Suicidal Ideation - Tumblr Posts

I've had to remind myself of this sometimes. It's not even that I have any problems to escape; I have an amazing life. It's that the dark spectre of depression never really goes away and can be hard to ignore. The worst part is when at the end of a great day it whispers in my ear, saying 'why not go out on a high point instead of when things at at their worst?'

(Voice of experience: Meds and therapy help!)

hi mr neilman ! i don't know how to phrase it in a normal way, but one time i saw you say "suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem" and it changed my life, no exaggeration. i struggle with mental illness and sometimes this phrase is the only thing that keeps me going, even to this day. so i want to say thanks. i owe a lot to you

You are welcome. It was something I realized thinking about a family member who had killed himself when I was young, delivering a blow to his immediate family it never really recovered from. And thinking that whatever seemed inescapable back then would long since have worked itself out. Which doesn't mean that there wouldn't have been new problems. But meant that those problems of then would have passed.

Depression is not the state of being sad

I recently watched a video of a clip from Mork and Mindy, Robin Williams' breakaway TV hit from the late '70's. I'm old enough to remember watching those shows in their first run, but some of the more nuanced parts went above my wee head. This clip was one of those.

TW: discussion of depression, allusion to suicide.

In it the character of Mork meets the actor who plays Mork, Robin Williams. Robin bares his soul in this piece in a way that's fucking chilling to see these many years later, after he took his own life due to depression.

In the clip, there's this exchange:

Mindy (interviewing Robin): "You know if you learned to say 'no' you'd probably have a lot more time to yourself. Robin: (Looks pensive for a second then mutters "whew.") "Ah ... maybe that's the last thing I want ..."

Because I like to enjoy my social media experience, I have the comments on YouTube turned off via a plugin. On this rare occasion, I actually wanted to see if anyone else felt the way I did in that exchange. So with a healthy degree of caution, I toggled the comments back on.

Yes, it did touch others in a similar way, although there were quite a few comments about how Robin seemed sad during that, or how he was so sad despite being a very funny person. It was quite a ways down before I saw anyone actually mention depression directly.

I had to reply and thank the poster for using the word. Absolutely nothing those that didn't, but so many people say "sad" when the proper word is depression.

I have depression when I'm crying because a close friend died, but I also have depression when I'm laughing in the arms of those I love. That's why it's so insidious. It doesn't go away when I'm happy. Depressed isn't an antonym for happy; it's its own chronic condition.

My worst intrusive thoughts aren't the ones I have when I'm sad for a reason, they're the ones I have when I've had a really good day ... "Why not go out on a high point. What if it never gets this good again?" Depression is your brain lying to you. People that have never experienced it are lucky to not know so intimately how bad it can get.

Thank you, Mork. Not because you ended it like you did, but because you prompted many to seek the help they needed. You'll never know how many people you saved.

(I'm being treated and it's mostly under control.)

I was in a salty mood about the fandom’s treatment of Gideon so I drew an angsty picture. -

People in the town of Gravity Falls still treat him like crap and his father is losing his mind and his mother already took off. Supposedly Dipper was going to be his friend, but he had been ignoring him and/or avoiding him and Mabel? Well, she was a hopeless case. He’s already realized that she would never love him, or even want to be friends. His only solace is that when he turns 18 he can leave this town and never look back.

His days are plagued with bullies, his nights are plagued with demons. It feels like he can’t get any peace, and people keep throwing the blame at him for everything that goes wrong in the town. Bad crop? Gideon’s fault. Chicken won’t lay eggs? Gideon’s fault. Forest fires? Gideon’s fault. Raised gas prices? Gideon’s fault for sure. Everything was Gideon’s fault, even if he was nowhere near the bad thing.

And that rather tiny forest fire was caused by Stanford accidentally dropping a lantern, which he knew from hiding in the woods all the time.

And then there were the false accusations. The photoshopped pictures. The whispered warnings in the halls. He didn’t do any school clubs because he couldn’t bear to be around people longer than he absolutely had to. He considered being homeschooled, but his father wouldn’t - couldn’t - do it and Stanford was too busy with his own family. He barely had time to talk to Gideon about what they both went through, and even then it was brief and no comfort was given.

He couldn’t wait to get out of this place. He hated it here. Some days he considered the early way out.

SI

Tw - suicidal ideation, Plans.

I've lied to everyone who has ever asked. I have had a plan for a while: run my car off the road on the highway at the highest speed I can manage. Run into a pole or cement barrier.

That way, it could look like I just lost control and the people I love wouldn't have to torture themselves wondering what they could have done to prevent it. ( Ps. The answer is : Nothing).

So now you know. Plans ruined. Can't do it now.

Is it any wonder?

TW - self harm

When he was in his early teens, he confessed to his parents that he had urges to hurt himself.  He wanted to take one of his hunting knives and plunge it into his gut.

I’m not a mother, so maybe I don’t know, but if my kid came up to me and told me he was having a hard time not gutting himself, I’m pretty sure we’d be dropping everything and going to the hospital to get some professional help.

They took away his hunting knives.  That’s it.

Mother of the Year

His sister really struggled with depression and suicidal ideation in her early teens.  It was very inconvenient for his parents.

His mother made him check on his sister sometimes “to make sure she hadn’t killed herself” because she just “couldn’t stomach it” anymore.

I .. just... what?  

poem that i wrote on scrap paper. tw: mentions of self harm, suicidal ideation

Do you ever want to cry?

Of course

But do you want to drown in your own tears?

Oblivion at last

Your death a product of your own despair

Some might call this tragedy

But you're not a tragedy

Because tragedies matter

And what's another statistic,

that everyone ignores

But you are guilty too

Of ignoring your mind

Screaming in a cage of its own making

And you ignore the urges

Until they become overwhelming

And you're bleeding on the bathroom floor

And you pick yourself up

Clean up the mess

And everyone ignores the stains on the towel

The blood crusted beneath your fingernails

And then you start to lose hope

When they lie

Saying that your teenage years are the best you're gonna get

Bullshit

But I've lied too

Because this isn't you

It's me

You know what? I'm starting to think that stories about mental illness maybe SHOULD all end on an inspirational, uplifting note.

You see, I was just trying to hold in my mind a model of "even if you fell down, you can get back up, even if your life's a wreck, you can always go and do the work to make it better", just to try and convince myself to maybe not fall apart, and then my brain was just flooded with images of all the stories that ended in suicide (or better yet, heroic self-sacrifice that redeemed them from ever needing to be given a real chance), and I just felt that sinking dread that whispered "it doesn't matter what you do, it's all gonna end the same way... And hopefully sooner rather than later. You can imagine it all going quiet, and dark, and peaceful." And I just... I know you guys hate when the representation you see is just ✨inspiration porn✨, and that it feels good to see all the darkest impulses of your brain recognized and validated, but, like... Maybe they shouldn't be. Maybe we SHOULD have our representation be inspirational and uplifting, even when our reality is not, because representation is not a neutral factor. It affects how people think, and it especially affects how people think when they're spiraling and desperately looking for a frame of reference and you address them directly.

Look, what I'm trying to say is, it's not great when the most encouraging representation I can find is from fix-it-fics that were written by people who were sad that their favorite character didn't make it.

End. (Jason)

Nothing. You felt nothing. Nothing to keep you here. Nothing to tie you. It was all just… nothing.

You parked your car and looked at the illuminated sign. Camp Crystal Lake. Whatever.

You sighed and shoved your body out of the car. Door shut.

How many times are you going to sigh? Idiot.

Slump your stupid body against the edge of the dock. And you wait.

And you wait.

You feel footsteps, behind you. Finally.

You wait for the slash of the blade. It does not come.

You can’t even get this peace.

A loud, heavy thump beside you.

It is him. He is here. Why won’t he kill you already?

He sags beside you. Why won’t he kill you already?

You wait. The blow never comes.

A heavy hand. It places itself on your shoulder.

He smells awful. He slides you close.

He smells worse.

He says nothing.

You begin to shake. Your eyes fill with tears.

He knows why you are here. You wished for your end.

He won’t give you that.

He refuses.

But he lets you lean into him.

Your tears soak his filthy coat.

Your sobs tear through the silence.

He does not know.

But he does.

You are safe here.

You are home.

End. (Jason)

Nothing. You felt nothing. Nothing to keep you here. Nothing to tie you. It was all just… nothing.

You parked your car and looked at the illuminated sign. Camp Crystal Lake. Whatever.

You sighed and shoved your body out of the car. Door shut.

How many times are you going to sigh? Idiot.

Slump your stupid body against the edge of the dock. And you wait.

And you wait.

You feel footsteps, behind you. Finally.

You wait for the slash of the blade. It does not come.

You can’t even get this peace.

A loud, heavy thump beside you.

It is him. He is here. Why won’t he kill you already?

He sags beside you. Why won’t he kill you already?

You wait. The blow never comes.

A heavy hand. It places itself on your shoulder.

He smells awful. He slides you close.

He smells worse.

He says nothing.

You begin to shake. Your eyes fill with tears.

He knows why you are here. You wished for your end.

He won’t give you that.

He refuses.

But he lets you lean into him.

Your tears soak his filthy coat.

Your sobs tear through the silence.

He does not know.

But he does.

You are safe here.

You are home.

TW: suicidal ideation

[Edit: I've been up a couple hours after writing this now and I feel more.. mentally sound today. So don't worry.]

I'm honestly fucking scared to get out of bed today and start feeling things again, cause right now my head feels pretty okay and I don't want it to turn into yesterday's destructive bottomless darkness again.

I didn't even feel I could trust myself to smoke on the balcony cause every time I was out there I couldn't stop this thought of just leaping over the railing so that this shitshow would finally be over with. How easy I could make this on myself.

And I realized while thinking this I was grabbing the railing so hard my knuckles turned white.. so I backed up inside and smoked under the kitchen hood the rest of the day.

David Bowie: Don't Go

Imagine David Bowie falls in love with you the moment he meets you, but you're taken away; only for him to find you again after many years have passed: Warnings: Alludes to suicidal thoughts/ideation, abuse, abuse of power, feelings of worthlessness, injury, angst, apathy

1975

It was always loud around me, everyone shouting and screaming in my direction. Adoration emanated in their voices as they called my name, but all it made me feel was anxious and overwhelmed. I'm always running from them, these people that claim to love me... they lie when they say that, how can they love someone they do not know?

These manic strangers scared me, I never wanted to walk down the streets alone, but there were moments I would risk it simply for a second just to myself. I once thought of leaving this world, setting my soul free, abandoning this shell I am forced into. I was so close to going through with it, but then I met someone who forced a change in my perception.

We were young during our first meeting, I was several years into my stardom, usually caged up in my Los Angeles apartment. I hate Los Angeles, in fact, I hate California as a whole; the only reason I was even there was because my manager had forced me into this movie deal.

I wasn't unhappy with the movie, I had read the novel it was based on, and the script embraced a lot of the original elements. I couldn't survive there for long though, my mind was always leaving me, traveling elsewhere, to places with happy memories. The few moments of awareness during my day left me with an unending headache, it made me nauseous knowing that I was still alive. I felt like I was betraying God with these thoughts, that I was dishonoring him in some way with my destructive hatred for myself and my surroundings.

___

The first day on set was numbing, my manager had escorted me there, his firm glare setting me on edge; I know the only reason he was with me was to ensure that I didn't go against him. A deal with the Devil, he observed my every move, I felt like he was screening my thoughts before allowing me to speak.

I wanted to scream, to reach out to the people around me for help; but I didn't. I simply kept my eyes down, only speaking when the director or cast members addressed me directly.

The day was nearing its end, I had been encapsulated with this crowd and wanted a moment of quietness, I knew when I was back in that apartment that I would be yelled at. He would be angry that I seemed so disinterested in everything, furious that I had the audacity to try and come here without him.

I nervously skittered away from the people, moving swiftly towards the door as my heart rate raced. I was so close, it would only offer me momentary relief, but that was better than nothing, better than this everlasting flame that was burning me from the inside out. I felt cauterized from the heat, forever stuck in this flesh prison until my untimely death. Yet, death offers me no salvation, in this world of sin we are doomed to return, to relive these traumas until we learn something from this negative world.

One foot was out the door when a hand seized my wrist; had it been my neck, I'm sure I would think I was being strangled. A chilling shiver scraped along my spine, it was that uncomfortable feeling of knowing I was caught. The air in my lungs felt suffocating, the heat of my body sweltering as I glanced at the hand.

"Where do you think you're going?" I look sternly at my manager, surveying his aura and body language. I can tell that he is nearing the end of his rope, the 'patience' he has is running thin. I remember the first time I hired him, I thought he was respectable, he looked like a business man with his hair combed back with his immaculate suit, speaking to me with high revere.

Not many things have changed about him, he still speaks well of me - now only to possible clients or partners; his way of dressing has only gotten finer with the money I bring in, but the young man I hired was long gone. He's been my manager since I was 12 and he was 36, I'm now 19, him being 43. The full head of black hair is slightly graying at the sides, his athletic physique gave way to slight obesity - but the strange type of weight gain where he is top-heavy in the chest, if that makes sense.

He used to make me feel comfortable, he wouldn't yell or scream at me, but that was back when my parents were always around, as soon as I turned 18 they upped and left. They still sent me requests for money every now and then, well aware I would oblige. I know they likely think I wanted them to leave, but what I wouldn't give for them to come and stick their noses in my business.

"...I'm going to the bathroom?" My voice feels like it's grating against my throat, as though I haven't had a thing to drink all day; however, I know he wouldn't let me go a day without 8 glasses of water. That may sound like he actually cares for me, but he knows that my albums are the reason behind a lot of my wealth, and he refuses to let anything damage my voice.

The eye contact we hold burns me, I don't know what else to do but hope he believes me. I sigh in relief as he releases his hold, sending a curt 'get going' to me before turning away. I haven't felt happy in a long while, and though I know what I'm feeling isn't happiness, it still reminds me of it. I want to rush forward, but force a steady walk, going straight past the bathroom and outside.

The sun is obnoxiously bright, I want to go back inside, but I know he will be waiting for me. I shuffle over to the back of the building, a lonely bench awaiting, luckily sheltered away from the sweltering sun. My back aches as I collapse onto it, head falling back against the wall as I quietly groan in dissatisfaction. The traffic is loud, I can hear airplanes in the distance, and the footsteps of people along the sidewalk.

God, I wish I was somewhere else, I wish I was back home in Montana, or maybe at my seldom used cabin in Idaho. I want to not see another human being for miles, I want trees and wildlife to surround me as I write and draw, but I know that won't happen anytime soon.

The thoughts overrunning my mind lower my awareness of my surroundings, so much so that I only become aware again when someone sits next to me. The alarming aura of a person so near, this is the closest a stranger has been to me without my manager in sight; I can't remember how long ago it has been since I talked to someone without him watching me.

I observe them from the corner of my eye, he's taller than me, dressed in a casual black suit with a hat, his orange-blonde hair coaxing my attention. I know who he is, we were briskly introduced during the meeting, but he was surrounded by an entourage that kept people away from him.

He glances to me, our eyes meeting for an instant before I turn away from him. I'm not sure how to talk to him, it's been so long since I was able to speak freely that I fear I don't know how to anymore.

"So, what are you doing out here?" His accented tone rings out sharply, dancing through the noisy ambience, my head subconsciously tilting as I listen to him. Turning my face to him, I'm met by his piercing eyes paired with his angular face; I almost want to huff at how exact and fine his features are.

"I could ask you the same." I state, holding a steady gaze, watching as his eye flicker over me before returning ahead.

"I saw you leaving, and I wanted to know where you were going." He responds, voice smooth as he brushes his hair back neatly.

"So you followed me?" The sentence flows from my mouth so quickly, realizing what I've said makes me feel bilious. I gulp, looking over to him as I await a yell or a glare; surprised when he lets out an amused laugh.

"Don't make it weird." He giggles, looking down to his hands. He looks up to speak again, but a concerned look washes over his features.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." The sentence strings along, his body shifting towards me as all his attention is focused on me. I'm confused at first, wondering why he was reacting like this before realizing I must look tense and pale.

"No, no, it's alright. It's not you." I quickly respond, resting a hand gently over his own to calm him down. I once again speak without thinking, not realizing I told him indirectly that I am in fact uncomfortable.

"So that's why you're out here." David states, his hands gently holding my own as his concerned expression magnifies. I pull my hands away in fear of the repercussions for this conversation.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I scowl, glaring at the wall opposite us. I hurriedly stand up, worried about staying out too long, I don't want my manager getting suspicious.

I squint my eyes against the weather, the sun burns as the heat overwhelms my sense. I want to cry, but I know that I can't allow myself to. David stands as well, and I'm about to walk away before feeling something being placed atop my head. Glancing over to David, I notice his hat missing, my sight no longer being hindered by the sunlight. I gaze at him in suspicion, what does he want?

"What?" Is all he says, a smirk playing on his features as he leads me back around the building to the front door. I try to give him his fedora back, but he simply pushed it back to me, telling me to keep it. I thank him, a smile trying to appear on my face as I look up to him; he grins to me before walking away, leaving me alone.

___

My manager was pissed, he knew I lied about going to bathroom, and was even angrier when he saw I had David Bowie's fedora clutched in my small hands. He snatches it from my hands, I open my mouth to argue, but the look on his face tells me it'll be much worse if I speak.

I follow him through the crowd, weaving carefully so that I don't touch people. We reach the group surrounding David, my manager saying we have something of his. As he walks towards us, my manager shoves the fedora into my hands before shoving me forward. I can tell David is confused by the situation, I hope he didn't see my manager push me.

"What is it (Y/N)?" This is the first time he's used my name, I don't know why it stunned me, maybe because no one cares enough to know my real name, instead calling me by my pseudonym. I nervously glance away and look back at my manager, I can tell he wants to yell at me, but he knows he has to wait.

"I-I'm returning your fedora, you must've dropped it..." I reply, hoping he goes along with it.

"What?" His bewildered response matches his expression, I don't know how to get him to go along other than to rephrase myself.

"I was coming back from the bathroom and saw it on the floor, you must've dropped it." I explain, looking him firmly in the eyes as I hold out the hat. His eyes now hold understanding as he glances behind me.

"Oh, thank you... Can I speak to you for a moment?" He responds, grabbing the hat and then my wrist to pull me forward. I yelp weakly, my wrist hurting from its past abuse. David glanced down at me in worry just as my manager moves forward and grabs my shoulder.

"We need to get going, you have another meeting in a half-hour." My manager interrupts, bundling me away before David could even blink. ___

My manager is fuming, I can tell by the slight jitter in is movements as he forces me out of the building and down the street. I know he wants nothing more than to yell at me, make me cry, but he will have to wait until we get some privacy before he can do as he pleases.

The car ride is anything but pleasant, he may have opened the door for me, but he shoved me in so fast that I knocked my head against the frame. The headache is splitting through my skull, the mixture of pain and internal agony is catching up with me.  My manager angrily slams his door and begins driving back to my apartment; he wastes no time laying into me.

"What the fuck was that!" He shouts angrily, fists clenching the steering wheel to the point I think he's fantasizing that it's my neck.

"What?" I try to play dumb, but I should've known better.

"Don't give me that bullshit! I know you didn't go to the bathroom, you snuck out so you could talk with that singer!" He states with a scowl, glaring at me before looking back to the road. I can see the sweat layered upon his brow, perhaps the sun is getting to him as well?

"I didn't!" My response is halted quickly, my manager reaching across the center console as he smacks me sharply. I want to say I'm surprised, but I'm not, though that does nothing to numb the stinging pain as tears burn my eyes.

"You wanna rethink that response." He grits, I can tell he's furious, and he'll do as he pleases no matter my answer. Involuntarily curling into myself, I make no move to respond, wrapping my arms tightly around my abdomen as I look out the window. My lack of response is only going to anger him further, but I can't seem to care anymore.

When we arrive at my apartment, he's tossing me in as soon as the doors unlocked. He pulls me back to him so harshly I can hear the fabric of my sweater tearing as he scrunches it in his fists. I subconsciously put my hands up, trying to get away from him.

He heeds my movements, shoving me away just as harshly as he had pulled me in. The action is so sudden that I'm thrown off balance, taking  a moment to recollect myself before turning back to him.

I go to say something, but have no time to contemplate my words as something is hurled at me. I try my best to dodge it, but my actions are in vain as the object meets my eye.

The left side of my face radiates in pain as I fall backwards into the wall, my hands flying up to my injury as I try not to cry. I look down at the object and see my favorite book was what had been thrown, Jane Eyre... my manager can't seem to get enough of ruining things I love.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I only notice my manager approaching when he already has his thick hand wrapped around my throat, thus pinning me to the wall I've taken solace in. He grabs my wrists with his free hand and forces them up and away from my face. 

I try to observe him as he analyzes my face, his once kind eyes seem so empty, when did that happen? His hair is thinner, and though he's out of shape, he still overpowers me with ease; who is this man before me? I want to look at him more, but the agony of my injury overpowers my wants, eyes stinging as the tears cloud my vision before streaming down along my cheeks.

"You'll need to cover that for tomorrow, I'll bring you a bandage."

Just like that, his hold is gone and he exits the apartment. I'm alone in this apartment, silence settling back into it as the furious tornado that is my manager has left the vicinity. If someone came in, they would think me strange curled up in the corner with tears in my eyes; no one ever sees who causes them, but they always have an opinion.

___

He did as he said, bringing me a roll of Coban with some gauze so I could pad my eye against the adhesive bandage. I hadn't look at my eye throughout the night, not wanting to see the damage, but knowing it must look bad as my eye had swollen shut. 

I wanted to assume the mirror was lying to me like everyone else does, but I know it wasn't.

The bruising was light as it hasn't been more than a day, the contusion will darken later on as it fully forms; the swelling wasn't as bad as I assumed, my eyelids were definitely swollen, but I could peel them open slightly to view the sclera flooded in red due to burst blood vessels. Brushing those thoughts away, my manager shoves open the bathroom door and grabs the bandages from my grasp, grumbling about me taking to long as he wraps my injuries.

The car ride there is a stark contrast compared to yesterday, the silence was almost more eerie than when he yells, but I try not to think to hard on it.

Anxiety bubbles up in my throat as he parks the car and exits, what will they say? This is opening the door to unwanted questions, what if they find out my manager abuses me? What if they take his side?? I don't get too much time to think as my door is opened by my manager as he signals for me to get out. I do as told, hesitantly walking into the building after he enters.

The building is thankfully not nearly as crowded as yesterday, today only requires the actors/actresses, costume designers, and music producers to be present. 

I stand there silently as I wait for the group to be called to focus, but I'm disrupted from daydreaming as I feel someone tap my shoulder. I turn around, coming face to face with the director, Nicolas Roeg.

"Hey Y/N, you're manager called yesterday and explained that you got injured while playing with your cousins. I know how head injuries can be, so let me know if you start getting headaches, or if the noise or environment gets too overwhelming. Alright?" This man, he was so nice over the phone when asking if I wanted to be a part of this project, how could I forget him, especially after how kind he's being now?

I grace him with a thankful smile, nodding my head. He smiles back, giving my shoulder a pat in reassurance before turning away and walking to converse with someone else. I am about to go back to dissociating when another tap is felt, I want to sigh, but halt my actions when I meet eyes - well, eye - with David Bowie.

I can tell he had his words prepared before walking over, but I feel like they abandoned him as soon as I turned around. I can only assume it has something to do with my lovely injury, I know for a fact that I alone cannot leave a man speechless.

"Darling, what happened?" He's concerned, that much was audible, but I know I need to make that dissipate if I don't want my manager to have a repeat of last night.

"Oh this... it's er, nothing, happened while I was rough housing with my cousins." My lie was almost seamless, but the hesitation in my words at the beginning was noticed by him, the squint in his eyes at my words gave that much away.

"I'm fine, honestly David, no need to worry about me." I voice, trying harder to get him to put this on the back burner. He's conflicted, eyes glinting with so many different emotions I can't seem to keep up. Luckily though, he bows his head slightly and nods at my words. I can tell he's still uncertain, but at least he's stopped talking about it. 

I didn't try to avoid him the rest of the day per say, but we were working on two very different parts of the film; he was the lead Actor, and I was working on the film scores as well as dabbling in the costume design. We weren't around each other very often, and if we were, they were but fleeting moments.

He had me cornered during our lunch break actually, but my manager put a quick stop to that, dragging me away to talk with some fans outside; at this point, I think he's doing everything in his power to keep David and myself separate.

The hours go by, Roeg and my manager keeping me plenty busy. I would say that I barely noticed my injury all day apart from the constant headaches and dull ache that seemed to keep building up the longer the day went on.

I know Roeg said to tell him when it was getting bad, but let's be honest, my manager would have my other eye if I said anything. 

As the day is coming to an end, people begin leaving, my manager says we can go after he uses the restroom. He fixes me with a hard look before going in, basically telling me,'do something stupid, and we'll have a rerun of last night.' His eyes looked so dark I felt a nervous chill run down my back as I took a step back.

"Y/N!" I hear a voice call, turning around to be met with that same fedora as yesterday.

"David..." I greet uneasily, glancing back to the restroom in fear my manager will walk out at anytime. David seems to catch on and speeds past the pleasantries.

"Listen, I'm going to the preview tonight if you'd like to join me, I can pick you up tonight if that's alright with you?" His offer is said with such a hopeful voice and sweet look that I almost agree right then and there, but then reality stabs me in the back.

"Y/N." That voice nearly startle me out of my skin with how hard I jumped. My shoulders turn stiff as I look back and watch as my manager stalks closer, gripping my shoulder before steering me to the door.I turn my head quickly, making eye contact with David and his crestfallen face, giving a smile with a slight head nod to confirm his plans. I watch for a second as joy encapsulates his face before I'm forced out the door into the obnoxious environment of Los Angeles.

My manager leaves early, stating he has a meeting to get to before the day ends, leaving me alone in my apartment. He usually stays gone until the morning, that of which I'm thankful for, or else I would never be able to have David pick me up. 

He arrives when it's already dark, around 7 pm when the last streaks of sunlight are dissipating. His driver goes to get out, but David beats him to it, walking over and opening the door for me before getting back in on his side. We both sit in the back and his chauffeur takes us to the movie theatre. It was a quiet ride, I think he could notice how jittery and uneasy I was; he held my hand and offered a comforting smile, reassuring me until we felt the car halt.

We sat in the back, hoping no one would notice our presence. The movie was good, it held my attention the whole time - well, at least until David nudged me, motioning with his head for us to leave. I do as told, standing and following him as he led me down the hallways and back into the main room.

"Whats wrong?" I ask, unsure why we left half-way through the film.

"Nothing, I just want to spend some time alone with you." He states, before grasping my hand, leading me outside and down the quiet sidewalks. Los Angeles at night is better at night I would say, a little more quiet with much better weather.

There is a hint of a breeze though, sending light shivers down my back whenever a gust came my way. My clothes aren't really the best for this weather, a knee length dress with only a feathery shawl to protect my shoulders.

"Oh, I'm sorry darling, I should've told you to bring a jacket." He voices guiltily, detaching our hands before shrugging off his suit jacket. He stops me from walking, grabbing my shoulders and turning me to face him as he wraps the large jacket around my thin frame.

It swallows me up, a blush tinting my cheeks in embarrassment, I must look ridiculous to this man. David notices the blush, a wide grin spreading over his face at how adorable the site before him is.

"I must look ridiculous..." I say, looking down self-consciously. David simply huffs and removes his hat and placing it delicately atop my head, it's much too large, sliding down over my eyes and blocking my sight. He laughs gently, angling the hat so that I can see again, his toothy grin being the first sight I'm met with.

"You look adorable." Is all he says, wrapping his arm comfortingly over my shoulders before continuing to walk us down the street. I can confidently state that my blush has not faded throughput the entire exchange.

We both remain silent, simply enjoying the presence of the other as we saunter down the pavement. We pass many quiet cafes still open, him stepping to the left and halting as he opens the door to a warm cafe. I cautiously enter, removing the hat and surveying the interior closely.

A young woman sits sleepily at the register, the only other people being a middle-aged couple at a table against the wall. The lights have a warm hue to them, complementing the earthy tones of the walls and tables.

Glancing back at David, he offers a soft smile, resting his hand on my lower back before leading me to the register. The woman quickly writes down my order, not looking up until both myself and David have ordered.

I hold my breath when I notice that familiar glint in her eye, backing up subconsciously in fear she will shout our names and alert someone to our presence. If the paparazzo found out I'm here, and accompanied by David Bowie no less! The scandal would be horrific.

David holds me steadily in comfort as he smiles at the woman, he holds a finger against his lips to stop her, I glance at her in worry that she still might scream. She looks overwhelmed in excitement, but breathes deeply to calm herself down when she notices my reaction.

"Sorry! I just love both of you so much!" She whispers happily, still in shock of meeting two of her favorite artists. I feel the tension in my shoulders lessen as she only whispers in excitement.

"Thank you, it's nice to meet you to." David says politely, nodding to her before leading me away and to a table cozied up in a corner.

Our night was wonderful, David and I talked the night away, enjoying multiple drinks the longer we stayed up. I've never felt so at ease with another person, and we could converse for an extended amount of time without awkward silences or uncomfortable glances; how could someone so wonderful seek me out for company? Is this a blessing from God, or is Satan about to take him away from me.

___

After that night, I've looked forward to seeing him everyday, a smile gracing both of our features whenever our eye(s) meet, but we are both swept away. My manager found out about my late night escapade rather easily seeing as I didn't return to my apartment and was instead brought to work by David(no nothing happened, I fell asleep during the car ride back, and David decided it would be easier to just take me to his home instead of go up into an apartment building while trying to find my keys).

My manager was thoroughly pissed, but his physical punishments still didn't deter me from seeing David, but he always did know how to ruin a good thing. The movie was over, it had already been in theatres and what we were attending wasn't required work anymore; my manager took full advantage of that, signing me up with another director to work with them on film scores.

This new job took me across the country into New York, the director was very well known, Martin Scorsese, and the film was Taxi... Taxi Driver I think. It sounded interesting I guess, maybe a little on point for it being called Taxi Driver and set in New York. 

I didn't even get to say goodbye to David, my manager had dropped the news on me the night before I was to fly to New York. I didn't have anyway to contact David, but I'm not even sure if he would want to stay in contact... Either way, I'm leaving tomorrow whether I like it or not.

_______

1982

It's been a little while since I've agreed to do another film score since Taxi Driver, that film was surprisingly fun compared to my last experience, but maybe that's because my manager wasn't there with me most of the time.

None of that matters anymore though, after the success of taxi driver I fired that abusive prick, and I honestly couldn't be happier. I focused solely on my albums and dropped 7 of them throughout the past few years. I took a break from movies, I was too young for them and the change of environment when I was 19, but now I'm 26 and feel ready to face the world.

I don't actually know a lot about this film, other than the title and one of the actors/film scorers. I believe the film is called Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence? The actor/musician I'm talking about is Ryuichi Sakamoto, and he's honestly the main reason I took this job; my albums blew up and have been making me a fortune, so this is really just for fun and the experience.

I'm walking down the road, suitcase in hand, trying to figure out how the hell to walk in sand. I'm about halfway to the hotel when I hear someone approaching from my side. I don't turn to them, hoping they'll keep moving and we won't have to awkwardly introduce ourselves.

"...(Y/N)? Is that really you!" What? I.. I know that voice. I turn to them, eyes wide as I watch a face from the past stride over to me, face plastered with a wide grin.

"David?" At the sound of my voice, his strides turned into bounds pretty much, I could see he was truly ecstatic at seeing me, and it would be a lie to say I don't feel the same.

I start walking towards him, dropping my suitcase as we embrace. How could I not? This man, this wonderful man that changed me for the better, made me see that my life was worth more. You beautiful man, I'll never disappear again, I promise.

When I get too high.

Another old one…..I was listening to a lot of Xasthur at the time if that helps.

GB WANDERER

Can I just say FUCK THE MAGICIANS.

I mean I was working on my rants for the magical episode that was season 4 episode 5 for each character and it just kept on getting away from me with each new episode so it's just going to wait until the end give my overall. And then this f****** episode! I am so beyond pissed off at this episode I am disgusted at this episode I don't even think I can go back and re-watch any other season because of the combined shitstorm that is the end of season 4! And the sheer f****** deceit lies and basic spit our face will patting themselves on the back that was the combination all season 4.

[ obsidian ] for frisk!

[ obsidian ] for a traumatic memory.

They can still taste the first time they died. ― their mouth was full of blood, the world was hazy and scalding red, they could feel themselves burning in every nerve and entirely too distant all at once. like the pain was in a different room, and pressed taut to their form like an oil-fire on skin, glowing hot iron against shaking begging muscle, tendons tearing themselves in efforts to flee- to fight, to do anything. they can still feel the way they’d slammed their head against the indigo stones, brick crumbling and how they never saw her falter, never saw past the way her eyes were cold like polished rubies you’d never crack- and then they cracked instead, and they only caught the half-second twitch of movement ( her eyes went so wide, hands flying to her mouth as the trial dictated an execution, and god, they wish they’d stayed dead. they wish ― ) before the world went black and they lost themselves. they lost it ―― with the sound of themselves shattering, reverberating in their ears like a promise they broke ― she broke, somewhere along the way, blood pouring from their mouth, head ringing ― ringing ― ringing.

and then they wake up again, and she’s all soft hands and white fur and fresh laundry and they hate it ― god, they hate it ― does that make them a bad person? to loathe it like they do? to taste the fire, burn the sugar and get sweet poured into their jaws breaths after blood? does that make them loathsome? ― god, they want to be if it means they wont feel that again, they want to be, they want ――― but what they want doesn’t matter. it never has. so they keep getting thrown back, again and again and again, and Undyne is almost respite because at least she hates them as much as they hate themselves, and Asgore is almost grief because he can’t do it, and they can’t blame him ― god, they can’t blame him. hang the angel off the cross by the wings, nailed down and sacrificed and ever the heart continues beating  ―― and they wish it didn’t, they wish it didn’t, they wish wish wish― but wishing is not enough.

@lcngdays - pete & remy; the long walk!

Pete's face was calm, that of someone older beyond him, and maybe that's what was scariest.

there was an apathy that only a 17-ish boy could have in his life, where even death is an afterthought to the act of memorial, like the funeral was the cake to him ; death, the disease hidden inside. A lack of existence, an absence, just oblivion. That's what this was, and that's what McVries was going after. Insane, fucking insane, maybe he always has been.

Pete bends down like a broken bulky lawn-chair after it'd been kicked in, tying his shoe all scuffed with mud and grass stains from the rain this morning as they talk. The school was busy as it flooded open like a cracked egg, chattering and loud, the metal fenced gate shuddering with the stampede as they went by, far enough to be comfortable; close enough to be masking. He was calm in the ways he shouldn't be, casual, you can't tell if its a joke or not. — in a way unique to Pete, you know it's not, but you pray it is. a poison that only gets worse, toxins congealing, growing, concentrating in the pouch of your inner cheek ; his fucked up sense of humor.

Remy knew him just long enough to know it's not. That's worse, that you have to question it, question if he's fucking with you, and pray he is in the way it'd make you hate him. He wants you to hate him. He'd wanted it for a long time now. maybe now this'll do it, finally tip you off, break you down.

McVries leans back up, hushed tones all nonchalant on broader shoulders clad in a camo-patterned jacket he's had for as long as you've known him, the striking scar on his tanned face like the beginning of the end; knowing this was coming, but now he was dedicated. It'd only been a few months time since it healed. Something changed. Something never went back.

” I don't. “ he concedes. easily. too easily. it means nothing. ” But I'm just as shit as the people still signin' up for it come registration. “

like stabbing an aching wound, one he knew was torn open for a long time now — sentimental bastard — one he didn't seem to care about, now, when it mattered most. the way it's almost easy conversation is like nausea lining the stomach as Pete grabs his backpack from a puddled bench, sky overcast, his eyes just as sharp. A normal school day, except it's not, except it's not. Apathy — always the reaper — she changed him.

or maybe he just changed.

Sickfic/Hurt/Comfort Any Timothee character of your choice :)

On Edge

Summary: Lee saves eater!reader from themselves.

C/W: Suicidal ideation

One last sunset. That was your last wish. You had spent all day driving to a spot you knew had a great western view. At last, you stood on the precipice of the tallest point in the state just in time to watch the sun sink below the horizon. A slight breeze swept your hair behind you and cooled the tears on your cheeks. The air was fragrant from the wildflowers that bloomed below.

You heard a twig snap behind you. You startled and jolted, knocking rocks off the cliff's edge as you turned toward the noise. The amount of time it took to hear them hit the bottom made your resolve waiver slightly. In the dimming light, you saw a lanky figure with curly red hair emerging from the woods.

"Whoa there. I'm not going to hurt you," a tenor voice called out. He walked slowly toward you, with a slight crouch to his step and a hand held out, like he was trying to calm a scared feral kitten. "What brings you to the edge of the Earth?"

"A fitting end for reaching my limits, is it not?"

A brief flash of sadness (and was that...recognition?) flitted across his face. "My name is Lee. What's yours?"

"[Y/N]."

"Well, [Y/N], if you jump, I jump," he stated matter-of-factly.

"That's insane. You would die, too!" you exclaimed in disbelief.

"Well, I can't turn away now. I'm involved," he said flatly as he set down his pack. "But maybe you can fill me in on why we have to die today?"

You looked over your shoulder back at the sunset. "I- I just can't do it anymore. My family wants nothing to do with me. I k-keep screwing things up, so I can't stay in one place long enough to make new friends. I'm...too different."

"I know. So am I." Lee gestured to himself. "This may sound weird," he paused, "but I could smell you from miles away."

"Smell me?" you asked incredulously.

Lee nodded. "Food just doesn't cut it for you, does it? You feel a deep ache down to your core until you...feed?"

You paled. Conversations about your eating habits usually required you to flee. You stepped back reflexively and lost your footing.

"[Y/N]!" Lee screamed and lunged forward to grab your hand as you slid off the edge. You cried and screamed, clawing at the rocks with your free hand until you were able to grab his arm. He pulled you back to safety and clutched you to his chest.

You shook like a leaf in his embrace. "I- I thought I was the only one." You felt him shake his head as he rested his cheek on your hair.

"You are not alone." You heard his voice catch as if he were crying. "Let me prove it to you. I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove it to you, if you'll let me."

<><><><><>

Masterlist

A/N: slight inspiration taken from the jumping scene of Titanic

Sickfic/Hurt/Comfort Any Timothee character of your choice :)

On Edge

Summary: Lee saves eater!reader from themselves.

C/W: Suicidal ideation

One last sunset. That was your last wish. You had spent all day driving to a spot you knew had a great western view. At last, you stood on the precipice of the tallest point in the state just in time to watch the sun sink below the horizon. A slight breeze swept your hair behind you and cooled the tears on your cheeks. The air was fragrant from the wildflowers that bloomed below.

You heard a twig snap behind you. You startled and jolted, knocking rocks off the cliff's edge as you turned toward the noise. The amount of time it took to hear them hit the bottom made your resolve waiver slightly. In the dimming light, you saw a lanky figure with curly red hair emerging from the woods.

"Whoa there. I'm not going to hurt you," a tenor voice called out. He walked slowly toward you, with a slight crouch to his step and a hand held out, like he was trying to calm a scared feral kitten. "What brings you to the edge of the Earth?"

"A fitting end for reaching my limits, is it not?"

A brief flash of sadness (and was that...recognition?) flitted across his face. "My name is Lee. What's yours?"

"[Y/N]."

"Well, [Y/N], if you jump, I jump," he stated matter-of-factly.

"That's insane. You would die, too!" you exclaimed in disbelief.

"Well, I can't turn away now. I'm involved," he said flatly as he set down his pack. "But maybe you can fill me in on why we have to die today?"

You looked over your shoulder back at the sunset. "I- I just can't do it anymore. My family wants nothing to do with me. I k-keep screwing things up, so I can't stay in one place long enough to make new friends. I'm...too different."

"I know. So am I." Lee gestured to himself. "This may sound weird," he paused, "but I could smell you from miles away."

"Smell me?" you asked incredulously.

Lee nodded. "Food just doesn't cut it for you, does it? You feel a deep ache down to your core until you...feed?"

You paled. Conversations about your eating habits usually required you to flee. You stepped back reflexively and lost your footing.

"[Y/N]!" Lee screamed and lunged forward to grab your hand as you slid off the edge. You cried and screamed, clawing at the rocks with your free hand until you were able to grab his arm. He pulled you back to safety and clutched you to his chest.

You shook like a leaf in his embrace. "I- I thought I was the only one." You felt him shake his head as he rested his cheek on your hair.

"You are not alone." You heard his voice catch as if he were crying. "Let me prove it to you. I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove it to you, if you'll let me."

<><><><><>

Masterlist

A/N: slight inspiration taken from the jumping scene of Titanic

a shirt that says "Don't ma'am me or I'll kill myself"