#im hurling bricks if this keeps up

[5nakeb4it]

*scrolling through Instagram*

*see some artists doing something interesting*

*stop scrolling to watch*

*it's an ad for some generative ai tool that makes what could've been a decent or even great looking picture with basic Photoshop skills into a garbled shit fuck of an image*

*my genuine reaction*

[fatalitylikeghosts]

Left Over

I still feel the burn of it, bile at the back of my throat, clawing its way through my insides, racking my body with tremors as I spill myself out onto the cracked alley floor. Bricks biting against my fingertips, holding on for dear life as the world spins out of focus and I am hurling through it with no anchor, no focal point. I don’t look too closely at what I’m hacking up. Its a mess of black and blood and everything I don’t want to see. Im pretty sure somethings moving in it. I felt it slither between my teeth, a parasite my bodys finally rejecting, even if it kills me. And for a moment I think it is. Killing me. The detox of a lifetime as I realize I’ve never been sober. All the pills and poison they’ve stuffed me with, day after day like cotton filling out a corpse. I’ve never been without it. My heads pounding but its never been this clear. And so I let it take me, I let my body purge itself while I hold on blindly and pray to whatever god is listening that I make it to the other side. The come downs a bitch.

But I do make it, one day at a time as I learn to walk on two legs 18 years too late. They’re shaking steps but they’re determined and I charge myself right in the direction of everything they’ve ever warned me against. Through the city streets, through the alleyways no one looks down, to the edges of what was supposed to be my home, my haven. Out into the big wide world, against the sun that burns and the desert thats only good for killing. Every signal in my head is flashing like floodlights, screaming to turn back, but I dont. I just keep walking, one step at a time.

It’s easy to pretend in the desert. Hair falls to the floor with a jagged sweep, box dye soaking into the roots, stitching together a version of myself that goes against everything they told me to be. “Fuck you” boots strapped on tight, safety pins through a leather jacket held together by “suck it” seams. I cant see them in the mirror when I’m looking through a mask. I can’t hear them while my gun is singing. Loud and Proud. I can almost convince myself that this is the way its always been.

The pills are gone from my system, a few years gone by now, and the city should be nothing more than a memory. It should be. There’s no explanation as to why I still feel it lurking in my veins, like the bloods still tainted. Like I’ll never be able to get clean. Like somehow I know it will never fully leave me. I can scratch my skin raw, I can choke on vomit trying to force it back out but there’s nothing left to spit up. All thats left are echoes, after images of a life branded to me at birth, like hot iron against supple skin. These are the ghosts they’ve left behind, occupying the shadowed corners of my mind. I can’t always hear them, but they’re always there, they’re always watching. I’ve worn anger until the thread runs thin and I’m tired of the way it fits. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be angry at. So instead, I ride the wave. I point and shoot. I rush forward like the deserts the only home I’ve ever known, ever will know, and if I try hard enough I can almost convince myself that every step doesn’t burn beneath my feet. But in the end I need the burn, the pain, the way it sinks in deep and taps into the vitals that remind me I’m still alive. And as long as I’m still alive, I keep running.

[henrycavell]

Heroine

*not my gif, if i end up actually updating this, i’ll make it a header 

pairing: clark kent / ofc named Emma

summary: working on it

warnings: the only warning i can think is, im not sure if this is going to be a series, or if its just going to be a string of one shots or if im just posting this to never update it but here we go :)

word count: 1.7k

@littlefreya​ @mary-ann84​ @wondersofdreaming​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @geralt-of-baevia​ @asylummara​ @dearlybelovedluke​ @promptandpros​ @mansaaay​ @daddys-littlewhitegirl​ @vacant-writings​ ​ @80scavill​ @kaatelyyynn @iloveyouyen​ @henrythickcavill​ @hell1129-blog​

Her body ached, every inch of her flesh felt bruised and every muscle and joint was sore and throbbing. Emma’s body laid atop the rubble from the battle, a destroyed street corner that ended up taking a little family owned sandwich shop out too. Cutting through the sounds of camera shutters and people questioning her seemingly unconscious body, Emma could hear the owner of the shop crying, throwing his hands in the air and freaking out. How was she focusing on that background conversation so easily? And… was this her fault?

The last thing she remembered clearly was walking home from campus. She’d failed a math test and had been freaking out about it, certain she was going to have to repeat the class next semester. The absolute last thing she remembered was telling herself there was nothing she could do about it now, and had decided to treat herself. So, she had turned the corner of Main Street with the intention of heading to the little ice cream parlor at the end of the block.

It had been a relatively normal day. The sun was setting, the temperature was dropping and the sky was a beautiful mix of pinks and reds turning to purples. Emma had passed several couples and families out enjoying their evening as she strolled down Main Street. At that’s where her memory ends.

Forcing her eyes open, Emma pulled herself up into a sitting position and tried to ignore the throbbing headache that was pounding in the back of her skull. The sudden movement from the young woman garnered a reaction from the news reporters and the citizens who had gathered around. The entire crowd seemed to silence, their breaths catching in the back of their throats. But the quiet didn’t last for very long.

“Miss! Miss! Can you tell us what happened?”

“Where did you come from!?”

“Do you know Superman??”

Questions came hurling at her so quickly that she hadn’t had time to answer any of them. Emma’s eyes widened as she looked around at all the different lights, cameras in every direction pointed on her. And she hadn’t the slightest clue what she had done. Or what had even happened.

“How did such a little thing like you take out those two big men?” A reporter with a sleazy mustache asked, pushing a microphone up to her mouth as two EMTs tried to make their way through the crowd to her.

“Get that out of my face,” Emma mumbled, swatting away at the microphone, feeling her stomach twisting itself into knots. She never had liked having attention on her, not even a little bit. One of the EMTs came up to her side and got down on his knees to her level, beginning to check her over, asking if she was alright. “I’m fine,” she mumbled, pulling her arm away from the medic.

The man looked towards his partner, before back at Emma. “We just watched you crash through the side of that shop. Let us take you and check you out.”

The last place Emma was going to go was anywhere with these strangers. “No, I’m fine.”

A new voice entered her focus, demanding to be heard over the rest of the reporters even though it was soft and gentle. “She said she’s fine.” This reporter wore a brown suit over a navy plaid button up. His hair was perfect, not even a strand out of place. Large black framed glasses caught the reflection of the street lights in the night, hiding swirling pools of blue. The man’s brow was set into a hard line as he shooed the men away, though he knew there was nothing he could do for the mass crowd behind him. Clark only knew this girl didn’t need medical attention.

Clearing his throat, he held his hand out to Emma and gave her a small smile, nervous that she wouldn’t take it. He needed to speak to her and he hated that it had to be under the guise of a Daily Planet reporter, but he couldn’t speak to her as anyone else. “Names Clark. I… Daily Planet.” He mumbled, his gaze falling to his suede shoes on the wet pavement, his hand falling before Emma even had a chance to take it. Positive that she wouldn’t have anyway. “Let me just help you out of here,” Clark offered, looking back up at her before he reached for her hands on his own, pulling her up from the debris she had made a bed out of.

Emma had wanted to refuse him, had been thinking about pushing him away, too. To hell with his help, reporter was written all over him. It was just an attempt to get her to answer his questions over the rest. But he hadn’t given her a chance. Pulling her up to her feet, Emma groaned, feeling her back pop in places it shouldn’t. The strange man held her close to his chest, using his free arm to push his way through the crowd. Other reporters quickly shouted for their camera men to follow, with their pens and note pads in their hands they tried frantically to chase or stop them.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” They would shout, but Clark hadn’t hesitated for a step, nor had he allowed Emma to. Leading her down the street, Clark silently cursed to himself. If he were alone, he could turn down any one of these alleys and then just fly off to escape the vultures on their heels, but he couldn’t do that now.

Letting his hand fall to Emma’s, he grabbed it tightly and pulled her down a darkened street, before immediately pulling her into the empty back entrance of a closed restaurant. Clark flattened himself against the wall, forcing Emma to do the same with his arm across her chest. Her heart was pounding heavy, impossible for him to ignore. The shadows and the dumpster concealed the pair and Clark watched as the crazed reporters continued down the street with their camera men on their heels.

The large man’s shoulders slouched as he stepped away from the wall, one hand raising to his face to fix his glasses. Before he could even open his mouth, Emma was already walking away from him. “I’m not answering any questions for you, either.” The night was cold, a chill breeze rolling through the empty streets. Emma could hear the sounds of police sirens right around the corner and still, she wondered just what she had done.

“Then I won’t ask any,” Clark called after her, taking a few steps in her direction.

“Then you have no reason to be following me.” Emma pointed out to him, heading in the opposite way of the police lights, not sure what way she was headed. But Clark wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“Where are you going? You just went through something unbelievable and you’re acting like nothing has happened. Let me just make sure you get home safe-“ Clark reached out to place his hand on her shoulder. Emma turned on her heels and jerked away from his touch, looking at him as if he were an alien, but she couldn’t have possibly known that. “Don’t touch me. I don’t need your help.”

Clark frowned, freezing in his tracks as he looked down at Emma. He couldn’t shake this feeling he kept getting, especially when he looked right into her glistening eyes. Like she was completely clueless, afraid even. “Do you even know what just happened?” His question rolled off of his tongue in a breath, and Emma’s reaction was all the answer he needed. Her brow pulled together and her stare faltered from his. Her gaze dropped for just a second, a slight hesitation before her lips parted, but no words came out.

“Let me help you,” Clark repeated, reaching out to her once more. His hands fell on her shoulders and he turned her back in the direction she had initially been walking in. His hand fell down to her back, but not in a way that sent chills down her spine. Rather, it was comforting. Emma looked up at Clark as she followed him down the sidewalk, trying to tell herself that she was being tricked. He was a reporter, and all he wanted was the scoop first, he didn’t actually care. But what did Emma have to tell him? She knew nothing.

Whenever Emma closed her eyes, she would see slight flashes of the event. She’d remember what it felt like to throw a man through a brick wall, and how it had felt when she’d hit one herself. But she couldn’t recount the event, not at all. “Let’s get you some food, just sit down and relax for a bit. Then I can call a ride, take you home.” Clark was speaking again, pulling Emma out of her thoughts. For the moment, he wasn’t acting like a reporter and that was enough to help keep her calm.

Clark kept one hand on Emma for their entire walk, afraid that at any second the woman would get frightened again and decide to run. Still downtown, Clark brought her to a little restaurant he had visited on a handful of business occasions. They had little golden lights twinkling outside of their windows and a black and silver striped banner. It was fancy, but cozy and inviting at the same time.

“I’m… not very hungry,” Emma hesitated at the door, lingering on the stairs as Clark held the door open out for her.

“That’s fine,” he spoke, though a little frown came to his lips. “You don’t want to stand out here in the cold and wait for your ride, though, do you?” Clark motioned into the restaurant anyway, forcing a little smile her way. “I’ll order the ride now, promise.”

Emma sighed, her hands hugged around her torso, already bitter over the chilly temperature. Something told her that if she entered the restaurant with Clark, he’d be trying to get her to talk about the event sooner rather than later. But she was a rather long walk from her apartment and he was right, she didn’t want to be out in the cold any longer.

“Fine,” she mumbled and stepped into the restaurant before him.

[enchanted-prose]

The Unconventional Princess

anons in my ask box im so sorry and I will get your ficlets out soon! this is for my darling @ascendant-queen, because I know how much she loves Fink

Word count: 1,400 

Characters: Fink, Fink’s rat, Snips, Buttons, and Grip (All original characters)

Notes: 1414, Fink is about 9 in this ficlet, a wee babey. Unedited! Also we were cheated because Fink deserved to take his sweet rat with him, and I was watching Ratatouille so its only fair that I write a rat fic. Don’t think about how difficult it would’ve been for Fink to give up the rat, and you’ll be fine.

Enjoy!

Fink was never the strongest, nor the biggest.

But he was small, and he was quick. 

He couldn’t remember the name he’d been born with; couldn’t remember the names of his parents. His name changed multiple times from Gabshite, to Bug, to Dung Beetle, and finally to Fink because he’d struggled with pronouncing his ‘th’ sounds while saying the word ‘think’.

“Come on Fink,” yowled one of the older boys. His current name was Grip. “There’s things to be doing.”

If dodging blows wasn’t something Fink was used to, he would’ve had a sharp kick to his ribs. Rib kicks were the worst.

They usually resulted in broken ribs.

Broken ribs meant a slow, painful death. 

“Things like what?” Fink rubbed his eyes, there weren’t any messages to deliver this early. Or at least he hoped there weren’t.

Grip shrugged. “Dunno, Snips and Buttons have been catching frogs ‘n other things. I think we’re gonna roast ‘em an’ eat ‘em.”

“We’re gonna eat Snips and Buttons? Eat a person? There’s no way I’m doing that, not even-”

“Shut up, gabshite, I’m talking about the frogs.”

“Oh.”

Dichell was a nice enough city. It was far enough from the ocean to keep big fish out of the sewers, but close enough to Isel to get a wide variety of rich folk. They clung to their purses and forgot to seal up their pockets. Fink could get his hands on a few coins easily enough.

Despite begging him to slow down, Grip dragged Fink by the wrist through alley after alley, eventually they merged into Dichell’s main road. 

“Where are we going?” Fink asked.

No answer.

“Grip! Where are we going?”

“The Farmer’s Wench!” Grip called back. “I don’t know where to find the frogs, but I know where to find rats! Snips and Buttons will meet us there!”

“I thought Snips and Buttons were hunting frogs!”

“They are!”

Flaws riddled Grip’s statements, but Fink knew better than to point those out to him. The last time Fink had informed Grip that he wasn’t talking right, he earned a fist to the face. 

Luckily the tooth that Fink lost was one of his baby teeth, and a new one was beginning to grow. He had no intention of losing one of his permanent teeth over a dispute about talking.

Although losing a tooth by fighting a dragon in order to save a beautiful princess was easily the best way to go.

All Fink had to do was find a dragon. And a princess.

Just as Grip promised, Snips and Buttons were waiting in the alley by the Farmer’s Wench. Buttons, being the largest out of them all, held a large sack on his back. He was furiously beckining Fink and Grip over.

“We cornered a rat, but it’s hiding between a crate and the wall,” Buttons said. 

“Why can’t Snips get it?” Grip asked as he led Fink into the alley.

“We’re both too big, Gabshite.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, but I kiss yours.”

Fink frowned, “None of us have mothers. Oh! That’s an idea, we could all find a mother, get her to take us in, feed us-”

“Mothers don’t want boys like us, pigbrain!” Snips cackled.He jabbed his finger at the crate. “You’re gonna catch that rat for us, we need dinner.”

“But what if it bites me?”

“Better it bites you than me, Buttons, or Grip.”

“That’s not-”

“Fair?” The three boys supplied.

There was no sympathy in their eyes.

Something rustled.

The rat was making for an escape. 

“Get the rat!” Screamed Buttons, hurling himself at the animal. 

Buttons missed the rat by a foot, and careened into the wall. Fink flinched at  the sight of Buttons’s bloody head. Wounds like that only ever meant trouble. 

The rat dashed between Grip’s legs, dashed side to side, and scuttled right into Snips’s open hands.

Fink didn’t like the odd tug-tugging in his heart. It wasn’t right, the way Snips was laughing as he squeezed the rat until it squeaked.

He knew what it felt like to be squeezed until you were sure your bones were going to break.

It was too difficult to watch. Fink pressed his fists into his eyes, and looked at the Farmer’s Wench’s old sign. Looked at the toothless old man begging for a coin or two in the street. Looked at his shoes.

Anywhere but at the squealing rat. 

Too many times he’d been told he was too small. Boys like him couldn’t be knights, they’d be blown away by the flap of dragon wings before they could do any princess rescuing. 

Was it too early to fill those shoes? Too early to answer that chivalrous call in the only way he could?

“Ah, dinner is-” Snips said, but his sentence was never finished.

Gathering all of his strength, Fink punched Snips in the nose as hard as he could, and caught the fat rat as Snips tumbled down. The rat’s heart was beating faster than a humming bird’s wings. . . And Grip’s fist was coming at him equally fast.

Cradling the rat to his chest with one hand, Fink dashed down the busy street. He couldn’t let go. Couldn’t let go of the rat. Horses thundered past, drivers yelled at him to get out of the way.

By the Devils! What could he do with a rat!?

Go, Fink! Go!

His size brought him an advantage. Fink vanished into a side alley just as Snips, Buttons, and Grip thundered down the street. Rat in hand, Fink slumped against the alley’s brick wall. 

Fink didn’t know kind words, not the kind that young mothers used on their newborn babies. 

But he was willing to think of kind things to say. “You’re a skinny, little thing, aren’t you? Ah, silly me, rats can’t talk. I’m sorry, I’m kind of used to speaking to trees and other silly things. I get lonely, do you get lonely? Do rats have feelings?”

The rat gave a pitiful squeak.

“Oh, Devils! I’m holding you too tight, I’m so sorry. Here, ah, I’ll set you down. I can barely find food for me, let alone another mouth. Besides, pets are useless. I can’t train you to-,” Fink set the rat on the ground, “-do anything that’ll-, hey! What are you doing?”

The rat only sat back on its haunches, and sniffed at Fink’s trouser leg. 

“Shoo! Didn’t you hear what I said?”

Still, she sniffed his trousers. 

Fink stood up, “You’ve gotten me into trouble with my friends, I’ll have to go apologize. I wanted to be a knight, and you were my unconventional princess. But you’re not a real princess, and I’m not a real knight, so I have to leave you now. It’s nothing personal, everyone gets left behind in one way or another. Happened to me, but I turned out alright! Sure, I go a little hungry, but I haven’t kilt anyone yet. Goodbye, lady princess.”

He brushed his palms over his shirt, unsure of why his eyes were smarting. It was miserable, acknowledging that no matter how hard he wished, he’d been abandoned. There was no mystery mother and father coming for him.

There was nothing more to him than his ability to sneak into tiny places. 

A flash of grey darted around his feet as he shuffled forward.

It seemed the rat wasn’t inclined to being left behind.

“Oh! You’re right, it’s rude of me to do that,” Fink said, freezing in his steps to avoid stepping on the rat. “I didn’t ask your name, but rats can’t talk, so I’ll give you a name.”

The rat squeaked a little louder as Fink picked her up with both hands, and looked her over. 

Names weren't something Fink really knew. The boys he ran with were all named after objects or things they did well. 

Thinking, thinking. He’d run so many letters to so many people. There had to be- wait!

“I’ll call you Ninette,” Fink declared. He set the rat, newly christened Ninette, on his shoulder. “I ran a letter for a Ninette once, she was marrying a man she didn’t love and wanted to run away with somebody else. I don’t know what happened to her and if she got away. You can carry her name, though. Ninette was nice to me, and you’ll be nice to me too, little Ninette.”

He wouldn’t be alone.

Not while he had Ninette resting on his shoulder.

[jocelyn-wellson]

10 YEARS AGO, JANUARY

“Dmitri does not want Proudmoore Guard in house,” said Boris, a tall and beefy man with whom she’d dealt prior. 

“Boris,” she said. “Et’s me — Jo Knuckles,” she said. 

“Is that official name now?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “No Guard in house.”

Jocelyn sized the man up. He had at least 1 foot and 150 pounds on her, but he wasn’t nearly as quick. “Ya ‘member th’ time I was in th’ ring wit’ Th’ Bear,” she said. 

“Long time, five years now. Why you ask me this?” he asked, at least seemingly interested.

“‘Member ‘ow I beat ‘im?”

The body guard shifted weight. “Yes, I remember. Never forget,” he said, unconsciously covering his crotch. “Bear can make no children now,” he said. 

“Take me ta see Dmitri,” she said, picking her well-used duffle off the ground. “Please.”

Boris weighed the future of possibly having not children vs. a somewhat cranky, yet amenable, boss. He looked her up and down. “Weapons,” he said, extending his hand; Jocelyn dropped her brass knuckles into his palm.

“Tha’s et,” she said. 

“Come in from rain,” he said. “Leave coat and bag here and follow me to library.”

Jocelyn did as she was told. She glanced around at the varnished wood and antiques from a place about which she’d only heard stories. She could hear him listening to music, pure strings and clear voice. She felt not quite as dreadful as she had as of late. She appreciated that almost as much as the music itself. Boris opened the double doors; Dmitri was in a chair, his back to them. “Jo Knuckles to see you.” 

Dmitri froze at the name for a moment. He moved his arm, and what sounded like a heavy safe door closed shut, followed by the spin of a dial. He sat up. “Leave us, Boris.”

The bodyguard shook his head. “I will stand in hallway,” he said, closing the door behind him. 

The crimelord turned his chair to face her slowly. In his hand, he held a pearl-handled pistol. “So,” he said, setting the gun on his hefty wooden desk. “What does Joey Knuckles want with Dmitri? Make arrest?”

Now it was Jocelyn’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “Somethin’ bad ‘appened.”

“Dmitri needs more.”

“Ain’ in the Guard no more,” she said. “Dishonourable. Kilt a man ‘ho pissed me off, an ol’ john ‘ho wan’ed ta tell ... wha’ we di’.” She shook her head. “Wha’ he did ta me.”

“And now Joey Knuckles has no place to go.”

“Yea,” she said. Her lip twitched. “Ain’ go’ no fam’ly, all me ol’ frien’s are in th’ Guard. I cannae even talk ta them now.”

“So. You come to only friend, Dmitri.” He stood and crossed the room. At a long cherry-wood bar, he prepared two double vodkas, neat. He rubbed a lemon rind about the rim of his glass and a lime about hers. He returned to the desk, handing her the vodka. “You work on your back again?”

She shook her head. “Nay, I’m bettah than tha’.”

Dmitri cracked a sliver of a smile. “Just like Dmitri always tell Joey,” he said, punctuating his point with a finger wag. He clinked his glass to hers. “Kúšajte, péjte na zdoróv’je.”

“Spasíbo,” she replied. They drained their glasses. She set hers on his desk.

“Le’ me work fir you, wit’ Boris. Ya ‘elped me once; le’ me ‘elp  ya now.”

He chuckled. “Dmitri knows you want to help both him and you; always liked that about you, Jo.” He sighed. “Dmitri will help. Two conditions.”

She nodded. 

“Joey will not work on her back. You need to get in ring again, one time a month.”

She flinched. She had no desire to brawl, but knew her situation. “I live ‘ere?”

“Sleep in attic. Will make room for you.”

There was no alternative in the short term. “Deal,” she said.

11 YEARS AGO, LATE DECEMBER (TWO WEEKS PRIOR TO LAST EVENT)

“Oi, hey hey!” shouted the drunk from across the cobblestone path. He was sporting myriad tattoos, including some boasting of his time in Tol Dagor. “Hey! Lady!”

Jocelyn, in her full Proudmoore Guard kit, ignored him. 

“Joss, we should help that man,” whispered her partner. He was fresh out of the Academy. He meant well. 

She shook her head and kept walking. 

The drunk picked up a small pebble and tossed it. He hit Jocelyn on the back of the head: not enough to hurt, but enough to annoy. She was turning just as he hurled a cobblestone; it hit her cheek, drawing blood. That one hurt and left a mark.

“Sir,” said her partner in his deep baritone voice, “You have assaulted a member — ”

“Whore!” yelled the drunk. 

“Le’s go, yea?” she said to her partner. 

“Joss, he hit you in the face.”

The drunk undid his belt, folding it in half. “I ain’t forgot how much she likes that,” he said, approaching them slowly. 

“Sir,” said Jocelyn. “If’fn ya donnae back off, we’re gonna ‘ave ya charge ya wit’ menacin’.”

Her partner touched his ear. A voice on the other end told him backup would be there within a minute. 

“We have more coming,” said Jocelyn’s partner. 

The drunk sneered. “Again, just how — ”

“Sir, back away wit’ th’ belt,” shouted Jocelyn. “Se’ et doon. Now.” She grabbed her truncheon. She placed her body at an angle, feet shoulder width apart. Her partner did the same. 

“I always wanted a repeat of our party,” he said, snapping his belt. He kept walking toward them, staring at Jocelyn the entire time.

“Shut yer mouth!” 

“Joss, what’s he talking about?” asked her partner, rattled.

“Look at this boy... probably ain’t even had sex yet, and he gets you as his partner?” The drunk laughed. He swung the buckle-end of the belt at them. “That’s fucking rich.”

“Jo—”

“Sir, I sai’ shut et.” She took an aggressive stance, dropping her center of gravity. She raised her truncheon. “Las’ warnin’.”

“Joss,” whispered her partner. “We’re here to detain, not to injure.”

“She’s just pissed because we tore her up pretty good that night.”

“Enuf!” she shouted even as the echo of their backups’ feet approached. They were running. “On th’ ground!”

She moved quickly toward the gloating thug. She smashed into the side of his face with the truncheon. His belt dropped to the ground. “I said on th’ ground.”

The drunk spat. Blood and teeth fell to the stone. He bellowed as he pushed her against a brick wall. “I can’t wait for Island with you, me, and all th’ boys, you bitch,” he screamed in her face; blood spattered across her cheeks. “And then you’ll be fucking—”

She slammed the truncheon upward against the man’s chin. He howled in pain and fell to the ground. She moved to cuff him. He taunted her again, thrashing about like a small child throwing a tantrum, kicking her in the back. She brought the truncheon down hard on the back of his head. He stopped moving. She dropped it. Her partner restrained her. She was put in cuffs without opposition. The other officers arrived; they’d seen the majority of it.

At her court martial, Jocelyn’s partner did what he could. He told the presiding officers about the incitement, her attempt at deëscalation, the victim’s unwillingness to comply. The circumstances from earlier that month were taken into consideration, too. It was enough to keep her from the gallows. Yet, despite everything, it was the final blow to the back of his head, deemed malicious by the panel, that forced her removal from service. No benefits. No severance. No transitional aid. Just her last two paycheques and a persona non grata edict by the Academy.

11 YEARS AGO, EARLY DECEMBER (THREE WEEKS PRIOR TO LAST EVENT)

Jocelyn fell into her lover’s arms. She was shaking. She’d just had her baby cut from her belly. “Jus’ ... jus’ tell me ya still ... care,” she implored. Her life had seemed like it was coming together, like a new self was about to blossom. Six months prior, she’d finished her compulsory military service sentence and been admitted into the Proudmoore Guard. Yet, despite the professional and personal success, the pregnancy had been tough from the start. The healers had told her that because of past trauma, she would be unlikely to carry to term. Even still, she believed. When the fifth month came and she no longer felt movement, she knew she was in trouble. In the sixth month, the surgical extraction only confirmed their fears. The fetus had been dead for weeks. She had never felt so cold, so empty.

He was in as much shock as she. “I... I do,” he said shakily. He looked down at the baby, completely wrapped in a thick blanket. “Of course... I do.” He couldn’t even see its face. To him, it appeared to be nothing more than a crumpled blanket. 

“I care, too,” she said, still weak from the surgery and anesthesia. “Only for you.” She squeezed her lover’s hand and closed her eyes, confident he would be there when she awoke.

That was the last time she saw him.

( special thanks to @kat-hawke for the loose character outline )

[elddansurin]

found a story i wrote a bit over a year ago, during Circumstances. fiction, mostly.

Day 2 Woke up yesterday to find myself locked in my own house. Door knob turns, but it won't budge. Tried fiddling with the deadbolt, no luck. Have tried all this again today, but no progress. What’s happening? Day 4 Still no updates on the door. Have not been too upset just yet, there's plenty of food in here. Everything else seems normal otherwise. What's doing this? Is there something jamming the lock? Seems weird to me that I can hear the lock working like normal when I turn the deadbolt, but it won’t budge. Day 5 Woke up in a cold sweat this morning. I have not heard a single human being outside since the trouble with the door started. There have been sounds outside, of course, but I have not heard anyone walking past, or any voices going by. Would normally come as a relief, but - I just need something to calm my nerves. Day 8 Getting worse. Empty boxes piling up in pantry. I've started eating less. Rationing. It’s easier to save energy, still trapped in this fucking house. I just need to stop myself from pacing so much, it’ll just make me hungrier. Should make myself a drink to calm my nerves. Finished the last of the fresh juice, but I think I still have a can of concentrate somewhere in the freezer. Should do well enough for mixers. If I can just clear my head, I might be able to figure out what to do about this. Day 9 Windows won't open. Windows won't break. I thought maybe I'm just losing a bit of my strength from eating less. Lost my cool and hurled a chair into the glass. Not even a crack. Completely impenetrable. Took a hammer to a few of them. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Day 12 -Hey, been a while since anyone's heard from ya. We're all heading out to the pier tonight, if you want to come. No pressure, ofc. -Help -Help me -Im trapped in here 

-Please [MESSAGE COULD NOT BE DELIVERED] Day 15 Food should be gone. I keep finding boxes I don't remember buying. Not fresh, not good, but it’s food. My hands won't stop shaking. Day 16 Vodka bottle slightly fuller than I remember it being. Don't know if my mind is playing tricks on me. Ran out of mixers, tastes like gasoline by itself. Could probably light my breath on fire if I wanted to. Day 17 There's a knocking on the door. Loud. Heavy. Ominous. Tried looking out the peep hole, but it's been covered over. Just black. The knocking rattles the door. Don't know if I'd let them in even if I could. This is a threat. Stay inside. I’m hiding in the bedroom until this is over. I know they can't see me, but I feel exposed. Day 19 There's been a dense fog outside for days now. Wish I'd have written down when it started so I could know the last time I saw the sun. I can barely see the trees, it's that dense. Fog seems to disappear at night, but there's nothing to see then either. I never see any lights. No stars, no moon. Just darkness. Day 20 More knocking. Fast. Angry. I made the mistake of knocking back. Just once. Just once. It’s coming nonstop now. Absolutely possessed. I can see the door rattling in its frame. I'm terrified it won't hold, that they'll get in. I'm terrified that they won't. That they can't. I can’t decide which is worse. Day 22 -Not sure if you'll read this, but I miss you a lot. Please be okay. -Help me -I don't know what to do anymore [MESSAGE COULD NOT BE DELIVERED] Day 25 Knocking has been getting weaker lately. Most days, just three or four before they give up. They keep coming back, keep making noise, but they're giving up. I can hear it. Soon, there will be no more knocks. I’m scared, and I don't know why. Day 26 New bottle of vodka on the counter. Not a brand I'd ever have bought for myself. Won't ask how it got here. Not completely full, but enough. Still finding half-full boxes of stale crackers and dried pasta in the back of the pantry. I black out if I stand up too quickly. I'm getting used to it. Day 28 Saw a dark shape walking through the fog. Circling my house. I peek at it through a slat in the blinds. I don’t know who it is. What it is. Day 30 More sounds outside. Metal scraping on concrete, distant grinding noises. Something big hit the side of the house. Knocked a frame off the wall. I’ve been sleeping in the bathroom lately, it's the most interior room in the house. I can’t take this. Day 31 -I can't do this. Let me out or let me die please this can't go on i cant do this [MESSAGE COULD NOT BE DELIVERED] Day 33 Sounds from the front door. Methodical. Clink, pause, clink, pause. It’s building up higher and higher. They're bricks being laid. I'm being walled in. Entombed. I'm the one knocking now. Screaming. Please, don't let it be too late. Please.  Day 40 (?) Took pills. As many I had left. All kinds. They came back up. Everything hurts. Day 42 Have been crading the bottle in my lap for days. I fall asleep with it hugged to my chest. Doesn't matter how much I drink, there’s always just enough for a few more shots. Day ? Carpet worn down from where I've been pacing. Windows are pitch black all the time. The clock stopped. Don't rightfully know what day this is, and it doesn't matter anymore. No sounds from outside except for a low, distant rumbling. Tacked sheets up over the mirrors, I can’t look at myself anymore. Day ? The lights are going out in different rooms. One by one, they flicker out. There is nothing behind the windows. The darkness is coming in. Day ? I am trapped the last patch of light. Absolute blackness beyond. I threw the bottle into the darkness, never heard it hit the ground. The light keeps getting smaller. It will be gone soon and I will be a part of it. I can't do this. I can't take this. I can't. I can't. I can't please don't make me do this please -I need help. I can't do this anymore. Please. I'm sorry. Please help me. Please. I need you. Read 2:13 am Day 62 The lights are on. There is fog behind the windows but I can see again. I hear sounds from all around me. Hammers to bricks. It's shaking the walls. Rattling the door. I can hear the knocking again. Loud and determined. I throw myself at the door, knocking back. Screaming. Help me. Please. I'm ready. Let me out -Hey man, it was great seeing you again. We've all really missed you. We'll get you through this, I promise. Keep in touch.

[ledamemangociana]

having finally seen Endgame, i have some thoughts on the reveal and portrayal of the fat character. im sure im not the first to say any of these, and that other ppl have said it more eloquently and more thought-out than i probably will, but i needed to get this out, because i didn’t get to see the movie until far after it was first released, and i saw a LOT of talk and warning about it coming, which caused me to brace and almost make me lose hype for the film.

under a cut and untagged to avoid spoiling anyone. i’ll also try not to name names and keep any direct references as vague as possible.

so - the good things first. i get what they were trying to do, or at least hoping to convey. i saw the grimness of long-term depression and its effects. i saw that the other characters (most of them anyway), did not see or treat it all as a joke. i also appreciate that they didn’t have him return to his brick-shithouse form even after magicking his armour onto himself at the end, and that there was no indication that he was already or instantly okay after having reversed the snap and saved the world. maybe i see these and appreciate these in this way because A) i can relate to the depression and the grieving and the effects of it, and B) he was always my favorite Avenger, so it was good and kind of cathartic seeing him go through that and not be magically cured of what was ailing him. 

the bad parts - it’s very clear that while what he was going through was being taken seriously for the most part in-story, the portrayal felt like a deliberate attempt at laughs from the audience. in attempting to talk about the effects of declining mental health, they played into and played up the stereotypes, and then made sure that the reveal was hilarious instead of shocking. the characters were shocked, the audience was not, and judging by the way his fat belly, the room and his roommates were shown, they were not meant to be shocked, they were meant to laugh at how much he had let himself go. it’s easy for someone who may not know that the Russos deliberately did this for the laughs (they said so themselves, apparently) to say “nah, people just don’t get it, and they’re always gonna laugh at that,” because it’s true, but i can’t help but wish that it wasn’t so deliberate on the filmmakers’ parts. people are ALWAYS going to laugh at a drunk, dirty, un-kept, fat, glutton playing video games in a basement and threatening teenagers halfway around the world over a headset. it’s obviously very deliberate that they chose that stereotypical visual to portray effects of depression that look similar or exactly like that. plus, look at who his roommate was in that scene. there was literally one other person they could have had in that scene, even though they’d already appeared in the setup prior to the reveal. that scene was deliberately played for laughs. and that’s the part that hurts. because people are laughing not just at a fat dude, but at the very real issue of mental health problems. i told my friends that i was glad that i hadnt watched the movie for the first time with my dad, who doesn’t understand my depression, thinks that whatever i’m feeling is only temporary and cannot at all stand up to or be equal in any way to his grief and mourning (he literally said the words “you only lost a job, i lost my wife” to me when i tried to explain why my room in the condo had turned into such a gigantic mess in the three months that i was desperately looking for a new job; to this day, he’s convinced that that was all my depression was about, and that i was making excuses). when i watched the movie in a theater that was hardly full of people (because it was the first showing of the day and most people were only just waking up or just on their way to the malls), everyone around me was laughing. i wasn’t. i saw myself in that scene, i recognized what it was as the set-up was happening, and i found no humor in it. and it was difficult to sit there and listen to everyone cackle at the fat drunk as he hurled beer after beer down his pot belly, even knowing that Filipinos, in general, only say they understand and accept social issues, but would get defensive and smart-shame anyone who tried to explain mental health issues to them (us). it was difficult sitting there knowing that all anyone else saw was an overweight inebriate with unruly hair, and found it hilarious, instead of looking at what was going on underneath all that, and seeing the conversation that the filmmakers flimsily attempted to start or convey while also intentionally making exactly these kinds of audiences laugh instead.

before i saw the film, people were telling me it’s not as bad as a lot of people may think, and i get why they said that. i think the attempt at a deeper, more serious look at the consequences of declining mental health is clear, but gets lost or almost devalued by the attempt at laughs. and look, i know some jerks out there would see this and be like “stop whining, it’s a superhero movie, it’s not that deep, you want deep dives into these issues, go watch an independent film” or something, but that’s bullshit to me. a big blockbuster sounds like exactly a good way to get a good message about mental health across, because a ton of people watch these things. blockbuster movies are still stories, and they still show some impression of real life embedded in them. a story can be fantastical af, but its morals and lessons would still be about how we real people live our real lives. someone who really, truly cared about getting good messages across in their films would’ve done better than this. i appreciate what they did, or what they tried to do, but i can’t help but wish there was more.

this is just how i see it, of course. i don’t know that there’s anyone who would agree with me on this. in general, i’m glad it wasn’t worse, but i wish it was better.

[thedappleddragon]

haha here we go again

there's a lot of dumb ranting and 3 days worth of logs and a dream in here so im gonna spare evryone’s dashboard and just put it all under the cut.

tw bad memories, talk of unhealthy relations with food, and dreams about dead animals

I realized I kind of entirely forgot to write about what I did yesterday? I kind of did a lot. I know my mom wanted to work on getting tile laid out in front of her bathroom, so we worked together to scrub the concrete and wipe up all the dirt and dust and whatever was under the carpet and remove some of the nails in the floor and bring up a spiky metal strip between the bathroom door and where the carpet was. The other main thing I remember is deciding to continue work on my dress, sewing up the outer bodice, checking that the bodice and lining would fit together, deciding I’d rather have no different colored front panel, and working on the circle skirt. At first I tried cutting the fabric on my bed, but it wasn’t big enough and too lumpy. I contemplated asking my friends if I could borrow their dining table, but I ended up clearing off my own. After I traced and was in the middle of pinning, I accidentally knocked over a glass bowl that I had set on the chair. My mom heard it from the other room and had me come to her room to tell her what it was. She got angry at me, which I thought was fuckin stupid if it was an accident, but after some reflection while cleaning up the glass pieces, I kind of understood why. Mostly I got a little upset about 2 ceramic pieces I made during school breaking a little from the drop. One was a mushroom house from middle school that always makes me remember feeling like an asshole during peer review when I told my person to smooth their project more because I didn’t know “no improvement needed” was an option until I got back to my desk and saw my person saying it was good in all categories because everyone thought my project was great for some reason. The other was a bunch of flowers on a circle. It was the last project we did before quarantine hit, I think. That one is in less tough shape, just a couple flowers knocked off and a chip on one of them. They can both be glued back together, I guess. Then my mom called me back into her room to listen to her talk about wanting to eat huge amounts of food, because she’s clinically depressed with BPD and PTSD and DID and several other acronyms and her favorite coping mechanism is food, but her doctor put her on a diet so she can get her knees replaced, but recently she’s been getting into a zone where she talks about wanting to eat entire cakes and pizzas and buckets of kfc and a gallon of queso or whatever the fuck and she goes “doesn’t that sound GOOD?” And I have to laugh along and say “haha no that sounds bad actually” and get her a piece of ham or something. And every time she goes on her spiel the only thing I can think of is the greedy from the raggedy Ann and Andy musical. It’s just this horrible undulating orange blob that eats everything in sight and seeing it for the first time just made me think of mom and it made me very uncomfortable, with all the orange goo and hurling noises. Also reminds me of this horrible video game boss fight where it’s the apocalypse and a fat lady on a scooter took over the buffet and eats so much during her boss fight, during the defeat cutscene she projectile vomits everywhere and dies. My brother Greg showed me that thinking it was funny. I hated it, and I still do. He showed me a lot of things he thought were funny as a shitty little kid, and I remember several of them being very upsetting. It’s ok. I don’t want to dwell on it. But after cleaning the glass and talking to mom I brought my fabric to my room and called it a night. Oh wait my dad also helped me with some paperwork my coworker handed me so I could get on the payroll.

Today I woke up differently than I have in a long time. I set an alarm for 10 am so I could be at work by 11, but I woke up at 9 from a heavy sleep with dreams about hanging out with my friend in my room, worrying about my dirty house. I wanted to sleep longer, so I got up at 10 to have breakfast and get ready. I spent my shift changing the price tags all around the store, making everything more expensive. I’m gonna work again on Tuesday where I’ll learn how to use the register. I hope I don’t fuk it up, but I have a couple days to relax until then. Maybe I’ll work on my dress. My friends all want to go to prom together, so my new deadline will be March 2nd or a little before. I still need to buy a ticket, but I don’t have access to the link to buy one :( bleh I’m too tired right now to worry about this shit. I only worked 4 hours again today, but after I got home I felt like I could have worked longer if they gave me something else to do. The only price tags left to change were a bunch of grills and stuff I don’t know about but I don’t know if they had any other work for my to do. But I’m glad I went home tho because I was hungry and my feet hurt from standing lol. I did laundry and made myself dinner and washed my hair and drew a little bit and made the table and tbh the pacing of today has been so weird I don’t remember everything. It’s only 1am but I think I’m just gonna go to bed. my friends started talking about going to prom, and I really want to join them, but I can't figure out where/how to buy a ticket. my brain started being really mean to me, syaing that I was being annoying and pushy and that they didnt want me at prom for some reason, so I low-key almost made myself cry until my friend offered to let me be their platonic date since their partner couldn't go. 

last night I had a dream about a hard video game where when you played it, the black shadow enemies would fight you in real life, and one of them left imprints on my arm in the shape of lego bricks. they could only attack you so long as you played the game, and they tried to capture people and you were supposed to save them. I decided it was my time to play, and I walked into my garage that had turned into a cave with bat-people fused into the wall. I paid them no mind as I rescued a girl who was my irl brother, grabbing her hand and pulling her into another versoin of my garage which was uncorrupted and normal looking. she thanked me, and I said it was no problem. then I tricked her, telling her not to trust so easily, as I became one of the shadow enemies and engulfed her in a black sack, trapping her and leaving the room. I came back a couple minutes later, letting him free (now my brain told me he was my brother) telling him I just wanted to know if I was capable of tricking him, and didnt actually want to kill him or whatever.  another big chunk of my dream was taken up by me, my sister, and my dad visiting a run down petting zoo/gamestop. the petting zoo barn was very dark with low ceilings with lots of rabbits and pigs and hay. one of us accidentally killed either a pig or a tiger right next to the exit door, and I had to slink around the gamester trying to distract the owner and keep him from going in the barn and escaping at the same time. I dont remember how it ended, other than me waking up with a sore throat from breathing so deeply through my nose. I had slept on my stomach wit my pillow in my face so I could hardly breathe, and even after I woke up I felt like I wasnt getting enough air. I HATE that feeling, I always felt like I was suffocating in middle school for some reason. I thinkk somethings wrong with my airway but im not gonna do anything about it. im gonna continue to spend 80% of my day laying down so my resting heart rate and breathing speed is slower than an goddamn sloth. whatever.

right now as im laying in bed typing this I feel utterly unpoductive but I KNOW I did SOME shit today. but yeah mostly I relaxed. I worked on my dress, removing and replacing the blue front panel. I lost my exacto knife somewhere so I went to dollar tree to get a knockoff, along with snacks for mom and my sister. the blades aren't as sharp as exacto, but I still know where the name brands blades are so maybe Ill try and see if they're compatible. when I open the package everything was oily and gross, so I washed everything off with soap and water before I used them to cut the threads of the panel seams. I could have used my seam ripper but I wanted to get a replacement craft knife anyway. its kinda neat that it came with 6 different shaped blades for different crafts :) but uhh I also cut out the other half of the circle skirt of the dress, and I have a bunch of extra fabric left over. probably enough to make a whole other bodess if I wanted too. I used my sewing machine to attach the new front panel, and I was hoping to get more sewing done tonight, but when I asked my sister if it was ok for me to use my sewing machine (it right next to the wall between our rooms so she can hear it from there) she said she was going to bed soon so I just attatched the front panel and called it a night. so that kinda sucked. I still have another day tomorrow before I have to work again, and I can still work on my dress on Tuesday after work. idk why my brain thinks that one 4 hour shift is gonna take up my entire day lmao. I just have to get the whole thing done by may 2nd. GOD that reminds me, im gonna be so busy next month. I have six events back to back happening like every other day, plus work. oof. I'll have to let my boss know, but idk If that's gonna make him mad. I've already got pretty comfortable with the lady in charge of the garden center who’s taken lead position while the manager is on vacation, but I dont think I;ll every understand my boss. he’s a sarcastic busy old man and NOT AT ALL approachable. whatever. really the only other tings I did today were drink a shit ton of water play harvest moon, spend too much time on tiktok, and sraw a couple dum things for my friends’ princess au. I fucking HATE the drawing I did for Anna, so I designed her a secondary outfit more inspired by sky pirate bohemian vibes, since she rules over the floating islands. idk if I'll replace her old outfit with the new one in the lineup or just re-draw her old one with better shapes and composition and match the style better or what. I just need it changed eventually becasuse it looks like ass. tbh now that ve taken a little bit of time away from the princess au, there are a couple designs im not 100% satisfied with. but I know that if I go back and make them more detailed or whatever the’ll be more of a hassle to draw and aslkdfhalksdf I dont know anymore. I'm still tied up about color pallets and trying to give everyone a distinct color, and im a little upset it doesn't quite work, and FUCK dude the edgy one’s lore and character are weird and I kind of want to revise it to make it a little nicer but its not my character and I need to stop shoving my dirty little mitts into everyone’s ocs and AHAGHRGHGARGHHG idk man. her power is necromancy and she has a skeleton army, which I think I kinda cool, but I also think it would be neat if her powers extended beyond just that to communing with the dead, helping them find rest, and THEN maybe it can branch into helping fallen soldiers fight again to help them with unfinished buisness. and then if she goes feral and starts abusing her powers, she ignores all the communication and concent with the dead and instead magically rips them from thr ground to do her bidding and they’re uncontrollable and violent and aimless, just like her mind slipping from the magical blight infecting her. idk man we’re till working on a lot of lore. her concept could be SO COOL with just that little bit of extra thought, but so far it’s just MY POWER IS DEATH IM SO EDGY. ugh I know its fuckin rude to bash your friends oc ideas and I might be too overbearing and controlling of this au but dammit im tired and im mean sometimes and my ego is through the goddamn roof and im so sexy and im always right and my meat is huge. ah shit I rpomised my friend I would help her with character design for the dead king but I was busy when she firat asked me and now im not busy but im not doing it ugh. im just frustrated right now because I spent wayyyy to fuckin long just laying in bed watching tikotks and youtube and playing harvest moon an doing jack shit all day. but hey at least I attempted to get a new social security card again today. and them promptly gave up when they said my adress was invalid. again. I feel like im in an uncomfortable medium between having no plans and worrying about the future and having too many plans all the time oh my god. ive been so focused on getting a job and then having a job and making this dress I completely forgot about college shit. thankfully there's no hard deadlines coming up that I haven't already finished. whatever I dont really want to worry about all this hit right now, im just gonna take it one day at a time. (haha it feels like my angel oc just stepped in. how nice of him :) )