#judge i hate you i hope you rot in hell

[beanghostprincess]

It would be cracked if judge had no problem with them being trans. Like during whole cake island yonji is already transitioning in a hyperfem raid suit.

Sanji is in shock like

Sanji: it's fine when you do it but it's a problem when I do it?!?!? What the fuck? How is that fair?!?!

Yonji: Dad didn't hate you because you were trans. He hated you because you were weak...... Also, you might need to invest in getting a push-up bra looking a little flat there sweetie.

Yoiji would be so mean pointing out Sanji's "flaws" and " imperfections" In reality she's just finding ways to make herself feel superior to Sanji because she doesn't get that much support at home from her brothers or dad. Judge allows her to transition but he won't recognize her as a girl or his daughter and will misgender her. He also made it a rule for everyone in the Germa Kingdom to do the same and her brothers well...... after Sanji left they needed another scapegoat to pick on and take out their complicated feelings out on and unfortunately yonji was it. She does fight and stand up for her self, she may not admit it but it does get to her most of the time.

Sanji hates her but does sympathize with her asking why she chooses to stay even though they treat her so terribly. Of course she's welcomed with defensiveness and anger. How dare you ask that question like you care!! I never cared about you why do you care about me?!?!

Deep down she doesn't know why she stayed maybe because this life is all she knows. She's kids scared of what's beyond those castle walls and she's not really ready to find out.

TW // Transphobia (Because the Vinsmoke siblings can always get a little bit more traumatized)

I adore this whole thing so much. Judge lets Yonji do whatever she wants but never acknowledges her as a woman. It gives Judge also the opportunity to say shit like "You owe me for indulging you in your dumb wishes like... Choosing to act like a woman". Yonji wishes she could complain but both Niji and Ichiji also tell her she should be glad Judge is giving her this opportunity.

Aside from the egg, do you know what else is cracking open? Yonji's emotions. Realizing who she truly is is making her feel things she has never felt, and yeah, she turns sadness and dysphoria into frustration and anger. But she's on her way to feel more stuff.

And now I can't stop thinking about that other ask about Yonji wanting to fight Sanji but Sanji refusing to do so because she doesn't hit other girls,,, Yonji keeps pointing out things about Sanji that make her seem "not feminine" but it's only things she doesn't like about herself. And Sanji knows, even if the things Yonji says get to her sometimes, that Yonji only needs help. She can't forgive her but she can't leave her there either.

[brewstersbru]

More halstarion cuz ive been playing my lil origin run; also happy halloween folks !

Pain. Sharp, dragging, unbearable agony against his back. Astarion huffs a small noise of pitiful discontent before clenching his mouth shut. Quiet. Can’t let him hear you. His fangs tear a little into his gums, but there isn’t enough blood in him for any to really trickle out of the wounds. 

A voice- disembodied, but cold and lilting as ever- sounds from behind. “My dear, how prettily you bleed. Even lovelier now, with the poetry I am bestowing upon you. Truly, a gift. And what do we say to gifts, Astarion?” 

Astarion moans miserably into the ground- or is it a steel surgical table? He can’t remember, he can’t focus. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. There’s a feeling of hands in his hair, grasping, tearing- the flash of a derisive, fanged grin- “What do we say, Astarion?”

His name sounds like rot coming from his lips, similar to the way one would utter the word “disgusting” or “vile”. Astarion hiccups with the force of his suffering- it’s simply too much, never before has Cazador been so persistent, never before has he carved so deep, for so long. Astarion’s weak, starving body cannot maintain itself against his tides of cruelty.

There is quiet as Cazador waits for his answer, he knows Astarion will do his very best to give it. Years and years of this torment had to have culminated into something- into an exceedingly loyal dog, he’d hoped. It’s why he tries not to command anything; not only because it takes the fun out of things, but also because it encourages a kind of devotion to the task that a simple order could never elicit. Pain can be such a useful tool, and he’s spent years honing his skill with it. 

Astarion gasps, chokes on a putrid mix of saliva and droplets of rat blood as they clog in his throat. “T-Thank you.” He coughs. Cazador hums and pushes his head back down. He runs a sharp nail down the middle of the warm, wet mess on Astarion’s back. It stings like a million tiny needles.

“Thank you, what?”

He digs the nail into one of the runes he’d just finished carving, ever so slightly, and Astarion writhes in agony. His breath comes choppy and ragged, and tears track endlessly down his nose. A moment, two, as Astarion brings a heaving breath in and steels himself against the revulsion he is about to feel.

“Thank you, Master.” The hum this elicits is decidedly pleased and Astarion hates himself all the more for earning it. If only he was stronger, if only he were able to hold out just a bit longer. If only he’d been able to make himself wait; Cazador would have grown tired, would have ordered him, eventually. 

Now, he is little more than a lapdog, bereft of even his pride, and the pain will only continue. How he despises the man he’s become, the man Cazador has moulded him into. 

The agony in his back resumes, even sharper and more unbearable than before. Astarion muffles a scream behind clenched teeth and wrenches his eyes open to reveal a circling of trees. A cool gust of air swipes across his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, slightly. 

Astarion takes a moment to orient himself. He’d been trancing, curled into himself and facing away from the fire- Gods know why, he could use all the heat he can get with the way his undead body refuses to hold onto it on its own; some lingering self-flagellation, perhaps. 

He’s no longer bound to Cazador- for the time being at least- he’s fine. The ‘dream’ or whatever that had been was only a memory. Nothing more. He’s fine. 

Sitting up, he swats at the tear tracks on his cheeks and comes face-to-face with a wide-eyed Halsin, who had been whittling, it seems, judging by the knife in one hand and the partially carved wooden-something in the other. Astarion ducks and covers his face with a slender hand.  

“What in the hells are you doing, you oaf!?”

“… Whittling?” Halsin’s voice cracks a bit as he stumbles over the word. Astarion tries not to notice how endearing that is. He huffs.

“I gathered. Could you just- turn around? Please?” 

Halsin tilts his head to the side, just slightly, and stares at him with furrowed brows, mouth set in a firm line. He speaks carefully, but directly, unable to tiptoe around a subject when they’re both aware of the gravity of it.

“Are you alright, my friend? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just I noticed-“

“Not now.” Astarion’s voice comes out rough, grating, and he cannot bring himself to look Halsin in the eye as he speaks. 

“… Alright” There’s a shuffling as- assumedly- Halsin picks himself up and heads back to his tent. Astarion only allows himself a breath of relief when the other man’s footsteps retreat outside of his range of hearing. 

On one hand, Astarion is astoundingly, exceedingly grateful to have his wishes honored. On the other, it is so, very quiet, and he can still feel the ghosts of fingers petting, clawing and grasping at his skin. He feels dirty, a vile little thing ought to be left in the dirt. 

His back aches- phantom pains, he knows- and even years after their conception his scars throb. It’s not the first time this has happened, but it is the first time he’s been able to focus on it, the first time no other, greater pain can distract him from the dull shock of remembrance. Maybe he’d never healed correctly, maybe it’s his mind playing its usual tricks. 

Suddenly unable to stand the scratch of cloth against the raised skin on his back, Astarion wrestles his shirt off of himself. Sharp nails dragging uncaringly against the skin as if trying to sate an itch. He wants the ‘poetry’ off of himself, he wants to be clean.

His scratching becomes more fervent, less careful as his thoughts spiral. A sob works its way up, only to die in his throat, he chokes a little on it. Off. Off. Off. He needs it off. He wishes he could claw the taint away. His skin crawls under his fingernails, even as they scratch past skin. Blood flows, sluggish, down the bony curve of his spine. It is not an unfamiliar feeling. 

A sharp gasp sounds, quiet, but cutting in the previous silence that had pervaded the space around the campfire. Astarion does not dare look up from the ground. Great. Another interruption to him losing his fucking mind. 

Thankfully- which, who could guess he’d ever think the word in relation to the druid- it’s just Halsin again. Arms now laden with jars and cloth, rather than the sharp woodworking tools he’d left the fire with. The jars are labeled, but his scrawl is too small for Astarion to parse the words. 

“Astarion, my friend, please cease this needless self-mutilation!” He rushes to Astarion’s side, carefully placing the jars on the side of his bedroll and gently, loosely grasping at Astarion’s wrists- assumedly to encourage the vampire to pry his claws from his skin. He doesn’t push, simply holds him there.

The warmth is welcome, grounding in the swirl of pain and cold and despair that had previously been clouding Astarion’s mind. He lets out an unnecessary, but comforting breath and allows his hands to be pried away. 

“Good. That’s good, my friend, thank you.” 

Astarion grouses a discontented sound, to which Halsin huffs a small chuckle. 

“Alright- you’re alright. You were looking rather pale- moreso than usual at least- and I had hoped some of my oils or salves could soothe any injuries you’d overlooked, or old aches.” He pauses for a moment and rifles through the pile of goods he’d brought over, “As elves, our ‘nightmares’ are more memories, than anything. I’m more than familiar with a long-forgotten wound making itself known after a particularly jarring remembrance. I am sorry yours were so visceral.”

He’s babbling, Astarion notices, low voice rather quick compared to its usual steady thrum, but he can appreciate the effort in attempting to keep him grounded. His body doesn’t want to move, though, and he simply slumps into himself, gaze steadily forward, hollow, almost in its vacancy. 

“Here let me-“ A warmth hovers over the mess of Astarion’s back. Well, this is rather familiar. But it pauses,hesitates. Still, Astarion can feel himself tensing. A short, ragged sound punches out of him, unwitting. Halsin hums. 

“Apologies, my friend, it seems my manners have escaped me in my nerves. May I touch you? I wish only to soothe the hurt, I have a balm that should do the trick well and once I’ve applied it, my hands will not touch your skin again should you wish it.”

Astarion takes a moment, another unnecessary breath, then nods. It’s curt, almost imperceptible really, but Halsin had been paying very close attention to his body’s reactions. He thanks him- what for, Astarion cannot even begin to fathom. 

It’s quiet as Halsin’s deft fingers tenderly pass a wet towelette down his spine to clean the blood from it. It soothes, cool and stinging against new cuts and Astarion can only hope that at least he’d left new scars. Something to disrupt the carving of pure malice that had lain there, undisturbed, for so long. 

“Thank you.” It takes a while, and his voice is fairly destroyed by what he can only assume had been long minutes of screaming and sobbing in his sleep, coupled with the panic attack after waking. Halsin’s fingers continue their deft work. 

“Please. No need. If I may I- I hate to see you struggle so. Is there anything that caused it? Anything we can avoid?” His sincerity is sweet, but useless. Astarion shakes his head.

“Comes and goes, really. Used to be able to ignore it with other things. Can’t focus on memories when the present is fucked too, right?” Astarion chuckles, but Halsin does not join in. 

It’s quiet for a bit, Halsin’s hands feel almost hesitant against his skin, “I am not a man easily drawn to violence but- well- your old master deserves nothing but the slowest, most painful death possible. I know it means little but I am sorry. You did not deserve his torment. No one could deserve that.”

“I was no angel in life, druid. For a long time, it seemed like a penance.” The words are almost hissed, but the sincerity in them is unmistakable.

“Even penance ends, eventually, Astarion. Forgiveness usually follows. Two hundred years is more than enough time. Especially when you had not even truly lived before being thrust into undeath- I mean thirty-nine? You still bear your child name.” Halsin sounds almost pained, although his hands remain steady, now pressing fingerfuls of balm to each cut, and even the undamaged rune-scars too. Something in Astarion howls, surges forward into an incessant rage at the tenderness.  

“And perhaps I was a truly devilish child, druid! Perhaps I deserved it!” Halsin sighs. 

“No one deserves that, Astarion. You have to know that.”

“If I allow myself to believe that, then I have to accept victimhood. I have to accept that loss of control. I have to accept that it’s not that I deserved it, it’s that no one cared enough to try to save me. Tell me, druid, which would you rather believe.” With a final, gentle pass of his thumb Halsin retreats. Shamefully, Astarion misses the warmth of his touch. The druid rounds his bedroll, settling criss-crossed in front of him and busying himself with organizing his bottles into a neat pile.

“Well, first, I’d like it if you used my name and not my title. It feels rather impersonal talking to you when you won’t even call me ‘Halsin’. Second, I truly don’t know, but I have always favored the truth over anything else.”

Astarion hisses, “I will call you what I like, not what you tell me to call you.” Halsin simply nods, and something inside him deflates. Backs down from its haunches. 

“Oh, alright, you big baby. Halsin. Maybe the truth is that I was- however implausibly- the kind of person to deserve my penance.”

Halsin seems to light up at the sound of his name from Astarion’s lips. Astarion tries to find it dorky and uncool and not hopelessly endearing. Then, “I find that incredibly hard to believe. Had you even chosen an adult name? Had anything in mind?”

Astarion falls quiet at this. “I had an idea, a few, maybe. I remember being excited about them, I thought I was so clever with the word choice… But I cannot remember them. Cazador only called me by this name, when he deigned to adress me, and I did not exactly have the time or energy to care about choosing another.”

Something within Halsin cracks at the admission. To have that rite stolen from him was abhorrent. Heartbreaking. 

“Truly you remember nothing?”

Astarion shrugs, “Hard to find that kind of thing important when there are other, more pressing matters. It’s not like the names would fit me anymore, either, two hundred years have taken their toll, after all.” He smiles, a crooked, self-depreciating thing and gestures to himself, the scars on his back. “Thank you, by the way. I wouldn’t have treated them on my own.” The thanks doesn’t even need to be forced from his lips. Halsin smiles at the ease with which it is offered. 

“No need. And I know.”

It’s quiet for a while longer. The two of them take the time to simply look at each other. Astarion wonders, for perhaps the millionth time, what Halsin is seeing as he gazes at him with such open fondness and admiration. Surely it cannot be him. Godssakes he hasn’t even seen himself in two hundred years, who knows what kind of effect it’s had on his wrinkles. He tries not to dwell. 

“I’m going to read.” Astarion says, when he can no longer stand the thought of just how many lines have been carved in his face, without the help of Cazador’s many painful instruments. Halsin simply nods, but continues searching his face. Astarion is unsure what he’s looking for, but is fairly certain, whatever it is, has long since left him. Nowadays he’s mostly bared teeth and vengeance more than anything.  

“Please, go right ahead. If you would not protest, I would very much like to join you. I’ll whittle, stay quiet so you can focus. Would that be alright?” He tilts his head to the side, and, with the way he’s fiddling with a jar, seems so incredibly bear-like in the moment that Astarion has to clamp down on a giggle.

“… Alright. But you had better keep that promise to stay quiet.” Halsin grins, a warm, blinding thing. 

“As a mouse. And we druids are rather good at mimicking animals, you know.”

A laugh punches itself from Astarion’s throat as he heads back to his tent and settles on some pillows, his most recent thick tome open in his lap. 

It’s not long before Halsin is quietly announcing his presence, shuffling around to settle a few feet away, legs tucked up under him as he situates himself against the nearest surface- a stolen chest from one of the many towers they’d rummaged through. 

It’s easy to forget he’s there- or, no, it’s easy to simply exist in a space with him. Astarion doesn’t feel the need to perform or prove anything to him- after all, he’s basically seen him at his worst- and the silence is warm. Interrupted, every so often, by the methodical scrape of metal against wood, or the crisp flipping of a page. 

Before he can stop himself, Astarion’s fallen into another trance. This time blissfully devoid of any visions or memories. 

He wakes to an empty tent, but his book is neatly bookmarked and stowed beside his bedroll. He, himself had been carefully tucked under a pelt of some sort- a piece he knew was not from his own tent- and next to the book lay a small, intricately carved wooden star. On the back, a careful engraving:

little star, how you shine

It feels like a declaration. 

[olivianyx]

Hi, so I know this might Sound weird from a reality shifter, but what exactly is respawning?

I saw a succes Story you told about a Coach of yours who respawned, ans it's not the first time I heard about it, but I don't really understand it, can you please explain????

Thanks a lot💕

RESPAWNING

TW: mentions of de@th, suicide, abuse and others. If you're an anti, or feel uncomfortable reading this, please feel free to not read this. If you don't like this topic, respectfully fuck off. Haters just keep scrolling this topic ain't for y'all.

Hey! Sorry for the late response.

It's completely okay to not know something, and I don't mind it sweetheart 💓

So, julie, she was my coach, she respawned in October 2023.

Respawning means to completely cut ties with this reality by either having an intention of not coming back (since in shifting community, most of them come back to their 'original reality' where actually no reality is your original reality) or by a clinical de@th and replace their consciousness with another one, or choosing to end their life in that reality and erase their remnants and memories and go to their desired reality to start a whole new life. The reason why can vary. Cus some people may had an abusive childhood or traumatizing one. It's their choice. So anybody that's judging it too quick just go fuck yourself with sticks. It's okay to go for a whole new reality if you don't like this one. We don't gotta rot in hell.

Well, it's got a really bad reputation in the shifting community since those mf shiftokers spread rumours that it's suicide, well in fact, it's none of the haters business.

RESPAWNING VS PERMASHIFTING

Ig you've heard permashifting too, the same as respawning but you have an option to come back to the previous reality. Meanwhile, in respawning, there isn't. But actually, you can come back to another reality where the version of you haven't reapawned.

SOME RANT (pardon since I'm outta my mind this time)

Well, I needed to address something to those goddamn haters in my asks and those in the community too. People have something to complain about all the fucking time, like bitch how bout minding your fucking business?? Am I or someone else hating on you for breathing and being alive? No right? Then fuck off, nobody needs your fucking opinion. Just fuck off of its hurting your feelings or violating your rights as an individual blah blah blah. Idfc just get your asses off of these precious communities.

I hope this helps :)

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

From Hell to Home To Back Again

Summary: At the talent show, Chrissy Cunningham is so hungry that she nearly collapses. When she's found by Hopper, her parents ended up losing custody of her. She ends up being placed in the care of the Hendersons, and she finally finds the family she so desperately needed. She also ends up falling in love. What other changes are made in this alternate universe?

@emen-98 @1lostsoul0fishbowl @vulpixsworld

Prologue . . . Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chrissy had been having a pleasant dream until a certain annoying little brother woke her up. Ready to yell at him, Dustin opened his mouth and said something that made her heart stop.

"Eddie's house blew up."

"What?!" Chrissy screamed as she sat up.

"Yeah, it's on the news," Dustin said.

"Is Eddie - is he - ?" She couldn't say the words.

"I don't know, they didn't say if they found a body. They did say a cop got shot, though," he replied.

Chrissy grabbed her robe and kicked off the covers. Mews landed on the other side of the bed with a loud meow.

"Sorry, Mews," Chrissy said.

She ran into the living room with Dustin, the news blaring on the TV. They watched with rapt attention as they waited for them to say whether or not there was a body. All they said was that a young man had been arrested. Once they said that, Chrissy immediately picked up the phone to call Hopper.

"Is he alive?" Were the words out of Chrissy's mouth as soon as Hopper answered the phone.

"Yeah, we got him. He's in our holding cells," Hopper said.

"What happened?" Chrissy asked.

"I don't know. He's not saying much. I think the kid is in shock," Hopper said. "All I know is that there were shots fired at his house. Officer Moore responded to the call. There were two guys holding Al and Eddie at gunpoint. One of them shot Officer Moore, and Al took off, leaving Eddie to help Moore by stopping the bleeding. It worked. The kid saved his life. Knowing Al, he probably conned his own kid into helping him."

"Jesus," Chrissy muttered and paused. "I'm glad he's okay. When you do go to talk to him again, make sure that you don't call him Junior. He hates that."

"I'll keep you updated," Hopper said. "Get some rest, you're going to school soon."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," Chrissy said. "Thanks, Hop."

She hung up the phone and relayed the news to her brother.

"Chrissy. . .did Eddie's dad really con him?" Dustin asked.

"That's what Hop thinks, and judging from what I've heard about him, Hopper's probably right about that," Chrissy said.

"A lot of people say a lot of stuff about Eddie, but you still say that he's a good man," Dustin said.

Chrissy frowned as she thought about it. In one way, what Dustin said was true, but in another, he was wrong.

"Well, some rumors are true, and some aren't. Maybe there's good buried deep down inside of him, but considering that he abandoned his son yet again tells me that it must buried really deep," Chrissy replied and paused. "By the way, what were you doing up so early?"

"I had a nightmare, couldn't sleep," Dustin muttered.

Chrissy sighed, knowing Dustin was probably having a nightmare about her again. She pulled him close her and kissed the top of his head. They fell asleep snuggled up together. Pretty soon, it was time for school. Ronnie wasn't waiting at her locker this time, which sometimes happened now when she chose to wait by Robin's. She didn't see Ronnie until lunchtime. Hellfire had officially joined their lunch table, and Chrissy could tell by the looks on their faces that they learned about what happened or what they thought happened.

"I hope Eddie's okay," Nancy said softly, looking sympathetically at Chrissy.

"I hope he's rotting in a jail cell," Gareth snorted. "He deserves it."

"Really?" Chrissy asked.

"He was an asshole who abandoned us, and it's his fault he got caught up in all of that shit, anyway," Jeff said.

"I'm not saying that that's not true, but do you really think he deserves to have his home destroyed?" Chrissy asked.

"He was leaving it anyway," Dougie said.

"Doesn't everyone leave home eventually? Doesn't mean that it's still not home," Steve said, and the boys gave him a look. "But I could be wrong."

"No, Steve’s right. Eddie's home has always been Hawkins, and he never felt welcome here. He saw a way out, and he grabbed it," Chrissy said. "Could there have been a better way to do it? Yeah, possibly. You have every right to be hurt, but Eddie learned the hard way in what it means to trust Al Munson. No one is harder on himself than Eddie is right now."

"Shouldn't you be more pissed than anyone? You two were - ," Gareth started to say.

"Of course, I'm pissed but I figured that could wait until later because right now, all I can feel is relief that Eddie is alive," Chrissy said. "As you should be. I was woken up this morning by my brother: "Eddie's house blew up." It scared the shit out of me because suddenly, I was picturing Eddie's body burnt to a crisp. So, no, he didn't deserve to learn the lesson that way."

Chrissy bit her lip, trying to stop the tears from falling.

"Shit, sorry, Chrissy," Gareth said.

"Okay, enough talk about Eddie," Ronnie said, glaring at Gareth. "At least for now."

After school, Chrissy found Hopper waiting outside, talking to Jason. She frowned. Gareth found her outside and walked up to her.

"What's going on?" Gareth asked.

"I don't know, but it's Jason, so it could be anything," Chrissy said.

"Did you know Jason stopped hanging out with Tommy Hayes and Connor?" Gareth asked.

"No," Chrissy said. "How do you know that?"

"I accidentally saw him arguing with them. I briefly heard them bringing up Eddie's name, but then Jason pushed him before mentioning something about Higgins and pills," Gareth said. "I moved on before they could notice me."

Hopper caught Chrissy's eyes and nodded at her for her to come over. Chrissy squeezed Gareth's arms and walked over to Hopper.

"Hey, Hop," Chrissy greeted him with a smile.

"Mr. Carver just told what really happened the day Eddie dropped out of school. Apparently, Higgins convinced the teachers not to let Eddie use their classrooms but neglected to inform him and then set them on Eddie when he tried to break into the classroom. He's been pressuring his players into messing with Hellfire and Eddie just so he could get him to drop out. Jason also let me know that Higgins has been giving some of the players drugs to help their performance," Hopper said.

"Why?" Chrissy asked Jason softly.

"I didn't like who I was when I was on them," Jason shrugged. "My parents are going to get me some help. I'm sorry about all of it. You didn't need me to protect you and to mess with Eddie like that. . . I just wanted to win. None of its an excuse for what I did."

"You here to arrest Higgins?" Chrissy asked.

"Yeah, I'm going to need a statement from you from what happened that day, if you don't mind talking about it," Hopper said.

"Whatever helps nail that asshole to the wall," Chrissy said cheerfully.

"I should probably get in there," Hopper said. "I'll be watching you, Carver."

Hopper walked away, storming into the school with Officer Powell. Jason turned to look at Chrissy, looking extremely guilty.

"It's going to take some time for me to forgive you because what you did was so fucked up," Chrissy said and looked at him softly. "But in the end, you did do the right thing, and I do understand that you were drugged by someone who was supposed to protect you. He took advantage of you, and that wasn't right. So, I'm going to get there a lot quicker because of it, but it doesn't mean you have a chance with me."

"Of course. I know that I blew that a long time ago. I'll still spend the rest of my life making it up to you and the others," Jason said.

He said goodbye and walked away. His shoulders slumped as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Chrissy wandered back over to Gareth, only to find that the rest of Hellfire had shown up.

"What the hell was that about?" Ronnie asked, and Chrissy told them what happened.

"Isn't that going to ruin his basketball career?" Gareth asked.

"Probably," Chrissy said.

"Ugh, I'm feeling a little bit of respect for Jason Carver. Gross," Gareth said. "Still hate him."

"Well, I'm not leaving until I see Higgins come out in cuffs," Jeff said.

Apparently, word got around, too, because suddenly, most of the students were standing by the school doors. They opened, and Hopper came out with Principal Higgins in handcuffs. The school erupted into cheers. Apparently, most of the students didn't like him very much.

"Take that, you arrogant dick!" A student yelled out.

Higgins' eyes caught Chrissy's, and he glared at her.

"This is all your fault, you and your - ,"

"My meddling dog?" Chrissy asked cheerfully, and everyone laughed.

"One phone call and Miss Ecker's dream of going to New York is over!" Higgins exclaimed.

"Are you seriously blackmailing students in front of two cops?" Powell asked.

"I don't think anyone is going to take you seriously once they learned you've been arrested for giving drugs to your students," Hopper said. "Move and don't you say another word to Chrissy. You don't even fucking look at her."

Chrissy waved happily at him as he looked away. She turned to say something to the others, only to find them looking at her.

"Is that what happened in Higgins' office?" Ronnie asked softly. "He told Eddie that he would put the fight on my permanent record, and he would call New York? I lose my scholarship, or Eddie drops out?"

"Yeah," Chrissy said.

"That dumbass," Jeff said affectionately.

"I can't believe he did that," Gareth said.

"I can," Ronnie said. "And you knew?"

"Trust me, it killed me not to say anything, but I didn't want you to lose your scholarship. You mean a lot to Eddie, but you also mean a lot to me, too," Chrissy said.

Ronnie pulled her into a tight hug, sighing into her hair.

"You're both idiots," Ronnie laughed. "And you both deserve each other."

Of course, Chrissy didn't expect Eddie to start back to school right away, considering it was almost the end of the school year. With his grades being what they were, he still would have had to come back next year anyway. She gave it a few days before going to speak to him, giving him some time to settle in with Wayne. A little part of her kind of wanted him suffer a bit. It was petty, she knew, but she was also a little peeved about how he treated everyone even if she knew where he was coming from. Plus, she was a bit hesitant to learn what happened with Paige. She ended up showing up to Wayne's trailer on a Friday afternoon. She leaned her bike up against the trailer and walked up the porch steps to knock on his door.

"Hey," Eddie's voice came from her left and startling her. "Sorry."

Eddie was lounging on the couch that sat outside. Judging by the fact there were cigarettes in the ashtray, he had just got done smoking.

"I didn't see you," Chrissy said.

"Clearly," Eddie snorted.

Chrissy walked over to him and sat down next to him. He didn't look at her, just twirled one of his rings around his finger.

"Glad you're not dead," Chrissy said, and Eddie popped his head up.

"What?" Eddie said.

"I said I'm glad you're not dead. You know, the fire?" Chrissy asked.

"Right," Eddie said softly.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Chrissy asked and paused. "You know, if you want to."

Eddie sighed and leaned forward on his elbows, wiping his face with his hands. Chrissy pressed her cheek to his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist. She jutted her bottom lip out as she peered at him.

"Don't do that," Eddie said.

"Do what?" Chrissy asked.

"Do that with your lip," he said.

"I'm not doing anything with my lip," she said and poked it out further.

He glared at her and reached out with his finger to push her lip back in. She giggled.

"Fine, fine. I'll tell you what happened. Little witch," Eddie sighed and proceeded to tell her everything.

Chrissy sat back against the couch as she processed everything that he told her.

"So, let me get this straight. . . Your dad told you he lost a bunch of money at a casino, and a couple of guys were after him to pay up. He convinced you to rob a weed truck from a drug king pin to turn it around to sell said weed, but it turns out he was working for said drug king pin. So this Charlie Greene sent two men, the same two men who you robbed, to collect the money. They shot at you, shot Officer Moore, and then set your house on fire. Meanwhile, you managed to help Officer Moore while your dad left you to clean up your mess," Chrissy said. "Did I miss anything?"

"No, that's pretty much it," Eddie said. "Are you okay over there?"

Chrissy leaned her head back as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She sat there for a whole, not saying anything.

"I'm trying to figure out why I'm attracted to such an idiot," Chrissy said.

"I still don't get it either," Eddie replied.

"As much as you're an idiot, your dad's a bigger one," Chrissy said softly. "You're here, and you clearly want to fix things. Your dad ran away like a coward. I hate that this was how it woke you up. I wish it had been something else that hit you on the head."

"You wanting me to stay should have been enough, but I just thought I was doing the best thing for you, but I know now that running away from my problems isn't going to fix things," Eddie said.

"No, because it wasn't you who was the problem. It was your dad and the people in this town who hated him. People like principal Higgins, who coerced the jocks to go after you and your friends. If you had left and Jason hadn't turned Higgins into the police, they would have gone after the rest of Hellfire," Chrissy said.

"What?!" Eddie exclaimed.

"Yeah, apparently, he's been feeding some of the basketball players drugs. Jason told Hopper the whole thing. He arrested Higgins, and Higgins ended up spilling the beans about blackmailing you so that's no longer an issue," Chrissy said. "I think Jason is really coming around to realizing that there is more to life."

"Starting to make sense why he bailed me out, now," Eddie said. "Well, I guess none of us are perfect. Except for you."

"That's not true. I totally fell for this guy who had a hard time seeing what was right there in front of him," Chrissy said.

"Hm, well, I think he must have gotten his vision checked," Eddie said. "Because suddenly he can see better. Something must have shaken those rocks loose because he totally fell for this girl who is miles out of his league."

"Yeah?" Chrissy asked.

"Yeah," Eddie said, and he leaned to kiss her, but then she leaned back. "Woah, did I read this wrong? Oh, God, were you actually talking about someone else? Is it Jonathan?"

"No, you idiot!" Chrissy laughed.

"Is that my new name?" Eddie asked.

"You're still on probation," Chrissy said.

"No, they said they can't charge me with anything, or something like that. I wasn't really listening. I know they're looking for my dad," Eddie frowned. "No probation."

"No, with me, you freak," Chrissy said. "You're going to have reach a higher level to reach these lips, mister."

She kissed his nose before cuddling up to him and pressing her cheek into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his nose into her hair.

"I'd fight all the monsters you'd throw at me to get to those lips of yours," Eddie sighed.

"Eddie. . . What happened with Paige?" Chrissy asked.

"I mean, she did try to kiss me, but I fell out of the van trying to stop her. She stopped when I told her I had feelings for someone else. Though I think she thought that I was playing hard to get. I don't think it helped when I said I didn't have a place to stay in Los Angeles, and when she offered her place to me, I said yes," Eddie said.

"Eddie!" Chrissy exclaimed, slapping his chest.

"Oh, God, did I just go back a level?" He asked.

"I can't keep calling you an idiot," Chrissy laughed. "The word is starting to sound weird."

"I'll just make it my second middle name," he replied.

"Oh, speaking of middle names. . .mine is Elizabeth," Chrissy said.

"Elizabeth?" Eddie asked in a choked voice.

Chrissy sat up, looking at him.

"Are you okay?" Chrissy asked.

"Elizabeth was my mom's name," Eddie said softly.

"Simple twist of fate, huh?" Chrissy asked.

"Oh! I forgot. . . I thought. . .not all of them burned," Eddie said. "I gave you my mom's Bob Dylan."

"Oh, your mom's records burned?" She asked softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, you still got Bob," Eddie said.

"I think at this point, it's our record," Chrissy said and laid down on his chest again, her hand over his heart. "Ours."

Chrissy sighed in contentment, feeling much lighter than she had before. She hadn't even realized that she had been carrying much weight. They enjoyed the silence and the fresh air, the smell of summer on the breeze. She could feel that Eddie was a lot less stressed, too. A form of entertainment soon came along to interrupt their quiet. Two neighborhood cats ran out in front, fighting over a piece of chicken. Pretty soon, Eddie was commentating on the fight and placing bets, leaving Chrissy giggling happily against his chest.

Chapter Fourteen

[bubblycherri]

Hey, Guess what. It’s the end.

Well, of this account and my art account. I won’t be ever deleting them so if you really are that worried, you don’t have to be.

I think it’s been obvious that I don’t post here anymore and while that is sad for me, I’m sure for some this is a cause of celebration.

There will be no other accounts to follow either. My instagram and twitter are in the same state even after hardly touching it to begin with. There will be no bluesky, or whatever else is out there either.

As it goes for everyone 2019-2023ish has been the worst time for me. I have grown into a toxic and horrible person and lost my passion to do most things like I used to. When I first started here I was someone who would draw something every day in varying degrees of interest and over time I made friends and connections and had the best time here. But soon leading up to then it started to feel like a chore. It killed me inside that it was happening as it was the only thing I truly had going for me (pathetic of me ngl).

And on top of that with lockdowns I started to lose it I guess. I started second guessing everything and everyone and started to think I was just around for peoples sick amusement yet at the same time I hated myself for thinking that because what if no one was? And I was thinking such horrible things about those I cared about and in the end I ended up losing pretty much all the connections I made here some by their own desire to cut ties and some by me forcing myself out in one of these stupid episodes of mine. There are the smallest handful of people here I still managed to keep, I’m happy they are still here. But I still can’t help but miss what things used to be back in 2015.

I haven’t really changed since then, I still have these episodes where I want to just delete everything and run away and block everyone, still think everyone secretly hates and judges me. Too many days laying in bed in the dark with the windows closed as I think about all I have thrown away and lost.

I’m sorry to those that I have hurt. Those that were left confused or sad. I wish I could go back and start all over, but unfortunately this is how it is now.

Once again I won’t be deleting this account or my art account, too many memories yet too many mistakes. Don’t know if it is the same now, but people used to like my art or maybe they were just being nice idk anymore. Either way I’m leaving it all up. Enjoy as my final gift here ig

Maybe one day I’ll come back, maybe I won’t. It depends where I am in the future. Maybe my "talent" will rot away further and I will have nothing to show for myself anymore. Because hell knows I have no personality to make it anywhere without that one thing I was slightly good for.

Anyway, that’s enough of that cry session from me, I got to raw about all this and I apologise but being my final post and to those that are confused, you all deserve an explanation. I hope you are all safe and happy while knowing that people around you love you.

And lastly, thank you. For even befriending 2015 me to begin with, at a time where I had no one, I had those I met though here to take me through the last ends of high school and make me feel valued and loved.

[stoopid-noah]

Watching The Crowded Room and going in completely blind..

Haven't seen a trailer, no idea what it's even about lol

Here are my thoughts as I move along..

After watching Ep 1, I think:

Danny and his brother where SAed as children, maybe by the stepdad.

Ariana is a sex worker?

His brother either died due to abuse or offed himself because of it.

Ep 2:

Ariana was sexually abused too, I think.

Danny might have Multiple personalities and seems to be unaware about it.

Some charracters might actually be part of his system?

Is the "ghost house" actually his mindspace?

Ep 3:

Yup, multiple personalities!

Yitzhak is definitely one of them!

Jonny probably too & if he is, so must Mike.

Ariana might be aswell, maybe she's his sexual protector & SA trauma holder.

Did he ever have a twin brother, or was he also part of the system?

I love Yitzhak, best protected ever!!

I think Rya, the psychiatrist might suspect him having DiD, but isn't sure yet & the police has no idea.

But how did eye witnesses see Ariana?!

Ep 4:

I think Jack is also part of Danny's system.

Jack seems to be a protector aswell.

I can't tell if his brother was another alter or his actual brother?

All the drawings in his (burned) sketchbook might be of alters.

Oooooo shits 'bout to go down!!

Ep 5:

Gee, straight to the intro, no little scene before that? Is that a good sign or a bad one?

I really hope his mother didn't know what her children where going through.

I love Mario, he's cool!

I feel so sorry for his mom (Candy?)  too, she just wanted the best for her baby.. :(

I think Adam was his first protector & trauma holder, not his actual brother.

Ep 6:

I hate how the police officer is talking about poor Danny. :(

I hate the psychiatrists son, he's a brat and a nuisance lol

Hell yeah Jonny, get right outa those cuffs!!

God, I love this woman.. she's an amazing doctor and I NEED her to succeed!!

Why do I kinda like his lawyer?! He's such an asshole lmao

Oh, Danny.. My poor baby.. He's so scared :(

Ep 7:

Yayy, Yitzhak is back!!

Jack, Jonny, Mike, Yitzhak and Ariana confirmed alters, yay!!

Goddam Jonny... At least try to keep it together man >:(

These "psychologists" are so insufferable.. and so is the judge..

I love Yitzhak so much.. please don't let him be gone gone AAaAaa <3

Oh god.. please help him, poor puppy boy :(

Ep 8:

GET OFF MY SVREEN YOU FUCKIN PEDOPHILE PIG PIECE OF SHIT!!

I hope Marlin rots in hell, fucking piece of shit.

I love the directive so much!!

Candy, how could you? How could she cover for that piece of shit?

Oh, I feel bad for Arianas boyfriend.. and for Ariana :(

Why should they try to "get rid of the alters"?? I know that this plays in a different time, but it's so frustrating that the alters aren't really seen as whole ass human beings by the professionals.. :(

Jerome is so sweet and kind, I cant- I want them to be friends forever AAaAaa

If that boy doesn't get the help he needs, I'm going to scream...

Ep 9:

I hate him. I hate Marlin so much.. why do I have to look at him right now?!

How can candy live with herself, protecting this pig????

I hope she fucking turns around and stands up for Danny in the end :(

Stan is such a good guy, I hope he's a great lawyer too.

I hate it.. D.I.D. is real for fucks sake.

The trial just started and  I'm already crying..

I'm starting to hate candy, she's acting like a real bitch right now, ngl..

FUCK YEAH CANDY!! GO SAVE YOUR FUCKING SON!!!

Aaand she went home.. goddamn it..

Yay Jerome is back!!

Goddamn.. she's a really good psychologist.

I swear to God Candy, if you mess up again I'm going to scream.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Danny, baby.. no :(

How dare you end the episode like that?!

Ep 10:

Jesus Christ, please don't let my baby die.

God damnit Jack..

I hate his smug fucking grin.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him..

Oh, If Danny can come back, so could Yitzhak, right? I miss him. :(

"Adam is me" I'm fucking crying again wtf..

I'm on the edge of me seat, please don't jail this boy!!

OH THANK GOD!!!

I can't stop crying aaaaa

If Danny can forgive Candy, I guess I should too.. but I don't wanna >:(

He looks so cute, with all the paint on his shirt. <3

Don't try and make me feel sympathy for Candy.

Hell yeah, no forgiveness for Candy!!!!

I love the friendship of Danny and Rya, they have such great chemistry!

Last thoughts, after doing some research:

They handled this whole theme so respectfully and good!

Tom also did such an amazing job portraying his roles, it's amazing!!

Especially considering that this series and the movie "Split" where apparently based on the same case.. I fucking hated how DiD was portrayed in Split.. Like it's something to fear. Like it makes people violent. And as something fucking supernatural.. I fucking hated that.. But "The Crowded Room" is so honest and respectful.. It's beautiful!

[saphirafoxgirlspost1]

Sorry for everything in the past, I just needed to say as much. I don't want to be that person anymore, thank you, and goodbye.

hmm.. if your annmod..let me tell you something Annthewanderer, I will never forgive you after what you did to me in the past! I never felt so disrespectful in my life! For the past 11 years and you have the gall to show up and apoligize to me..well you know what..it's too damn late...11 years too late..you've cause the whole drama To the Entire Tumblr, You black mailed me to Make a many apolgize after you "False" accuse me of Plaugarism and then I told you that i only apoligize to you and What did you do!?, You Straight Up Posting Our Conservation and made it a huge massive break out..I was hated for so Long..the reason why my activity blog is slow..is because I have Less and less Bloggers who interact with me and Most of them turn their backs on me No thanks to you! I lost my sistery bestfriend Celestie Nitrous, I lost Crow-ler to HIM!..Geniemod was NEVER Helped at all..because she was like you! thinking of me as a "Toxic" person..Your so Quick to judge, I've spent years and years to try to improve it..and asking for help..you ruined me So much that I swore to myself to never forgive you! You Took saphira's kids and greed jr..I lost alot of my good followers...and i was the only one still standing all alone..until i met my sister @thelittlemermaidfan1989, She's the most sweetest sistery Bff in the world..i was so scared and paranoid no thanks to ya..and the only person who stayed with me this whole time..was @nightmare-the-mercenary, He Knew i wasn't the Toxic one at all! and I've had to deal with "Copycats", "Callout blogs" , and also Well one of your "fans" or someone attempt to rape saphira,, just look at this 4 years ago!

https://www.tumblr.com/saphirafoxgirlspost1/636234903266246656/rapes-saphira-with-a-thorny-cock-its-what-you?source=shar

Because Of all this that you created..one of them almost did to saphira! and also..Do you really think that I cause your friends trouble? Well Ya'll Cause Me trouble! Alot! ugh! I hated you so much annmod..always..I was Trying to be nice to you..but you're being a bitch to me and acting all high and mighty about it and it's all fun and games until you Showed up and apoligize to me after all these years Well I will NEVER Forgive you after what you did to me! NEVER! I hope you rot in hell for this..and also.. You Finally Know who's the real Toxic people are huh!? It's YOU, GENIEMOD, BUNCHOFONCE-LERSMOD, and Much more!...have a Miserable Life Bitch! And Shove that apoligize right up your ass! and good bye and good riddance!

[groupiegallagher]

Hey I’m a fan of Demri and Layne/AiC and saw your post about Phil Staley! I had no idea he traumatised Layne! Can you say more about what he did?

he abandoned him when he was 5 or 7 to do drugs. later on and through his teenage years, layne wrote him several letters in which he never answered. then once AIC became big and he was on the spot, i believe that at this point he was already into H (i could be wrong on this right here), literally out of the sudden he came back to his life, only to do drugs with him.

what pisses me off the most that while this have been part of the core of his traumas, he literally said it in songs like hate to feel. it very seems to me that what ph*l only saw on layne opportunities to take advantage like his popularity and the potential cash cow dynamics, while layne, as confused as he was, still held these fucked up agenda of getting high together as his hopes to reconnect with his father and recover the love he was missing all these years, literally i can't blame him for feeling so hopelessly heartbroken and depressed in spite of having many support systems - nothing cuts like a toxic parent after all.

how the hell is it okay to fucking dump your own child when they're very little at their most vulnerable stage, pretty much vanish and later on come back once that child is a grown ass rockstar with a growing wealth on the peak of his success and to..think is a great idea to feed through his H addiction? nothing of this sits alright with me.

i wouldn't despise him if only he, as a much older and important figure in his life, got his shit together, got clean, helped him then to get clean or a least try and just stop enabling him. or simply fucking leave him alone if he's not gonna do anything to try saving his own son. instead once he literally saw how the addiction of his own son was starting to eat him alive slowly by 1996, his bitch coward ass ran once again getting clean on his own and leaving layne to rot alone.

he had few simple tasks the bare minimun and he left him. i'll never forgive him for this right here.

"but he was also an addict!!! addicts are also flawed" no, nope, nah. addiction will never excuse abusive, neglectful and/or plain dreadful parenting. i understand the source of the problem but once you bring a child to this particular cycle of trauma infliction when you're a grown adult, best believe i will judge that a lot.

he technically abandoned him twice and he let layne to drown in his own decease. it is an injustice how he made it alive sober yet his son, who as described by anyone who met him - one or the most genuine, soft, calm and chill human beings with an introvert child-like spirit - who had to experience all kinds of hell and lose his battle, the same child he fucking left is dead. its harsh i know but idc.

to me there is nothing more tragic than a toxic parent making it alive and thriving while the kids they abandoned and neglected are rotting alone in their trauma pain and misery when their kids are burried fucking six feet under.

i can only imagine how it is to spend your last days aching and being like 'shit, i might die tomorrow thanks to my horrible choice which is this crap i'm doing and still won't bring my dad back since he really doesn't care about me' i'm not saying this happened obviously, but with what there is on the sources and seeing how this ruined his mental health for so long, its unavoidable for me to not think.

yet he's there in these tribute events, doing certain press, being there in public footage painting himself as this good form in his life when he pretty much fucked it up. he was a textbook junkie deadbeat dad who reeked of narcisism. pretty much still wanting to make fucking profit of him in any sort while keeping his image clean. basically washing his hands from any shred of responsability he had on layne's downfall.

it is also wild to me how in spite all of this, he received several donations from many fans when layne passed away.

maybe the members of AIC, nancy (layne's mom), his siblings and his close friends can speak well about him. i'm not gonna judge that but i will not hate and criticize them as its known they all did what they could to help him and let him know they loved him, yes i respect that.

however, as a survivor myself of longtime complex toxic parenting of almost all kinds, that involved addictions i personally can not have any types of empathy, sympathy or respect towards this man.

fuck ph*l staley, sure he didn't kill him but he used him several times, feed his disgusting drug use and ran like a fucking bitch. therefore, he was the main source of his unsolved sadness and traumas that lead to his demise. i will die on this hill.

[imaginethat0327]

So normally I don’t make posts like this because, truthfully, I’m afraid of getting attacked. But I’ve noticed a certain trend on tumblr lately and it’s really bugging me, so I’m assuming it’s bugging other people as well and they don’t want to say anything else for the exact same reasons. I don’t want to walk on eggshells because I’m afraid of people’s opinions (something that ties directly into this post.)

In the most earnest and respectful way I can think to ask, do you think we can all agree to not respond to things we don’t like to see with threats of violence, even if it’s fake? I’m saying this because I’ve seen a few posts now where people will say “reblog this if you agree, except if you are [insert demographic here] then STAY BACK.” And then the comments will have a plethora of people responding with things like, lid you are X then you deserve to rot in hell” or “if you believe in X then tell me your address so I can fire a missile at you.” I’m not talking about responses to posts that are BLATANTLY bad, like really truly racist, transphobic, homophobic, etc. But sometimes I see people wanting to express a genuine opinion or a thought and they get canceled IMMEDIATELY.

I haven’t been on tumblr long, and I was really hoping to find it better than what I’ve seen from twitter and Facebook, and largely it is. But more and more I’m afraid to get on here because I see really nasty comments from people regarding opinions/demographics they don’t like. It’s not fair to hate on an entire demographic no matter what - they aren’t all the same. Isn’t that something we’ve been trying to push towards? You CANNOT judge someone because of their looks, their gender, their race, and I’d go so far as to say their class, where they live, or even their political affiliation. Do you know them? NO, you don’t, you know nothing about them, stop threatening them just because you dislike what they have to say. What happened to no internet censorship? You can’t protest it when people try to censor you and then turn around and try to censor others! Anyways, this is a lot, but I felt like I needed to say it. I really want people to think before they turn around and attack someone online. I know that I don’t understand every situation and I know that I could be wrong in a million ways here, but I wanted to get this out there. I’m genuinely a bit terrified that I’m going to get a lot of hate for this, but I’d rather say it than sit and fume and worry every time I opened the site. Hopefully you all can see where I’m coming from here and think on it a bit. -Imagine

[blackjackkent]

OK, Hector needs a mental break and I don't think we can pursue that thing for Balthazar without passing the point of no return so let's head back out into the Shadowlands and progress some other quests for a bit. We'll finish scouring the Shar temple and move on into the Gauntlet when everything else is cleaned up.

(Hector, in my head, deeply objects to characterizing the REST of the Shadowlands as a mental break either, of course.)

Moving southward from the temple entrance, our first available plot point is the House of Healing, where we're hoping to find something we can use to wake Art Cullagh up and learn something about Thaniel.

Like everything else around here, the place is in a right state. Lots of big corrupted branches growing through windows and into the roof, and everything dark as hell.

Luckily we have our pixie buff so we don't have to worry about the dark so much but it's still pretty unsettling.

There's also someone talking inside, and their dialogue is not doing anything to ease the unsettling vibe.

O.O; I don't like the sound of whatever is going on here.

We enter through an upper floor window but there's not much up there other than a few locked chests, so down we go to see who's making with all the creepy.

Pivoting the camera into the side room before going in, we see this little tableau:

Almost more concerning is the name of the person doing all the talking, who from this distance looks either skeletal or like he has some kind of weird extendo-arms or both:

Thorm, you say? As in Ketheric Thorm?

[sigh] Oh boy, here we go.

Quick look around the rest of the building before going in to confront him. There are a number of documents around which, I assume, go back to the original onset of the darkness corruption (which if I recall correctly was something like a hundred years ago?). It seems that Malus Thorm was in charge of the house of healing around then as well.

And he was (and probably still is) a prick.

Based on other stuff we've learned so far I'm going to guess this was a Selunite hospital before Thorm got hold of it. >.<

And.... oh shit. Wandering into a side room we find two more of our missing tiefling friends. :(

We know Kormira, and her husband Locke who is equally dead in the next bed over. These are the parents of Arabella - the girl we rescued from Kagha's snake back in the Grove. :(

The lady standing over them is named "Sister Lidwin." She looks super undead and is about to get a major talking to, possibly in the form of a quarterstaff to the face.

She's mumbling to herself as they approach. "Don't call the doctor yet! I've got potions...sutures...I know I can do this..."

She starts at the sound of Hector's footsteps, turns abruptly and stares at him - "stares", as her eyes are covered by a thick sheathe of leather and cloth. Her skin is pale, marked with sigils, and mottled with blue necrosis. "Oh," she says vaguely. "You're a patient. This is the children's ward. Triage is back that way."

"That's Arabella's father," Shadowheart says grimly, confirming what we already realized. "Or...*was* Arabella's father..."

"Was" indeed... Hector swallows; as they've drawn closer, the stench of rotting flesh becomes apparent. His stomach churns sharply and he has to take a moment to steady himself. "Why are you treating a dead body?" he asks shakily.

The nurse tips her head as if perplexed. "Not dead," she says, her tone drifty, distracted. "Merely medicated. To ease the pain."

(A/N: Hector has several different deception options here - one monk-specific and one cleric-specific - to agree with Lidwin that the tieflings are not dead. I'm not at all clear on why he would want to do this. Who is he deceiving? Lidwin herself? Or his companions? Anyway, even if we knew why, Hector hates lying, so we won't take those.)

"The patient's definitely dead," he says bluntly. "Been dead for a while, judging by the smell."

But Lidwin just shakes her head firmly. "The patient is asleep. The sedative is quite strong, you see."

Hector blinks at her several times slowly, and then looks at the dead tieflings on the bed. There is no point in arguing this; he's not sure the "nurse" is even conscious of the situation. But damn it to all the hells...these people deserve better than this horrible, rotting grave.

He mutters a prayer to Selune, that she might shepherd their souls to somewhere better. It is all he can do for them for now.

[dats-poetry]

I'm pissed off. (Explicit)

Stupid lie, stupid life.

Who the hell said.

That men can't cry?

Who the hell decided.

That we should just.

Keep walking foward.

With thoughts of death?

I'm mad and pissed off.

Yes at myself but the world.

Cause I hate everything.

And this is not simple lies.

And I don't care.

If you'll judge me.

Don't care if you.

Say I'm a loser.

Complaining.

I don't care, literally don't.

Don't tell me what to do.

Please just don't do it.

Please don't tell someone.

That feels paralyzed.

To go and run a mile.

And yes please blame me.

I already blamed myself.

I don't even know why I.

Write all these poems I do.

It's my only way to vent.

Besides rotting in my bed.

Wooh, I'm 19 finally.

Haven't accomplished.

A fucking thing in life.

I'm surely a failure.

By people's standard.

Wait, can I go back.

To when I was 6?

Can I go back in time.

To when I was free?

Oh but yeah I'm so young.

That's the fucking problem.

That I already feel like this.

And like my life is wasted.

And I wanted to change it.

But I really can't change it.

Depsite what you might say.

I don't just have a switch.

To turn my depression off.

There were days that I had.

To cope with being alive.

With thoughts of death inside.

And no one to help at all.

I'm not having any hope.

The last time I had that.

It got ripped apart in pieces.

So don't tell me to have hope.

Cause I can't have any.

If all the hope I ever had.

I put it on something.

That went totally wrong.

And that fucking hurt.

So much that I still get.

Emotional at times.

When I wouldn't expect.

Feels like I want to cry.

Remembering the things.

That made myself laugh.

And took a sharp knife.

Stabbed me in the back.

I don't really wanna.

Be alive tonight.

[thecannibalcove]

Devil's Eyes

A short story written by: @thecannibalcove

My Wife, my dear Cassandra, she has been dead not three months as I am writing this; and yet, her presence in this house shows no sign of fading. It only started two nights after her death, the kitchen knives going missing when I was so sure they were in their proper place; only to be found blade up in my mattress. I thought nothing of it at the time, simply lapses in my brain and memory...that was what I thought for a while, at least.

Then more things were displaced, cups, chairs turned over, tables in the wrong room, couches in the wrong place, among other things. All while this was happening, I've been seeing things, a figure in the corner of my eye, a phantom raven at my windowsill. Cassandra loved those mangy sky rats, always watching them through our bedroom window, sketching them when they perched on our windowsill to eat from her hand…. their photos and feathers are displayed on every wall in the manor! I hate those wretched things, oh how I hate them. Those damned evil eyes, always seeing, judging the devil's birds, I say!

I would come home late after my last church sermon, and there it would be; that blasted raven, though only for a moment, but then, in an instant, it would vanish, as if it were nothing more than a figment of my imagination! The devil’s work! She began to appear in my dreams as well, Cassandra. Her face would flash at the foot of my bed some nights, others she would stand and observe uncomfortably close; I could smell the rotting flesh that had become her skin. I could see her eyes too…gods…her eyes. They were glazed like fine porcelain or glass—lifeless and yet burning with a malevolent gaze. They could not see, yet they could perceive. They saw through me, laying bare my sins and baring my very soul. The devil's eyes, they were. And they were red…oh so red! I haven't had a good night’s rest since then.

I've dedicated every waking moment to fervent prayer. Day in and day out, I've immersed myself in the sanctuary of my church, seeking solace with the Lord. I've even resorted to spending sleepless nights within those holy walls, desperately hoping to escape the torment of my visions. Alas, my efforts were in vain, for they only intensified upon my return home.

My beautiful wife, as precious and delicate as the holiest Rose, now turned demonic and evil because of these damned visions. I try and try to purge and expel this demon inside of me, to rid myself of this personal hell, to no avail.

The police have been visiting as well, to investigate, I assume. An accident, I assured them. She lost her footing in the darkness, a tragic fall down the stairwell. They accept my explanation, for why wouldn't they? It is the truth, after all. Yet still, they continue to search that staircase, desperately seeking clues and evidence that simply do not exist. Foolish. Foolish, I say!

Tonight, my dreams were plagued once again. Me and my wife were young again, on our first date in spring ‘24, at the lakefront. She was in her beautiful white summer dress, a woven sun hat sat next to her as she braided her beautiful blonde hair in delicate braids out of nerves.

We were sitting, a small picnic laid out in front of us as I admired her, hanging onto each word that came from those rose red lips. She was talking about her recent charity work, I remember it well. My wife was always such a calm, kind soul, especially with children…oh how my wife loved children! We tried for a child, you know...it still pains me to speak of it. My wife never recovered from her grief over not being able to conceive. She treasured children so, devoting herself to charity work with the local orphanage to fill the hole in her heart. But the sadness of their inability to start a family lingered in her eyes.

Anyhow, yes, we were having a picnic and she was speaking, it was a beautiful day, truly. The sound of the water accompanied by the squawks of the seagulls were most relaxing, and the smell of freshly bloomed flowers and my wife’s perfume surely had me trancened. It seemed I had gotten so enraptured in the scenery I had begun staring, as my wife asked in that lilting voice of hers if I am alright.

“Of course I am, Cassandra, why wouldn't I be?” I responded before looking at her, really looking at her.

“Oh, you just seemed distracted, is all…” she replies, twirling a braid in her hand.

“Please remind me of what you were talking about, dear.”

“You hurt me.”

I am caught off guard by this, surely that is not what she was speaking about originally! So I say to her, “whatever do you mean, Cassandra? I do not understand..” I risk a glance at her and…things begin to change.

The sky, once bright and sunny, now a murky gray from thick storm clouds. The sound of crashing waves stops suddenly, the water is eerily still. The distant squawking of seagulls is now the grating caws of crows and ravens, I have to cover my ears…and the smell, of the smell.... Once before fresh flowers and perfume now stink of flesh and death…it burns my eyes and I wretch.

I look back at my wife. She’s different. Her flawless skin is now married with dark bruises and her red lipstick is simply dried blood when looked at up close. Then she begins to….oh I cannot even repeat it! I woke up in a cold sweat, and there, perched on my window, is that damn raven! It caws and is gone in an instant.

Perhaps I am going mad…mad with grief, that is. Not a single day goes by where I don't think about my wife whom I loved so much. We had been married for thirty years or so, you know. Oh how I loved my Cassandra… her angelic voice when she sang, how her smile always made everyone in the room a bit happier, her poems, her blonde hair that were akin to silky sun rays…oh yes, did I love that woman with all my heart!

Yes, we would engage in the occasional disagreement, exchanging heated words and, I confess, there were moments of weakness when my hands found their way around her delicate neck, where she would cover a blooming purple bruise with a scarf or sweater... but I have repented for my sins! It was the devil's influence that drove me to such actions! Oh yes, Satan had tainted my view of my Cassandra, making me believe she could possibly be unfaithful, poisoning the blood of Christ with cheap alcohol… I would never want to hurt my beloved, never my Cassandra!

Today marks the two months since my dear was taken from me and sent to God and the angels above. There are no blasted ravens today, no caws outside my window, no eyes in the corner of my eye, no sights of her porcelain doll body broken to pieces at the bottom of the stairs. It seems she has finally let me be, she has passed on.

At least, that's what I believed. I was tidying our room, convinced that her belongings had been displaced once again, until... there! There she is! Sprawled and lounging on her bed, as perfect as the day I lost her! “My dear Cassandra,” I call her, “leave this house, I beg of you, my dear. You are not wanted here, this is not your place”.

The caw from that devil’s bird from just outside my window distracts me for a moment. I look away. When I look back, she is mere inches from my face. The putrid stench of her decaying flesh, deteriorating right before my very eyes, induces a retching reflex within me. Before I can even flinch, she seizes me, unleashing a barrage of shrieks and profanities and utter lies I dare not repeat! She chokes me, bites me, shoves me, and claws at me like a feral animal, as if she were real... no, she is real. She EXISTS. She has existed all this while! Resurrected by the devil's own necromancy!

We both stumbled out of the bedroom, I chant and pray and hail in tongues for this hellish being to disappear, but she does not. Instead, she curses me to repent, to confess my sins, to let her lay to rest. Blasphemy! ‘Tis all nonsense, I say! The police are at the bottom of the stairwell, that damned stairwell, doing their job. Oh ho ho but they cannot fool me anymore! Some of them look at me and they know. They know what I did, what heinous act I committed. But how? HOW DO THEY KNOW?! Before I can think, she pushes me and I stumble, falling down a few steps before I am caught by an officer.

“Father Cain,” he says “are you alright, sir?” bah! Am I alright?! Taunting me, he's taunting me! I grab him by the jacket, spittle flying from my mouth as I confess.”I DID IT!” I scream. “I KILLED HER, MY WIFE, MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE!” The laugh I let out is almost maniacal. “BUT IT WAS NOT MY FAULT, IT WASN’T!” I let go of the officer, pacing up and down the stairwell as I told them exactly what she did!

“SHE WAS A JEZEBEL! A HARLOT! A WHORE!” I point to our bedroom and let out another laugh. “Love letters, hotel receipts, gifts and merchandise I never purchased!” they all look at me as if I AM crazy! The damned fools!! “The Raven saw it too! My witness, that devil’s bird! It sees everything! Every unfaithful kiss and romp underneath the covers! I saw! I had to confront her, to do something to punish her for breaking our holy vows! I didn't MEAN to kill her!”

I continue to rabble off mountains upon mountains of evidence, but the officers do not seem to care! They detain me as if I'm some criminal even as I plead my innocence!

It is not fifteen minutes until I am in the back of a police car, handcuffed tightly. I take one more look at that blasted house before I leave to who knows where for who knows how long. My gaze lands on the upstairs window, our bedroom. I see red eyes looking back at me.

[cardinalforgot]

Dear God, How Are you? It's May 7th and I'm doing Swell

Dear God, How you doing, the last time we talked was at church, why I'm doing swell thanks for asking.

I know our relationship is always on, and off

A light switch of emotions, good, bad and all said in prayer.

I would actually like talk to you, Dear God, Holy God, Almighty God, Why Am Broken? Or better Question yet, am I broken?

It's a conflicting feeling knowing your teachings versus hearing your teachers, people who drag your name, your religion, everything of course but your skin, hair and eyes through dark brown mud.

your unholy followers taking thorns from your crown, stabbing away, until I'm bleeding from the ground up.

The bodies of children, the bodies of fathers, of mothers children. Meant to be your children for you make no mistakes, disgraced deserved

Oh yes she, he, it, that damned thing, that satan spawn, that 'choice' And to hell they burn and let their body rot, let their body stand as an example of their hate.

For yes our relationship is on and off as it has been for so Long, for our relationship is strained because your followers do drag everything you preach except you yourself through the mud, but they dare let blood, holy blood touch you skin and drown you.

There is no parting of this red sea, for this blood is on your hands yes you god Almighty and son Almighty your hands. For you are the scapegoat, to justive their deaths. For you are used in vain a misaligned justice figure for your mistakes!

But I am no mistake, we are no mistake, I will not to pray you Dear God, Holy God, Almighty God, There is nothing to pray you do not make mistakes as my person is not a choice, there is nothing to fix tonight there is nothing broken.

Let that red sea swallow you all whole, let you know your place if you want to speak strongly of your holy book. Forgiveness does not mean to forget,

So please do remember dear follower dear sinner, you have been forgiven but your judgement has not been forgotten.

Lest you be judged yourself, so be judged, let that red Sea clear to flames. And you Dear Follower, You dear sinner know your place.

If I shall burn them so be it, But you burn with me, let me live with spite in the present so you may burn with me in the future Dear Follower, Dear Sinner

Dear God, I do hope you've been swell. I apologize for the burnt state of this letter. It is hot in hell I assume that is no mistake?

Signed, sincerely anonymous

P.S: you didn't know my name until this letter.

[amoret32]

Do you H*te someone so much that...

Do you H*te someone so much that even hearing there name makes you wanna murder them. Yup that's me. I have that person. And H*te is strong word for me. I personally don't like hating people. I am one of those people who doesn't judge people, doesn't give a f*ck that anyone exists or not. I don't have anyone to hate, no shit I don't even have a proper friend.

But this person here, he makes me wanna steal a knife from his home and stab him right in his stomach. That's right he deserves to be unalived. He deserves to be attacked from 1000's soldiers. Gosh that person is really something.

And there is a reason I wanna unalive them. And the reason is personal. To put it in simple form, he hurt something, I adore and I protect. And I hate them with my guts for that. Hope you get unalived and rot in hell loser. Bye <3

[ishikawayukis]

Belleeee how are you?? I noticed your birthday passed so I wanted to wish you a happy (belated) birthday first!!!🥳🫂🎉✨ I hope you got to celebrate it nicely<3

y pues, no he llorado como Marineford pero wci si me está sacando unas cuántas lágrimas, específicamente el episodio 808😭😭😭😭 JAJDIWSF-

dude I HATE the Vinsmoke family istg I know I don’t hate them as much as Sanji does for sure but goddammit I hope they all root (except Reiju, not the best but definitely not the worst, did what she could as a child<3) pero si que está fuerte todo esto y como siempre Luffy siendo la personificación de inteligencia emocional, empatía, lealtad y amor and I just can’t andiwjsjeieu-

fr who cares who’s the strongest literal este arco está demostrando lo valioso que es para Sanji su relación con todos los strawhats LIKE IM SORRY ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION TO THE WHOLE PLOT??? THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS LITERALLY EVERYTHING FOR THEM!!!

ay si, es que con dressrosa además de los flashbacks eran las pinches peleas que nunca acababan istg they just swung the sword once and we had to hear the internal monologue, watch them have a conversation with the crowd, and wait for next ep to see the next blow: wtf??!! pero si Barto y Cora fueron lo que valió la pena y me alegra que pudimos verlos un poco más hasta Zou🫶🏽

todavía no me spoileo con escenas del manga but when I think I’m seeing a screenshot I’m scrolling past it like crazy JAJAJAJAJA

FROBIN FOR THE WIN HELL YEAH!!! but yeah some people seriously have some problems or are just going for looks and ignoring the characters as a whole bc I’ve seen Cora+Law shippers and I’m like dude, primero ese es el papá y segundo adoptivo o no SE LLEVAN MÍNIMO 20 FREAKING AÑOS LIKE HE WAS A CHILD!!!???

PEOPLE ARE JUST HATERS!!! I feel even more strongly about defending Sanji while watching wci porque la gente debería estar agradecida que este hombre no se convirtió en el peor villano de la historia like the shit he went through is insane, sigue necesitando terapia pero salió mejor de lo que cualquiera de esta gente hubiera salido de esa experiencia

a few weeks ago I started seeing CrocoxDragon fanart appearing on my search page and I was like🧍🏽‍♀️how did we even get here?? JAJAJAJAJAJA pero pues, para los gustos los colores supongo

I don’t remember which movie was but bc it’s after Dressrosa, they do mention Sabo/the Revolutionaries and every time they mention him or show him saying he’ll protect his little brother I’m like😭🩵🫶🏽✨ Sabo te quiero mucho de verdad<3

not only the Will of D but that one Zou episode where they drop a bunch of new info and clues for the one piece and the poneglyphs I was sooo lost💀 me encantó porque wow cuánta nueva info para el plot pero vayan más lento por favor ajdjjw

dear thank you so muuuuuuuch! ngl i was wondering where you were LSKHDGSL hope everything is going alright <333

EL EPISODIO 808!!!! literal uno de los dos q tengo grabados en la mente para siempre AJAJAJ luffy screaming "i can't be the pirate kig without you" and sanji just breaking down fully sobbing ooooooh death would be sweeter

we hate the vinsmokes in this household!! fuck you judge for everything you did to your kids hope you rot in hell forever piece of shit character hate him sooooo much. and reiju well...... at least she was trying LMAO she could've been worse but she was truly trying for sanji

no those people truly only care about power scaling, toda la historia literal les entra por una oreja y les sale por la otra pq el plot no importa lo q importa es quién pega más fuerte 🙄

literal me salté casi todas esas partes en dressrosa pq no me importaaaaaaaaaa rebecca entiendo q eres importante en este instante pero dios mio q te hicieron desagradable AJJAAJ also the kyros back story how many times can we see the same scene we get it dude we get iiiiiiiiit. and while i love that they always expand on side characters backstories i also did not care for señor pink it would've been the same!! no everyone needs a backstory

coralaw shippers are so weird...... and for most of those ships the excuse always is "well they're not blood related" ok and?? a family bond is a family bond you don't have to share blood LMAO vi uno q era también literal doffy+cora y yo como ya a ustedes literal les importa todo un pico AJAJ (perdón lo chilena)

NO EXACTOOOOOOOOOO sobretodo por cosas q van a pasar después q no te voy a spoilear, sanji literal podría ser el Peor pero es tan amado por todo su crew (zoro incluido pa los haters ajajaj) el otro día en twitter literal me salió alguien q había escrito todo un fic odiando a sanji y todos los comentarios eran "aah asi que así se siente ver one piece con los ojos cerrados" pq literal pulling shit out of their ass just to justify how much they hate sanji LMAO peak loser behaviour as well whole ass 3k words hating on a character and writing the rest of them sooooo poorly

AJAJA oops the algorithm got a peak of our conversations and said ooh so this is what you like? we're gonna give some to you then please enjoy

sabo literal amor de mi vida my baby my love, he wants to do what he couldn't do before and he's just so :') god i love him so

oh god that whole zou episode i was like yes! sure! i do understand what they mean with all of this and i don't feel stupid at all right now LMAO la única vez q le pedirás a one piece por fa vayan más lento con esta situación q me tiraron mucha información de una AJJAJAJ

[lamentingwclf]

It took a while for any correspondence to reach him, mainly because it could only be gathered at allied posts. No one wanted to run the risk of delivering mail in the field when it could mean certain death, so it was only when Bucky could be tracked and his squad checked in that he got letters. The first had been June, which he expected to be the worst of it. She'd written the day he left about how much of a selfish prick he'd been and that she hoped he'd rot in hell.

Rebecca's had been next, ever the peace keeper, she must have either suspected what June had written, or had gotten the truth out of her herself because her words were filled with understanding and apologies.

Steve's radio silence hit harder than he anticipated, not knowing yet that his friend had not only managed to slip through the cracks and enlist, but because he was undergoing basic training himself to ready himself for the Super Soldier Serum. Bucky chalked it up to misplaced and uncontrolled jealousy. Bucky was living his dream, and he didn't have it in his heart to hate him for it. He knew Steve would come around, and when he did, Bucky would be waiting.

But Gwen's letter hit him somewhere outside of Essex, not too deep into the warzone yet, still slowly making their way and picking up stragglers as they went. He was sitting on a broken rock wall next to Dum Dum Dugan when a courier called, "Sergeant Barnes, letter for you." He'd opened it without a second thought until he saw how hard the words were pressed into the page, and his companion leaned in to him to see for himself.

"That looks serious."

"I hope not." It was said lightly, his eyes scanning the page and picking up key words to tell him just how wrong he'd been.

"A girlfriend?"

"Mind your business." Bucky shoved him away with his elbow, much to the other's delighted laugh, then pushed off the wall to head back towards the inn they'd taken over for the night. He needed a desk, and somewhere quiet to focus on how to handle this. He knew it was coming, he just didn't know how severe it would be, nor did he realize just how much it would hurt that she still seemed blind to him.

So she knew the real truth of his reputation, that he would only spend one night with a girl and move on. He didn't risk attachments for a reason, and it had caused quite a bit of strife between friends back home. They all had running bets on which girl would be the one to finally snag and tame Bucky Barnes? Which girl would make an honest man out of him? It was all so superficial. They all thought he was some - what was the word Gwen had used? - Casanova, when in reality, he was just desperate for someone to see him for what he was, and touch him gently. When the answer to their question was the girl sitting beside them, judging them because she had a ring on her finger, who had wanted fuck all to do with him until he he stood before her, heart in his hand, and begged.

He covered his face with his hands, genuinely embarrassed about it all, and tired in a way that settled deep in his bones. They'd been marching for days trying to reach Paris. They'd set out from London, working their way to Canterbury to take a boat to Dunkirk. He knew this fatigue was causing his thoughts to turn defensive, and in turn, offensive. So he breathed, forced his entire body to relax starting with his jaw, to his neck, and down his shoulders. Only then did he pick up his pen, and write.

If you cannot tell what I want from you, then I have done a poor job expressing myself. And though you wound me in continually using the things I've done to survive against me, I'm willing to admit that I maybe did not handle leaving in the best way. But what did you want me to do? I told you that I wanted to leave on my own terms. We've sat and watched soldiers leave over and over again over the last few years, and I did not want to have those goodbyes. I didn't want to have to deal with my mother not even showing up, or my best friend's silence that I can do what he can't. I didn't want to see Rebecca cry, or June close off. And I sure as hell didn't want to just hug you and pretend we were just friends. The fact you are upset over it tells me you had some grandiose plan to say goodbye and it's not real. I choose to leave in a way that was real for me. Where I could pretend my mom and Steve were happy. Where my last memory of my sisters is them laughing at something stupid I'd done or said. Where I could pretend, even for just one night, you were mine. So yeah, I deprived you, but you'll have to forgive me if I cannot find it in my heart to regret it. I'm not going to tell you what to do, or what to believe, because at some point you're going to have to grow up and start making these decisions for yourself. I'm not making up your mind for you, neither should your parents, or Harry. Only you can decide. The sooner you learn that, the sooner you will set yourself free. If you truly think your words mean nothing then don't bother. I wouldn't want you to strain yourself or go out of your way to do something that does not benefit you. I don't want empty words and promises. But I did not lie to you about the things that matter. Yours

Decidedly, he follows her in her petty wake by not signing his name under the guise that she would know who it is from when it reaches her. His tiredness does not subside as he walks to the post office to mail the letter. Does not smile at the girl behind the counter when she tires to flirt or ask what's wrong. He's tiredness only manifests into a living, breathing, thing that is sitting on his shoulders as he walks out and is met with the sound of gunfire and screaming as soldiers begin running past him. As Dugan slams his rifle into his hands and starts tugging at his jacket.

Slumber comes surprisingly quick and easy despite the wave ahead. Maybe it was exhaustion from all the moments she'd faced tonight, maybe it was from her first experience like this with a man, or maybe it was the warmth and security Bucky provided her as he held her in his arms while she drifted. Whatever it was, all pains of hurt and fear were gone and instead...just blissful rest.

The gentle brush of her cheek rustles the woman just the faintest bit, though it wasn't a shudder of bother. It was comfort and it was if that touch forced her into a deeper sleep. Because she didn't hear the rustling in the kitchen. She didn't hear the door open nor close- or the man leaving her apartment.

A low groan is given as Gwen's eyes flutter awake, just as the sun began shining on the city. She looks up at the clock on her nightstand, brows immediately creasing when she saw it read 6:30. "Shoot. Bucky, I'm sorry- hey it's 6:30. You should get in the bath. I'll start on breakfast then start on your uniform. Let me." Gwen rolls over, shock coming to her features when she doesn't find Bucky asleep next to her, and quickly she sits up. "Bucky?" she calls out, quickly slipping out of her bed and into her robe.

"Bucky?" Gwen calls again, waiting for his response as she heads into her washing room- more confusion coming to her face when she no longer sees his jacket. She can't help the blood that comes to her cheek nor the way her heart picks up speed. "Bucky?"

The woman hurries to the kitchen and living area, her heart sinking just slightly when he was nowhere to be found, but slowly Gwen takes a breath and heads back for her room. He'd likely gotten up before her, or couldn't sleep, and decided to head home. Give his time to his sisters and mother before heading for the station. It was understandable- and hell it was what she wanted him to do.

And so she disregarded it, feet padding to her bathroom to bathe, put on her better dresses. Makeup is applied, her tamer red lip, and finally her hair is curled and heels are put on.

7:20. Just enough time to hurry to the station and say goodbye.

Hurriedly Gwen rushes to the kitchen to grab a piece of bread, and it's only after she's quickly taken a bite does she see it. The folded piece of white paper sitting on the countertop. Immediately she halts, her chest tightening. But slowly she opens it and reads.

He doesn't have to tell her what he's done. Gwen knows that man like the back of her hand, and he does not have to tell her that he won't give her the goodbye she'd been rehearsing for a month. He does not want the hug. He does not the letter she had tucked in her purse for him to read on the ship.

He wants none of it.

Tears fill brown eyes and slowly her hat is taken from her head and placed next to the letter. She bites her lip. Hurt and betrayal washing through her. Shame and misuse. His letter...it means nothing. Her mind swirls with anger. James Buchannan Barnes had a reputation. Loving on then breaking women's hearts in a single night...just as he'd done to hers.

A moment is taken to process, her hands gripping the countertop as she squeezes her eyes shut, a few tears slipping out. One breath is taken. Two.

"Goodness," Gwen finally whispers before smoothing the skirt of her dress, grabbing her hat and letter. Her hat goes to the hat rack. Letter in the garbage- along with the undershirt from the night before. It's taken out and placed in the washroom. The bread is sealed and she goes to the bedroom. And while she's numb, images of what they'd done in this bed playing over and over again in her head, she makes the bed. Crease free. She goes to the washroom again and begins washing Bucky's undershirt, along with her robe still wet from the rain. They're placed to dry, books are grabbed, and she heads out. She goes to the library, trying to force herself to read and study. She meets a friend for lunch. She goes to find Steve- who is gone. Then goes home. To her parents home. Because she cannot bear to lay in the bed in her apartment any longer.

It's then and only then does the gravity of what had happened wash through her. It's then when regret sets in. Because their night together was no longer just theirs. She was too loud...word got out. Apparently her neighbor had seen Bucky leave as well.

She will not "whore herself out". She's ashamed. She's disgraced herself, her fiancé, and their families. She's risked their reputation. She's risked everything. She's sorry. It will never be spoken of again. It cannot be and no longer can be a lone woman living in Brooklyn.

It's the third day after Bucky leaves- the third time she has not found Steve Rogers in his apartment- does she finally scream. Hands go to her hair as she falls to the ground next to Steve's bed, and she screams until she can no longer. Screams in hurt, in betrayal, in frustration, in sorrow, in loneliness, in guilt, in goddamn rage. Once it ends Gwen scrambles to her fight, hands digging through Steve's art corner until she can finally find a piece of paper, envelope, and pencil that is pressed hard into the paper.

For more than a decade, I have known what you do. The pieces of you that accepts the lust that comes your way. The piece of you that thrives off of it. I have watched you break hearts for so long, and in my blind adoration, I have criticized these women. I've told myself that they should know better. That they are wasting their time. It is only now does my heart ache for every woman who has come into your crosshairs. You are a bastard. You are a goddamn liar. You've lied to me over and over again. I cannot tell what it is that you want from me, but I cannot help but feel that you have finally got a piece of it. You tell me I'm not yours. You tell me that you want nothing to do with me. You tell me you love me. You tell me you will fight for me. What should I do with this information? Tell me that, because I have nothing.

I love you. There is no deceit behind those words nor is it the kind of love you showed me a few days prior. I have loved you since I was seven years old. You and Steve. You boys became my world, and you became my protector. I have spoken nothing but the truth to you, and you know this. You have always known my devotion to you and yet you take the innocence I have given you, which is not the cruelest part. You deprived me of a goodbye to my protector. Instead I'm left here with nothing but stained hands and fear that my last images of you will be waking up without you. You have hurt me more than anyone can. You had the power. You knew that. You did it anyways. I will remain the foolish one, because while you cannot hold your promises, I will hold mine. I will continue to love and care for your family and Steve. I will continue to pray for your safe return. I will continue to write you, even when my words mean nothing. I will do things because that is who I am. You say I am blind, and that may be so, but I was pure. I am kind. I am so desperate to find the good in this world, in this life, in you. I hope you reached London safely. I hope you are safe heading across Europe. I hope you find some beauty in the ashes and ruins. I hope at least once a day you smile. I hope you are stay smart. Sincer You know who this is from