#it's alright ma i'm only bleeding

[paceypeternathanslawyer]

One Tree Hill Meme {92/187} Season 5 Episode 4: It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) Top 2 Favorite Characters Per Episode (As voted by fans on TVTime.com)

Brooke Davis (78%)

Peyton Sawyer (8%)

(Percentages as of July 2024)

[blueeyeddarkknight]

Happy birthday to the iconic Bob Dylan! 🎂

Val and Bob in masked and anonymous 2003 & the premiere (This was Bob's first movie he wrote and he asked Val to be part of it).

The original Bob Dylan song that Val used (unfortunately Val's version has never been released 😭)

[tfc2211]

Christopher & The Chaps – They Just Don't Care / It's Alright Ma, I'm Only Bleeding (1965)

[gaylordtinklefairy]

Bob Dylan 🦁🦁🦁

[pearlzier]

you look so pitiful right now. you're tucked into your boyfriend's arm, staring blankly at the phone in front of you as you attempt to ignore the aching pains filling your entire body. god, period's fucking sucked. you felt like hell, and even if chris didn't want to make it all about himself—seeing you so distraught made his heart ache in all sorts of dumb ways.

“if i could kick the shit out of your cramps, ma,” he spoke up, careful not to move you, “i would. i'd fuckin’ destroy ‘em.”

a small, faint smile plays on your lips at his words and you subtly shift a little closer, using him as a makeshift heating pad. not like you didn't already have one, but any extra warmth was good. “believe me, you'd have a hard time trying to get past me beating the shit out of them,” your words are lazy, a tiny bit uncomfortable to get out. this only makes chris whine a little more and he nuzzles his head into your shoulder.

“are you sure there's nothing i can do to help? anythin’?” his brows raise, fingers brushing over your arm in a gentle pass. you really can believe you got so lucky to get a guy like this, but you're in a bit too much pain bleeding out for you to uh, register that. “y'know, i heard uh.. a little trade secret, babe.”

you know full well he's gonna say some dumb shit, but you encourage his behaviour almost instantly. “i'm all for it,” you mumble into his arm, brows raising a little.

a little giggle almost instantly slips past his lips and he runs his fingers over your cheek, before he mutters, “period cramps can be relieved in some uh, intimate ways.”

“christopher—” he practically beams as he sees you giggle, and he raises his hands as if to surrender, before he gently shifts you over onto the other side of the bed so he could get up and grab you something to eat from the cabinet.

the man came prepared.

“okay, okay, what d'you want? we got everythin’,” he lifted a packet of chips, eyeing it for a moment before he glanced over at you, “what, as they say, tickles your fancy, huh?” he was such a dork, god. your dork, but still.

your eyes lift to look at the options he has available, and you slowly slink yourself upwards to see them with a little grunt. chris runs a hand through his hair, showing off the food he'd raided from the fridge without matt or nick noticing. “can i..” you frown for a moment, letting the wave of pain pass before you spoke up again, “surprise me, actually, i don't think i have the energy nor brain power to pick.”

“surprise you? gotcha, one sec,” he folded his arms over his chest, blue eyes flickering over the food before he grabbed the little packet of muffins, then grabbed you a drink as well. “these alright? i may be a bit rusty,” a grin plays on his lips, and he shrugs his shoulders.

“nah, you're all good,” you chirp, a smile brightening your face as he very accurately gets your favourite foods correct. “come back, please, i think the cold is seeping back in.”

a self-satisfied smirk tugs at his lips and he makes his way back over, muttering a quick, “too fucking good,” under his breath before he slinks back under the covers beside you, placing the muffins down onto the tray alongside your drink. “comfy?” he asks after a moment, voice a little softer.

“yeah,” you gently place his hand over your tummy to try get some of his warmth before you place your own over the top, sighing gently as you relaxed into his touch. he let his head sit against your shoulder, resting his chin happily.

after a little while, chris notices you fidgeting a little and he gently brings you into his chest and gently grasping at your tummy. “i got you, i got you,” he muttered, plucking your phone from your hands and holding it in one of his so all you had to focus on was holding onto him. laying back against the headboard, he breathes evenly. “just relax. i know it's hard.”

“you're the best, you know that?” you mumbled gently, sighing softly. even when your pain was insane, chris managed keep you relatively sane. your hands slide down to his and you interlace your fingers together, a little smile playing on chris’ lips. “the best.”

“just doin’ what i gotta for my girl,” he shrugs his shoulders gently—”s'no biggie at all.”

☆  𝅄⠀ㅤׂ    also asking who tryna be on the taglist <3

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 28

part 1 | part 27 | bonus stobin scene | ao3

cw: anxiety attack, graphic thoughts of death

Chapter 7

Steve's mom leaves the week before Thanksgiving.

No preamble, no notice, no "so long and thanks for paying rent," just— poof. Gone. Ta-ta, kiddo. Have a great life!

(Or don't!

Who cares?

Not me, that's for sure!)

The worst part is Steve finds out from Ernie of all people. Ma couldn’t even tell him to his face that she’s abandoning him to the gaping maw of this hellish town because she’s a good-for-nothing coward. Some day this place is gonna swallow him whole, splinter the bones and cough up the pellet, and Florence Harrington will be somewhere far, far away, sighing empty condolences over a fresh glass of red. “Just dreadful, isn’t it? Such a pity; what a shame.”

Steve’s hanging towels on the clothes line the day after the party — after the ride to drop off Max and the hangover brunch with Robin; after drowning his headache in Tylenol and finally getting home, only to realize that he can’t shower yet because all the towels are soaking wet — when Ernie looks up from his yardwork and casually ruins his goddamn life.

“You're wastin' your time with that,” he says, propping his weight against a rake and squinting at Steve in the mid-afternoon sun.

“What?” Steve frowns; hangs another towel. It's not like they're going to dry themselves. "Why?"

"Too cold."

"It's not supposed to rain, though, is it?"

"No, but the humidity—"

Screw the humidity. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Ernie shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

He turns his attention back to his yard, dragging the rake over a smattering of damp leaves; obsessed with keeping his little patch of lawn pristine; and Steve reaches into the hamper and sincerely hopes that Ernie’s wrong. He needs a shower, and if the towels don't dry fast enough they get that gross mildew smell to them, and then it gets in Steve's hair, and how is he supposed to flirt with Eddie if he smells like musty lake water?

"Where's your mom off to, anyway?" Ernie asks after a moment. "Saw her leave this morning with two big suitcases,” he explains when Steve throws him a questioning look. “Figured she was off somewhere nice.”

Steve blanches.

Two big suitcases?

He didn’t even notice that she wasn’t here. Feels like a stupid, selfish asshole now, because he’d called ‘ma, I’m home!’ when he got in earlier and had thought nothing of her complete lack of response, the peaceful silence of the house; had welcomed it at the time, even, and what if—

Oh, god, what if she’d died?

What if she’d been lying there dead in her room, and Steve didn’t bother to check because he was too busy thinking about himself and how nice it was not to hear reruns on the TV for once? How long would she have lain there, rotting and bloated, and— and how long would his dad have, if the gunshot hadn’t rung out? How long; how long? Bleeding out on the carpet gurgling fish sounds everything red and Steve can’t breathe—

“Did she—?” he pants. Brings a hand to his throat; tries again. “Did you- see who she left with?”

“Some woman. Relative of yours, maybe? I didn’t get a good look at her. Had a real fancy car, though. Mercedes, think it was.”

Steve chokes on his own spit. Feels his throat close up, his heart pound and his ears ring and the yellow-purple-black start creeping in like vines at the edge of his vision, like demogorgon claws; like death’s shark-toothed grin. Hungry, howling, happy as it takes a bite out of him.

“You alright?” Ernie asks.

Steve grinds his jaw so hard he feels something crack. "Excuse me," he grits out, stomping back into the house.

—

"Fuck!" Steve shouts to his empty house — to the sun-faded paneling, to the weird stain in the orange carpet. Fucking Cecelia; fucking hell.

He cleans the house in a rage, eyes hot with unshed tears, and there's a note on the breakfast table. Crisply folded on plain paper, prim cursive letters, almost comically estranged:

Steven,

Apologies for short notice. Gone to stay with Aunt Cece in Evanston. Call or visit if you like.

— Mom

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving

The words leave papercuts in his throat. Steve rips the note to tiny pieces, can hardly see for the tears swimming in his eyes, but he's not crying over this; he's not. He fucking refuses.

Somewhere along the way, the cleaning turns to blind destruction, demolition of the all the little scraps of life mom left behind: her creepy angel figurines, her vintage Pyrex dishes, an empty bottle of old perfume. Steve hurls them all against the living room wall, delights in the shimmering pile of broken glass at his bare feet. Wants to crawl over it on hands and knees. Wants to burn this place to the ground.

When the sun dips below the trees he goes back out to check the towels. The air is wet, bitterly cold; nips at his hands when the wind blows, and the towels hang heavy on the line, just as damp as before but now the slightest bit stiff with the first creep of frost.

"FUCK!" Steve roars, ripping a towel down off the line. Yanking each one down in turn, throwing them into the dirt, raging, "What! Is! The fucking! Point!"

His tears spill over then, hot and wet as he sinks to his knees with a wounded growl, and he chokes there in the dirt; the cold, wet mud, the patchy grass. Gravel digs into his shins, and sobs wrack his chest, capsize him like plunging waves, and he can't do anything but shake and cry where the whole neighborhood can see. Making a commotion; making a scene, as his mother would say, but his mother's not here. She fucking left. She left him here, and his dad did, too, and Steve is utterly, truly, hopelessly alone.

"Come on, son."

And there’s Wayne Munson, coaxing him up off the ground with a sure, strong grip. Steve makes animal sounds as Wayne lifts him under the arms — ruined hiccups, mangled wails. There's mud in his lungs. Ocean silt; sucking sludge.

His mother's gone.

"Easy now," Wayne shushes; hugs him hard against his side. "You're alright, kid. You're alright."

—

part 29

tag list under separate reblogs, comment if you’re over 21 and want to be added tomorrow

[mynameismisty]

- SUCH A RIP OFF -

warnings: none, mostly terry being a flirtatious a-hole, friends-to-lovers kinda, fluff, mentions of light violence

sidenote: writing dc for the first time :''), also I suck at writing fighting scenes im so sorry guys, the divider was made by @dollywons!! credits to them

i got the inspo from that one mlbb episode with marinette and cat noir so just think of marinettes balcony thingy while reading the last few parts T>T so think about terry being a cat noir rip off if ykwim

im sorry if its bad guys omg this was supposed to be a 100 follower special, and on that note, TYSM FOR 100 FOLLOWERS I LOVE U ALLLL

You walked down the streets of Gotham, sighing as you clutched your sling bag in one hand and a few bags of groceries in the other, a few things your mother asked you to pick up coming home from school today.

Nothing exciting happened at all, just simply a boring day, where teachers taught, students listened (and maybe slept) and the bell rang like it always used to. Terry wasn't there to walk you home, having left immediately just after the bell rang, kissing you on the forehead and muttering an excuse about Mr. Wayne.

You weren’t really dating Terry, both of you knew that. But there were alot of moments where you thought he showed signs of liking you in the same manner you liked him too. Though, thinking about that now seemed too difficult as breeze after breeze brushes against your neck, making you shiver.

It wasn't a problem, before you met Terry you always walked home alone, so nothing was new. No biggie. Now, though, you couldn't tell why your heart was beating so hard as it is, why it pounded against your chest and made your skin crawl as you walked cautiously back home. Was something about to happen? If so, what the hell was it?

A sharp gust of wind zooms behind you, and you stop in your tracks, whipping your head around. "Hello?" You call out.

It must've been some motorcycle. Just going home like you. Right?

Another gust of wind, and another. This time, accompanied by the sound of a roaring engine and maniacal giggles.

It was the Jokerz, three of them, all circling around you like little devils on their bikes.

"Didn't your ma ever tell you to not walk home alone?" One of them taunts. "You're in Joker territory, lady."

"Though a nice payment would be the cash in that bag along with those groceries ya got. 'Long with the wallet o'course." Their eyes looked like they were about to eat you whole behind the whole clown make up. Just hand it over. You're sure your mom would understand, right?

Your own hand shakily reaches for the money in your bag as they point their weapons at you. Their bikes were fully at a halt, instead focusing on you, whether you ran or ducked nothing would happen. You were cornered.

At least that's what you thought, before you saw a faint shadow from one of the rooftops. "I thought guys were always supposed to be gentlemen to women?" A familiar voice, it was Terry!

You look up, blinking as you saw the batman. Hey! You swore you heard Terry's voice. But what—

Snapped out of your thoughts as the black figure jumped down from the ledge, landing near the Jokerz. With no other words at all, he sends a punch to the one taunting you earlier. A fight ensues, with Batman getting hit in some places but not backing down as he eventually finishes it, leaving all three Jokerz knocked down, ripped lip, bleeding noses and a few black eyes.

At this point, you were backed up against a wall, breathing heavily, not daring to move during the earlier action. Batman turns to you. "You alright, miss?"

You nod. "Yes— yes, I'm fine. Thank you, thank you, really. Thought I was a goner."

"It's not a problem, just doing what the Batman does." He says. There was an awkward tone to his voice. Hands on his hips as he turned to you. Almost reminded you of someone. You couldn't put your finger on it. 

"Could, uh, carry you home, only if you want to. Besides, I'm only doing a few night patrols." The Batman was talking to you like you were someone he knew personally.

"Sure." An awkward, half smile etches itself into your mouth, as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

You'd expect from his offer that you'd get into the Bat-mobile and tell him where you live, but to your surprise, as you agree, he puts an arm around your shoulder and under your thighs as he picks you up bridal-style.

For the first few minutes that he carried you, he seemed to know which ways to go, shortcuts not many people who went this way knew, even flying with the jetpack attached to the black suit.

He only asks little about your home, about the path, about the way. Vague directions you're sure would probably confuse anyone else who would try to walk you home like this. 

In no time he's at the roof of your house, landing carefully at the slanted top, cautious not to make a roof tile slip. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Batman places you down, with an almost unnerving delicate swift like you were a glass sculpture.

Batman places you down onto your feet, patting a few stray, miniscule hairs from the sweater you had on. The seemingly dark, brooding Batman now stood in front of you, you swore you could hear a few breaths. The whites of his mask looking deep into your soul, who was the person behind the mask?

You shake your head, leaving your thoughts as you nod at him curtly. "Thank you, uh, Batman. I'm glad I got home safely. And you know, thank you for saving me from the Jokerz."

He clears his throat, his voice sounding dramatically an octave lower than earlier. "No worries, I do it to protect the citizens of Gotham."

Before you could get another word out, he scrambles away (in embarrassment?) and off the balcony, flying away with that jetpack of his.

And you're left wondering why your heart adorned a familiar beating pattern you only had for only a special someone.

Oh, whatever. You're probably being delusional, right? You think as you turn on your heel into your room.

"Goodnight, doll." Terry mutters, a hand over the part of his suit where his heart was. He could feel it pounding against his chest, threatening to pop out and sing its love out to you. "See you tomorrow." He spares another quick glance at your shut windows just as the lights turn off before he finally decides to retreat back to the Bat cave.

dividers from @dollywons!!!

[lilacerull0]

STORY OF A NEW NAME + ELECTRIC DYLAN CONTROVERSY: Lila Cerullo as a Dylanesque figure

How did Bob Dylan change music? | Song to Woody | The Times They Are A-Changin' | Restless Farewell | Blowin' in the Wind | It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) | Masters of War | Bob Dylan's Dream | Gates of Eden | Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie | Maggie's Farm | My Back Pages | Review: ‘Dylan Goes Electric!’ Considers Folk, Rock and a ’60s Divide

[trans-queen-administrator]

Hey, can I hear about your shatterbird thoughts? She's always been my favourite member of the nine :]

[@faultlinescrew]

Oh I'm about to type for entirely too long.

Alright so a chunk of this is kinda headcanon, but any of that is fully based on canon. I had a giant fanfic planned that was literally an expanded telling of Shatterbird's life from trigger to death, and some plot points there may bleed into this unconsciously.

Number one favorite thing about Shatterbird is that initially, she did nothing wrong. She was unwillingly dosed with a Cauldron vial, and her scream and subsequent exploding of Dubai wasn't her fault. She had no intention to hurt anyone, it was done entirely out of her control as she gained powers and she should not be blamed for her first time destroying a city. The thing is, that doesn't matter in universe. She's still going to be hunted down by countless capes because she killed an untold number of people with that scream. No one's going to just let her go because it wasn't her fault, because she's the only person who can be blamed. People want revenge for their loved ones, and I'm willing to bet that she had a sizable bounty. It's similar to the situation we see with Rachel, where she can't have a normal life because she killed someone in her trigger and her identity is public, but on a much much larger scale.

I think the guilt ate at her so fucking bad at first. She killed her dad, her friends, her sister, her mother, countless others, and as much as it wasn't her fault she's still the one that did it. There's no way she doesn't blame herself for what happened, but when does she even have time to mourn? She's fled to a desert, she's gotta be struggling with food and water, and she's being hounded at every turn by people who want her dead. What's she supposed to do, let them kill her so she can atone for what she did or something?

I just love what a tragic backstory this is. She's one of the most horrible people we meet in canon, and I don't think it's unreasonable to say she has one of the highest body counts on Earth Bet, but she started as someone innocent and desperately trying to survive. And as much as I love this backstory and will defend to the death that she did nothing wrong at this point, it doesn't excuse who she becomes.

Shatterbird laughed.  “There’s only two ways to recover from something of that magnitude, to deal with the fact that you inadvertently killed thousands and thousands of people, and hospitalized twice that many.  You break, or you become it.”

(quote is from the missing interlude)

This is the quote that puts her entire character in a nutshell. The biggest question to me is... when did she become it? She implies in that interlude that it was rather quick, and that she went to Britain so she could hit a big target, but the Tattletale clone calls this out as a lie. She was running, the desert that she'd been in for months was unbearably loud with all that sand, and I think she was sick of living on the run. She wanted society, structure, something to make her feel human. I think she's full of shit saying she went there to destroy it, some accident or desperate confrontation occurred (timeline fits well enough for it to be a result of the Simurgh's attack, but that's just one possibility) and she broke London just as bad as she broke Dubai. What do you even do from there? Any slim hope of clearing her name is gone, she just has to keep running and try to ignore the guilt. And she ran to America, where the Slaughterhouse Nine found her.

The recruiting of people by the Slaughterhouse Nine fascinates me, because most are unwilling to join at first. Unfortunately the alternative is to die. No one in Brockton Bay was jumping to be the lucky winner, and the only people we know nominated themselves are Cherish and I think Siberian. Shatterbird (ever notice how she's the only S9 member with no canon first name? drives me nuts) was dragged into the recruitment process with no say in the matter just like most everyone is. Someone in the Nine found her, thought she would be a good fit because of London and Dubai (and how would that feel, to have someone on the S9 see you as just as bad as them?) and even if she explains that was on accident... what does it matter? It never matters that it was an accident. It never will matter. It's just something that she can tell herself to keep her sane.

So she's doing the fun little tests, I'm actually very curious how she altered herself for Mannequin's since he always does the same test, she's a very vain person, but that's off topic. Atrocities, horrors, being hunted by the Siberian, and suddenly she's at the end. Her and someone else.

“That’s not really a test,” Shatterbird spoke, “There hasn’t been a round of testing since I joined the group where we didn’t whittle it down to one candidate.” “We could forego the final test, pitting them against one another.” Shatterbird turned to him, “Ah.  But, again, the last test where we had to go that far was… mine?”

And she kills them. Dubai, London, those were accidents. This was on purpose, maybe even the first time she's done it on purpose. She could either break and decide she couldn't live with herself as a member of the nine, or she could just as horrible as everyone sees her. All her choices were rigged, there was never much of an opportunity to get better since so many paths closed off to her, but she voluntarily chooses to get worse. What's the point in holding on to the fact that it wasn't her fault at the beginning? She's never escaping what she did, so she'll become the monster everyone sees her as. You break, or you become it.

And there's not much of the more sympathetic side of Shatterbird in canon (partly because her backstory chapter was removed). She's fully embraced herself as a mass murderer. She revels in the attention, the fear. She parrots Jack's philosophy as a way to feel better about what she's doing, and eventually she doesn't need to feel better because she enjoys who she is now.

I don't know, I rambled for a while there but it boils down to me being fascinated by the circumstances of her gaining powers, and the shift from innocent but hated/feared to making damn sure that fear is justified.

Ok, so moving on from the backstory analysis, other miscellaneous details. Fuck it, I'm putting every thought I have on Shatterbird in this post.

She's the Nine's primary recruiter! Woo, good for her. Notably, she recruits Burnscar. Mimi is in a similar position to Shatterbird's past self with the whole involuntary mass destruction, although on a lesser scale (it'll always be on a lesser scale, Shatterbird has the worst trigger event out there in terms of consequences and she didn't even trigger). Mimi was on the streets and trying not to use her power, and Shatterbird scooped her up into the Nine.

“I- before I knew it, the Slaughterhouse Nine had found me.  Shatterbird recruited me.  And now I’m stuck.  I’m trapped.  You know there’s a kill order out on me?  If I try to quit, either the Nine or the cops will off me.  So I keep going, I work for them, and it all just gets worse.”

It's a situation Shatterbird can very likely relate to, but she's perpetuating it and making Mimi suffer like she did. No sympathy, no helping someone get through it and avoid the pitfalls she fell into, she's dragging other people down with her like a crab in a pot. Worth noting that I believe she's still bitter about the hand she was dealt even if she's embraced where it led her to, she remembers how horrible it was to be forced into everything and she does not care if she inflicts it on others.

But if someone else willingly joins the Nine, she takes it personally. Cherie says Shatterbird hates her, and that's because Cherie chooses the life Shatterbird was locked into. She's bitter that she never had that choice, and so she makes sure Cherie understands what it's like by chasing her for days for her test, not allowing any rest or sleep. However, this could also simply because Cherie sucks and is an unpleasant person to talk to, and Shatterbird is stuck-up.

Another thing I like is Shatterbird's appearance of knowledge and elegance. She's trying to appear put together, confident, in-control, and to be fair she does a pretty good job, her costume and theming are great. But under that is someone violent and angry, she's keeping up appearances to everyone else but also to herself. The fact that she's always trying to keep up appearances, even when locked in a room and doomed to die with one Witness (haha get it) she's trying to make it look like she was calm and in control when her body is found, is what 100% convinces me exploding Britain was an accident. The Tattletale clone calls her out, and to me it seems like another attempt to seem in control by framing it as deliberate.

Anyway, my attempts to woobify a mass murderer aside, I also like that she was a spoiled rich kid before all this and her prim asshole attitude points to that. She quotes Edgar Allen Poe, she reads because it makes her feel better than others, she's just so pretentious and unpleasant and to be clear I love this as a character trait, it's fun and leads to her speaking in overdramatic ways.

“Then you should know, nearly-Tattletale, that I’ve spent too long in the company of monsters to be scared by words.”

She thinks she was soooo cool saying that.

I also want to look at the last few weeks of her life. She spends so much effort propping herself up as great and in control, only to be locked in a box and puppeted around against her will. Genuinely I cannot think of anything more humiliating and agonizing for her to endure. She has nothing to do but think as she's used as a marionette.

She had a long time to reflect on her life, to look back at how she got here and what she regrets.

But I think she spent it stewing in her rage, itching and planning to get violent revenge and keep hurting others to be respected. She's unwilling and unable to go back, she'll double down on this forever because this is who she is now. And because 99% of characterization for Shatterbird isn't in Worm anyway, I may as well toss in this minor AU summary by Wildbow. If she escaped, she would have started her own version of the Nine with Damsel of Distress and Trickster. There is nothing left to sympathize with or redeem Shatterbird by the time we see her in canon, she's simply past that point. Side note but Shatterbird + Damsel of Distress + Trickster as a team is perhaps the funniest combo ever and I really wish those 3 fuckers got to interact in canon. Weirdo assholes who dress up fancy and have a taste for theatrics as a murder crew, we were robbed.

I could analyze the Hookwolf interlude but I don't want to. I'm very annoyed that Shatterbird (still no first name) is the only member of the Nine to lose the fight against her recruit instead of appearing terrifying and unstoppable. How come Burnscar can solo Faultline's crew but 3 nazis can take out Shatterbird, who has way more experience? It's pretty uncomfortable to have the only member of the Nine who isn't white be the one that loses to nazis, while one calls her a slur in his internal monologue, in the interludes where everyone else on her team is introduced as a force of nature. I think we should just collectively agree to make this interlude not canon and un-retcon the Witness interlude. While I'm on the topic it's also a bit questionable to have Sophia and Shatterbird (no first name. I am annoyed by this) as the only named capes puppeted by Regent?

But that's not the topic I wanna explore. The topic is that Shatterbird is a great character and I wish that she had depth in the story itself rather than scattered through 20 different sources, because she's legitimately my favorite non-undersider in the story. There is a lot of potential to explore her, one could interpret her backstory in a less charitable way than I did just for an example, and I really think she's neat! She takes hurting someone in an accident and then becoming the monster people see her as, something we see a few times throughout worm, to its ultimate conclusion in terms of scale. That alongside her outer layer of intellectualism and pretentiousness, which I'm a massive sucker for as a trait, and she's just perfect. Did nothing wrong (citation needed). I love her and I do hope that at least some of the stuff written her makes someone appreciate her character more.

Ok! That was... 2.2k words about Shatterbird (no first name). Woo! If some stuff seems inconsistent between paragraphs here, it's probably because I wrote this in chunks over the course of a few weeks and my feelings at the time can influence my interpretation of things and my writing to feel different when read all at once and compared. If you think I'm woobifying her too much, cool. I think it makes her more compelling to examine how much we know was her fault and how much she shouldn't be blamed for, and making her have less agency makes her more tragic which I always like. If you actually read this to the end, thank you! Have a nice day!

[visceravalentines]

exit music (for a film)

Would it hurt to pretend while bleeding out in a parking lot that it could've been different? That there was another way? Some fairy tale ending?

-Tags by @upwardsdescensum

He feels the first shot, but not the second, or the third.

The third one's the bitch, the one that knocks him flat. He barely registers the impact of his skull on the pavement. There's no pain, just a general awareness. A system-wide panic signal.

He thinks to himself, this is it, motherfucker.

He feels heat in his chest like water soaking through clothes. Like when you're eight years old and you piss the bed and you don't tell Ma because she'll whoop your ass. The carpet in his room is older than he is, worn and grimy. He can feel it, under his neck, under his arms. Sees the popcorn ceiling stained tobacco brown from the hurricane when he was ten.

"Why're you on the floor?"

The sound of Randy's voice in his bedroom catches him off guard. He rolls his head to the side and there he is, sitting on the edge of his bed, real as can be. Looking at him without a lick of fear, without reproach. Just looking at him.

"I like it down here," Benson says, and it's sort of true. He's slept in this spot more nights than he can count, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. He crosses his arms behind his head. "Super comfortable."

Randy scoffs, rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. Benson likes it when he smiles. "You're a dumbass."

Now that's funny. Benson laughs, delighted, and something tears in his chest. Something spills. "Watch your mouth, choir boy."

Randy gives him this look, this conspiratorial little sideways glance that reminds Benson of being in sixth grade and lighting up a Winston around the corner at recess.

He leans forward, whispers. "You're a dumbass."

Benson feels a swell of pride and affection and something seeping into his lungs. "You're a fucking spitfire, huh? World better watch out."

Randy leans back on his hands, kicks his heel against the bedframe. "Are you gonna show me that song or what?"

Benson looks down the length of his arm. His hand is resting on the shitty little boombox he saved up for when he was fifteen. "Oh. Yeah." He fumbles for the play button, fingers slippery. He can't remember what CD he's got loaded until it starts up.

That there, that's not me

Oh. Yeah. Fucking Radiohead.

I go where I please

It's kind of a bummer song and he can't remember why he wanted to show it to Randy, but he looks at him and the guy's got his head tilted back, and he's not really looking at the ceiling, he's not really looking anywhere, he's just listening. Like, actually listening.

I walk through walls, I float down the Liffey

Benson's eyes follow the line of his throat up to the plush of his lips and he swallows hard. His tongue tastes like pennies. Makes him think of the fight he picked on his last day of high school junior year, how long the blood stayed in the concrete of the sidewalk.

Randy looks at him with those eyes, blue as the ocean. He's only been there once, drove himself the day he got the Chrysler. Went alone. Felt so impossibly small, like maybe none of it mattered after all. Like maybe he was stupid for thinking it did.

I'm not here, this isn't happening

"This is nice," Benson says, and it comes out choked and wet. He's always wanted to do this. Sit and share music with someone. Anyone. The fact that it's Randy here, in his room, on his bed--too fucking good to be true.

"You sure you don't want to come sit by me?" Randy asks.

Of course he does. Of course he does, but he knows that's not an option. "Nah. I'm alright."

I'm not here, I'm not here

Randy furrows his brow. "Want me to come sit by you?"

"No, you stay there." Benson rests his hand on his chest and the weight of it surprises him. "You're perfect right there. You're perfect."

A blush creeps up Randy's cheeks. "I'm not...perfect."

Benson smiles, thinks about the day Randy started at the restaurant. How the last thing he wanted to do that Saturday was train some newbie shithead and how instead, this pretty blonde fawn of a boy followed at his heels and did everything right the first time.

"Yeah, you are."

Something starts to burn, deep in the center of his chest, like someone putting out a cigarette on his diaphragm. He looks up at the ceiling and it's black, cottony and starless.

In a little while, I'll be gone

"You like the song?" There's a tremor, a desperate edge to his voice that scares him. He's so sick and tired of being scared. He's so sick and tired.

He glances over at Randy and he looks...resigned. Regretful. He smiles, though, nods. "Yeah, Benson. I like the song."

The whites of his eyes are tinged red. No, blue. No, red. Benson hopes he isn't crying. He hates seeing him cry.

"You're gonna be okay," he says, a little too forcefully. "Yeah?"

Randy nods again. "I think so."

The moment's already passed

The burning is getting worse. Breathing aches, feels like drowning. He digs his nails into his palms. "You fucking better be."

Randy folds those knobby fingers in his lap, leans forward. "I'll do my best, Benson. I promise."

He smiles sadly, and Benson believes him.

Yeah, it's gone, and I'm not here

The carpet disappears. The asphalt underneath him is still warm from the sun. The ocean sloshes in his chest and now he feels it, now it hurts like he thought it would. The sky is black and cottony. Starless. The bed is gone, Randy is gone. He can still hear the song, though.

This isn't happening

He thought it'd be faster. Seems like it's taken years. But it's coming, now, after all this fucking time, the heat fading fast to a hollow, stinging cold, and then to nothing. His fingers and toes go first, hands and feet, and so on. He's got one good breath left. One more. And then it's over.

I'm not here, I'm not here

Fuck, he's relieved and he wishes he wasn't. Wishes he was anywhere but here. Anyone but himself.

He catches a glimpse of him in his periphery at the last second. Sitting on the curb like a kid left at the Winn-Dixie, all elbows and knees. He's crying, dammit. Benson supposes he can't blame him this time, because he's crying too. It's fucking tragic, all of it, the whole fucking thing.

Strobe lights and blown speakers

But it's okay, really. Randy's gonna be okay. He promised. Benson trusts him. He did what he could, he really tried. And maybe this, at least, he managed to succeed at.

Fireworks and hurricanes

The last breath hurts the worst.

I'm not here, this isn't happening

He holds Randy's name on his tongue for good luck. For safekeeping. For the hell of it. And he lets all the rest of it go.

I'm not here, I'm not here

The exhale is euphoric.

[paceypeternathanslawyer]

One Tree Hill Meme {92/187} Season 5 Episode 4: It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) Nathan & Haley In Every Episode

[fortheturnstiles]

does anyone want to listen to it's alright ma (i'm only bleeding) and smoke cigarettes in the car in the woods. serious inquiries only

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

Subterranean Homesick Blues • She Belongs To Me • Maggie's Farm • Love Minus Zero / No Limit • Outlaw Blues • On The Road Again • Bob Dylan's 115th Dream • Mr. Tambourine Man • Gates Of Eden • It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) • It's All Over Now, Baby Blue

Spotify ♪ YouTube

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Thanks for the tag @scarlettspectra and @bluelolblue!

Tag game

Last song listened to:

Silver or gold jewelry?: GOLD!!

Do you have any tattoos?: No

Piercings?: No

Currently reading or favorite book?: Currently reading The Ventrue Chronicles because VTM lore goes deep! My favorite book is...very hard to choose, but since I'm in a philosophy mood I'll say The Accursed Share by George Bataille.

A hobby you would like to try?: I have always wanted to try glass blowing.

Coffee or tea?: Coffee

Favorite video game?: Harvest Moon: Save the Homeland was my go-to growing up and will always have a special place in my heart.

Star sign?: Cancer

Who is your Hear me out?: Soft Karl Heisenberg. The only person who had the inner strength to fight back against Mother Miranda's brainwashing AND he hasn't been hugged in decades? Give him to me NOW!

Tagging (no pressure): @fizzlepop-frog @porcelainseashore @paingoes and whoever wants to join!

[tireddovahkiin]

OKAY I HAVE TO RANT ABOUT THESE HILLARIOUS SCENARIOS I CAME UP WITH- (At least to me!)

Basically Vincent Valentine having his ass forced to babysit my OC Junior who's a Twitch streamer. This is how it goes (I might even draw this):

[have in mind that Junior is a cringey ass teenager💀]

This oc x canon interaction is strictly platonic!

. . .

*stream starts with Juniors face in the webcam*

Junior: ".... Hello everybody my name is Markipl-" *breaks character*

Junior: How's it GOINNN', mothershockers, IT'S YA BOIIII Junie, with a VERY special guest today!~ ... Give it up for da babysitter, the one and only, Vincent Valentine~!!!! *dramatic ahh Will Smith showing off hand pose*

*camera is set so only Vincents torso is shown as he sits cross-armed, his head and legs off-screen* (its gonna be like that during the entire stream)

*awkward silence*

Junior: ... Psst. Hey. Dude. Peace sign. Show it to the camera.

Vincent:

Junior: *nudges his gloved hand*

Vincent:

Vincent: *awkwardly shows the sign to the camera*

Junior: LET'G GOOOO-

Junior: *reading the comments*

"What is Dracula doing in your house dawg"

"AYO SICK COSPLAY DUDE- How did you make him do it"

"He looks like the type of person who says: 'Fare-thee-well folks, hale be thou' to people unironically"

"Oh no... is he going to start talking about the war"

"bLAh, bLAH bLAH"

"Don't com to ma house or I'll succ yo di- I MEAN BLOOD"

Junior: Well, the audience seems to like you already, man. What do you have to say about that, Vincent? *presents imaginary microphone to Vincent off-screen*

Vincent:

Junior: Understandable, have a great day.

Junior: —And that is why I personally think flies are spy cams sent from aliens out in space.

Vincent:

Chat:

Chat: *Donkey_King43 donated $1.55 through super chat* "Stfu you dollar tree PaRappa The Rapper ahh bootleg" [bc Junior is an antro dog]

Junior: YOU MOTHERFU-

Vincent: *headbutt*

Junior: *sobbing into Vincents arm* I'M DO— YALL ARE JUST MEAN- I GIVE MY SOUL HERE TO ENTERTAIN PEOPLE I DON'T EVEN KNOW, I GIVE UP MY PRIDE IN HANDS TO THE GATES OF VIEWERES JUDGEMENT LIKE A BLEEDING SACRIFICIAL HEART, AS I BECOME NOTHING BUT A MERE TOY WITH NO MEANING AND PURPOSE IN YOUR EYES—

Vincent:

*few minutes later*

Junior: *kazotsky kicking to Mortal Kombat theme while wearing a creeper hat and minecraft sunglasses* I ate soap with japapeño sauce and sprinkles this morning! It was bussin' let me tell ya—

Vincent: (??????)

Junior: Vincent, question from a fan. What if you solve a math test while LeBron James is purple, does that make racoons skeleton knives or 6 AM greek yogurt under alphabet?

Vincent:

Junior: He thinks the answer is Mexico.

Chat: Xxdollasigndude: "Yo if you and your medieval knight babysitter bro sing "If you're happy and you know it" song I'll give you 300$ hands down"

Junior: *jumps and clears throat* HOLY— OKAY OKAY— VINCENT COME ON AT LEAST CLAP FOR ME BRO PLEASE— ANYWAYS— If you're happy and you know clap your hands...! *looks at Vincent in ecstatic hope*

Vincent:

Vincent: *after five seconds, he caves in, and claps two times*

Junior: *grins like an idiot, even happier* —If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands!

Vincent: *pause* *clap clap*

Junior: If you're happy and you know it, then your face will surely show it, if you're happy and you know it, clap your hands...!

Vincent: *pause* *clap clap*

*siiiiiiiilence*

Chat: ... *Xxdollasigndude donated $300.00 through super chat-*

Junior: IYEEEE—

Junior: *after one hour, he finally beats a level, releasing a victory scream and offering Vincent hand for a high five*

Vincent: *ignores*

Junior: *pouts*

Chat: *Khorn_lord donated $0.55 through super chat* "Haha get left on seen loser"

Junior: *looks at Vincent*

Vincent:

Junior: *offers a hand again*

Vincent: *high fives*

Junior: HAH! SUCK ON THAT YOU SON OF A BI—

Vincent: *headbutt*

Junior: And I'll make sure to show you just how much of a pro I am! I'll drink five cans on cola in ONE go, no reaction! Alright, buckle up! THREE, TWO, ONE—

*a few moments later insert*

Junior: *is knocked out dead asleep and snoring like an engine from the caffeine* (ADHD skill💀)

Vincent:

Vincent: *he finally picks up the camera, trying to figure out how to shut it off*

*pause*

Vincent: *reveals his face* To the rude ones in this 'chat' today, a message from me: I will find you. One way... Or another.

*ends the stream*

(Fun fact: Junior's account went viral over night because of Vincent.)

[BROS SUCH A SOFTIE FOR KIDS I JUST KNOW ITTT]