[ yes, he wants to survive. he does, he's realized it in the worst of ways. he needs to, despite thinking a few times too many about what it would've been like, if he'd jumped those years ago. he thinks if it might just be best, to end this all here before the present caught up to this devastating future. how easy it would be to take the sharpest stone he could find, tear his wrists open and watch the bleak future go dim in his eyes. he'd die and no one would find him. the world, perhaps, would only miss his presence, the image they've built of him, and realize in his cruel absence what they've done to drive him here.
but the rational part of jayce agrees. he's right. you'll die before you get out of here. that depressed, defeated part of him thinks maybe i should just rot, but— jayce's irrationality shrieks so much louder, as does his actual will to live. to survive. to get out of here and reach those who mattered more than all of this. he shakes his head again, his rack of antlers following, his eyes swelling with tears as the lower eyelids rise halfway up and his lower lip hanging into unconforming shapes, of could-be words before he can finally answer, a shaken: ]
No— [ it's natural, to refuse to amputate. to be without a part of you. to be terrified of the prospect. ] I'll sign my death sentence, I'll— [ his eyes climb the terrible incline he fell down from, ] I-I won't be able to climb, when it heals— It could heal.
[ but for all they knew, he was babbling right through a fever that may take him first. ]
cw: suicide ideation
[ yes, he wants to survive. he does, he's realized it in the worst of ways. he needs to, despite thinking a few times too many about what it would've been like, if he'd jumped those years ago. he thinks if it might just be best, to end this all here before the present caught up to this devastating future. how easy it would be to take the sharpest stone he could find, tear his wrists open and watch the bleak future go dim in his eyes. he'd die and no one would find him. the world, perhaps, would only miss his presence, the image they've built of him, and realize in his cruel absence what they've done to drive him here.
but the rational part of jayce agrees. he's right. you'll die before you get out of here. that depressed, defeated part of him thinks maybe i should just rot, but— jayce's irrationality shrieks so much louder, as does his actual will to live. to survive. to get out of here and reach those who mattered more than all of this. he shakes his head again, his rack of antlers following, his eyes swelling with tears as the lower eyelids rise halfway up and his lower lip hanging into unconforming shapes, of could-be words before he can finally answer, a shaken: ]
No— [ it's natural, to refuse to amputate. to be without a part of you. to be terrified of the prospect. ] I'll sign my death sentence, I'll— [ his eyes climb the terrible incline he fell down from, ] I-I won't be able to climb, when it heals— It could heal.
[ but for all they knew, he was babbling right through a fever that may take him first. ]