taking on a soulful solemnity. Arthur felt his heart skip a beat.

“Arthur,” he said, feeling himself flush. “And yours?” he said hurriedly.

“Herakles.”

Like the demigod, Arthur thought to himself. Or he may have thought it out loud as Herakles cracked a soft rare smile, just for him.

They sat on the log together, staring out at the ocean and the slowly lightening sky, letting the gently lapping waves to fill the silence that had formed comfortably between them.

My darling, I am sorry. I do not have the courage. I miss you dreadfully. I love you.

Arthur stared blankly at the words he had written. He was sitting in the balcony of his room and the wind was picking up, causing the corners of his journal’s pages to flap. Sighing, he closed the book and smoothed his hand over the cover.

He had purchased the journal along with a cheap blue Biro for the trip with every intention of writing his will in it. An embarrassing sentiment, in retrospect, considering that he had nothing to his name and hardly anyone that he knew or cared to leave anything to. After a moment, he tossed the journal aside and reached for a tattered paperback. He flipped through the dog-eared pages to get to where he stopped last.

He hadn’t made much headway with the book, but he had every intention of giving a good go of it now that he wasn’t planning on dying anymore.

At some point Arthur must have fallen asleep, for the next moment he awoke with a jolt to find that evening had crept up on him.

He jumped up to his feet and stretched, his body stiff from having lain in the deckchair all afternoon. Stifling a yawn, he padded over to the edge of the balcony and leaned against the railing. The wind from the day had died to a gentle caressing breeze and it felt nice on his sunburnt skin.

Down in the courtyard was a lone figure in knee-length khakis and an unbuttoned shirt circling the swimming pool with a stick. On closer inspection, Arthur made out that the stick had a net at the end which the man was dragging across the surface of the pool to fish out any debris. He watched as the man worked, slightly mesmerised by the ripples forming in the water. Slowly, he recognised the man to be Herakles, the shopkeeper slash barman slash (he supposed?) hotel pool cleaner…

Arthur dashed into his room and straight out the door before he could realise what he was doing. He took the stairs two at a time, his sandals slapping loudly on the concrete steps as he clattered down to the ground floor. He almost slipped on the last stair, his arms windmilling wildly and rather comically to any errant observer, but he righted himself at the last moment, and he continued in the direction of the pool.

His heart beat tightly in his chest as he ran.

Herakles was emptying the net of leaves and twigs when Arthur, gasping and perspiring profusely, burst into the courtyard. The young man watched curiously as Arthur rounded the pool and came to a stop in front of him, his hands on his knees as he stood doubled over and panting.

“Last night, I… I…” Arthur gasped out in between frantic gulps of air.

Gradually, as he caught his breath, and Herakles showed every sign of waiting patiently for him, Arthur pushed himself from his knees and stood up straight.

“Thank you,” he said. “Last night, when you listened to me talk- I, uh… want to thank you. I hope I didn’t come across... well.” He cleared his throat. “I just wanted… to thank you. Yeah.”

He turned and made to slink away, suddenly overcome with embarrassment – god, the boy was only helping out a drunken old fool! – but Herakles grabbed hold of his arm and held him back.

“You are welcome,” Herakles said haltingly, smiling softly. Then a little more solemnly, “Alfred seemed to be a good man. I am sorry for your loss.”

Arthur felt his lips quiver. He sniffed, trying to stave off the prickling in his eyes, but the tears came unbidden and slid noiselessly down his cheeks. He hadn’t realised it, but it had been a long time since anybody had said Alfred’s name out loud to him.

The silent tears gave way to a low keening that seemed to rise from the very depths. His shoulders began to shake. A small sob bubbled up in his throat. Then, like a dam breaking, he was crying. He dropped to his knees, dropped his face into his palms, and began crying in earnest.

Herakles joined him on the ground, his hand rubbing Arthur’s back gently, reassuringly. It was warm and comforting.

#hetalia fanfiction #gruk #usuk #aph england #hws england #aph greece #hws greece #aph america #hws america #cw: character death #cw: suicide ideation #rating: teen #filter: all fics

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tresdem · 5 months

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From the upcoming chapter 26 of Never Shall We Die (hopefully by this weekend)

#our flag means death #our flag means death fanfic #ofmd fanfic #Ed Teach #wip Wednesday #CW: suicide ideation #because Ed is going through it #Backstory fic #Never Shall We Die

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dasmondkuss · 1 month

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No one:

Spring: "I love the concept of Spring cleaning. Isn't it my opportunity to throw myself off a bridge? Spring cleaning is meant to be thorough."

#SON STOP THAT #cw: suicide ideation

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nananarc · 2 years

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Papercut - Trigger Warning: Blood

Continue Reading Below

no im not fine. its everything.

#art #narc art #drawing #illustration #artist #artwork #draw #comic #cw: blood #cw: suicide ideation #cw: suicide

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rosethornewrites · 1 year

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So this is somewhat personal.

I think I’ve alluded to this before, but it’s official.

I quit my job. Resignation effective as of 12/31.

I love teaching. I love my students. I love watching them learn and grow and be creative.

They were, toward the end, the only joy left and not enough to balance out the awful.

Academia is toxic af and if the administration can suck you dry by making promises that never get fulfilled and gaslighting you, they will, particularly if you’re a minority of some flavor, and that’s what happened to me.

I do not have a job lined up. I’ve applied to hundreds and will likely start freelancing as my health permits.

I’m very lucky in that I have a safety net that allows me to do this instead of burning out so completely my suicide ideation turns to something worse.

I don’t have the luxury yet of starting to process the trauma and pain this job has left me with, as I need to move. Once I’m in the embrace of my safety net, I can start to heal.

But I know it will take some time to recover. I have been masking how bad it has been for over two years, because if at any point I let the mask fall, I wouldn’t be able to function on too many levels to survive.

Frankly, I read and write sad fanfiction because it lets me cry to relieve at least a tiny bit of the pent-up pressure. I don’t have the luxury to cry. I write fanfiction about trauma recovery because I don’t have the luxury to process the years-long trauma my job became.

#personal #academia #cw: suicide ideation #mental health

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siancore · 2 years

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CW: Suicide ideation etc. etc.

Existing is so tiring.

Remember I lost my job back in November or whenever it was? I was literally going to kill myself back then. I was in a really bad way. Well, while I was between jobs and trying to live another day, the Taxation Office still expected money from me. Just found out I owe the ATO $4,000.

Another day in the fucking colony.

#cw: suicide ideation #tw: sucidal ideation

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stil-lindigo · 12 days

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lead balloon (the tumblr post that saved me)

if this comic resonated with you, it would mean the world to me if you donated to this palestinian family's escape fund.

no creative notes because this isn't that kind of comic.

I know I don’t owe any of you anything but I still felt compelled to write about my long term absence. And I feel far enough away from the dangerous spot I was in to be able to make this comic. I have a therapist now, and she agreed that making this could be a very cathartic gesture, and the start of properly leaving these thoughts behind me. I am still, at seemingly random times, blindsided by fleeting desires to kill myself. They’re always passing urges, but it’s disarming, and uncomfortable. I worry sometimes that my brain’s spent so long thinking only about suicide that it’s forgotten how to think about anything else. Like, now that I've opened that door for myself, I'll never be able to fully shut it again. But I’m trying my best to encourage my mind in other directions. We'll see how that goes.

I am still donating all proceeds from my store to Palestinian causes. So far, I've donated over $15K, not including donations coming from my own pocket or the fundraising streams which jointly raised around $10K. In the time since I made my initial post about where this money would be going, the focus has shifted from aid organisations to directly donating to escape funds.

If you'd like to do the same, you can look at Operation Olive Branch, which hosts hundreds of Palestinian escape funds or donate to Safebow, which has helped facilitate the safe crossing and securing of important medical procedures for over 150 at-risk palestinians since the beginning of the genocide.

#cw: suicidal ideation #cw: suicide #cw: self harm #cw: mental health #cw: depression #i made the balloon the main representation of my self destructive urges for a reason but im not going to explain it #i tried to keep a lot of the details in this vague #it would be my worst nightmare if this comic encouraged someone to hurt themselves #so. please dont #for a long time even the thought of making this comic felt so insipid and narcissistic #with the state of the world as it is #having the only threat to your life be yourself felt so privileged and trite and shameful #but doing this comic made me sit down and process things in full #and im just. very grateful i didn't give in to my thoughts back when i sincerely felt i'd be more useful to the world dead #i also feel the need to say that this wont represent everyone's battle with mental illness. its unfortunately different for all of us #there is no fix-all #and im afraid this might be one of those comics that either resonates a lot or misses the target by a mile #i made it for myself foremost. and now that its done im glad i did it #thank you for reading #and please stay alive #stillindigo art #stillindigo comics

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nswd-ofmd · 4 months

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Chapter 26: Lost and Distant Shore

Read @ Ao3

Summary: Back with Hornigold once more and it's all Ed can do to hang on to who he is, let alone who he used to be. But as raids and fights ramp up and Hornigold's addiction spirals out of control, it's on Ed's shoulders to keep the Ranger moving forward… before everything falls apart.

Snippet:

Ed sighs, lets his hands drop to his lap, watches the ships through his eyelashes. Really, he’d prefer to do neither. He’d prefer to kick Kidd out of his berth, scrub it clean of his presence somehow and tug the curtain closed and sleep in the secured darkness under the pillows. Or he’d like to go back in time somehow when this didn’t matter. Back before he met Manny. Back to Biscornu maybe…or before that watching the stars with Anne… Or before that, lying on the capstan next to Jack, brushing knuckles against his spine as they looked at Buchard’s corpse.

Or else do a yardie into the cold gray water, lapping choppily against the hull. To just dive in and not come back up. To just sink down down down into greater dark that would press in until he was nothing.

But then he looks back at the deck, the top of Felix’s head and pale hair, Hornigold’s head too as he hunches in his chair, blanket wrapped around him. A kid and an old man who should get in his berth before he dies of the slight chill or some shit.

Ed can’t just fucking leave them on their own.

#Our Flag Means Death #Our Flag Means Death fanfic #Edward Teach #backstory fic #Ben Hornigold #Calico Jack #Anne Bonney #Sam Bellamy #cw: suicide ideation #cw: drug abuse #Never Shall We Die

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spncreatorsdaily · 7 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Characters: Castiel, Crowley, Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide Summary:

AU One-shot. In the world of firsts, Crowley took a lot of Castiël's. Dean took a lot of others, but purely out of necessity. Angsty, not happy fic. I don't know what came over me, but this just rolled out of my pen. Warning! Mentions physical and mental abuse, selfharm and suïcide. Major character Death.

#week 205 #creator: hectatess #hectatess #fanfic #castiel #crowley #dean winchester #rating: nc17 #cw: major character death #cw: drug use #cw: suicide ideation #cw: self harm #cw: mentions of rape #cw: abuse

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notaplaceofhonour · 2 months

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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:

#don’t give in to despair #cw suicide #trigger warning #tw sui ideation #tw self immolation #i/p

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fdragon-art · 2 years

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Day 296 - Love Thyself

"Love thy neighbour as yourself" ...but what if I don't love myself?

What if I pick apart my flaws, the weaknesses in my heart and see so little of the light that surely shines within?

What if I torture myself over the many mistakes I've made, blinded to the good I've given to those around me?

What if I give in to the sickly desires that can only bring pain, without understanding the selfishness we are all allowed?

Where do I begin to love myself?

When, when all I wish is take part of myself away? When, when all I want is to hide myself away and vanish? When, when all I do is carve into my soul the pain, the anger?

When do I let myself love mine neighbour? When...?

All I see are a street full of corpses, drained of all life. Shredded wrists... pale faces... bonely ribs.

Even seeing where I may head changes nothing for my love, for how could it? This is what I want, absent of it all.

...

So how can I love thy neighbour, when all I want to do is break them? To forsake forgiveness, and let them fall for their baleful whims?

How can I love...

#miscellaneous #year 3 #writing #venty #cw: self harm #cw: suicide ideation #Just to note: It's venty because strong feelings are put into it. I do not feel suicidal or feel in danger of self-harm so do not worry~#It's more of a realisation than anything but it is so hard to /actually/ love myself despite the fact I know I'm not a terrible person #(And it feels weird saying that knowing what is said of humility and such.. but I have to affirm it)#It's not that I can't see the good I bring and can bring.. rather it's that I don't /feel/ it (often)#I'm pretty sure it's a perception thing.. especially in relation to expectations (something I have figured out) but yeah #I do enjoy writing a good metaphor/poem heheh~#(It's funny since I did feel like art but decided I wanted more to write. Usually I write because I don't feel like art pfft)

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tresdem · 6 months

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From the upcoming chapter 24 of Never Shall We Die

Manny’s smile tightens and he pats Ed’s cheek with a gloved hand. “Poor petite Tempête, in over his head.” Ed wrenches away, shoulders tightening from the touch. There is a glazed look in Manny’s eyes that has nothing to do with the cigar. “Fuck you, I am not.” “You are. We both are. Choking on water. Wanting to drown. But we can’t. Not at our pleasure. They hold us just above the water, keeping even that mercy away, like Tantalus we see the fruit we can never reach.” His voice is distant now, far away, as if already speaking from underwater. He understands the feeling, even if he’s never felt it himself. He’s always thrashed around when they try to push him in, however he can, refusing to give in completely. But weirdly it makes him feel like a kid. Like Manny has reached some level of adulthood Ed can’t understand. “Tantalus,” Ed echoes just to say something. “He better not have anything to do with fucking Odysseus.” “Oh yes.” ‘Course he fucking did.

#our flag means death #our flag means death fanfic #ed teach #calico jack #sam bellamy #anne bonny #cw: suicide ideation #ish #Emmanuel Wynn #Never Shall We Die

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zipsunz · 1 month

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