#haven't i given enough?

[mentallyillastrophelfreak]

"Cause I could give you all you want, the stars and the sun, but still, I'm not enough." -Yours, Conan Gray

[prettiestst4r]

Crying over "Gilded Lily" because:

James Potter 🤝 "Haven't I given enough?"

[lemonwrap]

Haven't I Given Enough? - Oneshot

Simon visits the graves of his family. This is connected to Tongues & Teeth/Teeth & Tongues, but it's not a required read.

Read it on Ao3!

Ghost has been thinking about his family recently.

It’s been about a month since he moved in with Soap, since he cut out the brand, since they kissed. They’ve kissed a few more times since then, but Soap has still given him his space. Ghost appreciates it. 

Soap has been spending quite a bit of his time drawing, and Ghost has been searching for a job. He doesn’t have one yet, although he’s recently applied for two in the small town, and a few outside of it. He’s not expecting much of a response back, as he had a suspicious lack of work history for his age and no marketable skills outside of combat and being a weapon. But he wasn’t a weapon anymore. It was different now. 

But yet, despite his new life, his mind remains on his family. The remains of his old life. What were they like? Did they get along well with each other, or did they fight often? What were their personalities? It frustrates him that he doesn’t know. 

He’s read their obituaries online. 

James Riley, cause of death not listed. He had died years earlier, before the rest of the family. He’s buried in a separate cemetery from the rest of the family, though, which raises questions on what type of person he had been. 

Eileen Riley, Tommy Riley, Beth Riley, and Joseph Riley, cause of death all not listed. But Ghost knows what happened. Roba and the Zaragoza cartel had killed them, and Ghost couldn’t even remember it. Roba had beaten every single memory out of them or his past life out of Ghost, leaving him a hollow shell that he was only now recovering from. 

Losing his memory hadn’t been a sudden thing. It had taken years to break him, and the farther he goes back, the blurrier the memories get, until they’re just completely gone. He can’t remember his family, or his life before Roba, or the little things a person should know about themselves. He doesn’t know how he got to Roba, he only knows what Price and Soap had told him. He was part of the squad that went after Roba, and something went wrong. Simon went missing for a long, long time, and emerged as Ghost. And here he was, trying to lead a normal life now that he had killed Roba. 

He still has nightmares, flashbacks during the day set off by odd things, phantom sensations that make him ache. But they’re a little better. Soap makes them better. Ghost sometimes wonders what Roba had seen in him. Had he been a cruel man before? Or just an unlucky man? 

“Simon?” Soap asks him, pulling him from his reverie. They’re sitting on the couch next to each other, watching TV, although Ghost is more just zoning out than anything. “You good?”

Would you mind if I asked you something? Ghost signs, getting straight to the point. Screw it, he has to know. He has to see their graves. He can still see their blurry photos in his mind that he had seen on the obituary website.

“Not at all. What’s up?”

Ghost hesitates, suddenly losing a bit of his nerve. If Soap said no, he wouldn’t have enough money to go by himself, and wouldn’t until he managed to land a job. He has nothing except for what Soap has graciously provided him. 

I want to visit my family’s graves.

“Oh,” Soap says, looking relieved. “I thought you were gonnae say you wanted to leave.” 

Ghost hadn’t really considered the thought. 

“How soon do you want to go?” Soap asks. “I’ve definitely got enough saved for some plane tickets.”

Whenever you want to, Ghost signs, although he would really prefer to see them as soon as possible. It’s not like they’re going anywhere, but he still has this urge to see them. Maybe then he would remember. 

“Alright, then. I’ll get some tickets for next week, yeah?” Soap says. Ghost nods, incredibly grateful, and quietly puts his hand on Soap’s. Soap has always been far too kind to him, and while he still doesn’t understand it, he allows it. Maybe even cherishes it. 

——

One week and a plane ride later, they’re in Manchester. It’s where he grew up, and where his family home is, although he doesn’t recall a damn thing about Manchester, or his childhood. It was just what his file had said. He’s wearing his facemask and a hat, but his face was otherwise exposed to the chilly English air. Once, a local had asked why he wore a mask, and Soap had told them that he had an autoimmune disorder. Where he came up with that, Ghost has no idea, but it worked, because the local hadn’t asked again. 

“Do you wannae get some flowers or something?” Soap asks him. They’re in a taxi, and could stop at any number of places along the way. 

Ghost nods. Some flowers, or anything to put on their graves would be nice. Soap gets the taxi to drop them off near a local flower shop, within walking distance of the cemetery. Ghost is grateful but a little embarrassed that Soap is buying for him, seeing as he has little to no money to his name. 

“These ones look nice,” Soap comments, looking at some bright orange flowers labeled “butterfly weed”. Ghost likes them. He picks them up. 

Ghost just picks out what looks pretty, settling on butterfly weed, pink carnations, lilacs, and zinnias, one type of flower for each grave. Soap pays and they start their walk towards the cemetery, Soap occasionally looking at his phone for directions.

They soon arrive at North Hill Cemetery. It’s a rather large cemetery, and it takes some time to find the lot where Ghost’s family is located. It’s a rather crisp, cloudy day, and the wind nips at his exposed skin. Soap walks beside him, faithful as ever. After some searching, they finally stumble across Eileen Riley’s grave, and the rest of Ghost’s family. Their graves all sit right next to each other, united in death. 

Eileen Riley, his mother. 

Tommy Riley, his brother. 

Beth Riley, his sister-in-law. 

Joseph Riley, his nephew. 

They had all been so young when they died. They had so much time left, and Roba fucking took it from them. He feels a harsh sense of guilt. He had probably gotten them killed, and now he can’t even recall a single thing about them. He only knows their names, what had happened, of their existence because he had been told by somebody else. 

He tries to remember, he really does. He strains and fights, but it’s like they never existed in his mind. There’s just nothing there. They’re strangers to him. Ghost’s eyes grow watery and he averts them quickly, rubbing away with the heel of his hand. He can feel his lip wobbling and he sniffles, trying not to cry like a fucking child. Why can’t he just remember them? Why was that so hard? 

“Hey,” Soap whispers, grabbing his other hand and placing a gentle kiss on it. “It’s okay.”

A single tear manages to escape as Ghost signs, I can’t remember them.

“It’s okay if you cannae remember. It isnae your fault.”

Soap wipes the tear off his cheek with his thumb. 

“We’ve still got those flowers,” he offers. “Let’s put ‘em down, yeah?” 

Ghost nods, wiping the wetness off of his cheek with his sleeve. Soap gives him the four bundles of flowers. He places the first flowers, the pink carnations, on his mother’s grave. Tommy gets the butterfly weed, Beth the zinnias, and Joseph the lilacs. It hurts. It hurts that they’re dead and he can’t do a damn thing about it. Sometimes he wishes he had taken more time when he killed Roba, to avenge his family, Soap, himself.

Ghost spends a long time standing at their graves, wondering what they had been like, how much they all loved each other. He tries not to think about how scared they must have been when they died. He dries his tears and wanders back to Soap, who has patiently waited for him a few yards away. 

Let’s go home, he signs. 

[sanotherhplaceitonhidey]

I hope you cry watching this. Cause I cry doing it.

Now CRY.

[aynayabakincagorulenler]

"Always the fool with the slowest heart..."

[my-pretentious-den]

Spite

I lack any other motivation in my life other than pure spite.

I study hard not because I genuinely enjoy it but to then prove everyone who did not believe in me wrong.

I crave learning new things not because I inherently want to but to shove it in the face of the next man who tries to mansplain anything to me (again).

I eat healthily and take care of myself not because it makes me feel better but to show my parents that I am capable of living by myself.

I finished degrees in politics, international relations, environment and art history partially because I like them but primarily to use the argument "I have a degree in x" in a conversation

Overall, living out of spite is working quite well for me, I strongly recommend

And if I lay awake at night wondering how much of who I am is really me and how much is who I project to want to be seen as, then it's nobody's business

[shclari]

am I that annoying and unbearable?

[uncanny-tranny]

To terminally-ill disabled people: you aren't going to be forgotten. You deserve a space here in this world no matter how long you'll be here. You deserve every chance to be happy, to be welcomed, to be understood, to be accommodated, and to be taken care of to the fullest extent. You haven't "given up," you are so incredibly important, and it takes so much to be in your shoes. I hope you can find pride in who you are. Your existence is meaningful.

[inkly-heart]

please don’t be sad little sprout, you are loved 🌱 🖤

🌱

[mentallyillastrophelfreak]

my story pt.1

I used to have no friends at all cause I was always quiet and just watched. Now, the elders would ask me who I'm usually with or shouldn't I be with my friends that day – I either break down when I'm unwell, or just smile sheepishly knowing that I don't have any.

People would tell me that if I tried to open up more then maybe I wouldn't feel so lonely. I did try, though, once. It didn't go well. But then, I decided to try again. I said hi daily to anyone, or I try to smile even the slightest at people who actually acknowledge me. Then I tried starting a conversation with this guy who was feminine, but not gay.

Next thing I knew, I had friends. I connected with people. I enjoyed my time with them and looked forward to meeting up with them. It was nice. And I was always there to comfort them because they have crappy self esteem and have mental issues. I was their mom and therapist friend. It was nice. All was well.

Until I got sick, but I still went to school. I was so tired and I kept coughing and sniffling a lot. I was so tired that I couldn't talk to anyone, and even if I tried, it's so hard to even talk. I made an excuse to my feminine guy friend that I'm sick and that I won't be able to hang out with them properly for a while. He barely glanced at me or acknowledged me. It was fine. It's just probably my head messing with me.

The only person who ever forced a mutter out of me or even a half smile was the boy sitting next to me. I really loved him, like really loved him, but he was with someone else so I'm hopeless. He liked to annoy me and by doing that, it forces a smile out of me. But then again, I was barely talking.

Three days later, I was still sick. But I had improved cause I was actually smiling without any reason again. Until that afternoon my mood shifted and I lashed out on my friend by yelling at him to stop being a...you know. Then I made him cry. I. Made. Him. Cry. I was so freaking ashamed of myself and I tried to apologized but he didn't accept it. I hated myself so much that I went on complete silent and I didn't participate on my next class. The pain of my own words cut into every part of my body so deeply, especially my head. My head felt like it was being banged by a rock. Plus, our lesson was about self-consciousness. I hated the world and myself.

Then after that period, the boy beside me decided to annoy me again. I was staring outside, frowning, and you know what he did? He stared at me for a long time, then mirrored what I was doing; then when I looked away to look down on my hand, which I was writing on, he did the same. I noticed everything and I couldn't help but look at him, smile like a fool, and think "I love you so much dammit."

Until I noticed that I had difficulty breathing. I started rubbing on my chest cause it hurt and my breathing picked up. The boy noticed and asked if what was wrong. I told him I couldn't breathe and forced me to drink water. But it was getting worse. My head was racing with so many things I couldn't think properly. Then the pain was getting unbearable that tears started filling my eyes, and the boy had to call on our adviser, cause, gosh, I was crying.

They took both my arms, then I started hyperventilating. I gasped for breath as tears streamed down my eyes and all I could think of is holding on to the boy with me. They took me to the school clinic and was cold, stiff and numb all over. Before the boy left, I looked at him one last time and thought, 'im so glad that it's you who saw this.'

When I was alone, I left the clinic without anyone knowing then went back to the classroom. My mom found me and made me took a pill before she had to leave. I started crying again, and the boy listened to me ramble about random stuff. And this girl who's always quiet, was the only one who helped me too. And you know those other friends I talked to? Barely cared. Ignored me.

Then I start to wonder, 'was I just the second option?'

[hekateinhell]

Anne Rice plotting out Louis's (permanent) death in the early notes for Merrick...

Since I was already referencing a response I gave to a question about Armand's possible reaction to Louis's suicide attempt earlier today, I remembered this that I stumbled on while going through the Anne Rice Collection at Tulane — which in a way answers that very same question:

This scene has to be major in the novel, and as I see it now, Claudia will be extremely horrible to Louis and drive him to suicide.

Louis will expose himself to the sun, and the others will find his burned body in its coffin on the flat portion of the slate roof of the townhouse.

Those who will come together, having felt the passing of Louis will include Armand and Merrique.

David will be for scattering all the ashes of Louis. But Armand and Lestat will refuse to do it. Then Lestat will be won over. Armand will want to pour blood on the ashes. Armand and Lestat will get in a battle, and finally Armand will give up, and Lestat will pick up the lumps of charcoal of the body, pulverize them and scatter them to the winds.

Okay, but Armand and Lestat battling over whether Louis can be brought back to life? Lestat scattering Louis's ashes while Armand presumably watches, defeated? My heart!

Next time you complain about Merrick, remember... it could've ended like this.

I love Louis and I love him with Armand and Lestat both (separately and all together), so of course I'm very grateful Anne didn't go this route! But the idea that she might've??? 🫢

I'm not up to write this level of Angst™️ and do it justice but it's definitely something that could be explored further in fic! And it is one (of many lmao) instances where you can see such a stark difference between where Anne started and where she ended with her novels.

[gideonisms]

Once again frustrated by how Difficult it is to do very basic tasks

[a-s-levynn]

(source)

[shimmershy]

Frisk Month Day 3: Shopping

Except Toriel's the only one doing the shopping because Frisk keeps hiding in the clothes racks.

[thethiefandtheairbender]

anyway kataang is at its most interesting from 1) katara's pov and 2) just how messy and complex her view of and feelings towards aang and love and grief really are

[moongothic]

You know when I originally suggested that maybe Dragon is the one who gave Crocodile his scar and/or took his left hand --if only because [Dragon not recognizing the big scary man with a baby when he was supposed to go see his wife, assuming the worst and acting accordingly] would make for an A-Class tragedy and great fucking drama (something which I would expect to see in One Piece)-- I wasn't fully convinced with the idea, I just considdered it just another option on What Could Have Happened between those two to get us where we are ...But the more I think about it, the more I've started to kind of believe it. And for two key reasons, first being kind of everything we know about Whitebeard, and the second being the basic logistics around the suggested scenario to begin with

By which I mean; if Dragon had indeed gone to see his wife so he could deliver their newborn baby to Garp, but instead came face-to-face with a man he had never seen before but who just happened to have the exact same and very specific facial scar as his wife and/or the same god damn hook... Like I can't say he SHOULD be able to recognize Crocodile instantly, but also, surely either of those features would make him stop for a moment think and/or talk before he'd jump into action, let alone if the man had both the scar and the hook. Of course, there is an argument to be made that maybe Crocodile had a smaller hook originally that no longer fit on his wrist after getting jacked so maybe Crocodile just wasn't wearing any hook at all, and a missing limb isn't an unusual disability on its own, at least not enough to faze Dragon. And who knows, maybe the two were supposed to meet on a dark and stormy night, in which case between the low light and the rain it could've been hard for Dragon to see any scars on Crocodile's face from a distance. These are both reasonable arguments, absolutely. But, as I have mentioned a few times before, sometimes the path of least resistance might be the most likely option as far as story speculation goes. If Crocodile had both his hands and no scar on his face, then Dragon wouldn't have had any way to immidiately and instantly recognize Croc (aside from his fashion sense) as he would've been missing (what we would now considder) his most distinquishing features. Which would it much easier for Dragon to jump into action and attack the strange man without a second thought.

And then there's Whitebeard. Whitebeard, who was kind of famous for stomping rookie pirates only to invite them to join his crew as his "sons", but who also had a weird thing about not having women in his crew (his nurses aside), because he believed "women do not belong on a battlefield". For one, that actually kind of supports the "Crocodile is openly trans" theory because, again, how the fuck would Croc have been pre-t AND stealth as a Wardlord getting his shit kicked in by Whitebeard? Like it's not impossible, as we have discussed many times before (and that is not the point of this post!!), but once again it would be easier to just assume Crocodile was still living as a woman at this point in time. And indeed, that could answer the question of "why would Whitebeard not invite Crocodile into his crew to be one of his children like Ace and everyone else?". If Croc was still living and presenting as a woman at this point, Whitebeard would not have even wanted him in his crew. (Sidenote but since Whitebeard seemed to have no issues with Jinbei hanging around the Moby Dick despite being a Warlord I don't think Crocodile's Shichibukai status should've had any impact on WB's ability to invite him to his crew. To be fair though, Jinbei did join the Shichibukai much later so it is possible WB could've just changed his position on the subject over the years) And that leads to this question; if Whitebeard has that kind of views on women, then would he ever go as far as to severely injure and scar (someone he viewed as) a woman right on their face? With an attack that could have very easily chopped Crocodile's entire head in half like a god damn burger bun if he weren't careful? Do you think Whitebeard would have chopped Crocodile's left hand off and left him permanently disabled if he viewed him as a woman who shouldn't be a fighter to begin with? Yes, to be fair, we do not know the circumstances under which Crocodile challenged Whitebeard into a fight and what kind of a pirate Crocodile had been up until that point, what his reputation had been and if he had done anything in particular to invite Whitebeard's wrath (much like Kid and Barto with Shanks). Like for all we know he could've done something truly heinous and fucked up enough that Whitebeard thought teaching him a lesson was justified.

Just, looking at all of these notes together, I can't help but to feel that it's actually very plausible Dragon could be the one responsible for one of Crocodile's injuries if not both (if Crocodad Real).