#I got into a car crash on the way there

[lamouratelier]

he got into a fight with security on his way to the stage

[inkskinned]

there's a video on instagram of a man kicking his partner's door in. the top comment is (with over 4 thousand likes): "how about you tell us what you did to make him that angry?"

barring emergency, nobody should be kicking anybody's door in. many of us lived in houses where it was always, somehow, an emergency. there is a strange, almost hysterical calm that comes over you in that moment - everything feels muted, and you almost feel, however incongruently, like you should be laughing. you are living inside of "the emergency." oh my god, you think. i am now a fucking statistic.

there is another comment with 2.8 thousand likes: "if this was a woman doing it to a man, nobody would give a shit."

do people give a shit now, though?

barring emergency, the door should remain standing. the emergency should be panicked, desperate - "i'm coming in there to protect you." many of us know what it feels like when the emergency is instead "i'm coming in there to get you."

1.5k likes: "and yet you post this for notes. glad to see being the victim has become your whole personality."

hysteria is a word connected to womb, from greek. what you're experiencing is so senseless and inhumane that you (a rational creature) try to find any ground within what is irrational and cannot be explained. one of the most frustrating things about staying in bad situations is that we also lie to ourselves. we also ask ourselves - wow. what did i do?

women can be, and often are, also abusers. abuse is not gendered. abuse is not just a "straight person" problem. abuse does not have a face or figure or sexuality. you cannot pick an abuser out of a crowd. an abuser could be actually anybody.

and then so many people rally behind the man kicking the door in. here is something nobody should be doing, right? you want to ask every person that liked that first comment: do you ask this because you side with him? do you ask this because it helps you feel safe from this ever happening?

in some ways, you're weirdly sympathetic to the top comment, because it is the same logic you see frequently. the idea is that the average, normal, sane person doesn't just break down a door. doesn't just shoot up a school. doesn't stalk and kill women. doesn't threaten sexual assault. doesn't run over protesters. doesn't shoot an unarmed black person. doesn't scream at underpaid walmart employees. doesn't just "lose it". something had to have happened, right? because the default (white. straight. cis.) - that is someone who is always, you know. "sane."

(right?)

on a podcast, you hear a sane, normal, rational person. "if you piss me off, i'm going to need to hit something. sorry but i'm not apologizing. that's just who i am that's how it is." his voice almost sounds like he's laughing.

you think of the door, and how you were almost laughing behind it, too. ironically, every real emergency in your life has almost felt peaceful in comparison. fire, car accident, flash flooding - these felt quiet, covenant to you. you'd stood in all of them, feeling them pass over and up to your chin, never actually overwhelming.

but when the door was coming down, you had felt - is there a word for that? there has to be, a word, right.

surely one of us has figured out the word for that, i mean. it's such a large fucking statistic.

[jubileebloom]

I trust you.

(it reached that point where like, it's not done, but it's done. it's as close to completion as I can get)

[snixx]

the shame of not having moved on from faberry in the year of our lord 2024. we all need that one yearny pretentious ass depressed white girl queerbait ship that we will never get over leave me alone okay

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Another L for the Max hating Seb girlies, we love to see it! <3

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 16

Featuring the same characters as Day 12! Not required viewing to understand this one, as it's more their origins. I've placed the story in the UK so apologies for any inaccuracies as I'm an American!

Content warnings for: alcohol consumption, smoking, implied addiction to both aforementioned, drunk driving, motorcycle accident, thoughts of death, and brief suicidal ideation. Stay safe!

Wound Cleaning

He knew he was too far out of it. Too dizzy, too tired, too weak, too drunk to drive back home.

But he’d stumbled to his bike, clutching his side and his cheek, running like a coward. When it roared to life beneath him, he found some forlorn spark of confidence.

Then somewhere on the side streets it had started raining. And in the forest between towns it came down harder. Then-

Fuck, his head hurt. 

Freezing mud clung to him as he rolled over despite the persistent warmth in his chest. When had it gotten so cold? The hazy shadow of his bike lay several meters away, its headlights shining off into the woods, engine still purring into a puddle. His phone was still in the tailpack, he’d call someone to pick him up… or 999… they couldn’t tell him he had it coming. 

A mirthless laugh covered a worse sound as he pushed himself up, dragging aching limbs toward the motorcycle. His left leg was fucking killing him.

A memory of skidding across asphalt, crumbling concrete tearing at skin.

He just needed to grab his phone.The leather bag hanging off the seat wasn’t yet submerged and he let out a sigh of relief, reaching in. 

Empty. Oh god.

“Nonononono…”

A bloody hand plunged underwater, searching until- the phone. It was dripping water from every opening, his fingers slipped against the buttons, pressing frantically as a black screen stared back. 

“Shit! God, no!”

He screamed and flung the useless machine against the ground, collapsing with it into incoherent sobs. If he got back onto the bike in this condition he’d crash somewhere worse. But laying here was a death sentence unless someone else felt bad enough to stop for him.

Ha. Funny. 

Well, if he was lucky… there. His trusty lighter and cigs were still zipped up safely in his pocket, one left in the whole package. Fate was one sexy, sexy man. He’d have to do him a favor in the afterlife if he made it that far.

“Cheers.” To nobody in particular, of course. It took shaking fingers a few flicks to activate muscle memory and spring up a little flame. A long, deep drag soothed his nerves.

Not a bad way to go out. Not bad at all. Tequila would’ve paired nicely with the smoke.

Headlights turned onto the road and he sighed, holding out a forlorn hand. At best, he’d be splashed as they whizzed by. At worst, they’d put him out of his misery. 

Or maybe those two should be switched. Either way, they wouldn’t… stop… but… they were slowing down. And he heard the doors unlock when the vehicle shifted into park. And those lights were making his head pound.

“Bloody hell! Is that you, Payge?”

“Depends who’s askin’,” he mumbled through a mouthful of smoke. “You gonna bring me in to the station?”

“Christ…” They muttered to themself and opened the trunk of their car and pulled something out before walking over. The headlights stayed on, acting as a spotlight. “C’mere, Payge. Can you move?” 

“Nicolai…?”

“The one and only. Come on.”

Nicolai was… how would he describe them? A friend of a friend of sorts. But maybe they were more of a friend, as of late. Did they even live over this way? Where the hell had he ended up?

Payge groaned and pushed himself up, missing a few times and slipping down. Nicolai’s hands reached out to help pull him over. 

“You smell like smoke. And booze.”

“Here. Just a bit, ‘ts my last one.” He offered the cigarette and they pinched it between thumb and index, took a drag, and blew it straight into his face. 

“The hell’s that meant to be?!” Payge coughed.

“You shouldn’t smoke so much.” They handed it back and opened a well stocked first aid kit, picking up a cloth and pouring some water out from their water bottle. “Where are you hurt?”

“You askin’ about the bar fight or the crash?” His words were slurring into each other again. 

“Payge…” they shook their head, concern coloring their features. “I told you to stop fighting.”

“And I wasn’t letting him go home w’thout a shiner.” They stopped arguing and simply stared until he softened. “Got punched in the cheek, thrown around a bit… I think my leg’s bleedin’.”

They brought the cloth to his face first, wiping away grit, and he hissed when they found broken skin over his cheekbone. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a bottle of antiseptic, I’ve just gotta clean you up first. You shouldn’t be riding in this weather in the first place.”

Nicolai moved to his abdomen, touching over the hem of his shirt and a frantic, uncoordinated hand pushed it back down. 

“Stop, you don’t needa… just call an ambulance. You shouldn’ hafta do all this.”

“Nonsense. I can’t leave your side not knowing what happens. Let me help.”

Payge hesitated before relenting, letting them pull up his shirt and inspect the bruise surely forming over his ribs. Once satisfied they moved to look at his legs, but noticed blood dripping down his arm.

“Your hands-?” 

“Just scraped ‘em.”

But they wouldn’t stand for that, taking him roughly by the wrist and cleaning the mud off to reveal harsh scratches from the pavement.

“Other one, Payge.”

“Lemme finish,” he gestured with his half-smoked cigarette.

“Give me that!” Nicolai snatched it right out of his loose grip and snuffed it out, grinding the butt into the pavement before tossing it into the puddle.

“Hey! Wha’s your problem, mate?!” Genuine anger snuck into his voice and Payge finally sat up, grabbing at their shirt and shaking them. “You gotta nother pack’a Marlboros hanging around or what, Nic?” 

A hand shot out and held him by the neck, and his grip dropped away in shock. 

“You’re gonna pass of infection if you don’t let me do my job. Calm the hell down.” The lack of response sounded like resignation, so they cleaned the hand that had now left a stain on their shirt. “Don’t let those touch the mud again, you understand?”

A meek nod. He allowed Nicolai to roll up his pant leg but seethed when torn fibers tugged at the wound.

“I’ll go quickly. Hold your breath.” And they ripped it off as promised, causing a long, drawn out keen. Wow. 

“Th-thank you…”

Something stirred but they swallowed it down.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

A bit more water was poured onto the cloth before working it into the wound, despite jerks and half-aware cries. As the mud was washed away, the severity of the gash became apparent. Though it didn’t cut deep, it was… extensive. They pulled the first aid kit over and grabbed the roll of elastic bandages.

“Bite down on this. I promise you’ll need it.” They held it to Payge’s mouth and he accepted it, fear flashing across his face. “Just focus on that and you’ll be alright.”

A new cloth and a pause to trap his leg with their own, then Nicolai poured the antiseptic directly on the wound. 

“Fuuuuck!” 

They worked quickly, wiping it over and working it into each crevice. They couldn’t be too safe. And the whimpers… A clean cloth bandage wrapped around his calf and they pinned it in place. 

“A hand, please. Whichever I should start with.” They held their palm up, offering the choice, but Payge was still curled into himself. They sighed and grabbed the closest one.

“No, no it hurts too bad!” He cried, trying to speak around the roll of bandages. “Leave it, how it is jus’ leave it…”

The antiseptic didn’t need to be poured in such a volume, but maybe it was their reward for dealing with him.

“Aren’t you drunk? You shouldn’t be able to feel a thing,” they shrugged as he screamed. The only thing that mattered was the way he struggled thoroughly cleaning the wounds. The same routine repeated with his other hand, and they were both bandaged in the same way. 

“Right. Your face.” He flinched away at the soft dabs and the butterfly bandage placed over his cheek. “There. All done.”

“I still… still can’t drive m’self home…”

Nicolai shushed him, scooping his torso off the asphalt to sit him up. They removed his soiled biker jacket, throwing it in the trunk and exchanging it for a few towels. One went over the backseat and the other went around his shoulders when they picked him up bridal style, laying him down gently across the seats. 

“Th’ fuck…?”

“I’m driving you home.”

“But… my bike…”

“I’ll take care of it. After I take care of you.”

[silliestuwu]

I think Forever is projecting onto Bad, he thinks he's going through the same thing he lived during the Happy Pills arc: losing his mind and not having control of his own body. "This isn't you" when in fact, it's the realest version of Bad we ever seen. Maybe deep down he knows that's not the case, but he's in denial because if he accepts that reality, he'll too have to accept that the Forever who exploded the whole island, that Forever filled with burning rage, that monster he wishes to never (need to) going back to, it's part of himself too.

He'll have to accept that both of them lost part of themself due to grief, and will never be the same. That's why he's so desperate, trying every damn thing, even the twisted options.

[httpiastri]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMrxtV5eQ/

Pepe has also acknowledged his shitty luck… how the actual fuck does this keep happening to him. How does this keep happening to him Paul and Ollie like 😭😭

😭😭😭😭 he knows…….. poor little fella :((

[peachcitt]

disappointed this morning because i put on a cute outfit and wouldn’t be seeing many people while wearing it because all i had to do today was take my car to the shop but good news‼️🤩☺️ i got into a wreck on the highway so a hundred strangers drove past me and saw how cute i looked😇😊🥰😘god works wonders🔥💯👆

[eggmeralda]

do you ever feel casually suicidal? like you're not depressed or anything you're doing fine but also it feels like a convenient option

[skitskatdacat63]

Please save me, I'm reading a reddit thread about Seb vs Max(bcs Tost said he thought Seb would win out), and none of these people know how good Seb was in his prime

[demonsfate]

i don't think i could ever truly be a pessimist. yes, life is full of a lot of hurt, a lot of bad. but then you read stories about ppl going above & beyond for others, ppl doing what seems like the impossible for their loved ones, and it just... it's hard to be pessimistic. love is indeed real, goodness is indeed real. hatred & negativity are such powerful emotions, they tend to blind you from how much love the world has. yes, life is hard, and life can be messed up. but there is always positivity, too. there is always something worth living for; no matter how small, or big that may be.

[hopalongfairywren]

I am going to fucking kill myself

[nerdyfangirlingbooks]

I've had a stupid merlin au idea stuck in my head for days now and I know I'll never get around to writing it the way I want it written but I kinda wanna try anyway even though I am 100% of the target audience

[autism69]

recently I've been madmaxxing

[didnt-hear-cold-as-you-live]

Do you ever wanna just run into a field and scream