#i know it’s shouting into a void and if people don’t care then nothing i say will get them to but

[randompiggy]

Cool so I get that a bunch of you don’t think Arabs are people or whatever, but if we could not say that a guy who is facilitating a genocide “has actually done a lot of good” and that a woman who has pledged publicly, multiple times, to continue the genocide would be a “legitimately good president” that would be great.

I’m sick to bastard death of people pretending that people don’t want to vote for Harris because they’re inflexible far-left anarchists who aren’t willing to compromise on political positions slightly to the right of theirs. Over 100’000 people have been killed in the last year. More bombs have been dropped on Gaza in the last year than the Blitz, the bombing of Dresden, and Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined. Yesterday CNN published a piece about IDF soldiers running over hundreds of people with bulldozers, and the point of the piece was how traumatising it was for the soldiers, how they can’t eat meat anymore after mangling people into meat. There are death marches happening in Jabalia in the north of Gaza right now. People are being lined up, men and boys separated from the group, and brought to mass graves where they are killed or buried alive. Since more than 70% of civilian infrastructure in Gaza has been destroyed, Israel is just bombing people in tents now where they burn alive. The bombs killing people are American bombs, the money funding it is American money, the political cover that allows it to continue comes from American politicians.

I don’t know what it will take for people in the West to acknowledge the scale of what is happening. I don’t know if I have to share a steady stream of images of people’s mangled bodies, not able to rest even in death, I don’t know if I have to tell the stories of the Palestinians I know, of the children I know who escaped Gaza this year and are rehabilitating limb amputations, if I have to do thought experiments with you saying “pretend Beirut is New York and they are bombing outside JFK and Columbia Presbyterian”. If I have to explain that the number of children killed is not incidental but intentional. It is beyond exhausting to watch people be so flippant about the hell on earth that they are funding and electing. Vote for whoever the fuck you want, I get the stakes, but acknowledge the reality of what is going on, acknowledge the reality of your choices, acknowledge that you live in a country that is making you choose between complicity in genocide and complicity in genocide

I mean honestly I don’t hate Harris. or Biden, who has actually done a lot of good in the last four years especially considering the mess he had to clean up. but whatever gets the “my imaginary moral high ground is more important than peoples’ lives” fucks to vote.

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 3 - Bolt

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Back again! I have split the final chapter into two parts as it makes more sense that way, you’ll see why when you read the last one – which hopefully I should be able to post later this week, or early next – I’m just working on getting it right. Warnings for angst, angst and angst in this part – sorry in advance. I felt a bit weepy writing this. I’ve been blown away by the support this story has received, especially as it was written on a bit of a whim, so thank-you for all your reblogs and comments – it means a lot!! Also shout-out to the recent Variety SebStan photoshoot - very inspirational...

💔

You were sleeping like the dead, it was a miracle that anything could’ve woken you – but the soft click of the hotel door opening must’ve cut through the void somehow, because you shot up in bed awake, disorientated and suddenly on alert. Your breathing was heavy as you adjusted to your surroundings. What…where were…?

Bucky gently closed the door behind him and rushed over to your bedside.

“Hey, hey…it’s just me, you’re okay doll. I’m sorry I startled you. I was trying to slip in quietly…” he cooed, “I thought knocking might be too jarring…stupidly…”

You blinked at him, you were just able to make out his face in the dark as recognition sunk in. His features were subtly illuminated by the parking lot lights, the room’s curtains doing little to keep that glare out. He looked tired and drained; his hair unkempt. There was a weariness in his face that you hadn’t seen before. You groggily flicked on the bedside lamp as your brain caught up with the rest of you.

For a blissful moment you’d forgotten it all, from the haze of sleep, you’d forgotten why you were here. Bucky! Bucky is here! Your safe place. You began to smile and instinctively moved towards him. He smiled too, a relieved smile, holding out a hand to you so you reached for it with your own –

Wait.

Oh.

You saw the hope in his eyes dwindle when you jerked away from him, a scowl hardening your expression as you whipped your hand back as quickly as if it had been burnt. You pulled the sheets high and tight, covering your body as if you didn’t like that any of you was visible to him.

As he tried to lean over to get closer to you, you greeted him with a blunt, hard slap across the face.

He recoiled, his hand moving to his stinging cheek as he stood up to his full height and stepped back, “fine. I deserved that…”

“What are you doing here?” you sneered, “How did you even get in?”

He tilted his head towards the door and held up a key card, “They let me in. They gave me a key”.

“Well, they shouldn’t have! They shouldn’t just give away door keys to random people…”

“They don’t, just me,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes and turned away, “You think this is funny?”

“Doll…” he reached out to you again, but you smacked his hand away.

“No,” you growled.

“I found out the truth…I know it wasn’t you. I’m so sor-” he sounded frantic, stuttering and jumbled, worlds away from the cool and collected man you knew so well. But you were unmoved, his betrayal still stinging and raw.

“I don’t care,” you interrupted, your tone flat and cold, “it’s too late”.

“I should’ve listened to you. I’m so sorry, baby. I flew off the handle without talking to you. I should’ve trusted you…” he pleaded.

“Yes, you should’ve,” you snapped bitterly, “but you didn’t. You wouldn’t let me talk, you just shouted…then you threw me out with nothing! Like I was trash! I walked for nearly two miles alone in the dark, in the middle of the night, Bucky. Anything could’ve happened to me…” your voice wobbled slightly at the end of your sentence; you took a deep breath – refusing to let anymore tears fall for him.

He dipped his head, his gaze dropping, unable to look at you. “I know, you’re right…I keep thinking about it…I keep…”

“Save it!” you shouted, a little more emotional than you intended. “All I wanted was for you to listen to me. I don’t know anything about a recording, or my phone pinging, or whatever you were ranting about. I just can’t believe you wouldn’t believe me, after everything we’ve been through…”

He sighed heavily, then withdrew his phone from his pocket. He began to scroll through.

You scoffed, “what are you-”

And then your voice, clear as day, rang out from his phone. Bucky held it up towards you, his face pained. You listened, stunned, as you heard yourself on the recording. It was so real you almost considered that it was you, and you’d somehow forgotten that you’d actually said it.

“Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything…”

After it had finished, you furrowed your brows in confusion, your mouth hanging open.

“But that wasn’t…” you whispered.

“I know. I know that now,” he sighed, putting the phone back in his pocket. “Rumlow set it up. He put it together with cutting edge AI, some advanced tech Stark helped develop. He also planted fake footage of you on the CCTV. Took your phone to an incriminating location. But Sam caught him tonight. He’s been working with the feds to bring me down, to make room for a HYDRA revival. He knew I’d be weaker and easier to takedown if you and I fell apart, so breaking us up was a two-birds-one-stone deal”.

You blinked, bewildered, a chill running through you as you thought about the lengths someone would go to in order to break you and Bucky up. You knew a little about HYDRA, the rival syndicate that Bucky used to work for before he struck out on his own. They’d been defunct for years, or so Bucky had told you. The implication of someone being able to make your voice say anything they wanted also haunted you. Rumlow could’ve even framed you for a crime with such technology. It was…scary.

You could see why Bucky freaked out, presented with all of this incriminating evidence, but…

“Rumlow didn’t break us up, Bucky”, you said quietly as your words sharpened. “You did. You could’ve come to me first. You could’ve showed me this and we could’ve set everything straight. Instead…you went nuclear…”

He dropped his gaze again to the threadbare hotel carpet, unable to meet your eye. It was almost funny, he looked small for the first time since you’d met him. Despite his towering height and hulking frame, he almost seemed like a little boy in that moment.

“…I just can’t believe you thought I’d do something like that to you. That I’d betray you like that. That I could look you in the eye every day and lie to you and…”

He suddenly looked up, quickly snatching your hand, “I’m so sorry, doll, this is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made…I’d do anything to take it back…”

“Well you can’t!” you sniped back at him as you tore your hand away from his, tears in your eyes. “You must think so low of me that you think I’d be capable of this. And all the stuff you said about me leeching off you for your money! I’ve never been comfortable spending your cash and you know that! I can’t believe you’d throw it all back in my face…”

“Baby, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean of it. I was hurt…” he said, the desperation building in his voice as his eyes widened, “I was just trying to hurt you the way I thought you’d hurt me. I didn’t really think it. I never have”.

“It must’ve come from somewhere!” you spat venomously, “you didn’t pull it out of thin air…”

“I promise. I was just throwing words out and didn’t care what they were as long as they hit. I just was so mad,” he sat down on the bed and began running his hands through his hair as he closed his eyes, he always did that when he was stressed.

He sighed heavily, then turned to you, “Look”, he began – his voice soft now. “I guess part of me always thought this was too good to be true���everything happened so quickly when we met. I’d always been content with one-night stands and casual hook-ups. Then I met you, and…” he trailed off as he chewed his lip, carefully choosing what to say.

You watched him, your earlier anguish now hardened into pure rage, you wanted to kick him out – send him out into the street the way he had with you. But you also wanted to hear this. You wanted to understand what possible reasoning there could be for causing of this pain. What weak excuse he could use to try and justify his cruelty. He looked at you again. His eyes were kind, warm. But you couldn’t help but remember the coldness in them from earlier. You didn’t think you’d ever forget it.

“I guess…everything changed. I fell for you so hard. You took over my life. Invaded my thoughts, my senses. I just wanted to be with you all the time. And to my surprise…you felt the same. This sweet, wonderful woman wanted to be with me, too. I was sure you’d turn away when you found about my job…my past…my scars, my arm... Because why wouldn’t you? You were kind and decent. You saw the best in people. How the hell could you love someone like me? A killer. A monster…”

“Bucky, I…” you croaked.

“Please, just let me finish…” he pleaded, “but somehow, you did love me. And I know you moved in with me quickly, but it felt right. You had a rough start in life, and all I ever wanted to do was take care of you and fix it so you didn’t have to worry about money or paying bills or any of that ever again. I wanted you to sleep soundly, knowing I would protect you and do right by you and you wouldn’t have to sling burgers and fries to get by anymore. And part of me knew it was selfish…because you deserved better than me. You deserved the white picket fence, a dull but decent man with a boring job who comes home and tells you about whatever shit Janet in Accounting got up to that day. But no, you had me – who stole you from that peaceful future to make myself happy. I worked late and committed violent acts. I had to give you bodyguards just in case. I uprooted your entire life. I did my best to give you the love you deserve, but I couldn’t even get that right. When I heard that tape…it was like the universe telling me what I already knew - I wasn’t worthy, and the debt I owed was getting collected. I guess part of me always expected I’d inevitably screw it up, because I never deserved you in the first place. And I’m just sorry that I proved myself right”.

You sniffed back your tears, bowled over by his words. He’d never said anything like this to you before, you had no idea he held those insecurities. The silence hung heavily between you, until you finally spoke, your voice shaky.

“But I was happy slinging burgers. And I never wanted the boring guy. I never wanted the white picket fence. I wanted you, Buck. Only you. I knew who you truly were, and it didn’t matter. It never mattered. You did deserve me. You did deserve love and everything we had…until…well…this”.

He nodded sadly, taking your hand in his.

“I know that now, doll, I do. I ended up sabotaging the best thing that ever happened to me because of my own fears. And that’s on me. But look…I need to ask, do you think you could ever forgive me? I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll go at whatever pace you want…We can just be friends and see how it goes. I’ll go to therapy to sort out my shit. Anything. I’ll never doubt you again. All I ask is that you give me one final chance to fix this. Please, doll…I’m begging you…”

You looked into his big blue eyes, glossy with his unshed tears. Your heart ached and twisted at the sight. You’d never seen him looking so vulnerable before, so lost. You loved him so very much. You would’ve taken a bullet for him if he’d asked. He was correct that the two of you had moved fast in your whirlwind romance, but it always felt like a natural progression. It had always felt right.

But something had shifted. Something monumental. And you didn’t know if it could ever be like it was. It was wrong now.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I can’t….I…” you whispered, squeezing his hand as your tears began to fall. “I want to…I just…I don’t know if I can…”

He inhaled deeply and your heart shattered as you saw the flash of anguish in his eyes. But then he took a moment, a sad but accepting smile creeping over his face. He leaned over and wiped away your tears with his thumb.

“It’s alright, doll” he told you softly. “This was my fault. I’m not gonna force it or push you to forgive if you’re not comfortable doing so, okay? Not because I don’t care or don’t want to fight for you. But because I love you, and loving someone means sometimes you have to let them go”.

You nodded as you looked up into his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

“Hey, c’mon…” he soothed.

He quickly vanished into the en-suite bathroom, returning with a small wad of toilet paper to dab at your tear-soaked cheeks. He extended a finger and gently moved it under your chin, propping your face up to look at his. The tenderness and care he showed you was what you were used to with Bucky. This was the version of him you’d always known. It almost made you forget about everything. Almost.

You both shared a small smile. A melancholic smile, a smile that you both understood meant too much had happened here tonight. Too much had changed. You can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. Nothing was spoken, but everything was said.

It was hard to know how much time had passed, but eventually he got up and moved to the door. You didn’t stop him, and he didn’t ask you to. He ran a finger over your trusty red backpack as he passed the desk. He chuckled and picked it up, “I should’ve known this old thing was involved. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how you left with no clothes or money…but you’ve always been the most resourceful person I know.”

You smiled back at him weakly.

“It’s funny…” he mused as he caressed the straps, “you had this emergency kit already to go. Just in case…”

You shook your head, “no…it wasn’t meant to be a kit, it was just left from where I moved in with you. I didn’t-I just dumped it when I…”

“Yes…left fully packed and untouched. With clothes and cash. And debit cards, presumably. Stashed in a closet by the front door. That doesn’t strike you as a choice? A plan? Even if you weren’t fully aware of it?” he asked.

You didn’t respond as the silence laid thick between you. Incisive Bucky, as always. He could read you better than anyone on the planet. You knew he was right, he knew it too. You swallowed, looking down at the frayed thread on the bedsheet.

“You are always planning, doll. Because you always had to, with the life you’ve had. You always had to keep moving and stay one step ahead. We both know that”.

Again, he was met with your silence as you pulled at the thread. But there was no denial. You couldn’t deny the truth.

“Guess we both had our own ejector seats for this plane,” he mused as he moved the bag back to how he found it. “Looks like we had even more in common than we knew”.

He was right, again. It seemed that both of you had your anxieties and insecurities about this relationship. Both of you were maybe a little too cynical and world weary to believe in happy ever afters. His had manifested in anger, in rage…yours in being ready to flee at any time. Both of you had been on the starting line waiting for that pistol to fire.

But it had only finally imploded because of him.

He continued his slow march to the door, clearing his throat as he looked back at you.

“I meant what I said, every word. I’d do anything to get you back. I’d go at any pace, I’d take whatever you offered – in any form, as long as I’m still in your life in some way. I’d spend the rest of my days apologising if I had to. But honestly, I’d also be happy just to be your friend. Okay? So, you can call me, text me, anytime. Hell, just send me an emoji. Even if you just to talk. Even just to yell at me. I’ll always pick up, I promise”.

He pulled a business card from his wallet and placed it on the desk, “here. Put my number in your new phone when you get one”.

You stayed mute, but your eyes followed his hand as he gently put the card down.

“Will you be okay? For money, I mean?” he asked as his hand rested on the doorhandle, “because I can…”

“I’ll be fine Buck, I always am”.

“Yeah doll, I know”, he said softly.

Neither of you said goodbye. Maybe it was too hard to actually say the word out loud. Speak it into existence and accept its reality. So, he just nodded at you, and you smiled back, and you tried not to think about the tears glistening in his eyes or that painful tugging in your chest.

A few seconds later he was gone, and then it was as if he’d never been there at all.

[crazyintheeast]

Chappell Roan is the epitome of why liberals keep failing in USA . She is the most stereotypical internet liberal . Someone who doesn’t understand politics and more importantly someone who absolutely refuses to learn and correct themselves ever . We see people like her all the time online . Liberals who live for the drama , who shout and rage but don’t actually do anything in real life . Sure they might go to a protest because again drama but actually becoming part of their local political landscape ? Run for office ? Volunteer ? Nope . They almost never do. In fact you can barley get them to vote

They see politics through the lenses of movies , where you if you shout long and hard enough and do some frantic gestures the opticians bow down and the good guys win . And as soon as their scenario doesn’t happen they immediately quit and refuse to do anything because in their kinds this will “teach the politicians a lesson . It will hold them accountable “ . We saw it with Obama as they handed control to the senate when he magically didn’t solve their problems , we saw in 2016 when they handed the country and the Supreme Court to Trump because their idol Bernie didn’t get elected . And no we see it again with people like Roan and her kind who think it’s more important to criticise dmeocrsts then then sheer horrifying evil and threat of Trump and Vance

And when you point this fact they always parrot the exact same type of strawmen “OMG YOU WANT US TO WORSHIP THE DEMOCRATS AND BLINDLY FOLLOW THEM ? “ or “I AM HOLDING THE POLITICIANS ACCOUNTABLE. THEY NEED TO EARN MY VOTE “ and then they tend to have a meltdown and get very self righteous .

This is bullshit of course . If they lived in a normal country you could do it. You could vote for a third or fourth partu and then on the second tour of elections the President would be force to make alliance with this party and incorporate them into the government. But USA is not a normal country . Here you have ONLY TWO CHOICES when it comes to President . Horrifying evil or a typical politicians .

And I can practically feel some of your exploding to parrot the accountability line again. . You can hold them accountable . You can do it by writing to your representative, by voting in primaries , by supporting candidates who represent your views . Chappell Roan could have easily done that . She could have supported pro Palestinian candidates who got ahnilated by the Zionist lobbies , she could have constantly told people to write their representatives, she could have hosted benefits for pro Palestinian candidates . Hell she is rich enough she could have hired her own lobby firm to lobby for Palestine . But that would mean actually getting involved into the cruel and deeply boring and dirty world of politics . So instead jsut like all those internet armchair liberals she just complained online , gave some symbolic donations that might help individual Palestinians but do nothing about the political situation and called it a day

And most of you who support her are like this . You want solution to the problems but instead demanding specific actions and doing the hard , very slow and ungrateful job of doing the step by step work you about into the void some vague demands about change , stol genocide etc and act like you are above politics . Yeah that’s not how it works . If you want to be vague and bullshit your way through politics you vote blindly for the lesser evil ( yes evil in the only option in politics . There is not good ) like the sheep you claim to hate or if you want real change you get detailed and world hard

Yes I know the vast majority of tik tok / Twitter liberals and Roan fans won’t actually bother even finishing what I wrote and would just write some dismissive nonsense or parrot some random line they think it’s wittty . And the rest would ignore the entire point and go on about how Roan is a good person who cares missing the entire point . It doesn’t matter if you are a good person or how much you care about the issue . The only thing that matters is whether you help or not . Right now the ONLY way you can help and is to vote like your life depends on it and insist that everyone you know votes as well and about how dangerous Vance and Trump are . The biggest piece of shit who votes and takes a stand against Trump and Vance is doing more to help the world then the most saintly caring liberal who goes on about both sides and does random tik tok world salsa where they threat voting like some annoying chore

And lastly remember. EVRY VOTES MATTERS even if you are in a red state . Bush won by 500 votes

[trulybetty]

Drip | Joel Miller x Reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 1,243 Warnings: References, but doesn't reference, events in TLOU2, so if you want to avoid conversation around that and comments - might be best to pass on this. Summary: I've got nothing - just me and my feels. AO3: Linked

A/N: This piece or whatever you want to call it leaves it up to interpretation if Joel came back from golfing or not. Not sure I'll go anywhere with this - but I wanted to get it out of my head. Don't think it'll get much traction, but one of those fics that I wanted to write for myself.

Drip.

You can hear Maria arguing with Tommy. You can’t make out what’s being said, but you can hear them going back and forth.

The water is getting cold, but you can’t bring yourself to get out of the bathtub. 

It’s been a long time since it was just you. A long time since you’ve been on your own here. You’re not sure how it works, being alone, anymore. Maria had told you you weren’t truly alone, you’d looked at her confused. She told you that you had herself and Tommy. But the sentiment hadn’t been as comforting as she had intended it to be.

The tap is dripping, he was supposed to fix it. 

There’s a slam of a door somewhere in the house. Your head is too full of static to figure out where it’s coming from. There are steps on the stairs, hurried and angry. You know who they belong to, but you don’t care because they are not the slow, comforting thumps that bring you peace at the end of the night.

The room is getting cold, the winter wind is seeping through the window you left open. The flimsy curtains that had once served a decorative purpose for the previous owners, fluttered with the breeze. 

The bang of an open hand on the door is resounding in the still of the bathroom, where the only noise is the constant drip, drip, drip of the leaking tap. Maria and Tommy’s voices are clearer now. They’re still arguing, but their raised voices are now directed towards the person banging at the door.

The tepid bathwater covers your face as you lower yourself into the tub, inching closer and closer to overflowing. As close to spilling over the edge as you are to the point of breakdown. 

Your name is being shouted now. But it’s distorted under the water almost like it belongs to someone else.

You wish this was all for someone else. 

You squeeze your eyes closed tight before you resurface.

All three voices are arguing now. 

None of them are from people you want to hear from, but at least the banging of the door has stopped. 

The pile of clothes next to the laundry basket is still there, just as it had been that morning. You want to go back to a time when the only problem within the four walls of that house was getting those clothes into the laundry basket instead of next to it, without argument.

The tap is still dripping. 

Your bruised and bloodied knuckles still throbbed. You’d put up a good fight when they’d tried to take you away, you hadn’t wanted to leave. They'd said it was for the best, you needed to rest. You’d screamed until your voice was hoarse, insisting he shouldn’t be alone, you'd begged and pleaded. Maria had promised you that he wouldn’t be, but here she was with Tommy; how did she know that he wasn't alone?

You haven’t cried. 

The tap. Is still. Dripping. 

He was supposed to fix it. 

When you submerge your head underwater again it’s not the slow slide it was before into the peace the water brought you. No this was in anger, water spilled over the edges of the bathtub, you gripped the ceramic forcing yourself down and under you screamed.

It's a cry of desperation that echoes only in the void beneath the surface. Your thoughts are a torrent of confusion, anger, and loss. 

Finally, you resurface, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The water splashes around you, droplets clinging to your skin. The house is silent now, the voices gone. You don't know if they've moved elsewhere or if they've just stopped talking.

They were arguing about you, about him, about what to do next. It's all a jumble, and you can't make sense of any of it. 

Slowly, you step out of the bath, the chill of the air on your wet skin. You look at yourself in the mirror, it's a stranger staring back at you. Hollow bloodshot eyes and shoulders hunched over as if you're carrying some unseen weight. You wrap a towel around yourself before you rest both hands firmly against both sides of the sink as if it's all that keeps you standing.

The water runs off of you dripping into the sink in chorus with the drip from the bathtub. 

The silence is so fucking loud and you don’t know what to do. 

It’s fight or flight but you’re rooted to the floor in anxiety over what to do next.

The house, your house, which once held the promise of safety, now feels like a fragile shell and you feel open and exposed and the cold from the window is seeping into your bones. Your chest is tight, and a stab of pain at the side of your head reminds you that the headache you had earlier is returning. The damn tap keeps dripping and you cannot decide if you want to run head first to what’s on the other side of the door or submerge yourself back into the water.

The crescendo of intrusive thoughts peaks and your ears pop, your mind is suddenly quiet and it scares you. Your heart hammers in your chest, the abrupt silence amplifying the chill of dread that crawls up your spine that has nothing to do with the open window.

Slowly you step away from the sink, your body trembling, your hand pauses on the doorknob before you tentatively open the door.

The moment you step out of the bathroom you regret it instantly. 

The room is empty. However the bed is still unmade, the sheets are still dishevelled from the morning. 

It's like a freeze-frame of another life, a cruel reminder of the morning's normalcy. You can almost hear the whispered conversation you’d had despite being the only ones in the house, feel the warmth of his skin despite the wintry chill the room clung on to, the soft press of a kiss. It feels like it's from another lifetime, yet it was only hours ago.

You stumble towards the dresser, your hands grappling with the fabric of his shirt, still strewn across the chair from the morning. It smells like him. You pull it over your head, the fabric a comfort against your skin. It's a small solace.

The house creaks, and for a moment, you're not alone. You can hear the echoes of guitar strings, see the flash of smiles, feel the press of hands.

You sink onto the bed, your hands clutching at the sheets. The tears that you still have yet to cry threaten to spill. There’s a dam holding back a river of sorrow, grief, and so much anger, with nowhere or no one to direct it at. You feel broken and lost, adrift in a world that changed in an instant.

The walls of the house feel like they’re closing in on you, and the life you once knew is unravelling at the seams too quickly for you to hold on.

Your body shakes with sobs that won't come, tears that refuse to fall. 

The room is darkening as night creeps further in, the world outside moving on as yours has stopped.

The bathroom door is open.

You can still hear it.

He was supposed to fix it. He was supposed to be there.

But he's not, and the tap is still dripping.

[abhainnwhump]

IMYM: Chapter 18 Guardian of Nothing: Ribbon

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It wasn’t Nightmare’s fault Ribbon suffered from graphic dreams that night. It was his aura and Ribbon’s over-creative imagination.

Ribbon wandered by himself in the castle gardens. The sky was cloudy and stormy, but that didn’t bother him. It was always gloomy in Nightmare’s AUs. The farther he walked, the more the flowers wilted. He wanted to turn back, but something kept pushing him forward. Everything was fine until he closed his eye sockets.

A hand shot out and covered his mouth with a chloroform rag. He struggled and screamed which only made him breathe more of the poison. Ribbon cried out. Whoever grabbed him had a rough grip and a strong smell of butterscotch. The doll couldn’t process it as he passed out.

Again, Ribbon blinked, and the next thing he knew he was in a bedroom. Wait, this place looked familiar . . . The Star Sanses’ Clubhouse, oh. He was in the guest room, which was one of the most boring rooms. The walls didn’t have any color but beige. The only furniture was a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, a mirror, and a lamp. Ribbon stretched and got off the bed. The poison in his lungs made it hard to breathe.

Ribbon walked through the familiar hallways. Something was different, but he couldn’t tell what. His memory of the full clubhouse was fuzzy, it’s been a long time since he was here. It was hard to explain, but despite that, something was off.

“We have no other options but this. What else is there to do? Wipe his memories and retrain him to be a hero? That doesn’t excuse what he’s done. We have to send him away. It’s the only way we’ll be safe. Ink deserves it for his betrayal.”

Ribbon froze when he heard Core Frisk’s voice. He peeked around the corner at them, Blue, and Dream. Dream had his face in his hands. Blue kept his hand close to him, but he looked away from him.

Blue spoke. “They’re right, Dream. We can’t trust Ink anymore. He’s not our friend, he’s a monster, I don’t care what he says. He worked for Nightmare! He murdered people! He left us for him! He abandoned his job! And he’s so dependent on Nightmare that he can’t even take care of himself!”

Dream moved his fingers aside so his left eye light was exposed. “Is that the plan? Leave him alone in the void to die? That would be torture!”

“I know, but we have to! What if Ink is spying for Nightmare? It’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Core put a hand on Dream’s shoulder. “Ink is dead, Dream. The person in the guest room is someone else. Someone evil. Someone who doesn’t deserve a second chance.”

Dream looked up at them. His eye lights flickered from upset to angry. It was too quick for him, or was Dream always like that? Ribbon couldn’t remember well. “Fine, if that’s what’s best for him . . . fine. I’ll tell him tonight and we can take him-”

Ribbon let a whimper slip, though he didn’t remember opening his mouth. The three turned in his direction. They looked angrier than he’s ever seen. Especially Dream, whose sympathetic gaze turned to fury.

“You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?” Dream stood up. “WEREN’T YOU?”

“I-I didn’t mean to . . .” Ribbon’s voice broke as Dream towered over him. He was taller than Ribbon remembered. “I’m sorry. Please don’t punish me.”

Dream raised a hand and Ribbon ducked. He would never even think about running from Nightmare, but Dream was different. At least Nightmare’s punishments were done out of love. Ribbon slipped beneath his arm and ran down the hall.

“Ink! Come back! That’s an order!” Blue shouted.

He didn’t listen and kept running. He made it to the entryway and pulled on the door. It was locked. Ribbon tugged on it until Dream, Blue, and Core showed up. Oh stars, what did he do? Maybe he could smash through a window?

Ribbon tried to break the window only for his left arm to nearly get yanked from its socket. Core and Blue grabbed them and kicked his legs so he kneeled. He fought to break himself free, but they wouldn’t budge. Blue crushed his left foot under his boot with a sickening crack. Ribbon bit his cheekbone to keep from crying. It hurt, it hurt, it HURT-

Dream stomped up to him and punched him in the jaw. Ribbon’s vision blurred as he struggled to stay quiet. His limbs tingled. He wasn’t sure if Dream liked begging the way Nightmare did and didn’t plan to risk it.

“We’re going to lock you away and there’s nothing you can say or do about it. You betrayed the entire Doodlesphere for a crush, my brother of all people!” Dream wiped his eye sockets. “I can’t believe you, Ink! Why would you do this? You were the good guy! And now you’re no better than Nightmare and his team.”

Ribbon cringed away. Don’t yell at me. Please stop yelling at me.

Blue summoned a bone attack and shoved it through his arm. Ribbon yipped and tears ran down his face. Why did he ever think they were his friends? Tsk, who was he kidding? A dumb toy wasn’t worth that kind of kindness.

Core twisted his wrist. The hurt was weird and distant, but he still felt some kind of white-hot pain. Ribbon looked over and nearly screamed. His hand, oh stars where was his hand? On the floor. Of course it was.

Ribbon couldn’t hold it in anymore and cried. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Please give me one more chance! I’ll be a good doll! I’ll do whatever you want! Please let me go! Don’t send me away!”

“You don’t get a second chance, traitor!” Dream cursed. He punched Ribbon in the jaw again. “If you can’t even think of an excuse as to why you turned your back on everyone, then you don’t get . Oh, stop crying! You’re faking it!”

“I’m not! Please stop-stop!”

Another punch. Ribbon’s mouth filled with metallic-tasting blood. He “Dolls don’t say stop. You out of all people should know this,” Dream said.

Blue rolled his eye lights. “Ribbon’s not a person. Ribbon’s a toy. An it.”

“You out of all toys should know this. There. Is that better?”

“Yep!” Blue smiled innocently.

Core tied his wrists together with scratchy rope. Ribbon cried out when they tightened it; he couldn’t feel his remaining hand. He wasn’t a huge fan of Nightmare restraining him, but at least he did it with soft ribbons or his tendrils. “Everyone is going be better off without you. Even Nightmare doesn’t love you, he’s just using you.

“That’s not true! NIGHTMARE! NIGHTMARE HELP!” Ribbon screamed. He wanted his boyfriend so badly. Where was he? Why wasn’t he rescuing him? Were they right? Did he abandon him?

“See? You still choose him over us!” Blue said. He crushed his other foot. Ribbon bit his tongue. He didn’t have the energy to struggle. Everything burned. He couldn’t take this cruelty much longer. This stupid dream wouldn’t let him pass out.

Core stood taller and forced Ribbon to stand on his broken feet. He sobbed. “Okay, we’ve tortured it long enough. Let’s drop it in the void and we can start rewriting history and pretend it never existed! Everyone will forget it in a few years.”

That last sentence stung worse than his broken feet. No one would remember him? No! He didn’t want to be forgotten! Ribbon cried harder.

“Alright, let’s go!” Blue said. He sounded waytoo cheery for someone about to commit murder.

Ribbon, Core, and the Stars teleported to the Garden of Doors. They were all there at first, but after a blink, they disappeared. Only one door remained, the one that led into the void.

Not wanting to be shattered across time and space, Ribbon couldn’t help but try begging one more time. “W-wait! I can be good! You can train me to obey your orders, give me a new personality, rename me, and I’ll even let you treat me like an animal! Just don’t do this! Spare me! Please!”

They threw him into the void. The last thing he saw was Blue’s glassy, hate-filled eye lights.

“No! Come back! I’m sorry!” Ribbon called as they shut the door. He half-swam half-squirmed to it, but it was gone. All alone in the void. Again.

Ribbon’s hands began to crack as his emotions drained. How did he run out of emotions already? And it never hurt this much before. It felt like he had a vacuum on his chest, sucking out his bones and shattering them in the process. If he could, Ribbon would’ve screamed. Half of his ribcage was gone. His legs were ripped apart by an invisible force and crumbled to dust. His pelvis followed, and then his spine. It felt like he was being burned and frozen at the same time.

The doll screamed. “Someone! Anyone! Help me! I’m scared!”

Ribbon snapped awake, his body sweating. He was still in Nightmare’s bed. He turned to see him, but he wasn’t there. He panicked and shot up, only to realize he had a hand on his face. Nightmare was sitting up and studying him. He had to have heard his crying or felt his kicking. But why didn’t he wake him up?

Nightmare’s thumb stroked his cheekbone. “Are you okay, Ribbon?” he whispered. “It’s two in the morning and your aura is negative enough to give me an adrenaline rush. You were screaming my name and begging for mercy, and you’re still trembling.”

Ribbon hugged him as tight as he could. He wanted to make sure he was there and he wasn’t still dreaming. Nightmare held him, rubbing his skull and making shushing noises. The touch didn’t feel fake in the distance like with the Stars. Ribbon took a deep breath. “It was a really bad dream, but I’m a bit better now, thanks,” he said. The repeated motion was soothing.

“Would you like to tell me what it was about?”

Ribbon shuddered. “. . . I got kidnapped by the Stars. They took me from you, beat me up, told me no one loved or remembered me, and threw me into the void. I lost all my emotions and . . . and . . . I died alone. They hurt me!”

Nightmare didn’t stop petting him. Ribbon leaned into the touches, confused when he did stop and lay his hand over his foreskull. "I see. Your mind might be giving you a warning. Guardians can have dreams that predict the future. And if yours affected you this badly, well . . ."

Ribbon thought about it. He knew about the dreams thing already but . . . He looked at Nightmare's face, which was a weird mix of worry and something else. "They're actually going to hurt me?"

"That's right." He muttered something under his breath and a faint glow came from his hand. Ribbon shuddered as he felt a million cold needles in his skull. A glowing teal light shivered down Nightmare’s arm as he absorbed his emotions. He removed his hand. “There. As a thank you for the negative energy, you won’t have any more dreams for the rest of the night. Sleep well, I need you rested.”

Ribbon shifted and looked Nightmare directly in his pretty eye light. “Nightmare, do you get nightmares?”

“Constantly. But I’m used to them. Now no more speaking, go to sleep.” He brought them both down on the bed. Nightmare wrapped his tendrils around his body like an apple-scented cocoon. Ribbon buried his face in his chest, listening to the soft sound of his breathing. He felt a lot safer. Even though Nightmare sometimes hurt him, he would rather cuddle with him than be all alone.

==============================================================================

Like Nightmare said, he didn’t get any more dreams, which relieved him. But Ribbon couldn’t stop thinking about the one he had. In his head, it made perfect sense. Dream, Blue, and Core were all peace protectors. Ribbon worked with the biggest evil team in the multiverse. Maybe they’d been wanting to beat and banish him all along, but it was easier now that he was softer.

No wonder Nightmare wouldn’t let him leave the castle without him. The world outside was so scary, how did he never see it before?

But that was all a week ago, he was fine now. Ribbon stayed inside, busying himself with chores as he was told. He dusted off the fireplace and living room. When he was with the Star Sanses, he hated chores. He used to do them as fast as he could and called it a day. But this was soothing. Maybe that came along with embracing this new lifestyle.

He wished he could do more for Nightmare. He wanted to make up for his kindness. He was so good to him, much better than he should’ve been to a dumb little doll. Well, he did have another training session today, he could do a great job at that. Ribbon looked at the grandfather clock in the room. He had ten minutes to finish his chores since Nightmare wanted him in there at exactly one o’clock. Sharp. He wouldn't like it if he wasn't there.

And before he knew it, the time flew by and Ribbon was back in that training room. Nightmare held a thin flashlight up to his eyes lights, like a cat laser. They were working on his stillness again. Specifically on mastering a permanent slow blink and his head tilts. Etiquette lessons could actually be fun when he wasn’t messing up and needing punishment.

“Slower, slower, too slow. Try to put two seconds between opening and closing. That’s it. Good . . .” Nightmare said as flickered the laser between his eye lights.

An itch inside Ribbon’s head didn’t like this. He wanted to kick his feet or mess with his hands but he knew better. Good dolls didn't do either, they didn't even think about doing either! He had to fix that about himself. Ribbon kept his breathing slow the way Nightmare liked. The blinking was tricky, his eye sockets didn't want to comply and blinked on their own, but he got the hang of it.

“You have been doing so much better, my little lamb. I’ve been taking notes of your progress and your last month's record is so much worse than now. You used to never be able to sit still. In fact, you’re being so good, you're ready for a little test I had planned.”

Ribbon tilted his head and looked up at Nightmare. “A little test?”

Nightmare nodded. “Yes, you've proven you won't run away from me, so the next logical step is to see what you can do without my guidance."

"You're going to leave me?” Ribbon breathing caught as panic built up in his chest. What did he do wrong? He must have done something wrong!But he couldn't think of anything he did wrong.He squeezed his upper arms. “Why- why aren't you going with me? I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave me on my own, I won't last without-”

“Shh, did I say anything about this being permanent? No.” Nightmare tilted his chin up, covering up his neck charm so Ribbon wouldn't pull it again. “You're overreacting, it will be for no longer than a few hours. I have an assignment set up for Killer, Horror, and Dust and you will be going with them. You’re getting supplies because we're running low on medicine, then you're coming back home to me.”

Ribbon took a deep breath. Nightmare rubbed his cheek with his tendril and Ribbon leaned into it. He loved how cold it was, it was like one of those cooling packs wrapped in a soft blanket.

Once Nightmare saw he wasn't freaking out anymore, he continued to explain. “Three nights from now, you’re going to help them in a supply run. I have work to do, so I unfortunately can’t go along. It’s a simple enough task for you. You shouldn’t need to commit any violence unless someone attacks you first. But you must still bring your parasol. There won’t be an issue, will there?”

Ribbon shook his head. “No, there won’t be an issue at all. I’ll be good and listen to them, I promise.”

“There’s my good little doll. Oh, you still have your paints to take, don't you?” Nightmare pat his head. Ribbon nuzzled his head into his hand. Nightmare stood up and walked over to his vials. He took a glass and mixed all the colors together. He even added extra yellow as a treat. Nightmare came back and pushed the glass up to Ribbon’s mouth. “Open up.”

=================================

Ribbon waited on the castle step for the other three to take him. He adjusted his pink beret and drew pictures with Blossom on the ground, he decided that as the name of his parasol. He didn’t want to leave without Nightmare. All the other times, except the once when he was disobedient, Nightmare was with him. He never left on his own since then. He liked the MTT, but it wasn't the same as-

A loud boom snapped him out of his thoughts and he screamed. Ribbon ducked and hid his face in his parasol, peeking from the side. Killer held a red popped balloon in one hand and his knife in his other.

Killer stared at him in surprise, blinking his wide eye sockets. "Holy shit, he wasn't kidding. You are really easy to scare now." His shock turned into a weird laugh. Ribbon smiled and pulled his string to giggle with him. It had to be a little funny if Killer thought so. He was still shaken up, but he pushed the thoughts away.

Dust and Horror teleported behind him. Horror stared at the balloon in Killer’s hand and ripped it out. “Boss isn’t . . . going to like that . . . you did that.”

Killer mumbled something under his breath that Ribbon couldn't hear. Dust sighed at whatever it was he said and walked away.

Dust held something in his hand. It was a bottle with black liquid inside. Oh, Nightmare’s magic! Of course! He didn’t know he could do that, but Nightmare was really powerful. Ribbon wondered what else he didn’t know about his boyfriend.

“Boss gave us just enough of his magic to get us to Fellswap and back. We can’t waste anything.” Dust half-muttered half-told the group. Ribbon nodded, even if he didn’t like the idea of Dust being the one with the portals. He didn’t want to be anywhere he was when he was holding scary things. The vial looked too much like a syringe for his liking. Hopefully, Horror and Killer would keep him far away from him.

Dust measured out the vial with his finger and poured half of it onto the ground. The liquid churned until a darker swirling gap appeared inside the liquid. Ribbon looked back at the castle as Killer leaped in first. Horror was next. Ribbon looked into the portal and gulped. He hesitated. His team was safe, his team was good, nothing-

“Get in.” Dust said with a firm expression. Ribbon jumped in. He landed in Fellswap’s Snowdin. The cold snow soaked through his shoes and socks. Ew . . . .Ribbon jumped onto a rock to keep himself dry.

Killer and Horror brushed themselves off. Horror passed Killer an envelope. The murderer snatched it and opened it up to a list. Ribbon peeked over at it, but he couldn't read anything on it. A lot of the stuff looked fancy and specific too. Killer cocked his head.

“That’s how . . . Boss gave it to me. Don’t know, he’s fancy like . . . that.” Ribbon nodded in agreement to Horror’s words. But it did make him miss Nightmare already, even if they just left. He stared at the portal.

Dust jumped through the void and landed on the edge. He kicked snow and dirt over the portal until it faded away. He stared at it for a long time until he sighed and looked at the team.

“Come on, let’s make this quick.” Dust said. Killer summoned one of his red knives as defense and Ribbon messed with Blossom. The four began to walk through Fellswap's Snowdin. It looked almost exactly like Undertale, but in shades of gold and red. There weren't many citizens in the town-- most of them didn't like each other --but the ones that were there made Ribbon scared. They all wore leather jackets, spiked collars, and chains. Some of them glared and growled at the team, while others whispered and ran.

Horror held the blade of his axe on Ribbon’s side and nudged him away from the monsters. He was wandering too far off. That included Killer and Dust.

The shop was tucked behind most of the other ones. It was a run-down black building with almost no decorations, nothing but a scary sign with the word SHOP on it. He wouldn't be surprised if sharp claws scraped out the sign, or a rusty knife.

Ribbon pulled his string to talk, and his first sound was a small cry. "Is- is this the right place? It doesn't look right . . ."

Killer nodded. "Yep. Relax, it's not as bad on the inside! You're going to be fine."

It smelt like cigarette smoke on the inside. Ribbon stood out with his bright pink colors in the musty gold and black shop. Food and healing items covered an entire wall. Bottles of liquid lined the walls and weapons scattered across the ground and on hooks. Ribbon moved not to step on a spear tip. The entire building only had two lightbulbs and no windows. He wanted Nightmare more than ever. A single monster worked in the shop. Their entire body was covered by a cloak with only a scorpion tail and claws for hands. Ribbon stepped back.

"Different guy than normal . . . eh, it's fine." Killer walked straight up to the counter and slapped the list down. The clerk turned around and tensed up. Killer didn't budge and unfolded the paper. "Hello. I got a little order from Lord Nightmare Joku, ASAP."

Dust held his gun up to the store clerk’s head as he hesitated. “And don’t even think about screamin’ for anyone to intervene. The only reason we’re payin' instead of robbin' is because Boss insisted us to.”

The clerk went pale and he took the list from Killer’s hand. He looked over it and skitted around the store, gathering things.

Dust turned from the clerk to Ribbon. He lowered the gun because he was getting what he wanted. He pointed toward the door. “Ribbon, go watch over the spot we came in through the portal so no one touches it. The magic works better when we're close to the original summonin' spot, it's sorcery memory."

Ribbon lit up at the order and nodded, anything to get out of this creepy place. He ran out the door and back to the spot. He made it there without trouble, and luckily without running into anyone. But that was probably because he spent the time sneaking through the shadows and alleys. He sat down on the same large rock as before, waiting for the MTT to finish the supply run.

As he sat, Ribbon spotted a movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked down. It was a stray piece of magic left over from the first portal. It must've escaped Dust, poor little guy. Ribbon crouched down and poked at it. It was the closest thing to Nightmare and the closest thing back home, so it made him happy.

His fingertips went cold with magic. Against his will, paint shot from out of his fingers and mixed with the goop on the ground. The two powers mixed until a small portal formed, which grew bigger until it was the perfect size for Ribbon. He jumped back and stared at his hand in confusion. Did he . . . influence the portal magic? How? And where? Ribbon had so many questions, but the biggest one was where the portal went.

Ribbon gently reached for the doorway and touched it. The colors got clearer and opened to a strange AU. The doll hesitated, but he stepped outside; his curiosity was too strong. He crawled through and looked around. Unlike Fellswap, this AU had a lot of colors, rainbow splatters covered the walls. The entire floor drowned in a layer of paper packets. Ribbon's eye lights immediately went to the shiny glowing ball in the center of the room. It was so pretty, but he could've sworn he heard whispering. It must have been the wind.

“What . . . what is this place? Why . . . no, it’s okay, it’s okay, it's alright. I’m okay. Someone will come for me.” Ribbon looked around. He was sure he could figure this out. It kept tugging at a spot in his memory, but he couldn't think of what. It was so close too . . .

He walked around the rainbow place. It was small, too small, and too colorful. The messy rainbows hurt his eye lights. Whoever lived here had terrible taste in colors. Wait, that was too judgemental. Ribbon didn't know who was here before. He touched the beanbag with his gloved fingertips.

Then there was the pile of papers for AUs, even though he wasn't sure how he figured it out that quickly. It overflowed and spilled onto the ground. Ribbon picked one of them up and flipped through the pages of drawings. Characters, designs, worlds they were pretty, but how was he supposed to bring them to life? He knew he needed Broomie, but Broomie was gone. Some even had notes scrawled on them such as 'Where are you? It's been 3 weeks and you haven't made a single new universe!'

That's when he remembered. This place was his doodle AU he made new AUs in! He used to spend so much time in here. He hadn't done this job for so long that he forgot how to do it. It was back when . . . oh. No, bad thoughts.

He kept searching the room until he stumbled across a massive pile of pictures. He picked up the top one off. It was of a skeleton who looked exactly like him. Ink flashed a peace sign in front of Horror, who was beaten up on the ground. Ribbon pressed his teeth together. He would never do that. Why was Ink so rude? Ribbon pushed past more pictures until he gasped at one. It was a drawing, a battle plan, and it was a plan to take advantage of Nightmare's sludge and freeze him alive. And Nightmare was . . . hurting. That had to be it.

This wasn't him. Ribbon had some of the memories, but they weren't his own. He wasn't part of the Star Sanses. He was on Nightmare's team! He was Nightmare's lover! Why was Nightmare the bad guy in all of these? Was he- no, no. It was a lie, a trap. The kidnapping was out of love, the pain was out of love. Nightmare made a terrible mistake by thinking he could be on his own. Ribbon couldn't, he couldn't, he

Ribbon shook, panicked, and tore the picture up, throwing the shreds on the floor. He grabbed another one of the AUs and ripped it too. It felt like the only way he could calm down and make it stop. He destroyed another, another, and another. The nasty feeling in his chest only got worse.

He wasn't Ink.

He was not INK!

Ribbon's attention went toward the magic glowing sphere in the center of the room. He could feel the power from here and it was calling out to him, wanting him to become a protector again. He couldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't be bad. It was all a trap. He was in trouble-

Ribbon screamed and stabbed the magic sphere with his parasol. “Come on, die, die, die! Stop it! Stop telling me what to do! Stop making AUs! I can’t help, just stop!”

With a loud crack, the sphere shook. Then it shattered into shiny translucent pieces across the floor. A shudder ran through Ribbon’s spine. The lights in the place began to flicker. He looked around. It was over. Ribbon shivered and closed his parasol up. Before he could process what he did (and the ramifications of it), the doll ran back through the portal. he landed back in Fellswap's snow. And right in front of the MTT. Dust was working on resummoning the portal and Horror held a massive sack bag. They all looked nervous.

Killer was the only one with his hands open so he grabbed Ribbon by the shoulders. “Ribbon! Where the hell have you been? We leave you alone for two minutes and you go missing! I thought boss was going to have our heads!”

Ribbon looked up at Killer and hid back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Something happened and . . . " He looked behind himself. Something kept him from telling the truth. "I'm really sorry, but I'm okay. Can we go home . . . pretty please?"

==============================================================================

Later that evening, as Ribbon took off his beret by one of the castle balconies, then he paused. A sudden wave of weakness took him over. It wasn't sleepiness, no. It reminded him of his nightmare when he had that vacuum feeling, sucking his magic dry. His chest ached and he leaned against the wall. He saw two different archways swirling around.

Ribbon took a heavy breath of air. He tried to pull his string to ask for help, but he couldn’t. His nonexistent ears rang and he raised his shoulders to cover them.

"Ribbon, is- Ribbon!' Nightmare sensed the negativity and caught him before he collapsed. He had been walking down the hall before seeing him fall over. Ribbon shivered and clung to his suit. He coughed and shivered, having no energy to stand up. He was freezing cold too. Did he get sick? Poisoned? Cursed? How? Could he fix it? He had to know something.

"What's the matter with you?" Nightmare set his hand on his head and felt around. “You don't have a fever." He adjusted Ribbon and held him in a comfy bridal carry. Ribbon held onto Nightmare tightly. Nightmare didn’t even look down at him as he sighed.

Ribbon closed his eye sockets as Nightmare carried him. Having him around was enough to make him feel better. He tried to sit up and got dizzy again. Nightmare’s tendril nudged him back down. The doll didn’t fight.

Nightmare opened the door to Ribbon’s room Ribbon caught his reflection in his vanity mirror. He wasn’t as pretty as he was supposed to be. His pink eyes lights were dim, his breathing was labored, and his face was pale. The blush on his cheek bones stood out more.

Nightmare lay hum in his soft bed. He covered him up and Ribbon clung to the teddy bear Nightmare gave him. It was white and little with big black eyes. Ribbon coughed. It sounded too scratchy and raspy for a doll. He wasn’t even coughing right!

Nightmare looked around Ribbon’s walls as he put him in bed. His tendril touched the baby pink walls and the blue, purple, and yellow flowers Ribbon painted on. He wasn’t all done, but he had his entire front wall covered in flowers. All the side walls had were sketches, sketches of fuzzy animals, and more flowers. Ribbon still couldn’t decide what he wanted the back wall to be yet. But it already felt better than the boring and dark walls the room used to have.

“Do- do you like it? Is it pretty?”

Nightmare looked closer at the walls before focusing his attention on Ribbon. He traced his fingers along his chest and lay his palm down. “It is pretty. I enjoy this new side of you. Keep drawing like this. Now be quiet so I can find out what happened to you.”

Ribbon went silent. He even muffled his coughs. Nightmare summoned a bit of teal magic and held it in on his chest, close to where his soul would be. After a while, he hummed. Nightmare set his hand on his forehead, then on his cheek. “Oh, oh well that’s fascinating . . .”

"What is?" Ribbon took deep breaths and tried to stop his spinning head. “Am- am I going to be okay? What’s wrong with me?

“Your magic . . . it’s fading,” Nightmare said. His calm expression began to twitch. “Well, let me correct myself, your guardianship is fading. Your symptoms are similar to a normal monster's magic loss, but I never thought it could happen to you. I don't even understand why it happened now. Your team replaced you, Ribbon.”

Ribbon gulped, which turned into a cough. He groaned and leaned into his pillow. He hadn't seen the multiverse since the mission, was it really that bad? He hasn't told Nightmare about what happened in Ink's doodle AU, he was too scared to. "Am . . . am I going to be okay?"

“Oh, don’t fuss too much. It’s just like losing blood. If you lose too much, you’ll get sick and need rest. Most of your magic came from being the Guardian of Creativity. Without that . . . you may only be half as strong as you once were.” Nightmare looked away from him at that.

Ribbon’s eyes widened and he bit his lower jaw. He squeezed his bear tighter. “How . . . how bad is that? Can it be fixed? Am I broken?”

“Your guardianship? No, only if whoever they gave your powers away perishes or gives them back. I doubt either will happen. I once tried to do it with Dream, but I’ve never seen this happen before.” He looked down at Ribbon and sighed. “Yes, it can be fixed. I will give you a small transfer until you start healing yourself.”

Nightmare took a deep breath, held his hand to his chest, and rested it on top of Ribbon. Ribbon felt the tingling almost immediately, and it was good! Even better than good! His breathing steadied and he leaned into Nightmare’s hand. He rubbed his face in it, adoring his kindness.

With a sigh, Nightmare pulled his hand back. Ribbon could breathe easier thanks to the transfer. His head felt less cottony. He looked up at Nightmare. His eye darkened and he took heavy breaths to recover.

Nightmare saw him staring and sighed. “Rest. I’ll bring you water. You must stay hydrated, I can’t have you lose any more magic.” Nightmare covered him up with his blankets to make sure he wasn’t cold. “Don’t stand up, keep your movement to a minimum, and sleep. That's non-negotiable. ”

After giving him a little kiss on the head, Nightmare left the room. Ribbon lay back in his bed. He didn’t even try to stand up, instead cuddling with his teddy bear. He had his doubts, but Ribbon knew he made the right choice. Nightmare had been so much kinder since he had no reason to punish his dollie anymore. And Ribbon didn’t want to change a thing.

[kadolade]

Shouting Into The Void: A Highschooler’s First Rant

“Could you tell me how I'm right for you Baby, could you play along with me Baby, would that be alright with you And when we find out what's wrong with me Could you tell me how could you tell me how And if I'm still pretty”

— …well, better than the alternative by Will Wood

It can’t just be me who sees Tumblr as a sort of desolate place for some users. For me, it will serve a purpose as a void to shout my inner thoughts into. Of course, I’m not going into too much detail, it’s an online platform and I am one for safety.

I’ve tried diaries, I’ve tried recording myself talk, but it never seems to become a steady thing. Nor do I ever like seeing the clutter. So, I’m turning to ranting to the internet, after all, nobody listens to me. Regardless of being online or not, I tend to go a tad unnoticed. I like that sometimes, but I also crave the attention from others.

Anyway, Tumblr, Blogger, SpaceHey, online platforms are my void I can shout into, and sometimes they shout back! I might chance this blog’s name, but I’m not sure…

There are a lot of things I am unsure of.

I did my math and choir final exams today. Yesterday I did my biology one. My grades respectively were 93, (I forgot/don’t care), and 92. Raw scores. My county does this dumbass thing where if you got, say, a 70%, and that’s quite literally *what you got*, that is your *raw score*. Your *curved score* is how your grade is raised, this factor I am not sure about how it works. I needn’t to explain any of this, but, hello, The Void doesn’t know about it. And hey, a motherfucker wants to complain.

The curved stuff is nice and all…when it benefits me. On my midterm for biology, I had just transferred to this new school and I hadn’t been taking biology at my old school, so I had about ~10 days to prepare. I got a 70 on the midterm, and the curve score raised it to a 90. Obviously, this benefited my grade. So, I was happy for it! But now that I’m doing great in my classes (of course I am—I’m probably smarter than everyone in there), all these people with 60’s are getting their grades curved to 80’s and shit, while I go from a 92 to a 93. Am I being narcissistic and arrogant? Yes. This isn’t an: “AITA for bluh bluh bluh” whatever, it’s me shouting into. the. mother. fuckin. void.

My lunch period was sucky. I sit with my friends Felix and Ciel (not their real names but we like safety), and jegus.

Lunch is so hard, because I sort of feel like I’m walking on eggshells around Ciel. We had a bit of a minor falling out??? Can I even describe it as that? Whatever, shit was going on between us and we fixed it all up, but I still feel so guilty and shit. It’s hard to explain. Basically, Ciel likes Hermitcraft and shit, and she’s in colorguard, but for a while all she ever fucking talked about was colorguard, and I genuinely got fed up. But then again, I might just be an asshole for getting upset about that. I still listen to her talk, because I really like her, but sometimes it’s tough as nails. Like I’ll listen to her and all, and engage the best I can, but sometimes *I* want to talk. Sometimes I want to get my turn to talk about the stuff I like. She didn’t like how I was kind of unenthusiastic when she talked about colorguard and such, but she does the same thing!

Here I am, finally getting my turn to talk about Homestuck or something, and she brushes right past with something else or she’s on her phone. I really have no problems with Felix for the most part. God, Ciel gets on my nerves.

And I feel bad because I really like Ciel, but c’mon girl! When we walk from lunch to class, Ciel seems like she’s speeding up to get away from Felix and I. And when I notice that, I just want to grab her and figure out why the fuck she wants nothing to do with us. But other times I want to fucking push her and tell her that if she wants to get away that desperately just fucking tell me and run. Am I embarrassing to be around in the halls? Yeah, I’m kind of loud and obnoxious sometimes, but why should that shit even matter?

Maybe I’m a hypocrite and I do shit I don’t even realize. But it just sucks real bad. There are so many times when it’s all great being around her, and others when she just seems so uncaring and like she wants away from me. I thought we settled everything, and it’d all be sunshine lollipops and rainbows, and we could hold hands again and talk like normal, but I feel so confined. Am I allowed to talk about Homestuck anymore? Will she get fed up if I talk about Danganronpa and fanficiton?

Would she hate me if I told her to give me more attention every once in a while?

[leoandraphssoulmate]

Warning!!!

You read at your own risk! 

I can’t possibly predict what may or may not trigger you!

So, with that being said, READ RESPONSIBLY! If something triggers you, STOP READING!

Also, if you’re a minor, and you continue reading, that falls squarely on you! I don’t work for Tumblr and refuse to stalk every single profile on here to see if you are in fact over 18!! 

I write for myself. If you like what you read, give it a like and a reblogg! No pressure! It just helps get the word out! 

Thanks for stopping by!

Lost and Found

💜For my dear friend @thelaundrybitch 💜

90sDonnieXFem!Reader

How did you end up like this?

Alone.

Cold.

Freezing cold!

Ah, yes.

You were thrown out.

With nothing more than the clothes on your back.

No money.

He even kept your purse! The bastard! You wiped at your eyes, blurred with the onslaught of tears. He took everything from you.

Your family.

Your friends.

Isolated you from everyone and everything.

You couldn’t go to the cops.

HE WAS THE COPS!

He’d just twist your story around if you tried to anyway. Besides, you had absolutely no idea where you were. 

You blinked, looking around at the buildings that towered over you. People passed by, mumbling in a language you could only imagine was French. He was careful to never let you know where his jet was taking you. Always arriving at night and always directly to where you would be staying.

You know you should have left him.

Should have found a way out.

You were more his captive than his girlfriend. 

You sighed, clutching your lower abdomen. The second you told him you needed medical care he turned on you.

“What’s this then, Y/N?! Have you been cheating on me?” He shouted, roughly grabbing you by the hair. When you tried to explain, it only earned you a quick kick to the gut. 

Now, lost and alone, you made your way up the cobblestone street, looking for signs that resembled any form of a hospital, but the pain in your gut caused you to stumble.

You put your hands out, catching yourself against the side of a yellow building. Taking ragged breaths you peeked around the corner, spying a bench. You gingerly made your way to it, sitting down, sweat beading on your forehead, the pain spreading to your back. 

Puffing your cheeks out you leaned your head back, silently offering a prayer to pregnant women everywhere. As you looked up at the sky, you realized that the sun was beginning to set.

Shit.

You looked around, noticing that the streets were now completely void of people. 

Well then. It seemed that these were the type of people that didn’t want to involve themselves any more than they had to. 

Slowly, you laid down, the pain somewhat easing as you rested your head on your arm. You pulled in a ragged breath, exhaustion hitting you like a ton of bricks. Without meaning to, your eyelids slid shut and sleep pulled you into her tight embrace. 

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

“What in the holy hell, Donnie!?” 

“We haven’t even been in Paris a day and already ya bringin in tha strays!”

“When is April due back?”

You flinched, unsure whether or not you should indicate that you had been awake for the last ten minutes. You laid there listening to the heated conversation, trying not to give in to the pain shooting up your midsection. 

“I don’t know, but she needs to hurry back. What if someone’s looking for this woman?”

“I highly doubt that, Leo.” The kind voice you had zeroed in on  several minutes ago now seemed agitated. 

“Why?”

“That’s patient doctor confidentiality.” 

Doctor? Your eyelids fluttered open as you turned your head, your vision blurring momentarily as you tried to focus on the men before you. As they came into focus, your heart hammered against your ribcage. These weren’t men at all!

“Uh, Leo? She’s awake.” 

You instantly tried to sit up, but the man, er turtle, with a purple mask quickly placed his hand on your right shoulder. “Don’t try and sit up just yet.” He frowned. “You’ve just had surgery.”

You blinked, your eyes feeling abnormally heavy. “Am I seeing things? Or are you a giant turtle?” Your own voice sounded odd to your ears. 

“Nah, that’s not the anesthesia.” The turtle wearing an orange mask giggled. “We are in fact mutant ninja turtles.”

The tall one next to him shoved him to the side, his blue eyes narrowing. “Not now, Mike!”

“Ah, man! Why do you guys always get to talk to the chics?”

You swallowed, the realization of the purple banded turtles words hitting you. “Wait. You said surgery?”

He nodded. “Yes. When I found you,” he looked down for a second, then back at you, “you were, uh, bleeding.” He motioned towards your pelvis. “You see we have a really good sense of smell and at first I thought it was, um, well,’ his cheeks flushed, “an infection.” He cleared his throat. “I was partly right.” 

You placed your hands on your stomach as you listened to him explain, your fingers finding a small line of stitches that ran along the outside of your belly button. 

“Turns out you were also bleeding internally.” He finished, gently putting his hand over yours. “You won’t be able to sit up for at least another few days.”

Your face instantly flushed as you stared up at him. You didn’t bother asking him what had caused the bleeding, because you already knew. And you were fairly certain by the look on his face that he knew too. He may not have known exactly, but he definitely suspected. “Thank you.” You whispered. 

“You’re safe with us.” He said softly, his hazel eyes searching your face. “By the way, my name is Donatello, but you can call me Donnie.” He grinned. “The other three behind me, they’re my brothers. Leo, Raph and Mikey.”

You raised your other hand, which you hadn’t realized was attached to an IV, and waved at them, an uncertain smile tipping your lips. “Hi. I’m Y/N.”

“You’ll need antibiotics for the kidney infection for a little while too, but I think you’ll pull through just fine, Y/N.” Donnie said as he reached over to check the bag of fluid hanging above you. 

“Hey, Donnie?” You said, your throat suddenly dry as you looked up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Would it be ok if you just sit with me for a bit?”

Donnie looked back at his brothers. “Do you guys mind?”

“Uh, sure! We’ll just…” Leo pointed towards the door. 

Donnie waited until his brothers left the room, then turned back to you. “Are you ok, Y/N?”

That was a loaded question! You were anything but ok. But you nodded anyway. “Yeah. I know this might sound strange, seeing that we just met and all, but I was just wondering if it would be possible for you to hold me?” 

Donnie blew out a quick breath. “That’s not strange at all. Of course I can.”

Without another word he made his way into the bed with you, slowly getting into position behind you, then pulling you against him, his arms wrapped securely around you. In that moment, you felt safer than you had ever felt. 

“Thank you.” You whispered. 

“Of course.”

@wynndigogh

[t00nyah]

hello! you don’t know who I am but I saw ur post about feeling uninteresting and id just like to give a small kindness.

unfortunately, tumblr does not like oc content. Or text posts. this isn’t because your content is boring (from what I’ve seen it is actually interesting), it’s just that most people just kind of wave off accounts that don’t post nothing but high-quality art exclusively. text posts, oc stuff, askblogs, if you want people to see it you essentially have to already have a dedicated audience as far as I’m aware. I know this well.

It’s not that you’re uninteresting! Or boring. Or annoying. Or anything else negative. It’s just a lot of people don’t rlly bother with content they aren’t already associated with, and even more people just don’t interact at all and stay entirely in their following page. It is a shame that it’s like that, I imagine it’s pretty demoralizing to be shouting into the void all the time. but I think you’re cool! and I know others think you’re cool because I found you through my friends.

try not to get too demoralized, don’t be too hard on yourself. I hope this is at least a lil helpful considering I haven’t interacted with your blog much. but I’m gonna scroll thru ur stuff anyway after this so hopefully that helps.

Hope you’re alright! Don’t be too hard on yourself, you’re not boring, the tumblr odds are just kinda against you. have a good day :3

first, hi indie! kinda know you! :) mostly just seen from my mateys on tumblr sometimes

second, thanks for all this. really makes me frustrated it is that way, and i know i won't stop associating the silence with being disliked, it's just how i've always been because i'm a sensitive fuck 😭 makes me feel like the fact that i don't have enough energy to constantly make content makes me unlikeable.

thanks for your kindness, though, you took time to write all this and honestly — it always feels nice to be noticed and it's very sweet of you to try to cheer me up.

i am thinking about another year-long hiatus though, i did hit one when i started making too much oc and fanon pjm content that i didn't feel like i could nor wanted explain to people, maybe i should just do that again. who cares, it's just art, i don't enjoy it anyways, what's the point if nobody else does, it makes sense. i might be the embodiment of nobody's gonna love you if you don't love yourself 😞

anyways, sorry this turned into another sad ramble, i tend to do that. once again, thank you for writing this, know your words kind of brought me a little bit of comfort, i just can't not feel upset. best wishes, indie!

[the-offical-raishas-circus]

Purgatory ~ A short Story Part 1

~

Imagine.

Imagine you are in a room.

It’s a square room.

It’s built with concrete. 

It has a small bed and a locked door.

It’s a prison.

Now imagine what it would feel like to live in this room.

Separated from the only other person like you by walls of stone and metal.

No kindness, no mercy, no love.

Can you imagine that?

You cannot.

You can never even begin to understand.

This is the place people come when they are bad.

This is the place where people come when they have sinned.

This is where they are readied for the depths below.

What is this place, you ask?

This.

This is purgatory.

I’m not supposed to be here! I shout, again, and again, and again.

I’m not supposed to be here-

I’m not supposed to be-

I’m not supposed to-

I’m not supposed-

I’m not-

I’m-

Silence. 

Not the sad, lonely silence there was before, but now it’s gentle, quiet, comforting. 

I’ve never felt calmness like this before. 

I’m always angry. It’s built into my DNA, into my very soul. I’m built to be the angry, hateful, vengeful spirit.

But this makes me calm. It’s an alien, strange feeling. The only other thing that can make me feel like this is my other half, and He is separated from me by hundreds of meters of space. So what is this? It’s nice, but it’s not Him, and this might be ironic, but it makes me mad. What is this, and why am I STILL CALM EVEN THOUGH IT MAKES ME SO ANGRY?!? 

As that thought crosses my mind, the calmness shrouding me becomes real bonds.

I struggle for a moment in the void, lashing and snapping as I fight to be free.

Then they break, and I fall.

I fall.

I fall.

And I fall.

I land. I lie on the ground for a moment. Ugh. I’m still feeling calm. How annoying.

I sit up after a few months. There is an old man sitting by a pond. Fishing. He’s fishing.

I was dying in the void and he’s fishing.

I jump to my feet and storm over to him. 

“What’s up with you!?! What’s all this, huh? I’m TRYING to SUFFER LOUDLY and YOU come and INTERRUPT IT?!?!? How DARE you!!!” 

The man doesn’t even look up. In fact, he ignores me.

My anger is rapidly rising. 

“AGHHHHHH!!!” I scream and tear at my own shirt in rage.

“Calm down.”

He speaks.

Time slows.

My heart slows. 

My breathing slows.

I scowl. 

The old coot reels in his line and tosses it back out again. “Sit down. Throwing another temper tantrum won’t help anyone. If you want to get your companion back, you need to be careful. And yes,” he adds quickly as I open my mouth, “I am aware that that is hard for you. But you can learn to channel your anger and turn it into more power. This i know.”

“They shoved me and Him in there without a second thought! I hate them! I want them to die and die and die and-“ I throw myself onto the ground and sulk. “-die and die and die and die and di-“

“Okay, okay!” The man chuckles a little. “I get it, honey, you can stop. Now, I want you to sit there and think about how to proceed from here. Once you have a plan, tell me, and I’ll see if it’s a good one. There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world. You can’t die. He can’t die. So you have all time to go to Him. Sit, be calm, and think.”

I sit there and stew on how much I hate them.

When I finish hating them (for now), I reluctantly move on to forming a plan. I suppose I should go save Him. It’s not a nice place, and I don’t really hate Him, so I suppose I should. So I stew on forming a plan instead.

I don’t know much of the layout of the prison.

I know my hallway, and that’s about it.

But I can feel where He is, and I WILL go to Him. 

And nothing. 

Nothing will stop me.

[roadarchie]

Whatever.

I am not okay. That is what I wish to tell them. And I hate myself for not having the courage to do so with held back tears- having already forgotten what I am sad about because I can never remember, doomed to a life of tears with no cause. There is in me an unknown eternal sadness. A darkness, void of color, a fire beckoning continuing unlit. Whether I am excited, or I feel as if though my future has an existence: When I feel proud, exhilarated, or happy. I return to this place. I return, and with every step I sink in further. A muddied step carried forth, dragging with me corpses of the disturbed. I believe no one wants me. I see people, and they see me, saying they care. But I don’t know if that is true.  As if their hands greedily extend from the mud to help me sink in further. I can’t believe. Not anymore. I shouted from rooftops, yelled my name into the distant skies before me. Carved my name into what little existence I mattered in- and yet there was nothing. No voice calling me back. I stare at myself, my skin unfeeling: it has become dead. For the last moment I hugged someone simply disappeared, forgotten, and in the distant future no longer there. I think I have died. Or at least they want me so.  And if they wish me dead, if I become the problem, then they can have my corpse. Tethers cut lose, I become undone and, in a way, to be; and if allowed, freed of my possessions. No more lies. No more the feeling of being mechanical, no longer a screen in front of my face. Simply the truth, simply myself. Simply no more.   

[chenziee]

Character drabble: Trafalgar Law

No one asked for the poor man during my follower event so I had to do it myself xD as I mentioned before in tags, this is sort of a companion piece to the Luffy (as Nika) request -- basically the same situation with roles reversed because Law also deserves to go a little bit insane every once in a while, as a treat <3

Warning: nongraphic depictions of extreme violence (is that a thing? it is now), nongraphic gore, nongraphic torture

There were many things Trafalgar Law’s devil fruit allowed him to do. Performing near impossible surgeries. Cutting people without hurting them. Taking out their organs without hurting them. Taking them apart bit by bit… without hurting them.

But, there were times when none of that mattered.

Stepping over Straw Hat Luffy’s unconscious body, Law slowly unsheathed his sword. Discarding the scabbard, he pointed the blade at the group of people surrounding him—at the marines who had pointed their cutlassed at the wrong target, turned their guns in the wrong direction, shot their sea prism stone bullets at the wrong person.

They shouldn’t have done that. They shouldn’t have even disembarked on this island.

“Room,” Law said calmly, his voice void of any emotion.

“Get out of the circle!” one of the commanders called to his men. 

A lazy smirk pulled on Law’s lips while he grabbed Kikoku with both hands. He pulled one of his feet back, pulling the blade back in preparation. He watched with cold amusement as the marines scrambled around for a moment, looking like bacteria darting around the drop of blood studied under a microscope—brainless, aimless, pointless.

“Sir, but where does the circle end?!” one of the soldiers cried in panic.

Law didn’t give any of the commanding officers time to even turn around. He swung Kikoku in one smooth motion, sending the cut all the way towards the end of his room. How far did it go? He wasn’t even sure himself.

And he didn’t care.

“Don’t panic! His cuts won’t hurt you!!” someone shouted.

His smirk widening, Law closed his eyes, waiting. 

Waiting for only a split second before the first scream reached his ears.

He didn’t have to look to know what was going on. Men falling to the ground, cut in half. Blood staining the ground black. Marines dropping to their knees with wide eyes, stricken with panic as they watched their comrades scream and writhe in pain; kept alive but in pieces, feeling every nerve in their body screaming, brain begging for the release of death but being forced to stay conscious.

Hanging onto this world by a thread, at the mercy of Law’s sword, his will, his command. Powerless.

Nothing any of them could do but scream and cry and beg.

But Law was not a forgiving man. He wasn’t merciful.

And he wasn’t called the Surgeon of Death for nothing.

He commanded Death. It was a choice—his choice whether a person left the fight in pieces but unharmed… or if they were going to die slowly, oh so very slowly, in blinding agony,

There were indeed many things his devil fruit allowed him to do.

And today, with the love of his life lying bloody at his feet…

He was going to make full use of its endless possibilities.

[romajuliettemai]

Is there any chance you'll share what you've written as possible ways things in FHH could play out? I'm curious to see if that's something you'd do. No pressure if it's not.

I'll post it now! It's not really perfect at all (considering I wrote this late at night a few months ago from like 11PM - 2AM so it was pretty sleep deprived effort.) It's also not super complete- more of an outline. I'd like to suggest it might take more of a pov from Juliette, since she's the pov we follow in a the first duology, and I sync into it easier and automatically. The ending is kind of unfinished- I just stopped after a confession- and it's a lot of chaos, but enjoy!

START

“Okay, how about we sit down and talk like civilized people- without shouting.” 

Juliette stated, leading a shaking Rosalind over to the couch with Alisa close on her heels, plopping down casually beside her. 

Celia, meanwhile, directed Oliver over the couch opposite the one Alisa and Rosalind were sitting on, propping both of them down gently.  

Roma entered the kitchen briefly and then came back to the living room with a tray of bread and tea to put on the table. He then moved back and opted to stay by the doorframe leading to the kitchen. 

Juliette was glad to join him in both his confusion and area. 

Marshall meanwhile leaned against a wall with Benedikt by his side. 

“So…would anyone like to start of with a question?” 

She prompted, hoping someone would begin. 

A beat of silence passed before a soft voice filled the void. 

“I guess I can.” 

Celia decided. 

“Alisa,” 

She started, facing the blonde girl, who had helped herself to a piece of bread. 

She seemed to be the only one who was calm in this situation, easily lounging on the coach and casually nibbling on the bread bit by bit. 

She was casual even while all eyes were on her. 

“My question is why you ran away and off the grid after you came to where Oliver and I were staying.” 

Celia’s words were careful, speaking as though she were trying not to incite anything to break Alisa’s coolness, though she knew that Alisa was just naturally like that and never really had a temper. 

Alisa simply shrugged, turning the small bread chunk in her hand over in her fingers and examining it carefully. 

“Well, I was told only to trust the vial with you- the vial with the last dose of whatever that chemical thing was that’s controlling Orion,” 

Rosalind tensed just at the thought of Orion. 

“The rest were destroyed. So, I brought it to you, but he was there. Hence, me not trusting him to know that I gave it to you and leaving.” 

She then popped the small bread chunk into her mouth and chewed. 

“But why? If you can trust me, you can trust Oliver.” 

Celia told her gently. 

Alisa swallowed and dusted her hands off, letting silence ring for a few beats. 

“Just because you can trust him doesn’t mean I can. I don’t know him. Well…I know some things about him, being that I am a communist agent too. The whole formidable cold act he puts on which is a complete sham-“ 

Oliver looked like he was going to argue, but Celia slapped his wrist to stop him, not taking her eyes off Alisa. 

Roma meanwhile was holding back a snort  

“-yeah I know about all of that,” 

Alisa continued. 

“But I also know that he knew about Warehouse 34 and chose not to act on it.” 

The part of the room that didn’t know about this all inhaled a quick, sharp breath. 

Rosalind startled, shocked by this, but quickly became consumed with anger. 

Her shaking was no longer in shock over her cousin’s resurrection, but now over the fact that he knew. 

“I suppose it’s unfair to say that he should have known, but nonetheless, he should have acted. He might not have known his brother was involved, but he knew his mom was up to something shady. He could have done something. And besides, I was not going to hand this vial off like it was simply nothing. The communists want it, the nationalists want it. I am not handing this to either one to create another divide in the city, because we all know divides and what they do.” 

At that, there seemed to be a sort of temporary mollification between everyone, with either thinking about the blood feud or, in Oliver’s case, that family divide between allegiances. 

Juliette reached for her husband’s hand, grateful to have something to prove that the future they now lead was real. Roma took her hand in his easily and gratefully too, like his thoughts were on the same topic. 

But Alisa was not done talking. 

“Two sides want it, and two sides will war and fight. There will be bloodshed over something that should be used to correct this problem for the good of humanity, not the good of politics. So many people have sacrificed things to find the good in the city,” 

She gestured to Roma and Juliette. 

“And I was not going to let that sacrifice go to waste. On top of all of that, what strikes me as horrible, is just the fact that Oliver knew of his mother’s work, and yet he chose to let her play it out. Whether that was just to not involve himself in that matter, that was his choice. But it was not a good one in the end. When you knew there was some shady business going on, why didn’t you investigate that? When all signs were pointing there, why didn’t you investigate it? He’s your brother.” 

Alisa knew it was unfair anger, but she was still upset, nonetheless. Her voice had even risen a little, which was the casual girl they all knew. 

Roma startled a bit, and he noticed Benedikt and Marshall recoil a bit too. 

Rosalind’s anger returned in a heavy wave, having been temporarily mollified with regret that flooded through her veins endlessly. 

It came back so thick that all she could see was red. 

Her pulse pounded in her ears and her forehead began to heat. 

She gritted her teeth, trying to rein herself in, but something about the topic of Orion being gone always made her angry. 

She bit down on her tongue so hard that skin broke almost instantaneously, the metallic taste of blood flooding into her mouth, but not quite cooling in the way one would hope. 

Instead, it fueled her white-hot fury more. 

Unable to control herself, she lunged at Oliver. 

“You bastard!” 

She spat, bringing her hands up. 

“Woah! What-“ 

He shouted. 

She wasn’t quite sure what her intent was, but before she could even do anything, Celia caught her arms in mid motion before they could potentially land a punch or wrap around his neck, which served him right at the moment. 

“Rosalind,” 

Her tone was full of warning, sharp and stern. 

But Rosalind didn’t reel back. 

Juliette did jump a little though, since she had never heard her dear cousin saying or being anything related to stern or sharp. 

Rosalind didn’t fight the grip, letting Celia hold her before she could do anything more that she would regret. 

“You absolute bastard.” 

She said again, her tone full of outrage, disgust, and horror. 

But mostly outrage. 

Oliver, meanwhile, looked bewildered that he was being attacked, like he believed that he could possibly have done nothing wrong. 

But in a sense, he had done something wrong. 

Yes, maybe he hadn’t known what exactly his mother was doing, but he knew it was shady. He could have investigated. He knew it led to that god-awful warehouse, and he chose to ignore it. 

He should have done something, and that would have been the bare minimum. Despite if it was his brother or not, he should have something. It could have been anyone, and he should have done something. But he didn’t care until it affected him. He didn’t care about the city, he only cared about himself and his political party. Did he not hear the bustling of the city? Past all of the political nonsense, did he not hear the love, the cheers, the somber, the ecstatic, the community? During day, did he not hear the laughter of the children as they played outside? At night, did he not hear the chatter over dinner tables filled with love? Rosalind loved this city so damn much, and it was clear that he did not. 

Rosalind was disgusted. 

“You knew and you didn’t do anything?” 

Her tone was of pure resentment. 

“Yes, okay! I’ll admit I made a mistake!” 

Oliver put his hands up in the air in defeat. 

Rosalind was overwhelmed with so many emotions. 

Her ears were ringing. 

“Oh a mistake.” 

A bitter laugh slipped out. 

The words had incited such a deep reaction in her. 

A mistake. Rosalind had made her fair share of mistakes, and she sure as hell wasn’t ready to make more. 

She was a stupid, stupid girl, who had done stupid things. But she wasn’t ready to keep that up. Her body was stuck in time physically, but her actions shouldn’t be. 

Meanwhile, Juliette could sense Rosalind’s train of thoughts, and with a quick exchange of glances with Celia, she could tell her cousin could as well. 

“Yes, a mistake! I didn’t know at the time, okay? I didn’t know it had to do with Orion, and if I knew, I would have chased after whatever she was doing to the dregs. I just didn’t want to involve myself with her work and get caught in something unnecessary! So why do you care so much? It was an accident!” 

Oliver shouted, clearly still trying to figure out why the blame was on him. 

Rosalind narrowed her eyes. 

Her cheeks had heated with anger. 

Benedikt and Marshall exchanged glances and then looked over at Alisa, who was still casually lounging on the couch. She looked as though she was rather enjoying herself, like this was something amusing. 

To be fair, this probably was for her. A small smile was playing on her lips. 

“Why do I care so much? Do you want to know why?” 

Rosalind’s teeth were gritted hard, and she was snarling. 

“Because you don’t know what it’s like to make a stupid mistake and then regret it for the rest of your years. Regret it because you couldn’t change the past. You don’t know what it's like to wish to be dead, and actually feel death, before being resurrected and wondering why you were fortunate enough to stay alive. You don’t know what it’s like to be forever trapped in time with your regrets, guilt, and mistakes, even when everyone and everything else is telling you to move on. You don’t know what it’s like to look into the mirror and find someone so horrible staring back at you, but you can’t ever change that, because you’re stuck that way. You don’t know what it’s like to be awake at night, thinking about what you could have done to change the past all because you messed it up for everyone, and then could not redeem it. To be up at night and questioning constant what-ifs. You don’t know what it’s like to constantly beat yourself up over everything and give yourself an extra hard time, keeping your guard up at all times, because otherwise you might find yourself being vulnerable, desperate, and silly again.  You don’t know what any of that is like, do you? Because you just make careless mistakes and don’t worry to be careful. You just act when you want and when it’s best for you and your party. Well, I’m sure as hell not willing to make another ‘mistake’, because I’ve had my fair share and have seen what they do. Just because you decided to make a mistake doesn’t mean the rest of us were willing to, but you’ve already made it for all of us, haven’t you?” 

Rosalind heaved for breath. Through both her anger and her long ranting speech she had never managed to quite inhale properly. Tears had silently rolled down her cheeks, and she knew she had said too much, but she hadn’t been quite able to stop herself once the words spilled out. 

The whole room had fallen silent in shock over her confession. 

Juliette’s eyes had widened. 

She had never really given much thought as to how her cousin had felt in the passing times. 

She had never ruminated hard enough on what her poor cousin had been experiencing, how she had beaten herself up. 

Roma clutched her hand tighter, and Juliette was ever thankful to have someone to lean on. 

But it just reminded her that her cousin did not. 

The shocked silence drew on, and Celia’s eyes widened, unaware of how much her sister had actually beat herself up over her mistakes. 

The silence drew on, and Celia carefully lead Rosalind back over to the couch and sat her down. 

Rosalind was now more shocked with herself than mad, and she seemed mollified enough to just sit down. 

She had thick skin, but this had broken her briefly. 

No one said anything for a few seconds, letting the quiet stretch on, as no one was brave enough to break it. 

Luckily, no one had to. 

Because a knock came on the door, followed by a female voice saying, 

“Hello. I’m assuming you might need us?” 

Juliette felt extremely confused and dazed. 

Who was that? 

She turned to Roma, and he shrugged, though she figured just as much that he wouldn’t know. 

She started to draw a knife, before Oliver spoke, his voice hoarse. 

“Wait a second. That’s my sister.” 

Celia, now on the couch, perched up right. 

“Phoebe? What’s she possibly doing here?” 

He shook his head and shrugged. 

“I’m not sure, is it alright if I let her in?” 

The second part was addressed at Juliette. 

She hesitantly nodded, and Oliver stood and made his way over to the door. 

He opened it wide. 

“Feiyi, what are you doing here?” 

He asked upon greeting her, and then opened the door wider and gestured for her to come in. 

She entered grinning, followed by a boy. 

“Oh, hello Silas.” 

Oliver nodded politely to the boy in glasses. 

Silas offered a small and hesitant smile and nodded back politely. 

Everyone in the room seemed to be confused by their presence. 

Pheobe and Silas entered the room, not opting to sit since the couches were rather crowded, but instead standing up so they were facing Roma and Juliette. 

“Sorry to be a bother, I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything. I take it you are Mr. and Mrs. Mai? So lovely to meet you. I’m Pheobe, and this is Silas.” 

She chirped kindly, introducing herself. 

Roma and Juliette exchanged brief glances before giving the two a polite nod back. 

Juliette was rather hesitant about the girl. 

The boy was familiar, and she recognized him a beat later as Mr. Wu’s son from the old Scarlet Gang inner circle. 

The girl, however, didn’t dress like an agent at all. She was all frills and accessories, impractical. 

But something about her seemed off. 

Oliver closed the door, and took back to the couch. 

“So, you didn’t answer my question, Feiyi. What are you doing here?” 

“I actually did,” 

Phoebe stated, looking over to her brother and smoothing her hair. 

“And you know why I’m here, Oliver.” 

Her voice had become a little less chirpy now. 

“You can’t.�� 

Oliver replied instantly, and the entire room was confused besides those two. 

Can’t what?  

“Yes, I can. You said dire situations called for this dire matter, and I would presume this situation to be rather dire, considering it has to do with our brother. You know the rules, Oliver. Family first. You may be my handler, but you do not control me.” 

Her voice hadn’t become impolite, but it wasn’t chirpy anymore. It seemed that all of that brightness she displayed wasn’t present anymore, like it was giving way for a much realer side underneath. A small, humble smile played on her lips. 

Her words hadn’t incited something in Celia, causing her to gasp suddenly. 

Rosalind was just confused over what Phoebe was talking about, and no one else seemed to have any clue.  

Alisa seemed just as clueless. 

But Celia seemed to know. 

“Oh my god…he’s your handler?” 

She asked, specifying to be sure she hadn’t misheard. 

Something in Rosalind’s mind, hidden beneath fog, was resurfacing. Something about this was familiar. 

Meanwhile, a little smile appeared on Phoebe’s lips as she nodded slightly, and Oliver sighed, defeated. 

Everything was puzzling together in Celia’s mind. 

“But…he handles Priest…oh my god…” 

Celia was shocked, and the realization seemed to have hit Alisa and Rosalind at the same time it hit Celia. 

“You’re Priest.” 

Alisa said with a bewildered tone, her eyes slightly widened. 

But she wasn’t the most shocked person in the room. 

“What? No- that’s not possible- what?- how?” 

Silas spluttered, struggling for words. 

He sat down on the floor, his eyes pulled wide and his lips parted. 

The smile finally emerged on Phoebe’s lips, but not a dazzling smile like she would usually produce for performance. 

It was a small and secretive smile. 

“Surprise?” 

She asked to the whole room. 

“You? How is that possible?” 

Alisa asked, still bewildered. 

Phoebe just shrugged. 

“No one expects a pretty face to be anything significant, not to mention an assassin.” 

Priest, the top communist assassin, had been right in front of Rosalind the entire time. 

Everything made sense now.  

The warehouse when Priest had shot all of the chemically influenced guards.  

“How did you even learn to shoot?” 

Rosalind asked her. 

“I was taught by the same person who we are currently against. My mother. She taught me when I was little and studying abroad. We started with darts, and I practiced every day, eventually switching over to a real gun. I never thought I might have to use a skill taught to me by someone against them.” 

Phoebe admitted. 

FIN

I know that's chaotic and not that great- but that was my general idea!

[bluiex]

To try to get over my writer’s block, I’ve decided to write some drabbles of random AUs of mine. Which brought me back to a superhero AU of mine that I enjoy.

Most needed context is that the hero organization isn’t exactly the best kind of people. They defeat villains mainly to get rid of them, not help the people. Scar is the exception to this. Also in this, Grian got kidnapped and experimented on/given powers. With these powers he decides to become a vigilante and take down the heroes. Everyone thinks he’s dead (except Scar, but Scar doesn’t have any idea how to find him). Grian knows Scar is Hotguy, but Scar doesn’t know Grian is Xelqua (his vigilante identity).

—————

HotGuy draws his bow, eyes laser focused on Grian. It’s a horrible twist of fate, he thinks, to have his lover stare at him with such venom in his eyes. Grian knew this day would come, where he’d eventually face Scar, but it didn’t make it any better.

“What’s wrong Xelqua?” Scar says, voice painfully neutral. “Why so silent? My colleagues all say you’re so cocky, what happened?”

It’s easy to be cocky to people you don’t like, Grian thinks bitterly, not your own partner. He’s also worried that Scar will recognize his voice, not that he wants to admit that. He has to anyways, “nothing’s happened, I’m just in the middle of something.”

“Something nefarious, I’m sure,” Scar replies, stance steady, bow still drawn. Grian’s eyes don’t leave it.

“I’m a vigilante, not a villain.”

“You’re trying to take down the hero organization, that’s what villains do.”

“It would, if the hero organization was actually good,” Grian counters. “The heroes don’t care about the people they’re not true heroes.” Grian huffs out a breath and shakes his head, he’s had this argument with Scar too many times before, and that was when Scar trusted him. “Now, I have business to attend to,” Grian says before he could respond. “I’ll see you around, HotGuy.”

Before HotGuy can react, Grian creates a burst of bright light with his magic, taking to the skies immediately after. He hears a surprised shout as he takes flight, soon followed by the sound of an arrow whizzing by after his partner recovers. Grian has already gained too much distance by then, getting safely out of reach. He heads back to the lower class district with a grim frown on his face. He’d been hoping to avoid HotGuy for longer, but he should have known better, Scar’s taken his job as a hero way too seriously. Grian supposes it makes sense, he is the one true hero in this city.

~ ~ ~

Scar isn’t doing so well after his encounter with Xelqua. It was his first encounter with the vigilante who was very different than the others described him to be. Scar should know better then to trust every word said by his colleagues, but it’s hard to not sometimes.

Of course Scar’s problems has less to do with the vigilante himself, more with what he said. What sounded so similar to another avian’s words. Although a lot of things reminds him of Grian.

Scar forces himself to keep himself presentable the rest of his time working. He can’t show any more weakness to them, even if he wants nothing else than to hide in a corner to have a breakdown. But he’s a popular hero, he can’t be seen falling apart. Especially over something so “small.”

His facade dissolves the moment he steps inside his home. Home… Scar looks around at the quiet place. It doesn’t feel much like home anymore. Too quiet, too… empty.

Scar was already thinking too much about Grian earlier, so seeing his partner’s continued absence hits like a truck. Scar drags himself over to the couch and falls face first onto it, burying his head into a pillow.

Void, he misses Grian.

It gets worse after every dead end and faulty lead Scar finds. If only he could get the higher ups to help him, but they already decided he’s dead. Grian can’t just die, it’s impossible to kill him, Scar’s pretty sure.

Scar is also pretty sure that Cub is hacking into the hero organization’s system to help gather info, but he’s resolutely ignoring that fact. Especially because they refuse to help him.

OH I LOVE THIS AU IDEA. Grian being abducted and forced powers onto him.. Hating the hero organization. Perfect perfect perfect. And I'm so happy to see yo writing again <333 I love your writing so much

[noizepushr]

God with the Israel and Palestine shit, it looks bad, fucking horrible even. Like holy shit thats a shitstorm and from what ive seen it definitely seems like Palestine is in the right but i havent seen much. But honestly i cant even give a shit anymore.

Like, I’ve been going through the absolute worst shit in my life. And I don’t have the fucking energy for this garbage. All of the hopelessness, the finger crossing, the shouting into the void. I’m so over all of this. I just don’t care anymore

I know that shows my privilege. I know I have privilege for being able to stop caring. I know not throwing myself out there and doing everything and using my privilege well makes me a horrible person. I know this isn’t about me or being a horrible person. I know me making it to be all about myself makes me an even worse person. Yet I do it all anyway.

I wish I was better, I wish I had the power and the strength to always keep fighting, Palestine seems to be clearly in the right here, why can’t I just get the energy to move. Am I really that lazy? That selfish? It’s a fucking genocide, my feeling don’t fucking matter they never did. I should be out there, fucking helping people. What am I doing in here, in this warm fucking house crying to myself. Typing my sorrows into my fucking magic brick. I don’t fucking deserve this, the fucking Palestinians who have to deal with the fucking shit that’s being thrown at them do.

I’m fucking making it all about myself again woo! Look at me!

I, I, I, me, me, me, I make myself fucking sick sometimes. If people could see inside my head, everything that was swirling around in there, they’d fucking cancel me on the god damn spot.

Why can’t I fucking care, I cared all of those other times, I’ve cared when I saw everything else. I just can’t fucking do it anymore. Nothing has changed, nothing will ever change. We’re stuck in this fucking genocide dumpster forever.

I know me losing hope is fucking selfish. I know I don’t have the privilege to lose hope. But I’m doing it anyway because I’m a bad person who can’t care anymore. I’ve seen the fucking post about how we can’t afford to lose hope if we really care about the movement or some fucking shit, but I’m done.

My fucking mental health garbage has gotten in the way, it’s made me too self centered

I’m fucking sorry, I’m sorry to all of you. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to move, to keep pushing. To help. I’ve never helped enough. I’m sorry to all of those fucking Palestinians with lives and homes and families who I haven’t fucking advocated for because of all of my stupid fucking mental health baggage. Fucking people in Gaza don’t need to fucking contend with fucking depression, they’re too busy getting everything they love fucking bombed.

I’m blocking all of the tags related to the war for my own health. I hope anyone can forgive me for that

[ordon-shield]

Whumpril Day 8: Hope in Your Heart

nausea | comfort food | dehydration | alt prompt: ransom

ao3 link (2nd in a series)

Zelda was already worried when the four Links never came back from going to face Vaati. It had been days since they had freed her and gone to fight him, long enough for her to make her way back to the castle and start taking steps to help the kingdom recover. As busy as she was trying to manage missing knights and towns burnt down by a dragon, she still sent out scouts to try and fight them, hoping that they’d only been injured in the battle… and not anything worse.

Her worst fears seemed to have been confirmed when she sensed a wave of familiar magic, rushing to the castle courtyard in horror as a dark portal opened up in its centre, shouting to the guards to hide away. A tall and unfamiliar figure stepping out. No, she realised a moment later as she met his eyes. She knew this person, even if the form they took now was different from the one she’d seen before. Hovering just above the ground before her was Vaati, taking the shape of a tall sorcerer with long purple hair, a golden crown on their head, and a familiar eye looking out from the void beneath their robe.

Steeling herself, she stepped forward, calling upon her inherited magic, which took form in her hand as a bright orb of light.

“Vaati. Why have you come here?”

They turned to face her directly and smiled, the sides of their mouth stretching too far as they did so.

“Don’t worry Princess, I have no interest in you any more. Now that I’ve recovered my true power, I’m much more interested in something I heard about from that… boar beast that tried to command me. Tell me, Princess Zelda, where can I find the Triforce?”

Zelda’s eyes widened in shock at the word. The Triforce… it had become nothing more than myth and legend to the people of Hyrule, but the royal family had still retained their knowledge of the sacred artefact.

“The Triforce was lost centuries ago, soon after the end of the Hyrulean Civil War. It was kept in the Sacred Realm, a world adjacent to Hyrule, but when my ancestors finally opened the door to try and access it during a time of need, it had disappeared. You won’t find it here, Vaati.”

They tilted their head at her.

“Are you sure about that, Princess?”

With a wave of their hand, a small figure appeared next to them, held up in the air by chains made of shadow. Zelda instantly recognised him as Link, the Four Sword missing from his back, and his clothes the familiar mix of green and white he’d always worn before drawing that blade. She didn’t trust it for a moment.

“How do I know that isn’t just his shadow? We’ve been tricked before by that summoned shade!”

Vaati chuckled, as if amused by her question.

“That traitorous little spirit? It’s been… disposed of. If you need a guarantee though… I’ll let him speak.”

The shadows around Link seemed to loosen, and he shouted out to Zelda.

“Don’t listen to him! I’m fine, just don’t—“

The shadows returned, cutting him off, as Vaati loomed over Zelda.

“Do you believe me now?”

Zelda met Link’s eyes, pleading at her to refuse what Vaati had asked of her.

“… Free Link first. Then I’ll tell you what I know.”

Vaati shrugged and the shadows dissipated, sending Link falling to the ground where he lay limply. Giving him a worried glance, Zelda took a deep breath, meeting Vaati’s eyes with her own.

“The Triforce comes in three pieces. Power, Wisdom, and Courage. The Triforce of Power and the Triforce of Courage were last seen during the Twilight Invasion, centuries ago. The Triforce of Wisdom… was passed down through my family from the Queen of that time, until we chose to hide it away to protect it. You’ll find the Triforce of Wisdom in a sacred grove hidden deep in the forests of Faron. That’s all I know.”

Vaati’s grin split their face wide open, filled with more teeth than Zelda cared to think about.

“Thank you Princess. That’s all I need for now.”

With a burst of dark magic, which pushed against her senses like a vicious wind, the wind mage vanished into a portal just like the one they had arrived through, leaving Zelda and Link alone in the courtyard.

She rushed to his side, thankful to see him whole again, but worried about what he must have gone through with Vaati. Helping him up, she realised he had no visible wounds, which should have been a comfort, if she didn’t know just what a powerful mage could do to someone’s mind without ever drawing blood.

There was a reason she chose to accept Vaati’s deal, something more than their personal ties. It was something even Link didn’t know about himself, a well kept secret of her line. The divine power held by the Hero of Twilight was passed down through his descendants, and she’d been told enough stories of Hyrule’s past to recognise the shape of the faded birthmark on the back of his hand, even if he didn’t know its true meaning himself. To let Vaati keep him, even ignorant of his ancestry was a risk she couldn’t take.

Helping Link on their way to the castle infirmary, she tried to ask him what had happened, but he stayed silent, his eyes avoiding contact with her own. She had to wonder though… did his eyes always have that slight violet tint?

[identityconfusioncentral]

Havin a really rough night. Thought I wasn’t even capable of feeling this depressed anymore. Don’t know if that’s more of a sign of BPD or DID. Don’t really care though. Not gonna tell my psychiatrist because she’d just want me back on antidepressants. They work, but they don’t change the circumstances, just how I feel about them. I don’t want that. I’d rather feel my emotions than not get to have them.

Tonight it’s mostly just feeling like this isn’t my life. I don’t belong in this body, with this family. People are expecting me to be someone I’m not. Also, our therapist seems to have abandoned us. Should have seen that one coming. She was our last hope. She wasn’t even a DID expert but she’s the only professional who ever listened to us. Yet she too abandoned us. And now it’s just me again. Me, myself, and I against the world, as it’s always been. I’m sick of this. And mostly I’m just torn because nothing I do will make things better. I do not want this life. But I don’t get to leave because my daughter needs me. Nobody cares. And I am poisoning my daughter’s life, whether I stay in it or leave. Am I really only meant to cause suffering, both my own and hers? I have many regrets. But I also feel like I can’t do anything but just make everything worse. I probably shouldn’t post this. I’m just… tired. I don’t have anyone to talk to openly anymore now. So maybe I’ll just shout into the void here. I won’t bother with tags. I don’t want to bother anyone.