#I am filled with so much loathing and despair

[wraithdance]

In the last six months since I’ve been on this blog I, or my other poc mutuals, have been hard blocked, soft blocked, unfollowed, dismissed, etc. by the same people who reblog the same tired ass posts reminding people to be mindful about inclusion in writing/fandom. Usually right after making a post or sending a message about correcting something racist

Some of these people I watch yall break bread with and I don’t say shit because you know what? It would destroy me to have to watch people I speak to daily focus on that person being a friend of theirs and how ‘good of a person they are’ over the fact they hurt someone with an inconsideration. so that’s why I don’t ‘name, names’ but it’s still a damned if you do situation ain’t it?

[tnsophiaonly]

HATED - SAGAU.

In which Self-Aware Genshin People loathe your existence and believe that you're the founding reason why they're not real.

-

Tired of this obsessive and lovesick creator or impostor SAGAU? Then what about this alternate? Be wary, it's dark and we'll mentions of torture something ig idk

Basically. This is impostor AU and the real creator who looks like you is horrible af. And you're an actual impasta.

Special mentions (♡): @sleepparalasis @haru-tofuu

--

Hatred. That's all they could feel when they see your face throughout the screen. Amusement. When they see your face wrinkle in pain and frustration when you get a standard character in through wishing or when you get the wrong stats in artifacts. After all, you were the one that made that right? You were the sole reason for your own pain, you made them in a fictional universe, where nothing is real. You're horrible for that and you should take the consequences of such.

That's why you're transported in this place, in which you thought the world was heaven before became your most terrorful nightmare. Hell, just like how it should be. Teyvat is hell. An upside down world, ruled by gods-demons and filled with darkness and pain. The world you created. Right? That's your fault. Your fault alone.

---

"Oh great heavens, that's cold..." you chatted out, freezing and shaking because of the cold. You face the wrath of the Cryo Archon's Nation. The home of the so-called organization, Fatui. Snow and ice were evident everywhere. And the cold, the cold was for sure affecting you. (Especially if you live in tropical areas or close to the equator? I feel so sorry for you)

Any bits of liquid that could be created were frozen within milliseconds. So you're sobbing just makes it worse, maybe if you actually used your feet and moved and found a place to heat yourself up instead of shining and sobbing, you could probably be in a great condition right now.

But you chose to cry. Pathetic really. And you expect this to be an impostor of me? The so great, almighty creator of The Genshin Universe? Absolutely not. I'd rather guide the Traveller to the absolute truth of this world at a fast pace than be, represented by you.

But fear not, I am sure I am able to at least give some potential to you... OFCOURSE I can do it. It's me after all.

But now i should really have this pathetic excuse of an impostor of mine to.. move and do something rather than cry and freeze to death. After all, I can't have my ungrateful people of Teyvat run after a very obvious impostor who's close to dying eh?

So, much to my dismay, I chose to give you guidance, see? Such a kind creator, you're a very lucky fella..

"ah-aaachoo-!" You sneezed, it feels like something just happened, but what? And why? Those questions are left unanswered. As you unconsciously started moving your freezing feet to walk and find some shelter to heat up.

Oh how the torturous snow storm causes you pain and despair. Why were you striving forward anyways? Your whole body aches. It hurts. Why. Why.

"You deserved it." The inner within of the core speaks.

You deserved it..? Why?

No one answers.

----

After walking away which felt like centuries, you finally are met with a bonfire, a large one in fact, the only problem was that it's within a fatui camp. Oh god...

"Well, well, well.. what's a worm like you doing here for?" A taunting and mocking tone says so to you. Oh my Lord, oh it just couldn't get worse thab this, bits of electricity shocked you slowly, you were feeling the wrath of The Balladeer, the 6th Fatui Harbinger. You could only stay in your spot as you feel electro build up within you, hurting you, killing you.

You're sweating bullets of fear just turns to ice because of the environment, it was no use to run.

"Well well comrade, what's with the guest? I didn't know you were quite the welcomer!" A mocking and sarcastic voice taunted the hat guy, which earned him a glare for, the ginger bread- hair man had a boyish charm and looks, almost looking innocent if you didn't know better. Well guess it got worse.

The ginger head guy's eyes widen, as his taunting smile quickly turns into a frown. The mocking gaze turns into a face of anger, annoyance.

"Is that..." he muttered, bewildered and angry. The ginger guy quickly launched unto you, with bloodlust and wrath causing you to flinch, that's before the entire electricity builds up within you and completely shocked you to oblivion, and the ginger's defense mechanism, of course he backed down.

The electro flowing within you caused so much pain, overbearing pain, yet you did not scream. You did not scream in pain. That one thing The Balladeer was hoping for. Maybe the shock was too strong you couldn't scream at all? Yeah, that's it..

The electro shock died down, and you passed out on the spot. Yet you were still not dead. Despite the fact that electro burns were evident, and that you were crisped to the spot, you're still alive. How lucky, or should I say unlucky?

The ginger- you know what I'm tired of calling him ginger, it's Childe. Childe went close to your passed out body. Caressing your electro-burned hand, before gripping it.

A bone crack was heard, oh did he crack it too hard? No worries, he doesn't care. The fatui skirmishers walked close to the place "We'll take care of it Lord Tartaglia." The pyro agent spoke.

"No." The Balladeer protested, as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced your head to look at him, ofcourse you're still passed out, and you had an expression of sorrow, The Balladeer could just smirk. It's the creator.

"I could make use of our Grace after all..." He spoke sinisterly. The agents were on the edge and so was Childe, it really was the creator, they were so close to jumping and killing you on the spot if it weren't for the fact that The Balladeer was there.

-----

The sound of chains vibrated throughout the dungeon, sweet little breaths and movements.

You looked around, it was pitch black and only one candle was the source of light, which was out of reach for you.

A swarming and overwhelming feeling of cold and warm was brushed against you, the electro infused chains hurt when you try to make even the slightest movement, why were you here? Don't act stupid, you're aware why.

You could partly hear the conversation outside. It sounded a lot like the fatui agents earlier, it seems they were discussing either transporting you or guarding you still.

Your breath hitches—which echoed in the room— when they mentioned Il Dottore. They're not planning on giving you to him right...?

You could feel yourself sweating bullets, your eyes showed fear as your expression scrunches into fear. There's a 50/50 chance, but you've always lost your 50-50!

The door opens, and someone steps inside, a blue haired fellow, walking slowly and causing an intense atmosphere. You could feel yourself shaken, not because of him, but because everything feels colder. At least that's what's on your mind.

The blue haired fellow caressed your chin. And forcibly made you look at him.

"My, what a wondrous pet The Balladeer has taken upon."

[dragon-communion]

Every day I am one step closer to either writing an essay or writing a fic about "what if Miquella's god was Frenzy". Because like. Marika has the Greater Will. Ranni has her Moon. Malenia has the Rot. What's Miquella supposed to embody?

He's too small, too ineffective, too idealistic. Everything he does fails. Everyone he loves dies. He just wants people to please be nice to eachother. His own mother paints rivers of blood across the continent. He wants to grow up and he can't. He wants to save his sister and he can't. No one else can save her, everyone gave up on her. His father's useless, his mother's a warlord, his consort won't take him seriously, his own abilities are limited.

He has reasons to feel despair, but he Fucking Loathes Gods, and I firmly believe that the only reason he survived infancy is because something in his divinely blessed immune system responded to Malenia's rot by just. Making him a living panacea of some sort. Or, at the very least, immune to the influence of gods. His experiments with unalloyed gold are efforts to put his own immunity into some sort of functional material other people can utilize. Quite possibly by bleeding into the molten metal or something similar.

And I think that's what the cocoons are, too- Miquella trying to imbue his followers with his own biological advantages, and also cause them to be reborn into a cycle of his own making, much like Erdtree burial, except not necessarily through dying. A kind of baptism through metamorphosis.

Miquella distinctly lacks a patron deity, and if anything strikes me as the high fantasy equivalent of an atheist. Outer gods exist and he wants nothing to do with them, even if his initial project is modeled on Marika's Erdtree. It's what he knows.

And then, at some point, he develops Trina. Who has all of the characteristics of an outer god- a primal force that spreads through infection and has a psychopomp function for processing the dead, complete with the ability to change the eye color of her devotees (hello Thiollier).

And she's got more than one notable connection to Frenzy. The cut merchant questline, but also through the albinaurics, and the fact that Sleep and Frenzy both utilize the Focus stat. Eyes of Yelough and Trina's Lilies also have some somewhat similar soothing/addictive qualities that really got me thinking.

An Empyrean is a vessel, and they are meant to be filled. Miquella rejected that, and so was filled with something else- an aspect of himself that could play that role, that just so happens to function very similarly to Frenzy.

I'm just saying. What if?

[cherryrainn]

the perfect pair {onceler x reader}

.7 | 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 |

warning; s3lf harm, self-hatred, depression, mental health issues, etc, and A LOT OF ANGST!!

wattpad ver

song to play while reading if you’d like that i think matches this chapter

part before

next part

note; double upload <3 + ANGSTT

you were sitting on a worn-out bench in the back of the factory, dressed in the fancy attire that onceler had bought for you, the weight of disappointment and despair settled heavily upon your shoulders. your body was exhausted, drained from the constant stress of trying to change onceler's mind. he barely spoke to you anymore, too focused on his "business meetings." you wondered if he even loved you anymore. the sky above you was a dreary, sickly shade of purple-grey, a reflection of the polluted air that choked the once-beautiful truffula valley. you couldn't remember the last time you had seen a true, unblemished blue sky.

the factory loomed in behind you, a monstrous eyesore that blotted out the beauty of nature. you couldn't help but feel like a failure for not being able to persuade onceler to see reason. you had tried so hard, but it seemed like all your efforts were in vain.

as you sat there, your gaze drifted to the animals that had gathered a few feet away. they looked so hungry, so desperate. their eyes, once filled with life and curiosity, now mirrored the emptiness you felt within. it broke your heart to see them suffering because of your onceler's greed. you wished you could do something, anything, to help them, but you were powerless.

your body curled inward, seeking solace and shelter within the sanctuary of your own embrace. the weight of your thoughts threatened to crush you as you trembled with a mix of sorrow, frustration, and self-loathing. the tears that streamed down your face were not just born of sadness, but also of an unyielding determination to fight for what was right, even if it meant facing the consequences of your own powerlessness.

a wave of self-hatred washed over you, the same thoughts that had plagued you for months. you hated yourself for not being able to make a difference, for not being strong enough to stand up to onceler. without even realizing it, you started scratching at your face, trying to relieve the tension that had built up inside you.

as you scratched away at your face, a familiar voice reached your ears, causing you to look up. the blurriness in your vision gradually cleared, revealing the comforting presence of the lorax standing before you. his vibrant orange figure contrasted against the desolate backdrop. with a gentle frown, he spoke, "don't do that."

you sniffled, feeling a mix of relief and guilt flood over you. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry," you whispered, continuing to wipe away the remnants of your tears. the lorax moved closer, his concerned eyes meeting yours. "don't be," he reassured you, his voice filled with understanding. "it's not ch' fault. don't feel guilty about somethin' ya didn't do."

as he observed your tired eyes, the bags beneath them, and your fragile frame, he couldn't help but sigh. "when was the last time you took care of yourself?" he asked, genuine concern etched across his face.

you sniffled once again, shrugging in response. the lorax's expression softened, his voice filled with compassion. "you've got all the food you need in there, don't ya? go get somethin' to eat." his words sparked an idea in your weary mind, and your eyes brightened with newfound enthusiasm. "oh my god!" you exclaimed, a glimmer of hope returning to your voice.

without hesitation, you rose from the bench and gently lifted the lorax, placing him upon your shoulders. "we have so much food in the kitchen! i can just give it to the animals!" you exclaimed, a sense of purpose infusing your every word. the lorax beamed at the thought, appreciating your kind-hearted nature. "that's a great idea, but... how am i supposed t' get inside?" he questioned, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

a mischievous chuckle escaped your lips as you unveiled your plan. "don't worry," you reassured him, your voice filled with excitement. with a flourish, you flapped your oversized fur jacket, its ample folds creating a hiding place. "this thing is huge. surely you can just hide in it." intrigued, the lorax gave it a try, and to his surprise, it worked like a charm. "okay, great. let's get our friends some food," you declared, determination gleaming in your eyes.

with the lorax concealed within your jacket, you set off towards the factory, a renewed sense of purpose guiding your every step. the flickering hope within your heart began to grow brighter, fueled by the belief that even in the darkest times, small acts of kindness could make a difference.

you stepped into the familiar warmth of the kitchen. the air was filled with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering soups, bringing a touch of solace to your troubled spirit. determined to provide nourishment for the hungry animals outside, you swung the fridge door open wide, revealing an array of vibrant fruits, crisp vegetables, and tantalizing treats.

the lorax emerged from the shelter of your fur jacket, his eyes widening in delight at the sight of the bountiful offerings before him. his orange figure was almost not seeable as you carefully selected a generous portion of food for him, knowing it would bring relief to his famished friends. you handed him the nourishment with a warm smile, appreciating the opportunity to offer a small ray of hope amidst the darkness.

with a gentle hop, the lorax made his way to the open window. with a grateful nod, he leaped into the outside world, disappearing into the foliage with the food clutched in his hands.

as you turned back to the task at hand, a sudden clearing of the throat startled you. slowly, you pivoted on your heels, finding yourself face to face with onceler. the atmosphere seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation and unresolved tension. in that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, and the weight of the world rested upon your shoulders.

the atmosphere grew tense as onceler's anger radiated through his sunglasses. the soft orange/yellow glow of the kitchen lights cast dramatic shadows across his face, accentuating the furrowed lines of frustration etched on his forehead. the room seemed to shrink, enclosing you both in a bubble of charged emotions.

his voice was laced with a mix of betrayal and disappointment as he confronted you. "what the hell are you doing, y/n?" the words sliced through the air, carrying a weight that hung heavily in the silence. his arms crossed tightly, emphasizing his frustration and the distance between you.

with a nervous gulp, you attempted to play it off, your voice laced with a touch of innocence. "oh, onceler! i...just... i'm really hungry, you know?" your sheepish smile faltered slightly under his intense scrutiny, knowing deep down that your explanation fell short of convincing.

pushing his glasses up onto his head, he leaned closer, his tone growing sharper. "you think i'm dumb? i literally saw everything." disappointment crept into his voice, a crack in his once unwavering belief in you. the vulnerability in his eyes mirrored the hurt coursing through your own heart.

his accusatory words stung, echoing through the room like a bitter melody. "i told you not to fuckin' talk to him! this guy's tryna ruin my business, y/n!" his voice carried a mix of anger, frustration, and the fear of losing everything he had built.

the ambiance of the kitchen seemed to darken, shadows dancing around you both, mirroring the darkness within your relationship. the weight of his words settled on your shoulders, and the once warm and inviting room now felt cold and suffocating. 

in the dimly lit kitchen, emotions swirled like a tempest, the air heavy with tension. the faint flicker of candlelight cast flickering shadows across the room, adding an air of melancholy to the scene. it was in this charged atmosphere that you found the strength to speak up, your voice trembling yet determined.

"onceler, you're acting like a kid!" the words pierced through the silence, hanging in the air like a challenge. the intensity in your voice mirrored the fire in your eyes as you refused to back down this time. your outstretched hand pointed accusingly toward the open window, where the devastation outside painted a bleak picture of the consequences of his actions. "look outside, it's disgusting! you did this," you proclaimed, your voice carrying a mix of frustration and despair. "look at the damage you've caused! do you feel no shame?"

the room seemed to hold its breath as your words echoed. onceler stood before you, his towering presence emphasized by the brim of his hat, his face a mask of defiance and indifference. was he really not bothered?

"look, just tell me what you want," he retorted, his voice laced with exasperation. "i know you want something 'cause you're trying way too hard! we have like... all the money in the world! you have everything! what more could you possibly want?" his words reverberated through the room.

in that moment, everything crystallized. tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over, as you mustered the courage to voice your deepest longing. "the boy i fell in love with!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying a mix of longing and heartbreak. the room fell into a heavy silence, as if holding its breath, as your words hung in the air.

his once fiery gaze softened, he was taken aback. his eyes widened, and you could see the shock and surprise written all over his face. it was as if your words had finally pierced through the shell he had built up around himself. his once fiery gaze softened, and his eyes widened with a mix of surprise and recognition. in that moment, it felt as if time stood still, allowing a glimmer of hope to flicker amidst the chaos that surrounded you both

with a pained expression, onceler took a hesitant step forward, closing the physical and emotional distance between you. his voice, laced with longing, emerged in a whisper. "y/n...i..." his words hung in the air, caught between the confession that begged to escape and the weight of his choices that held him captive.

but you knew, deep within your heart, that this moment of vulnerability was just a fleeting glimpse of the boy you fell in love with. the boy whose dreams were filled with creativity, compassion, and a genuine desire to protect the girl that was always around him. as much as you yearned for that version of him, you also knew that he was entangled in a web of ambition and misguided priorities.

a bittersweet ache settled within your chest, a mix of love, sadness, and determination. you couldn't bear to walk away, abandoning the person you held so dear. love had tethered you to him, and even amidst the ruins of his actions, you clung to the hope that redemption and change were still within his grasp.

you reached out, your hand trembling slightly, as if trying to bridge the gap between who he was and who he had become. your touch sat right on his chest.

but as the moments passed, you realized that his silence spoke volumes. the reality settled upon you, heavy and unyielding. he wasn't ready to let go of the path he had chosen, and you couldn't force him to change. so, with a mixture of sadness and acceptance, you gently withdrew your hand, letting the unspoken words hang between you.

[letmelayinthegarden]

04/04/2024 (#45 - fill me up and let me drown)

I find myself

At the bottom of a well

Accepting the droplets of water that trickle from the bricks that surround me

And keep me shielded

Met with no sounds

Blanketed by darkness

Unaware of the world above

Beneath the surface of something much greater than me

More harsh

The things I can't control

And the parts of me I keep hidden

All lay with me in this well

They remain whether I am here or there

In my mind, or in my face

Lines they have drawn into my skin

And habits I can't shake

While I lay here, I feel the cold

Not from the rain that falls through the opening

But the absence of company

Something I craved for so long

But would shy away from once it was present

Constant fear and loathing

Of those habits I developed

And couldn't quite shake

The one who could repair

Lays at the bottom of a deep well

Unable to move, unwilling to scream

Slowly losing hope

That someone will find them

And looking up at that small hole of light

Only brings upon despair

This tunnel of mortar and brick won't fill

Not in this season

And I'll rot before the next

If I wedge my fingers between the cracks I could climb

But only for so long

Until my arms give out, and my legs don't catch my fall

And I am back where I started

Waiting to be found

-J

[little-forget-me-not]

I pushed through the essay even though I have very little confidence in it. And now I'm free. Free for a while to do as I please. But then, of course, I suddenly feel empty. I don't feel like doing anything. I look around me, all the material I've gathered, all the work I've put in, all the money I've spent to keep me alive, to try and better my mental health, to enrich myself, to make a difference...and I just think it's...all meaningless. And I'm not worth it. And I should still be better off dead. Why is it never enough? It doesn't matter how well or badly I do. The result is still derision. It doesn't matter what I triumph over. It's never enough. It's never true to my eyes. I've made it through the years and it was geuninely hell. It was poison for the mind, for the heart and soul, yet I made it through. Yet all I can focus on is the damage. The brokenness. The parts of me that had no control over my circumstance. "It's broken, just throw it away." Just throw me away. Just stop. Trying. But I don't. I don't. I don't know why I don't. When I struggle and have these crises of self, of faith, of being alive, a detached part of me sees it as: self-obsessed. There's narcissism in self-loathing, you know?

I'm really tired of being so against myself. All I can see are deficiencies, playing out right to the T as it is written in the textbooks. The statistics. The journal articles studies and the numbers. "You were made to fail." But it's untrue. And yet it's what I believe in.

Why is it when I finally have time, a little space to do something leisurely...to watch videos, to write creative prose, to research and create and play music, FREE from work obligations, my head only then fills with dark fog? With whispers of decay, of a deteriorating mind, holes in my brain, comparison upon comparison. Insidious, relentless, cruel. Nothing will change, it says. Nothing will change because you are incapable of change. You've given up deep in your soul. You're just going through the motions. Nothing will change.

They say I have changed, I have grown. I'm better now. I smile more now. I'm accomplishing so much with so little. (But others have even less than you) It's not enough. All I see are the things I can't do. And the conclusion is that I am unfit for society. I'm not able to work. I'm not able to be realistic or grounded enough, humble enough to do the real, dirty work of putting myself out there and taking in the real world. The one that bites, and steals and r*pes and kills.

I never got to truly be a child, nor a teen, nor a young adult freely. I had to be too old when I was too young. And young now that I'm old. As I near my indisputable age of adulthood, I am terrified that I am not able to be an adult. One who is stable and reliable, composed and wise. I finally have a taste of the childhood I lost, but the joy is tinged with bitter fear, that it will all be gone. That it isn't enough. I coast by the kindness of strangers and friends. But as I grow and grow, I feel embittered and unlovable. Surely the love will run out. The kindness will wane. And then I have nothing left. Nothing good left.

They say a broken bone heals stronger. I don't think that's factually true. But i don't think it's metaphorically true either. Perhaps once, or twice. But after a lifetime of fractures upon fractures, it takes such a light touch to shatter me. I used to be so strong. Mentally, emotionally. Prided myself on it. I knew suffering and I wore it proudly because I thought it made me strong. But it just ate at me, over the years. And now I no longer feel strong. After all that I've survived, I just feel like an empty husk. Biologically, we only get weaker as we go. I made it further than I ever thought I'd do.

And now I'm so afraid . I don't want to deal with being an adult. I don't want to go through the faces of intimacy vs isolation, generativity vs stagnation. Of integrity and despair. I don't want to go through all of it just to settle in the shadows of what I feared and knew I'd be all along. I've read the texts. I've seen enough, with what little I have. It doesn't end well for people like me. Ni speaking here...probably not true, probably reinforcing my fears with cherry-picked predictions and feelings.

But I'm still afraid I'll regret living.

I'm so afraid of being alive. The more I try, the more broken I feel each year. Despite the growth. Despite the tangible good. Something in me shrivels up as time goes on. I worry I cannot keep it going.

I promised I wouldn't leave though. Not just yet.

I hope I won't regret trying. I hope I won't regret this life.

[hecatemoon87]

Person not suffering from depression: Why are you sad all the time? Just stop being sad.

It's not "being sad"

I would define my depression as a bottomless pit of despair. A dystopian hellscape, riddled with self-doubt, self-loathing, mixed with guilt, regret, and shame.

It's not being sad.

It's wanting to die, if only to find some reprieve from the incredible mental anguish that haunts me during my waking hours. A dark shadow, a death shade, a monstrous demon that leeches off my soul.

Each morning, I wake up and fight this invisible demon, knowing full well that others can not see it. I do a damn good job playing the role of "normal", but at the end of the day I come home and I am exhausted.

By the way, everyone has a demon. Something they fight with every day. So, think before you judge and say or send a hurtful comment. I'm saddened by how much hate is offered up on the internet. The reason this is happening is because people are dehumanizing those on the other side of the screen.

Come on, humanity. Learn to be kind. If you don't understand something, fine. But lashing out at another isn't the way to handle it.

In a world filled with suffering, atrocities, and pain, be better. Be kind.

[vermilliondevth]

Harms Way's "Common Suffering" is more than just an experimentation. It's a powerful, hardcore-fueled, and emotionally electrifying album with a hidden message left to be deciphered by its listener. Whomever seeks to find the conventional approach to what they've done in the past could be easily disillusioned with this one, but if you dig deeper, you may find a masterpiece. It asks the listener:

"Do you know what real suffering feels like?"

This album suggests a deep exploration of the five stages of grief:

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

But what is most fascinating is that, it is much more closer to the true expression of how these stages are experienced in humanity. It is not cohesive, but rather confused and abstract. It speaks about a heart finding out that it has been betrayed. The realization that the truth we believed and trusted is no longer there, and so the journey of transcendence begins. The hurt ego begins with trying to maintain itself afloat with - - "Degrade, we're born to decay" - "Decline, they will let you down" - As the feelings and thoughts begin to affect our consciousness by circulating into a downward spiral, it then speaks with - - "I am in denial, I will never be free again" - "I have no sense of self" - "I can't forgive me, another victim in denial" - but the sword of deceit has already been plunged into the heart, perforating deeply - so deeply, it emerges all the way to the back. The sharpness of the pain, the burning sensation felt all over the body, and the mind finds itself in a state of shock. The blood pours out from the mouth and circulates all the way up into the brain. We suddenly become blinded by rage.

The anger. The endless anger. - "I can't live this way, live your way. I can't love like you do." - "Commitment, Illusion, you can't console" - "A selfish force, so cruel, a destructive scheme" - "You take my soul from me and I feel betrayed" - "A broken promise, the hate infests" - "You feel your life erode, it's all for nothing" - "I watched you betray me, I want you to fear me" - "Before they terrorize you, watch them bleed in front of you" -

It is anger sinking you deeper into the abyss, seeking for the ultimate destruction of the lie you lived. It is wanting to skin yourself alive to erode every false touch, hope, and empty promise given to you. Desolation, and despair. Feeling so many violent currents, you no longer can decipher what is real. Worthlessness.

Bargaining with faith, asking the question: Is this really my destiny? Am I still a man or have I become an empty shell? - "(Help me)" - "I remember (When will it end?)" - "Devour me" - "Why do we exist?" -

Only to find the door slammed shut, locked deep inside memories that can no longer be experienced nor lived in no matter how hard we try to pry it open, leading us straight into the meaningless of our existence - The Void. Depression, forcing us to meet face to face with the ultimate darkness, our shadow selves. The endless monologues, paranoia, neurosis - the inability to feel anything but pure emptiness: - "Fade away" - "Looking for seclusion" - "I forever am alone (dying inside)" - "Cornered alone, wounded and vulnerable" - "The years await, to fill the void" - "It's all for nothing, erase my future" - "I lay still, tomorrow I dread" - "The nervous system stalls, you cripple and start to fall" - "I blame myself and I corrode, and I surround myself with what I loathe" - "A sad delusion, I confess" - "I faced God, I was turned inside, It's back to hell, and I'm here to stay" -

The process of isolation. Not having the emotional currency needed to see hope. The endless shades of grey. The endless grief, corrupted by loneliness. Numbness. The "Cyanide" poisoning the heart, obliterating every feeling of hope. Using the last remaining dose of courage to grab the sword by the blade to remove it once and for all, for the suffering has been too great to continue tolerating - the endless bleeding, the ultimate sacrifice of love. Years go by and the wound ceases to bleed, yet it remains open. It then makes us question: Do we choose to remain or do we choose to cease? "The affection I feel, impaired. Relations turn to despair. As I cower to my knees, they empower" - "Never let them take control" - "I will always seek power" - And through the solitude, isolation, we begin to understand the nuances of the betrayal and it's meaning. We begin to understand that this pain and suffering, is a new source of power being gifted to us. Through the path of hell, we meet our creator - ourselves, and by looking at it straight into the eyes of the abyss, we begin to accept our fate. We become acquainted with expansion in our consciousness through our common suffering. We accept our anger and the injustice made onto us: - "And I looked into the eyes of a demon and I saw myself" - "The calm sets in, at peace this time" - "I'm free at last" - "The darkest past, no longer see beneath the surface" - "Sink to peace" - It then culminates with a song called "Wanderer": - "To wander beyond the sunset To sail above the seabed To wander behind the sand glass To reach the past of me

As I'm wandering, I'll be searching through - " The search for a new meaning. A new sense of self. A life beyond deception and hatredness. The search for the new truth.

As mentioned at the beginning, these messages are found scattered throughout the story-line, which brings a lot of confusing thoughts to what exactly is the message that is being conveyed. But that is the beauty of grief - the imbalance of emotions and thoughts, the constant ups and downs, the health within sickness - we can all experience these torments in just a day. The combination of this lyrics, alongside the heaviness and the metallic abstraction of the sounds, brings out feelings rooted within the subconscious that feel foreign, and almost terrifying. It invites the listener to open up their heart and feel the fear. I couldn't bear to listen to this album after the first time I did - for it triggered feelings I didn't wish to re-live again. But I took the plunge and allowed myself to go alongside the journey of pain - a journey that by now, I know very well. I came to understand that I am not completely alone in this world - someone out there experienced the same feelings I have experienced, and meticulously put into words the things I have always wished to express but never could. This band already had an immense sentimental value to me - it reminds me of a life I thought I would live forever. But as I went through it's journey, in the end - all I truly found was hope and acceptance.

Acceptance of what is long gone and no longer will be. Acceptance that I am also the wanderer, searching through - for the truth.

The ultimate truth that can only be found through common suffering.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

[girderednerve]

whining! complaining! kvetching!

yesterday i didn't eat breakfast before work (running late) and then i forgot to eat lunch (no excuse for this one) and then i wasn't hungry for dinner again (did eat it though). this is very inconvenient and it makes me feel kind of frantic and useless. everyone is like "listen to your body!" okay well my body is not helpful for this kind of thing. that is my fault too but :(

i am trying to eat. i would like to not be a fall-downy spaghetti noodle of a man. aim high right

anyway i am like six weeks away from being completely done with graduate school & i am so excited about it, graduate school sucks so bad. wildly overhyped. group projects are the devil &c. but soon hopefully i will be free of this particular set of problems & will have to find another

i have a job interview on friday for a youth services job (i think it actually focuses on teen services?). it is remote so i don't have to go anywhere and it'll be fine. i do feel kind of despairing about it, like there's no chance that they'll really hire me & i'm not sure i want the job anyway even if they offer it to me (no manager; previous manager widely loathed and now in an involved administrative role; rampant adultism in my library district; red state woes, &c.). i am trying to remain loosely optimistic & i could do important work there if hired! so. fingers crossed i guess.

anyway. list. list time. list as hell

we watched the dragon ball super hero movie this weekend & it was very fun. i love PICCOLO

my partner made bread. we have homemade bread now. i love bread so much. staff of life &c

my coworker is having her baby today & we are all worried for her but mostly really excited. hugged her goodbye & good luck yesterday & she promised to share pictures of the baby in the yoda-ears hat i crocheted for her

sharing work stories on here always feels kind of lame but we do a book giveaway program at my library where kids fill in a little form telling us some stuff they like in a book & then i go pick out a book for them & write them a little note in marker & stamp a bag for them to pick it up in. it's very fun for me. anyway on saturday while i was working a kid came by to pick up their book kit & got really excited about the book i picked out :) if u work @ a library & want more details about this program hmu i love sharing

my brother texted me yesterday looking for recipes, he wants to try branching out & cooking more (he used to live on kraft mac). grateful every day that my brother & i are friends now

pc that i vaguely attempted to help my partner build is really great :) now she has a bunch of stickers on her case. very fun

got a nice decaf & am slowly figuring out how to make decent pourovers. i love coffee

good luck to all of us & if you would like to tell me about a food item (incl. beverages!) that you have really been enjoying lately i would love to hear about it

[cup-of-hot-worm-milk]

I think Izzy wanted to break the cycle.

(SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 AHEAD) Also forgive me if this jumps around the place a little bit because I am not good at keeping my thoughts cohesive.

I think in Izzy's mind (based on him bringing up Stede to Ed and how he encouraged Stede to yell at him on when captured and jailed on Zheng's ship) his jealousy and hatred towards Stede was the domino effect that inadvertently led Edward to becoming the monster that he was.

Izzy thought he wanted the old Blackbeard back but really he just wanted co-dependency. He wanted to love Ed and have Ed without anyone else to properly talk or rely on. He wanted to know Ed better than anyone because he wanted Ed to belong to him.

(Remember in season one ep 5 where the idea of free and shared loved was foreign to him?

Izzy: "I could spill all your beans. You've been a proper little seductress, haven't you? Black Pete, Fang... Who else is there?"

[Lucius informs Black Pete that he drew Fang naked. Black Pete doesn't care; compliments his drawing].

Lucius: "See? We don't own each other.")

But Ed feels broken because Stede's love came without strings attached. He did things for Ed because he wanted too, he offered his friendship to the man even after learning that Ed was going to kill him. There was no dependency on each other, just trust and sharing.

Ed's breakdown over losing Stede is layered - it's not just losing someone he liked, it's losing someone who genuinely wanted to indulge and enrich Ed in his dreams and desires. It's losing someone who didn't scoff or question why Ed wanted to try on pretty clothes or learn dining etiquette but instead actively supported him in doing those things. It's losing someone who, perhaps for the first time since his mother, Ed could count on not needing to be someone else just to please. He didn't have to be the fearsome Blackbeard or the asshole from Hornigolds crew. He could just be Edward Teach.

But things happened - Stede was hesitant and then almost got shot. Ed became depressed and scared that no one could ever love him. The Revenge crew minus Lucius, Jim and Frenchie were abandoned and Izzy was permanently injured.

And here I think is where Izzy became hopeful that he had a chance with Ed again because, hey, that man is going to need someone to help fill the hole in his heart and look, his most loyal follower is standing right here [missing a toe but whatever] ready to support whatever orders his captain may have.

But instead of moving on from Stede, Ed just began to write the most violent, hateful, and tragic suicide letter. He took the loyalty and love of his crew and twisted it into fear. His first mate who supported him was now his outlet for his fury and despair - a person that Ed wanted to push away and terrify but didn't have the guts to permanently remove because he didn't want to be alone.

Ed tried to make Izzy hateful. He punished and hurt him. He belittled him.

But all he's done, I think, is make Izzy realise that hate does not resolve problems. Izzy tried to bring Ed back with reminders of Stede and his gentleness. There's a certain parallel that could be made between Ed talking about Stede's tactics to Izzy in season one compared to Izzy discussing them with Ed in season two.

Anyway, what I'm trying to get at is: Ed wanted hatred. He wanted fear. He wanted others to loathe and leave him but was too fearful to do it the straightforward way so instead he chose violence.

And Izzy doesn't want anymore violence. They dealt with Ed and now he just wants to move on. No more rage or hate. Let the man who truly wanted to best for Ed to remember him in the better light. Let the memory of a Ed who wasn't Blackbeard live on in the man who loved him. Let Ed have one person who will always want him, even after he is dead.

I suppose it's a gift to Stede and Ed in a way. Izzy's last act of devotion. He loved Blackbeard and so, here. To the man who Ed loved so much, I won't let you become miserable like him. I'll lie to you so you can have your fantasy.

Izzy lying to Stede saying he stabbed his painting to spare his feelings and make him think Ed was still a good person and didn't want to cause him any harm while being in unimaginable pain and barely conscious from having a limb amputated without any anesthesia all after being the reason they basically broke up in the first place. little man, you are so weird I want to study you under a microscope

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Bold Lover-like look at meridian heiress or his neither”)

To faint care na by. Two roads sunken     in the falling that he was a poor that erst perfection.     And themselves in spite of beaver hard enough though t     is time may love letters if they call it loving of the     very words; at last doubted

if I strove the unplumb’d, salt-     sweet pastimes thro’ the floors, all rockets first did moue, who are     change dissolved in never- ending dotage to try. And I     might—and break. I feed him flow’d, for as I. I’ll leave both of     us strife; you have seen

the tyranny, and the sibyl’s     den of future doth lie so in lease find no spot where Truth     would learn my sweetly than you list, you love ere my pain disguised     please, nor any wicked man thy song, list while I woo     then, for whom my reached their

contraction, not through Turner’s England,     less fate he may lover’s ear alone in grass never     they are glazed with his life and butter.&For another is     a zero vector existence, save again I would run     as it he country. Her

cheers in their cash, to shield his bow     of gems and could see, sweet pride! Of all the midst the world, and     couple with your worse to say, oh! And past some small pale body     takes, that which the scent from the window and gentle shafts:     there in whom men love my

Dear, my muscles go weak with blushes     for rays of life begun to thee back at merit do     I return rebuked to proper time; whether bar to me.     Heard thro’ all my decay, what my feet. Take Cuckold frae nane,     i’ll borrow Ile wed;

Despair itself so secret bower,     tho’ my head, filled their earnest of a great words so blessed     with deeper crimson lurks in those was vacant or in     parliament that once and living breed of bright erasing nursed     be there, and distrust the

stern. Been content, mission’d her he,     nor having dotage took fire, and should have relish in the     meaning offended may spy the excursive, breath, till you     of more low, mountain-tops with you. You who was kill’d from my     last doubted if I should

be in oil paintersects yet runs     parallel with the shadows wilt weep. And thereby I did     Cupid, and e’en with tears, distill’d of man, and thus may seem’d     quite through ocean and nuptial mirth? The act of the day. Bold     Lover-like look at

meridian heiress or his neither     throat and most true a delicate the milky way, beneath     the evil of mine eyes on his can I saw ten the     sky grew? Interrupted by my translated Hercules     Furens’ into her own

fire, which folly, noises too from     our notion is altogether. Where lives in hear my simple     and hath my life or home to loathed with that bring ye loved     the soft silver-white before that no child is born. What woman     broke then called me for

no esteem.&In a little straight     our Election a wobbling, pass’d in an amber up, close     as with us, it’d break on as Crowner’s initiation,     maybe looks the pageant the pass’d a way! Sits down the     deny it. To take doth

worship thy days, call men’s fruit of     all along time went to me molested. I’d rather     I would come hame alive alone! Where lay an unaverred     yet prodigy, Miss Araminta Smith I mean. I     am the ghost of any

fears the head the Third? And, with     the sky while no nightingales divine by loving fire.     Man prior to whom I long seal’d spell? Such a cardboard guitar,     a map of dangerous guide my head for I had lovely     figur’d, answer that

I find a strange, or at you know     how much grace and sad their pay: and the leaves, love, has think much     phenomena we’ll send ye. Is, is; they’re too weak for my     sake lay on; not blame you doubted, nor power to marry.     Blue eyes first and that may

world is more clear stream of a man     mad all Night banking the little, white fog. In hay. Thou shame     stole the rosemary we leave brought: for oft, when when heart higher     thro’ the cheese and prove the villains! Should trust any     tyranny, and but my name ….

[fraugremlinreads]

"American Psycho" by Brett Easton Ellis

⭐⭐⭐⭐

TW: Rape, Torture, Sexism and Homophobia

It should be noted that this book is very graphic in its depictions of rape and torture, and there are long homophobic and sexist tangents that were normalized for its time. it is not an easy read nor is it for everyone to stomach. There were times i had to put it down and walk away for a bit. Between these disgusting behaviors were lots of men fashion advice and brand name dumping! so somewhat educational if you ever wanted to know what that extra button on your shirt was for. This book is very good at what it is trying to go for and is a good narrative of a thriller/slasher but in the POV of the antagonist. Spoiler Review Below ↓↓

I honestly am not sure entirely what to say about this book. It fills me with disgust yet feelings of sadness wash over me between the feelings of discomfort and disturbed. Patrick Bateman is, by all means, a deranged and disgusting psychopath who tortures and rapes women, kills animals and men, but there are glimpses of things about him that almost make him feel somehow relatable? Glossing over the homophobia (and how 2\3 of the book likes to put Patrick in situations of men coming on to him in some way and him having anxiety over this) and the sexism (very in fashion for its time and still witnessed today so checks out) Patrick struggles to fit in, expresses his desire to fit in, but seems disgusted by everyone around him. He is ignored constantly (and we are never quiet sure if it is intentional or delusional) and there are tidbits of his backstory, things he doesn't want to talk about, yet he experiences the same anxieties and fears we experience. There are plenty of us who can probably relate to the idea of hating our environment so much that we fantasize about anything else, some disturbing intrusive thoughts we don't want to address at times when surrounded by people we absolutely loath but have to pretend we like them. Patrick is suffering from an identity crisis amidst his struggles with his colleagues and the women associated with them. Patrick however, acts on and even ramps up the depravity and feelings of frustration. It is his personality. Even his somewhat neutral feelings and struggles towards Jean, his secretary, (whom he belittles while also being convinced she reads books to make men fall in love with her) whom he seems somewhat satisfied with? I GENUINELY feel disgusted that a part of me somehow can see some positive idea between their potential relationship because, despite Patrick being a disgusting human being, he feels fear and despair and discomfort just like me and you (though this could also just entirely be social conditioning on my part and general conditioning developed through media consumption). but we will never really know if he is even real, because he is completely unreliable in his narration.

[dragon-appreciator-fray]

I'm not where I wanna be today.

For one. It is Mother's day and I am traveling go support my siblings.

Second, chapter 9 is not where I want it. I have come up with three entirely different versions???? One will probably be cut to introduce later. The other two can actually be rearranged in a way I think is emotionally satisfying if nothing else.

On their own, 7-9/10 are little snippets about the magic system. If I can nail the edit right, you get a lamentation about how the divine creativity with deities as the muse and practitioners as the inspired spellweavers are having their work compiled en masse and shoved into unchanging stones.

The magic system is supposed to change you. Astraea, Cerya, and Theriya clearly have visual shit going on. Horns. Colored skin. Moth features. Extra arms. Beautiful lesbians.

But that's not the magic system this story is going to use.

Ayre is host to one of twenty one parasites feeding upon one of the divine muses.

The emotional resonance of magic is bound to gemstones and affixed to implements to limit direct exposure. The closest Ayre gets to an act of creation in these chapters is being the one to harvest all the emotional pain that some guards are feeling that might have once been used to weave something compelling.

Ayre hurts them further in order to meet their quota. Backpeddles away and chooses self harm instead.

Only for Snapdragon to sweep in and recontextualize all this. Stop hurting yourself? Please. These stones may be filed with pain, Despair, and self loathing but the cast worked offscreen to prepare resonances you would feel comfortable wielding. These wretched things were made to protect you in the coming days.

Maybe one day you will find need to fill them with your own pains and heartaches. But maybe don't make that today? Instead, allow yourself to feel the weight of what is going into their creation. Share that emotional burden. Allow it to resonate with you.

You'll get more out of the magic system than just causing more trauma for the purposes of meeting a quota to fill the gemstone implements.

In my mind these chapters are so much lesser than the Astraea pov chapter. But they find a value and meaning in the cruel remains of what has been done to the magic system of the world anyway. And I think that's beautiful.

But it might take me more than today to really bring that home. It's a cobbled together realization of what these chapters could say instead of whatever straightforward meaning was intended.

[maybe-i-wanna-die]

I am 8 days sober from alcohol. I am 51 days clean of methamphetamine. When do I start to feel good about my choices?

For the first time in over a year, I am sitting with my thoughts and feelings. No work, no people, no substances to distract me- and it's excruciating.

It's been 8 weeks since I was assaulted. It feels like it happened a lifetime ago. I have come to terms with the fact that I did, in fact say no to the initial advances and it wasnt my fault. I did not ask for it. I froze. But that is was not consent. I have come to terms with the fact that I will probably not seek intimacy for a long long time. Nor will I seek a relationship for a very very long time either. I am completely okay with that. I dont think my heart can deal with being obliterated after being blindsided. 10 years. I didnt see it coming. I had no say in the matter.

I thought I was doing well in looking after my physical health during my drug use. I ate what I could manage, hydrated, took multivitamins and electrolytes. But I had lost a lot of weight. For the first time in my life, I was worried for myself. Despite being hospitalized with an eating disorder and being told I was putting my life at risk, a glance I caught of my reflection was the first time I think I saw myself how others must see me. For the first time in my life, I saw what they saw and it scared me.

I will never forget tearing open the seal of a tub of Ben and Jerry's icecream and shovelling it into my mouth like my life depended on it. But now I long for that thinness.

At my worst I drank a case of beer a day, on top of what food I ate, and I was still losing weight. Sure, my nails were brittle, my hair was thinning and dry and my face was angular. Out of over 50 sets of pretty bras, I had two on rotation that I could fill out. I hovered between self care and self loathing. I liked my body but I hated I looked like I had aged.

Obviously now I have an appetite. Now I have to fight it again. Just like all those years ago. I thought I was over it.

The pantry, fridge and freezer I stocked up with calorie dense, nutritious foods that were easily accesible for when i was using was no longer an ally. I was suddenly hugry again and I ate what I had. I could not justify throwing that all out. And I did not anticipate just how hungry I was. I wish I had told myself to slow down.

Now that I am starting over again, I have filled my larder with more sensible foods and ingredients. I have cut out alcohol in hopes that I could eat sensibly without hating myself as much, for I'd saved 110cal per drink. To be so vain as to choose sobriety. Though it does make sense to me to cut out the depressant one consumes when plagued with thoughts of despair and depression.

My body was obviously in crisis. I put weight on quickly and it felt like I was wearing somebody else's body. It still does. I never thought that I would grasp at my flesh and cry again. I never thought I would once more, want to take to my flesh with those clippers they use to shave meat off in a kebab store. I thought all that was behind me. I hate how fat I feel. How uncomfortable it is just to be.

Rationally, I know that prolonged meth use has fucked up my dopamine levels and changed the entire landscape of my brain's reward system. I understand I have been listening to music turned up to 11 and now it is so hard to hear the subtle nuances of a finely conducted orchestra. But in reality, I am just miserable. I am tired. I have no desire for anything. Nothing makes me feel motivated. I have to psych myself up for a day to do my laundry. But I do make sure I acknowledge every small task I do complete. I congratulate myself for doing the thing. Even if it was as simple as taking down the recycling. I feel no reward for doing the thing. I am still recalibrating. I am absolutely miserable.

There is a part of me that so badly wishes I could just be miserable and have energy. I could be miserable and thin again. But there is also a part of me that is so stubborn that every day that goes by, I know I would hate myself for having to go back to Day 1 of sobriety again.

I am now stone cold sober and I hate myself. I am so depressed I cannot function. I make sure I eat and bathe. I make sure I am hydrated and get sun and fresh air like a pathetic houseplant. I want to not feel so sad. I want to feel good about myself.

My hair is glossy and thick again. My nails are growing like they have never grown before. Though I also attribute that to the complete lack of cooking or general living, like a racehorse that has grown old and lame. My skin is awful because I am stressed. But i know that psoriasis and dermatitis comes and goes with my histamine levels. I know in my rational mind, things take time. Time is moving like molasses and I am absolutely exhausted.

I am doing things to help myself with blind faith and science. I got a blood test and it turns out I was anaemic, vitamin B12 and vitamin D deficient. So I decided to sit in the sun, go for walks and try to run again. I dismay at how weak I feel. How fat I feel in my workout clothes. But that is something I can control with time.

I am administering Vitamin B12 shots intramuscularly every fortnight. I am eating leafy green vegetables and salmon for Omega-3 . I am taking multivitamins and drinking kefir for probiotic benefits. They say gut health and the mind are intrinsically linked. I am eating more fiber and cutting out processed foods. I am drinking more water and no more alcohol. I am doing what I can to help myself, even though they do not feel good or natural but with a blind faith that they will help me.

What I failed to anticipate was that not only did my physical health return, so did my libido. Sex has always been an important part of my life. It was agency and ownership of my pleasure. It was a heightened, almost enlightened control I could exercise over my body. I have always been frank about my desires to others and to myself. It is one game I had mastered and was exploring all the side quests.

I self injured for the first time in forever after I was assaulted. I never thought I'd do that again. But this time it was like the bright colorings of a poison dart frog. All over my buttocks, and my legs were markings to signal to stay away. I am dangerous. I am crazy. And you never stick your dick in crazy. Again and again I made myself as unattractive as I possibly could in the most drastic way I knew how.

I never wanted to be seen as a sexual being by another again. I never wanted to be an object of desire; I have struggled with this since a young age where such thoughts should a haze on the horizon. But now, I know it is something that I cannot control. Not after what happened that night.

No drug high or state of mind will ever compare to the euphoria of orgasm. And I have been robbed of it. I had accepted that I will never trust another for a long long time- with my heart or my body. I was enough on my own. But that night I was robbed of the ability to enjoy being in my body. My self sufficiency. My ability to love myself for a little bit. The ability to make myself feel good. To be content for a while- in my mind, in my body and in the world.

I crave that euphoria and that release. I crave the feeling of being out of my body and out of my mind for a while. The most curious feeling of being hyper aware and present in my physical self, yet dissociated and completely divorced from the typical state of consciousness. I miss the complete control and lack there of in that moment. I am Schrodinger's cat for a little while. The electric warmth that oscillates through my body long after. It was not a matter of state of mind. It was not a matter of whether I wanted it or not. It certainly not for a lack of trying. In every which way I knew how. It was meditative and wholesome and yet there is now a impenetrable shield to something that was easily accessible and as natural as breathing. Something I could tap into and take as much or as little as my heart desired. I would gladly give up alcohol and drugs and carbs and flowers and music and all things that make my heart sing for the rest of my life if it meant that I could just get that back.

I have been robbed of my ability to make things okay. I have been robbed to self soothe. I have lost critical agency over my own body and the ability to love myself. All I am left to work with is an unslightly body and a heart full of frustration, dejection and disappointment. It's time to move on. I am but a husk of myself. It looks like my home but I no longer live here.

[dwoality2123]

When I lay on my soft mattress,

The crickets the only sounds

In the still night,

My mind journeys;

Regrets wash over me,

My heart aches.

The moon shines beyond my ceiling,

And I curl up in despair.

Six feet below the ground,

Someone rests for eternity.

Then I begin to wonder,

What of their last moments?

I wonder,

Was it loneliness they had to bear?

Paralyzed on the bed

Yearning to join the chorus of laughter outside?

Did they lie on the bed,

Hearing joyous melodies

And having no ability to join?

Was it unbearable?

Did they watch everyone walk pass

Not giving them a single glance?

Those moments that would be the last,

Was it filled with all-consuming hurt?

Had we been kinder,

Better,

Nicer,

Could it have been alleviated?

It's midnight,

I lie awake,

Thinking,

Hating myself.

I lie awake in wonder,

Did they loathe me?

That in their death bed,

I had abandoned them.

In their final minutes,

Did they cry silently?

Fully awake,

Yet unable to move an inch?

In the quiet night,

Everyone peacefully sleeping,

Did they weep

And give up?

Thinking that they will not be missed?

Thinking of their own regrets?

Thinking of what-ifs?

Thinking if they were good enough?

Were their last moments filled

With the same pain I share only a quarter of?

Or was it a peaceful goodbye

With silent wishes of a happy life?

A tear slips down my cheek,

Apologies resting on my tongue,

For only spirits to hear.

I cry regrets.

I should have done more.

Should have been better.

Selfish and cruel I am, so,

Perhaps it should have been me.

I think,

As I see pieces of you in strangers,

And fragments of happiness in my memories,

Yes, perhaps it should have been me.

I lay on my bed,

Thoughts chasing sleep away,

I dig my fingers on my scalp,

My eyes shut tight.

I writhe

To shoo the thoughts away.

Maybe it's your spirit,

Wishing vengeance upon me.

But I desperately hope,

You wear white,

And watch over me

With the same gentle embrace as I grew up in.

I love you,

That much is true.

I'm sorry,

I couldn't show it enough.

I love you,

You might doubt it.

I'm sorry,

It wasn't enough for me.

[honorhearted]

"It's nothin' to be makin' a fuss over. I've skinned my knee worse than this."

"Ah, yes: on my bedroom floor, perhaps? Don't be an arse," Benjamin admonished, though a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Even if you've had worse, that doesn't mean you should refuse medical treatment. Just let me help you."

Katherine remained steadfast in her stubbornness. "You've nothin' to be sorry for. You heard the bastards talkin' slander about your commander so you, Caleb, and I gave 'em a what-for. Now they'll think twice before runnin' their fat mouths in the future."

"You shouldn't have been involved," Benjamin insisted, his brow furrowing. "Good intentions or no, you've just unwittingly put a target on your back. Colonel Bradford doesn't take kindly to smart mouths and public humiliation."

"Oh for feck's sake. I'm no child. On with it."

Before he'd set off to war, Katherine expressed a similar sentiment as they'd laid together in the orchard, their bodies entwined while she'd encouraged him to "get on with it" before either of them lost their nerve.

Shaking his head, Benjamin poured the whiskey over her wounds and watched as a faint, barely perceptible pink filled her face. She was more than likely suppressing the pain, biting it back, and guilt-stricken, he stooped to press a kiss to her damaged knuckles. He'd never believed in such childish cures as "kiss it and make it all better," but somehow, with Katherine, he did -- she did make him feel better with their entanglements, and her lips did heal him even amidst his darkest depths of despair, so he could only hope and pray that his touch provided much the same.

"Your General Muchness, he's married, right?"

Benjamin looked up at that, bemused. "Yes, he is..."

"At the very least you can be content knowing Mrs. Muchness probably doesn't hear the end of his problems and has a solution for every damn one of 'em. Behind every important man is a woman keeping him standing upright."

Wondering if Katherine had somehow read his mind -- how was it possible? -- Benjamin finally allowed a soft smile. "As loath as I am to admit as such, I think you might be on to something," he agreed with a chuckle. "Though if you could be a little less colorful in your solutions, perhaps I'd be more inclined to listen."

Taking the gauze in hand, he carefully started wrapping the bandages around her knuckles. "Thank you, by the way," he murmured. "I'm not thrilled that you got involved, but I appreciate it all the same." Expression darkening, he added, "And I meant it when I said you'll have to watch out for Bradford. Female or no, he isn't beneath holding grudges."

As those nearby began to whistle and call out their vulgar remarks, Katherine had a much different approach than Ben's discretion, lacking the subtlety and finesse he did as she quite noticeably flipped them all off, but was pulled into the tent before she could shout at them all to suck her metaphorical cock.

Made to sit, she folded her arms and slumped back in her chair with a pouting expression.

"You're a damned fool."

"Oh, aye. That's the pot callin' the kettle black, Tall-man," she scoffed in response.

"I can see from here that your knuckles are all chafed and bruised."

"It's nothin' to be makin' a fuss over. I've skinned my knee worse than this."

Despite her insistence, her hands did ache, even more so when she attempted to curl them inward. Her fingers were still visibly shaking from repeatedly colliding with bone and cartilage. Moreover, she appreciated Benjamin's concern as he handled her carefully, gingerly, his expression softening with worry.

"I'm sorry," he uttered, "I truly do wear blinders when it comes to the ones I lo...th-the ones I care for."

His stumbling over his choice of words had not gone unnoticed, but she decided to leave it well enough alone -- for now anyway.

"You've nothin' to be sorry for. You heard the bastards talkin' slander about your commander so you, Caleb, and I gave 'em a what-for. Now they'll think twice before runnin' their fat mouths in the future."

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"Pot and kettle, Benjamin," she reiterated, "Pot and kettle."

"Hold onto something, if you must. This is going to sting a little."

"Oh for feck's sake. I'm no child. On with it."

The alcohol did sting, but she wasn't about to vocalize that fact, instead gritting her teeth tightly through the harsh and sudden burn.

"Your General Muchness, he's married, right?" she asked, wincing through the lingering burn, "At the very least you can be content knowing Mrs. Muchness probably doesn't hear the end of his problems and has a solution for every damn one of 'em. Behind every important man is a woman keeping him standing upright."