#occupation of wounded knee

[phobic-human]

Occupation of Wounded Knee, 1973.

[technoxenoholic]

so, in case anyone was wondering: no, it's not a good idea to use your own knee as a tailor's ham to sew a curved seam around. not even a little bit

am i going to stop doing it, though? no of course not

[blanket-burrito-protocol]

A quick update: Lakota Law says they have already had over 6,600 people take action for Leonard. Although I'm simply crossposting from Lakota Law, who is really doing the work to get the word out, please keep this circulating here.

Here is the website for the Leonard Peltier Defense Committee:

https://www.whoisleonardpeltier.info/

The 50th anniversary of AIMs (American Indian Movement's) occupation at Wounded Knee is coming up, so the Lakota People's Law Project is leading another push to free an AIM activist who was wrongly convicted of killing two federal agents in 1975- Leonard Peltier. He was convicted on false evidence and false testimony and sentenced to two life sentences. He is now 78.

LPL has a formatted email up on their website now which you can personalize and send to Biden to ask for clemency. (Please personalize emails like this so it doesn't get filtered as spam. Just move some words around, add some, take some, you don't have to write a whole email.) Please pass this around.

[probablyasocialecologist]

In his past media interviews, Sinwar has spoken of Hamas as a social movement with a military wing and framed its political goals as part of the historic struggle to reestablish a unified state of Palestine. “I am the Gaza leader of Hamas, of something much more complex than a militia—a national liberation movement. And my main duty is to act in the interest of my people: to defend it and its right to freedom and independence,” he said. “All of those who still view us as an armed group, and nothing more, you don't have any idea of what Hamas really looks like.... You focus on resistance, on the means rather than the goal—which is a state based on democracy, pluralism, cooperation. A state that protects rights and freedom, where differences are faced through words, not through guns. Hamas is much more than its military operations.”

Sinwar, unlike leaders of Al Qaeda or ISIS, has regularly invoked international law and UN resolutions, exhibiting a nuanced understanding of the history of negotiations with Israel mediated by the U.S. and other nations. “Let's be clear: having an armed resistance is our right, under international law. But we don't only have rockets. We have been using a variety of means of resistance,” he said in the 2018 interview. “We make the headlines only with blood. And not only here. No blood, no news. But the problem is not our resistance, it is their occupation. With no occupation, we wouldn't have rockets. We wouldn't have stones, Molotov cocktails, nothing. We would all have a normal life."

Throughout 2018 and 2019, Sinwar endorsed the large-scale nonviolent protests along the walls and fences of Gaza known as the Great March of Return. “We believe that if we have a way to potentially resolve the conflict without destruction, we’re O.K. with that,” Sinwar said at a rare news conference in 2018. “We would prefer to earn our rights by soft and peaceful means. But we understand that if we are not given those rights, we are entitled to earn them by resistance.”

Israel responded to the protests with the regular use of lethal force, killing 223 people and wounding more than 8,000 others. Israeli snipers later boasted about shooting dozens of protesters in the knee during the weekly Friday demonstrations. For many Palestinians these events reinforced the view that Israel’s policies cannot be changed by words.

Jeremy Scahill, On the Record with Hamas

[ultimatelytired]

Lullaby

word count: 9428

Fandom: Poppy Playtime Pairing: N/A Pronouns: She/Her Relationship: Familial Occupation: Caretaker Ability: Ballerina Music Box

The character takes the appearance of a beautifully crafted music box ballerina figurine made of the toughest porcelain and glass, their clothes made from real fabric that is soft to touch and hair so smooth and silky you'd mistake it for real hair. Attached to their back is a wind up key that continuously spins when they're active and stops when they switch off. If the key is removed they cease to operate until key is returned and they are wound up again. Before CatNap, the character was the one to put the children to sleep with their built-in music box that would constantly be updated with new songs to play to help ease the children to sleep.

Keys:

[F/N]: Female Name

Warnings: spoilers for chapter 4 and those who haven't played the game, blood, death and all that shit.

bound to be mistakes that I was too lazy to find or fix.

This beautiful ballerina is what every little girl dreams to be! Each doll sold plays a different song when you wind her key and her articulated, posable body in shimmery outfits add to storytelling. This doll is ready and waiting to be taken home to sing and dance for your little girl, all day, every day, forever and ever!

She is your best friend, Ballade Ballerina!

-

Subject: 1179

Original Procedure Date: 11/90

Behavior:

Assigned to Home Sweet Home within the Playcare, it acts as a motherly figure towards the children with a "warm" and "caring" attitude. That attitude switches off around the staff and it acts "cold" and "unresponsive" but will do as it's told when given orders. This was one of the few experiments that had their cognitive thinking intact instead becoming one of those mindless individuals.

Much like it's predecessors, while also maintaining the ability to think and respond, it acts as a bodyguard and or security that monitors the children when it's lights out. Nothing seems to get past its watchful eyes while also documenting who comes and goes both Home Sweet Home and the Playcare.

A stage was built into Home Sweet Home where it resides while its built-in music box would play lullabies to help put the children to sleep or when they're stressed it would help calm them down, however, it roams around during the "day" and interacts with the children.

While their temperament becomes apathetic around the regular employees, it becomes more nervous and prone to aggression around the scientists but what intrigues me the most is how it acts around me. Sometimes it would shut down completely when in my presence but is obedient to any order I give it, going so far as to drop any other previous order to complete a task I give it.

Conclusion:

Have it remain within Home Sweet Home for further monitoring.

Subject 1179 is one of the more successful Bigger Bodies that thinks, acts and listens while it can go unmonitored and it won't act out or misbehave.

Signature: Dr. Harley Swayer

-

"Hey, wind up the key already."

"Just... give me a sec, alright. This thing is so hard to turn!" two human employees struggled to turn the wind up key attached to the back of a giant four meter tall ballerina figurine doll, the coiled spring within its body needing to be tightened enough to function throughout the day. The two let out a breath of relief when it finally clicked into place and the third took a step back just as the figurine sparked to life, she sat on her knees with her head in a bowed position but when she turned on she slowly sat up with her eyes blinking to life.

"Good, you're awake." a yawn escaped her lips as she stretched her arms above her head, she looked down at the human in front of her when they snapped their fingers in front of her "Ballade, state your tasks for today." her face, made of the finest but toughest porcelain, held little to no emotion as she continued to stare the human down.

"Wait for the children to wake. Help the children get ready for the day. Entertain the children as the day progresses. Assist the Smiling Critters if needed. Abide by the orders the employees give. When the children--" she stops when they held a hand up to her, their other hand pinching the bridge of their nose in mild irritation.

"Okay, okay, that's enough. I hate doing this." one of the other employees places a hand on their shoulder.

"It's standard procedure, pal. We've got to ask so we know that she knows her daily duties and tasks. If anything is amiss we've got to report to Dr. Sawyer." the three of them shudder, missing how Ballade twitched at the mention of the doctor "You know how he is, that freak."

"Yeah, and besides, we're lucky that we're around one of the few toys whose first thought isn't to bite our heads off." at that comment, they peak up at Ballade and saw how she just continued to stare at them, eyes unnervingly not breaking contact with the three of them as they spoke "Let's not take our chances though." they step off her stage and draw the curtains.

"You know what you're supposed to do." she nods and they leave, she lets out another yawn before finally standing to her feet and waiting for her cue. She laced her fingers together as she stretched her arms and legs, not that she needed to, and got into position at the sound of the soft pitter patter that was the children's footsteps along with more heavier footsteps of the Smiling Critters.

"Haha, alright children. Now that you're all awake, let's help wake up our last friend! You all remember what to do, right?" the voice chuckles softly when the children nod their heads enthusiastically "Alright. One, two, three... oh, Miss Ballade~ rise and shine!"

"Rise and shine, Miss Ballade!" a silence washes over them when nothing happened.

"I think we need to be a little louder, one more time children. Oh, Miss Ballade~"

"Rise and shine!" they hear the sound of soft laughter as a melody starts to play from behind the curtain, they all cheer when the curtain is thrown open and Ballade steps out with a bright smile on her face.

"Good morning children! Thank you for waking me, I really needed that. So, kids, are you all ready for breakfast? Let's find Picky Piggy, I'm sure she's fixed you all something to eat!" at the mention of food a few children scatter to the dining hall, and a few other children lingered around and waited for Ballade "Remember kids, with a healthy diet and enough practice, you just might be able to be like me one day." she says as she takes a step off her stage while reaching for one of the children.

"Really? Can I become a ballerina like you when I grow up?" a genuine smile spreads across her porcelain face as she picks the little girl up and holds her up, the girl starts to laugh when Ballade nuzzles her nose against hers.

"Of course, when you believe in yourself, anything is possible." a laugh escapes her lips when the little girl wraps her arms around her neck and hugs her, she grunts when another pair of arms wraps around her and pulls her into a hug. She pursed her lips and looked down at DogDay, whose already permanent smile stretched wider while his tail wagged when she managed to free her hand to gently caress the back of his head "Good morning to you too, DogDay." he giggled softly.

"Good morning, Miss Ballade." she happily greets the other Smiling Critters, who were rounding up the leftover children, and form a line so no child is left out during breakfast. DogDay was leading them with Ballade, who was ultimately the tallest toy within the Playcare, was the last in line while Hoppy, Kickin and Bubba were mixed in with the children. As they made their way to the dining hall, Ballade was singing different nursery rhymes with the children and Smiling Critters joining in happily to keep them entertained "Who's hungry?"

"We are!" DogDay smiles as he steps to the side and gestures for the children to take a seat in the dining hall, where Picky was setting up the food.

"Well, go take a seat and Picky will serve you right up!" Ballade takes a step back and watches as the children take their seats, whether it be with their friends or by themselves, even the Smiling Critters take their designated seats "Miss Ballade, join us." DogDay says, Bobby smiles warmly as she gestures for Ballade to sit with them.

"Yes, join us!" she gently shakes her head.

"Perhaps later, we are still missing a face." this caused DogDay to look around and notice who exactly was missing.

"Drats, he must have gone back to sleep. Allow me to--" she raises her hand.

"I shall retrieve him, it will be no hassle. Besides, he listens to me." DogDay's ears lowered as a soft whine escaped him, she gave him a comforting smile as she gently patted his head "Do not worry, friend. I will make sure he comes down to join us for breakfast." he nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"Alright." another whine leaves him when both her hands pinch at his cheeks and start stretching them, this caused the children to laugh when DogDay grabbed her by her wrists to stop her "Okay, okay!" she lets go and chuckles when he was rubbing his cheeks, Crafty and Bubba comforting him when he cried softly.

"Good, I'll be back with him in toe." she pats his head before turning on her heel and leaving.

The Smiling Critters consists of eight members, that being DogDay, Bubba Bubbaphant, Bobby BearHug, CraftyCorn, Hoppy Hopscotch, KickinChicken, Picky Piggy and last by certainly not least CatNap. Ballade was created before the Smiling Critters and is the one in charge of them all, keeping them in line and checking on them as ordered by the Doctor himself. She, of course, knows about the experiments and knows who the children were before they were placed into their Bigger Bodies. They, too, recognized Ballade as the nice caretaker who looked after them when they were still human and trusted her with all their heart. Ballade's stage resided within the main foyer in the center of the room where she would usually sing and dance for the children, as for the Smiling Critters, they generally resided in cells beneath the Playhouse but Miss Stella Greyber thought it would make the children happier if they stayed in Home Sweet Home so Ballade wouldn't have to go far from the children just to check on the Smiling Critters.

That being said...

"CatNap~ I know you're in there." she gently knocks on the door before opening it to find the colossal cat sleeping soundly on his cat bed, she enters the room and closes the door behind her then approaches him. Her hand reached to press gently against his head, she smiled fondly when a purr rumbled out of his throat and she continued to stroke his head as she knelt down on her knees "It's time to eat, Theo." she spoke softly, she tilts her head to the side and saw that his eyes opened.

"I'm not hungry..." she frowned.

"I see they still haven't fixed your voice box yet." he grunts at her words.

"They don't care about me." he looked up at her when she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on top of his, her cheek rubbing into the top of his head.

"But I do, and I wish I could help you." her eyes trailed down his body and winced when she saw his skeletal figure "And I wish for you to join us for breakfast, my boy. The others are waiting for us to join them, so we mustn't keep them waiting." he huffed and turned away from her, his tail flicking around in disinterest.

"They're not waiting. They don't care about me either." she pouts but doesn't stop petting him.

"That's not true, they care in their own way. Won't you do this for me, my sweet boy?" it still wasn't enough to convince him, haa, when he gets like this she only has one last thing to resort to "I see, I guess I'll leave you to sleep. But DogDay will be very upset." a subtle smirk stretched across her lips when his ear perked up.

"DogDay...?" she shrugged her shoulders as she removed herself, dusting the skirt of her dress.

"Mm hmm, he was upset that you weren't there to join us for breakfast. I won't pressure you to join us, but I guess Crafty will be the one to keep him company." playing with his feelings like this was cruel but DogDay was CatNap's closest friend where he got pretty jealous when the others got too close to him "I'll tell him you're still sleeping, so sweet dreams my baby~" she's waving him goodbye as she takes her leave and closing the door behind her, she's walking away and quietly counting down from five and the moment she gets to one his door was kicked open. She snickers to herself and stops to wait for him, as she's turning around she notices that he isn't slowing down and before she can do anything to avoid him he crashes into her.

*SLAM*

*THUD*

*CRASH*

"What was that?" DogDay was quick to his feet at the sound of a loud crash, the others quickly settled the children as he and Kickin rushed out to see what it was, only for them to hold back their laughter at the sight. The cause of the sound was CatNap charging into Ballade and the two of them tumbling down the stairs when they reached the bottom Ballade fell face first into the floor with CatNap on top of her, DogDay continued to laugh quietly as he approached them "Are you... alright, Miss Ballade?" he and Kickin burst out into laughter when she answers them with a thumbs up, face still in the floor.

"Sorry, Miss Ballade..." CatNap apologies as he lifts his hand upon realizing his paw was pressed into the back of her head.

"It's alright, my dear boy. You were just excited to eat with your friends." she reassures them that she's alright as they help her to her feet and they return to the dining hall, Ballade had a bright smile on her face at the sight of all her children eating together. Despite the horrors that lie beneath their feet, she could never ask for a better job than thi--

"Ballade." her eyes snap away from the children and see that it was Stella Greyber calling her name, she gestures with her finger for her to come so with one final look at the children she slinks away to see what the Head of Playcare could possibly need from her.

"Miss Greyber, how may I be of assistance today?" a bead of sweat formed on Stella's cheek as she stared up at the figurine, despite the friendly smile on her face, her eyes were void of any emotion as her voice was monotone.

"I need you to accompany me and the other Head Executives for a meeting, we have some guests that I'm worried will act out." she raised a brow.

"Act... out?" her mind thinks back to the other times Stella or the other Head Executives called her out when they were having meetings with especially unruly guests, she slowly nods her head "I understand, Miss Greyber." Stella smiles and claps her hands.

"Splendid, just follow me out." she nods her head but stops and looks to where the Smiling Critters are.

"Oh, CatNap!" she calls out, his head snaps up and looks to where she is, he scowls when he sees Stella but his gaze softens when Ballade smiles "Look after the children for me while I'm gone, hmm? I trust you'll keep them safe." her smile brightened when he nodded, slowly, but he nodded.

"Okay..." she laughs softly and waves the children goodbye when the children bid her goodbye, Kickin and Hoppy pout as they watch Ballade follow Stella out before they all look up at CatNap, who went back to eating his food "... what?"

"How come you're in charge? I thought she'd at least choose DogDay."

"I'm not in charge. She only told me to look after the children..." DogDay nods.

"Yeah. Besides, he needs more time to hang around the children! Since he visits the doctor more often than us, the children have been missing him and want to spend more time with him! She must have thought of that as to why she chose CatNap to look after the children." Bubba nods.

"I agree, CatNap is becoming quite popular with the children." Bobby giggles softly.

"Sounds to me you're just jealous she chose him and not you two."

"We're not jealous!" Crafty places her hands on their backs to calm them.

"Now, now, no fighting. Miss Ballade wouldn't want us to." CatNap watched as his friends bicker amongst each other as he thought of the real reason Ballade asked him of all the Smiling Critters to look after the children, or rather, watch. The reason she asked him was because he was more capable of guarding them while she was away, she didn't act as just a caretaker to the children, she was also their bodyguard in case guests that were welcomed into the Playcare acted aggressively around the children or staff. She waves at the few children outside Home Sweet Home as well as the Miss Delight teachers as she continues to follow Stella to the Gas Production Zone, and it was the moment she was out of sight that she dropped her friendly demeanor.

The human employees were quick to shuffle away when Stella entered with Ballade trailing close behind, her heavy footsteps echoing throughout the production zone as they stepped onto the lift and had them lowered towards the prison. Stella looked back at Ballade and noticed how she grew nervous as they traversed through the toy graveyard, she was nervous herself but she noticed how the figurine was clasping her hands together as she kept her glass eyes down to avoid looking at the toys. To the people who are unaware, they would think that it was just rejected or ruined toys they were walking by, but to the people who knew the truth... it was better not to think about it for their own sanity.

"You're here, finally!" Leith Pierre, Head of Innovations and owner of Playtime Co., announced when Stella entered the room with Ballade in toe. He was speaking with Stella as Ballade looked around the room and spotted the familiar looking box in the corner of the room, she sighs, so she was on cleanup duty huh? She blinked when Leith was in front of her and snapping his fingers to get her attention, she slowly turned her head to look down at him and saw the irritated expression on his face "Alright, you know what you're to do, hmm? I've got six guests coming down to discuss a couple things when in reality, I'm just going to have you two get rid of them. It's the media that's gotten a little too nosey and I need you to silence them for, well, ever. Got it?" she stared blankly at him then nodded.

"Understood." he gives her that all too familiar smile; fake.

"Terrific! Get into place." she nods once more and takes her place beside the door. Despite being in the lower area of Playtime Co. where a prison was built, the room was nicely decorated with all sorts of toys littered around so it wouldn't be odd to see the popular, life-sized doll of Ballade Ballerina in the room. She takes a breath before holding the first position (a basic ballet position) with a kid-friendly smile on her face, she also temporarily slowed her wind up key so you wouldn't hear it tick as it moved "Okay, bring 'em in."

...

...

'So boring...' she could feel the yawn building up in her throat but had to fight it down as to not alarm the unsuspecting guests that she was alive and watching their every movement, she had been watching them closely since they stepped foot into the room and would look away when they would glance up at her. The three Head Executives were answering questions their guests were asking and it started off with the usual, she was watching them again but stopped when they gestured to her.

"My little girl has a Ballade doll, I never would have thought you would have made a life size version of her. I've seen the Huggy Wuggy and Kissy Missy ones, but I still can't get over the sheer size of them." Leith laughs at the comment.

"Of course, of course! The children love them, or rather, they love to climb all over them. Our Ballade here is our most delicate one. Unlike Huggy, who's made of fur and fluff, or Mommy, who's made of plastic, she's made of porcelain. She's one of our finest toys and mascots, the children just love her."

"Does she sing too?" Stella nods.

"She does indeed, she has the wind up key and everything but it's a hassle to wind it up because of the technical stuff inside her." the lady deflated a little.

"A pity. Well, anyway, back to the interview." she picks up a stack of papers and then spreads them across the table to reveal a couple photos of the factory, it was a wonder how they managed to capture them when it was against the rules to film or document anything when within the factory, they must have a really good photographer "I am very curious about the many locations within Playtime Co., especially the building we're in now."

"Yes, and by the looks of it, it kind of looks like a... prison?" Eddie M. N. Ritterman, the Head of Research, just let out a laugh.

"A prison? Don't be ridiculous! Why would we, a company known for making toys, build a prison? This place is merely a warehouse for toys that just didn't appeal to the children." that answer didn't really convince the interviewers, not that it mattered, they weren't leaving this room, let alone the building itself "We bring toys that don't make the cut down here so we can brainstorm and see how we can make them better! Down here is where all the "science" happens, you know?" they raise a brow.

"Science?"

"Well, our leading scientist isn't here to give all the boring details about how we run things, but he's what makes the toys come to life! He's the reason why our Ballade here is so lifelike, you see." at this comment one of the interviewers stood up and looked at Ballade closely.

"Now that you mention it, it's almost as if her eyes are following me..." he murmured to himself and started moving side to side to see if she was really watching them, the three Executives watch Ballade's eyes closely and saw that she managed to not look at him and when the others saw this as well he was quickly yanked back into his seat.

"Stop that, you're making yourself look like a fool." they whisper sharply.

"But I swear we're being watched." Leith chuckles at that.

"You can thank our security for that! We pride ourselves in our security to make any intruders as uncomfortable as possible." that comment caused them to grow a little nervous, Eddie laughed when he could feel the rise of tension because of Leith's words.

"What Leith is trying to say is that with our security, anyone that trespasses onto Playtime Co. property without proper invitation, well, they better hope that the silent alarm that goes off is the only thing they should be worrying about." this caused the lot of them to shrink a little, the staff hadn't realized that this man came onto the property multiple times disguised as a guest to take photos but he didn't go unrecognized by Huggy and Mommy, the mascots who were the security for the main entrance and Game Stop of Playtime Co.

"Mister Pierre, sir, we didn't mean--" Stella winced and looked away when Eddie raised his hand to stop them. Eddie's eyes narrowed as they all looked at how their guests shrank under his gaze.

"Now, there's no need to apologize. I must say, you got some really good shots of our factory. I should thank you, clearly we need to update our human security since they failed to check if anyone was carrying a camera when it is prohibited to bring such things into the factory. A hazard, you know? I should get to that right away!" he stands to his feet and readjusts his blazer "I'll be sure to have our security take care of things." Stella and Eddie follow close behind as they leave the room, closing the door behind them and leaving the six people in there.

"Great! They're probably going to call the police."

"They're going to have us barred from entering the property."

"I'm more surprised they didn't confiscate the photos."

"He said that security was going to "take care of things", or whatever that means."

"Think we can just leave?"

"Yeah, and find the exit through this maze? I think it'd be better to wait for security." they start discussing what they should do when they hear a subtle ticking sound, they look over and see that it was coming from the Ballade Ballerina figurine "Is it... ticking?" one of them asked as they approached her, looking her up and down and noticing how her wind up key was turning.

"Is she on or something?" they jumped when the box in the corner of the room started making a noise, the crank on the jack-in-the-box turning on its own and playing its familiar tune, creeping them out even further "Is it automatic or something."

"Shut it off if it freaks you out so much." a few of them approach the box while the others paced the room.

"All around the cobbler's bench..." the man in front of Ballade whipped his head up at her when she started singing, the room fell into silence when both she and the box started playing "Pop goes the Weasel", Ballade sang it slowly with an eerie and dull expression on her face "The monkey chased the weasel..." the woman pacing the room shook her head.

"Why is she singing?"

"Is she supposed to sing that slow?"

"The monkey thought 'twas all in fun..." the man in front of her shook his head as he approached the door.

"Fuck this." he rushes for the door and grabs the doorknob, he's in the process of yanking it open when a large hand slams it shut. He stares at the hand that is bigger than his head before slowly looking up to see Ballade staring down at him, his breath hitches when she stares him straight in the eyes.

"Pop goes the weasel." the room is filled with screams when her hand grabs him by the neck and closes around it, promptly snapping his neck and killing him on the spot. What followed next was the sound of blood-curdling screams and cries for help, yet their pleas fell to deaf ears as they were killed like cattle in a slaughterhouse. When the room fell quiet, Leith peeked inside and smirked softly at the sight of Ballade feeding Boxy Boo the dead interviewers one by one, well, the interviewers who weren't already half-eaten by the gluttonous toy. He whistled softly when he saw a few holes in the concrete walls, she was quite the masterpiece, he had to admit. Despite being a porcelain doll that is normally very fragile, the doctor had constructed her body with the finest but toughest porcelain he could find. She acted as not only the security for Playcare, she was essentially a bodyguard for the three Head Executives as well as extra muscle for cleaning up dead bodies "Open wide, Boxy." she cooed as she held a dismembered torso in her hands and dangled it above him, a faint smile graced her lips when he obliged and opened as wide as he could and she dropped it into his mouth.

"Haha, well done!" she didn't pay Leith any mind as she continued to feed Boxy "We'll have the Specialist mop up all the blood, and Ballade? Don't forget to clean yourself up." at the mention of that, she looked down at herself and saw the blood dripping down her fine china.

"We're lucky porcelain doesn't stain easily, or else it'd be a pain to explain why she's been dyed red." Eddie comments, Stella sighs softly.

"Well, she does get the most maintenance out of all the toys. She requires a lot of cleaning or else she'll fall apart." Ballade let out an oh when she felt Boxy nudge her side, she looked down at him and saw that he was licking the blood off her fingertips. Experiment 1160, better known as Boxy Boo, was the first experiment from the Bigger Bodies Initiative that was a success but unlike her, he was violent and gluttonous with his purpose being the disposing of lower-ended employees aware of the Initiative. While her main purpose was to look after the children within Playcare, she also helped Boxy Boo and the Specialist deal with "clean-up duty" and because of that, she was constantly around him since she was the only one who could control him. Due to that, Boxy Boo was more like a dog around her since she treated him nicely.

"Clean up the rest of the bodies then you can go back to Playcare after returning Boxy Boo to his cell." she nods her head.

"Yes, sir." she has to hold Boxy Boo's head down to stop him from lunging towards Leith, who approached her knowing that she would keep him safe from the ravenous toy, just to pat her on the arm.

"Good girl." she just huffed softly. It only takes a couple minutes for Ballade to feed the last of the bodies to Boxy before he's tuckered out and slinking back into his box, she's caressing the top of it and cooing sweet nothings to him until he falls asleep. He too was once a child, she wasn't going to treat him like a savage just because he'd lost himself to this experiment, she had a role as a caretaker and she was going to fulfill it no matter what.

"Goodbye, Boxy Boo. I'm sure I'll see you soon." she says as she pats his head, he whines softly but lets her go nonetheless. She exits the room and is escorted back to the Playcare by a few prison guards, she smacks their hands off her when they grab her and practically growls at them not to do it again. She doesn't really get in trouble for killing any of the employees, Leith prefers it because it's fewer people to pay wages to, he practically encourages it and the humans all know it. Ballade double checks she'd gotten all the blood off of her before finally stepping back into Playcare, it was easy for her to lie to the children about her whereabouts and why she was gone as it was the breathe. Sometimes she felt guilty for lying to their faces but it was better for them not to know; it was better for them to remain unaware that she was a stone-cold killer who was more than capable of killing them.

"Come on, Miss Ballade! We made something for you." she gasped softly, placing a hand on her chest.

"For me? You shouldn't have." she'd been led by the hand of a few children towards the playground close to the schoolhouse where they showed her small drawings they made "What's this?" they laughed softly.

"Miss Delight told us to draw something that makes us happy, so I drew you!"

"Me too!"

"I did too!"

"Miss CraftyCorn helped me with mine." Ballade took each of their drawings and looked at them closely, making sure to look at each detail "Do you like them, Miss Ballade?" she smiled fondly at the drawings before placing her hands on their heads one by one, snickering softly when she messed with their hair.

"I love them. It warms my heart to know that I make you happy." she pats their backs when they hug her legs "Now come, let's go join the others. I hear you guys are playing hide and go seek." they gasp in anticipation, hide and seek was always fun with the Smiling Critters. Ballade sat with CatNap under a tree by Home Sweet Home as they watched the children run around looking for spots to hide, they were too big to participate in hiding and though the other Smiling Critters were just as big, they were more capable of hiding than them. CatNap is curled up behind her as she lets her body rest against his, her hand gently stroking his head while his tail thumped gently on the ground.

"Thank you for looking after the children, CatNap. Did anything happen while I was away?" he lets out a soft grunt.

"No. The children were well-behaved." she smiles.

"That's good. Did they give you any trouble?"

"Not really, they mostly bothered DogDay." this caused her to laugh softly and she looked over to where DogDay was and saw him chasing around one of the children he managed to find that was hiding in a bush "He is the favorite one amongst us all."

"With his friendly personality, I wouldn't see why anyone wouldn't like him." CatNap huffed at that "But you're still my favorite, I always did love the smell of lavender compared to vanilla." she chuckled when he started purring as he nudged his against her side, she rewarded him by scratching under his chin while pressing a kiss atop of his head, this only intensified the purring. About an hour or so goes by before the game ends and they come to collect the two, only to find them both sleeping soundly in each other's company. Ballade didn't mean to fall asleep, she could technically go days without "sleep" so long as her key kept turning, however, her key had stopped since she was leaning against CatNap and she evidently fell asleep on him. It took Bubba to wind up her key to get her to wake up, and when she did, she apologized for doing so since she promised she'd watch them play.

"CatNap can put just about anybody to sleep!"

"But I didn't expect to see Miss Ballade to fall asleep. She's never one to fall asleep while on duty."

"Perhaps whatever she had to do tuckered her out." no, my key just stopped and I inadvertently fell asleep... but CatNap is very nice to nap around, hence his name. To make up for it, Ballade spends the rest of the day with the girls, and the boys who want to participate, practicing ballet moves. Of course, she only shows them how to do basic moves but shows off her body's flexibility, since her body didn't have bones she could bend and twist her body however she liked. She was by no means like Mommy Longlegs, who could manipulate her body however she liked, but she could easily fold her body in half with little to no strain.

"Am I doing it right, Miss Ballade?" she looked over and saw a little girl trying to perform the pirouette but couldn't quite keep her leg up as she spun nor keep herself from tumbling a little.

"You're quite close, little one, you just need to work on your balance." she kicks at the ground.

"You make it look easy." she chuckled softly.

"I struggled a lot too, it takes years and years of practice. As they say, practice makes perfect. Just don't give up and your efforts will be rewarded." she takes a step back and performs the pirouette once more and does a little bow at the end, she takes a knee and gestures for her to try again "Nobody is going to make fun of you for not getting it on the first go." Ballade, no, [F/N] watched with a fond look as the little girl tried and tried again to stick the landing and was getting there with each attempt she made.

[F/N], that was her name before she became Ballade Ballerina; before she got stuck in a body that she couldn't recognize. She couldn't remember much before her time at Playcare but she did remember that she was older than most of the kids at the orphanage, perhaps that's where she could her motherly tendencies from and why she loved to care for the children, because she knew better than the adults who lied to their faces like they were stupid, but she wasn't stupid. What she could remember was the day when she was chosen, out of all the children who were more eager to be selected, she was the one that was picked and she didn't know how to feel. At the time she was anxious, both at the thought of being with a new family but also leaving the kids she had grown to love, but what choice did she have? Maybe she was happy that she was leaving that underground orphanage to see the sun again, she was excited to feel the wind blow through her hair and to be normal again.

All that happiness was short-lived when she was taken deeper into Playtime Co. to be experimented on by the infamous Doctor Harley Sawyer, that cruel and ruthless man who cared not for her wellbeing but the advancement of science and what he could do. She could almost remember the day she woke up and felt trapped in a body that she just knew wasn't hers, she just felt wrong. Her body no longer felt dense but rather hollow, if she tapped her finger against herself she could hear the way it would make a clinking sound as if two cups came together. Her face felt like it was stuck in place and she couldn't properly express the way she felt, even if she felt herself cry she couldn't even feel the tears that would fall down her cheeks. She felt it was impossible to move, that if she did she would come apart, even still, she could barely bend her knees and elbows and they were stuck in place.

Doctor Harley Sawyer called her his masterpiece, how her body was made from delicate porcelain that he reinforced to make her durable enough to not break easily if she were to suffer enough force or heavy weight to her person. Her body had articulated joints so she could fold and bend her body like a normal person but didn't suffer the strain or pain a human would, she was capable of twisting her limbs in all directions and not feeling a thing. She was practically a machine, she felt like a machine because she had practically lost most of her senses. She couldn't feel anything upon her glass-like skin, taste anything on her artificial tongue, or smell anything through her nose that felt more like decoration on her face. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep and if they didn't want to deal with her they could just turn her off by the wind up key on her back that was practically her lifeline. Without it, they could practically turn her off forever and forget about her.

They threatened her with that possibility each time she wouldn't give them the results that they wanted, that if she continued to act up or be difficult they'd throw her away to rot in the prison. That terrified her, she didn't want to be trapped in a cell in a body that felt more like a cage, so she complied and listened. Listening is what granted her freedom, or rather, to leave the lower levels and return to Playcare as Ballade Ballerina, the life-sized music box figurine, to care for and protect the children like she did when she was still human. [F/N] felt herself die each time she would smile at these children, knowing that what she was doing was only going to get them killed and she could do nothing but smile and laugh as they'd be taken, happy that they were chosen like she was... only for their lives to be cut short before it even began.

She was just like those damn adults.

"Miss Ballade?" she blinked when the little girl called her name.

"Oh, y-yes? I'm sorry, I was distracted. Show me again, why don't you?" the girl frowned softly then approached Ballade, taking her hand and squeezing it.

"You don't have to lie, Miss Ballade. I know I'll never be as good as you, so it's fine to tell the truth." her heart ached at her words, and she quickly shook her head and held the little girl's hand within her bigger ones. The few memories she managed to cling to before she became what she is today was that when she was growing up, when she still had a family that loved and cared for her, she wanted to be a ballerina. How ironic, but she remembered when she was young and had that same devastated look on her face when she just couldn't get the basic moves right and was ready to give up.

"No, no. Being as good as me shouldn't be what's on your mind, you've got to be as good as you can be. You won't be as good as me, and that's fine, because you can just be better than me."

"Can I really?" she nods.

"Of course! Because you can continue to grow, while I'll forever be the boring doll who is only good at ballet." she let out an oh when the girl started rocking back and forward.

"I think you're pretty cool for just a boring doll." if she could cry she'd feel her eyes glisten with tears.

"... I really appreciate that. Now come on, show me again. I'll be watching, I promise." she's clapping her hands in encouragement when the girl tries again and again until he finally sticks the landing, she's rewarded with Ballade picking her up and twirling her around with a proud look on her face "See? You did it! Just like I said you would, I am so proud." she caresses her cheek against hers then booped her nose.

"Thank you, Miss Ballade." she says as she wraps her arms around her neck.

"Anything for you." she spends the next half hour performing a couple more moves before the adults tell them that it was time to head back to Home Sweet Home. She allows DogDay and Hoppy to lead the children back into Home Sweet Home where they are separated by gender and brought to separate bathrooms to clean up, she ends up in the kitchen to help Picky sort out dinner while the rest of the Smiling Critters are left to set up the dining hall. She's standing in her usual corner when the children finally arrive with Bobby and Crafty pleading for her to join them at their table, she planned to decline their invitation but was brought over by CatNap nudging her over to them. It felt quite nice to just sit with the Smiling Critters and since she didn't need to eat to sustain herself, she sat quietly with them and would speak every now and then when they spoke to her.

"My favorite part of the day..." CatNap said after dinner was finished and they were all leaving the dining hall.

"Because you get to go back to sleep?" he nods and turns towards the staircase to return to his room, only to be stopped when he is grabbed by a few of the kids and tugged towards Ballade's stage.

"You can't go to sleep yet, CatNap!"

"Miss Ballade's gonna read to us." this caught his attention and he looked to where she was stepping onto her stage after taking a book from one of the kids "You're gonna join us, right? Miss Ballade always makes storytime fun!"

"Come on CatNap, join us."

"It just wouldn't be the same without you." he grumbles softly.

"... alright." they cheer and practically climb all over him when he takes a seat in front of her stage, she smiles when CatNap joins the crowd of children but knows that he is going to sleep through most of the story, not that she minded.

"Okay, kids. Despite having read this story over a thousand times, I'm sure you wouldn't mind hearing it again." she clears her throat then throws her arm out for dramatic flare "The Adventures of the Word Wizard!" they all laugh when she puts on a theatrical performance as she read the book, using different voices for characters and playing her music box for some background noise. She always was good at storytime, able to draw the children in with ease and entertain them, it warmed her heart to see them so invested in a story they had heard time and time again but not get tired of it.

It was one good thing this stupid place had to give her.

"And with his final word, this story has come to an end." the children, including the Smiling Critters, all let out a round of awes that it was over "And now it's time for bed." she laughs when they made more sounds of disappointment, besides Catnap, who stood up and started carrying that were laying on him off to bed.

"Can't we have one more story?"

"Yeah, just one more?" she shakes her head.

"I'm afraid not. Besides, you're all yawning." she closed the book and placed it down as she stepped off her stage and to where the few tired children were sitting, the Smiling Critters gathered the other children and either started carrying them or leading them back to their beds "Sleep is just as important, one should not neglect the need to rest just to continue having fun. I mean, look at CatNap! All he does is sleep and he has fun."

"Then he must be having a lot of fun since he's always sleeping."

"Uh huh, and he must be having the most wonderful dreams because of that. So, why don't we all go to bed so we can dream and have fun while we're asleep? We can always continue the fun tomorrow, it's not like it's going anywhere." that was a lie, she nor the children had no clue whether that would be their last night alive and that thought scared her "Now come, CatNap is ready to help you children to sleep."

"Oh, alright." she scoops them up while grabbing another by the hand to lead them back to their rooms, she's tucking them into bed and pressing kisses onto each of their heads as she passes them. She's mentally counting each child to make sure that all have been returned to bed and that none were missing, the last time she failed a headcount she, well... let's just say she never misses up the headcount anymore.

"Are they all here?" she nods "Whenever you're ready..." she goes through the assortment of songs she had before finally choosing one, the moment CatNap heard her music box start to play he exhaled enough of the red smoke from his mouth to help them doze off but stay awake long enough to hear her sing.

"Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green~" this was CatNap's favorite part of the day, not only did he get to sleep, but he got to help Ballade put all the rowdy children to sleep as he listened to her sing. Before he got put into this body, when he was Theodore Grambell, Ballade was the only one who understood him. He had few friends and preferred keeping it that way because the other children annoyed him, but Ballade was different. Instead of pestering him like the adults would, trying and failing to get him to open up, she would merely sit with him in silence and wait patiently for him. She had a boisterous but calming personality that she could easily switch between depending on who she was interacting with, it was why the children loved her so much; it was why he loved her "Because you love me, dilly, dilly. I will love you~" she looks at CatNap and smiled at him, despite the permanent smile on his face, she could see a crease in his lips that let her know that he was giving her a genuine smile

When her music box struck its final cord and all the children had fallen asleep, she brushed the hair out of one of their eyes as they slept soundly before standing to her feet and going over to CatNap. The back of her hand brushed against his cheek and scratched under his chin as she walked him back to his room, she stayed with him until he fell into a deep slumber and wouldn't notice when she slipped out of his room to check on the other Smiling Critters. She found them all sleeping in their designated rooms and made sure to give them goodnight kisses as well, she had a feeling they would know if she didn't give them one, then went back to roaming the quiet and empty halls of Home Sweet Home.

Since she did not need to sleep, she aimlessly roamed around Playcare for nothing in particular, or that's what it seemed if people weren't aware of why she was stationed in Playcare. Huggy Wuggy was the security for the main lobby, Mommy Longlegs was the security for the Game Station, and Ballade was the security for Playcare. It was rare, very, very rare for someone to trespass onto Playtime Co. property after hours, and nearly impossible to make it past Huggy and Mommy alike to get into Playcare. The only likely situation you could get past those mascots was if you were an employee who knew their way around, but one thing was for sure, you would never make it past Ballade. She knew the entire layout of Playcare as well as the prison below, Leith and the Doctor made sure of that, so no matter where you go, she would always find you. Despite her large stature, she was very nimble on her feet. She was so good at sneaking around that you wouldn't even know she was behind you until she spoke up. The Doctor, Stella and Eddie would constantly make her sneak up on Leith to scare the living daylights out of him, she had to hide behind them when he threatened her with solitary confinement if she kept it up.

Anyways-

"It was almost too easy..." a voice whispered as they explored the Playcare, completely unaware that they were being watched. Ballade didn't bring it up with the three Executives when she noticed after the carnage that there were only five bodies instead of six, how the sixth one got away undetected, she'll never know, but he won't make it far. People were already aware that there was an onsite orphanage within Playtime Co. but as stated before, cameras were not allowed onto the property in case they caught something that would get them into a whole heap of trouble "If I can make it out of this maze, I'll make a fortune out of these photos." he spoke as he entered the Playhouse where he couldn't help but marvel at the sight of the playground with maze-like elements decorated with colorful brick walls and tunnels but it was pretty creepy exploring when there were no lights to illuminate the building, he makes sure to put the flash on before taking photos on his camera.

He takes a couple photos of the dark just to see where he is going, but when he sees the developed photo he is a little startled to see a pair of glowing eyes through the darkness that is staring right at him, he looks back in the direction he took it and takes another photo. He freaks out when the eyes are closer, so he starts walking backward while taking another with each step, he tries to listen for footsteps but can only hear his own as well as his panicked breathing. Whatever he was seeing drew closer and closer, but no matter how hard he tried to catch a glimpse of what was chasing him, he couldn't see past the flash, and through his terror, he accidentally dropped his camera. He's quick to drop to his knees and blindly search for it only to freeze when he feels a soft breeze on his face. With trembling hands, he finds his camera and takes a photo just to set the flash off and sees staring at him through the darkness was Ballade.

"How naughty~ Playtime Co. doesn't take lightly to trespassers." her hand was quick to close around his mouth before he could let out a scream and sound off the alarms, her fingers are digging into his skin as she planned to snap his neck but thinks for a bit "... hmm, the Doctor has stated that he's been wanting a live test subject. Guess you're the lucky one, congratulations." she picks up the camera and drags the poor man down to where Doctor Harley Swayer was, ignoring the confused stares from the prison guards and employees alike as she made her way to his lab while the photographer struggled against her iron-clad grip.

*KNOCK*

"What is it?" Sawyer cocked a brow when he didn't get an answer and the door was opened, usually, he'd yell at anyone who'd interrupt him but was surprised to see Ballade enter the room "My, what brings you here little dancer?" he smirks when he saw the way her body started to tremble, well, that was until he saw her drag in an unknown man.

"I caught an intruder, sir."

"And you're telling me this why?" she bounces on her feet nervously.

"You said you wanted a live test subject, so I brought him thinking you'd want to use him for your research." the man looks up at Sawyer for any sort of help only to be ignored when he lets out a sigh.

"I don't need him for anything, so you can just feed him to Yarnaby." she nods her head.

"Is Yarnaby in his cell?"

"Yes, he is. Close the door on your way out." she nods once more.

"Yes, sir." she let out a breath as she closed the door then looked back down at the man "You have no idea how lucky you are, Mister Intruder. You won't have to suffer at the hands of the Doctor and will get to die a quick death... well, that all depends if Yarnaby has been fed or not." she chuckled softly when she saw the panic flash on his face, poor man should have left when he had the chance. She's back in the prison and tells the guards to open Yarnaby's cell door and when they do she tosses the photographer inside and closes the door so he can't leave.

"Wait, no! Please, let me go! I-I swear I won't publish those photos!" she's in the observation room as she tosses the camera up and down "I don't want to die...!"

"You should have thought of that before you decided that taking pictures was worth more than your life." his body slumped when she shrugged her shoulders "Oh, Yarnaby~" she called out just as the door that kept Yarnaby contained opened up, her expression is indifferent when Yarnaby stepped out and looked up at the man curiously. This lion-like toy is rather adorable with its derpy expression and one would think he was going to play by the way he was tilting his head, that was until his face opened up to reveal his large open mouth hollowed out inside his head with rows of sharp jagged teeth along the outer rim of his mouth. The man couldn't even get a scream out when Yarnaby's mouth closed around his head, spilling his blood all over the window and killing him instantly.

Such a shame, she thought. He had quite a promising future if he had just left Playtime Co. instead of taking a few more pictures, maybe she should have let him go so he could expose the dark secrets this toy factory had but if she didn't kill him, the others surely would have.

"What a shame." she murmured before crushing the camera in her hand and looking back into the cell to see Yarnaby now aimlessly chewing on his torso, she always did find him adorable.

[epnusika]

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- Noobador Romantic Headcanons

Author's Note: Poor Spanish skills ahead.

——————————————————————————————————

•] To start things off, Noobador often attracts trouble in his life because of his work as a Mercenary. If he doesn't come home with a bruise or a new wound on his body, he's most likely in jail. Seriously. At this point, the amount of times you've bailed him out of jail is ridiculous.

•] Sitting there behind bars... He immediately beams up with joy when he sees you step inside of the Police Station, feeling thankful that you're going to pay his bail. Again. For the hundredth time... God... As much as you adore the lovely idiot, you're still not sparing him of the scolding that you're about to give him once you two get home.

•] Moving on... his nicknames for you are Darling, Mi Amor/Cariño, My Spouse... Although most of the time, he uses 'My Spouse' in public to refer to you.

•] You just don't know it yet, but he's been pouring his heart and soul to save a lot of money so that he could buy a ring for you. He's eagerly waiting for the day where he'll take you someplace beautiful, drop on one knee, and finally ask you to marry him.

•] Please say yes.

•] Anyway, like I said earlier, Noobador's life is always followed by trouble. Most of the time, he returns home with new wounds on his body, in which you have to patch him up while he tells you about his day. He mentions how there's this 'dummy' who beat up Red and Blue, so obviously he had to teach them a lesson.

"And you know what the bad thing was? Turns out—ow...easy on the disinfectant...—this dummy had a wooden sword! Kind of unfair considering that I was only using my fists but, don't worry Darling! I definitely took them to pound town!"

•] Haha, no you didn't.

•] Talking about wounds though... You mentioned to him about wearing more clothing whenever he would go out and do his Mercenary work. Unfortunately, he retaliates and argues that wearing more protection takes out the thrill of his job.

•] Though, as much as you'd love to support his decision, you just hope that one day, his stubbornness doesn't get to him.

•] When it comes to love languages, his are words of affirmation and quality time. As a Mercenary, his work allows him to interact with all kinds of individuals. So, it's no surprise that Noobador knows a thing or two about other languages. Most of the time, he would whisper sweet nothings into your ears in another language, adoring how you try to process his words despite lacking knowledge about it.

"Mi Amor... Te ves lindisima hoy. Que...? Por qué me estás mirando de ese modo?"

•] Moreover, due to the nature of his occupation, he tends to go all out on you whenever he's finally free from the shackles of his work. He's already got plans to spend quality time with you and he's very much looking forward to either taking you out on a date to a theme park, or if you want something more domestic... He's fine with just helping you out around the house.

•] He is the big spoon when it comes to snuggling, and no, you can't retaliate. Think of it this way, he's like Baymax during that one scene in Big Hero 6, a warm marshmallow.

•] In addition, he's very romantic. This applies to his kisses as well, as he prefers to savour each kiss that he receives and gives you. It doesn't matter if it's on the lips or not, the only thing that matters is how long the kiss would be. His emotions are swelling with love and affection towards each kiss, and the feeling is quite addicting.

"Te amo, Mi Cariño..."

•] But... He also has his moments where he just holds your hand within his. You two could be sitting next to each other on the couch but, while you mind your own business, Noobador is staring at your hand, intertwining his fingers against yours and admiring how smoothly they fit against each other.

•] Moving on... He snores quite loudly. But... At this point, you're already used to it, aren't you? Not for a certain two though, they certainly have their sleep disrupted. You have enough evidence to support your suspicions, based on the tape present on Noobador's mouth sometimes.

•] You two have adopted the little gremlins, taking the role as their parental figures. But hey... It's quite heartwarming. Noobador has grown to love waking up in the morning to the sight of you handling the young teens. With the kitchen busy and the dining table filled with food... the domestic sight adds a nice balance to the chaos of his Mercenary work.

"Need a little help, Darling? Here... I'll finish setting up the table."

•] Most definitely knows how to dance, more specifically, slow dancing. Oh, and don't worry. If you don't know how to dance, he's more than willing to guide and teach you. Holding your body by the waist, his voice and the way he holds your hand catches all of your attention. He's very patient when it comes to teaching you, feeling more than glad that he was the one helping you out. That he was the one sharing such an intimate moment with you.

"Hey, come on... don't shy out on me now. You're doing great, Mi Amor..."

[retropopcult]

At the end of February 1973, members of the American Indian Movement occupied the hamlet of Wounded Knee in South Dakota, the site of the 1890 massacre of Sioux men, women and children. (The occupation lasted until the following May.)

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

An open letter to President Joe Biden: Free Leonard Peltier

By Stephen Millies

Mr. President, If you can pardon your son, why can’t you free the Indigenous political prisoner Leonard Peltier?

The 80-year-old man, a leader of the American Indian Movement, has been imprisoned for 48 years. He suffers from diabetes, high blood pressure, and a heart condition.

The FBI framed Leonard Peltier in retaliation for the historic 1973 occupation of Wounded Knee. Three years of violence followed this courageous stand for Indigenous rights, with over 60 AIM members and supporters murdered. Despite a large FBI presence, nothing was done to stop these murders and even more numerous assaults. 

[phobic-human]

A U.S. flag flies upside-down outside a church occupied by members of the American Indian Movement (AIM) on March 3, 1973, on the site of the 1890 massacre at Wounded Knee, S.D.

[mightdeletelater]

A speech made at the Academy Awards by Jonathan Glazer, along with the subsequent reactions, sheds light on how people tend to distort others' words to portray themselves as victims and, more concerning, their willingness to reside in a dystopian bubble as long as it doesn't affect them directly.

Rather than idolising Hollywood, I've previously posted about the complexities of my evolving parasocial relationships. But to disregard the influence wielded by these elites would be naive. It's frustrating to witness those in power facing backlash when they attempt to bring attention to pertinent issues.

While the Oscars' prominence in Western pop culture is waning, the ceremony and the fervour surrounding the nominees and winners, especially in the major acting categories, still hold significant sway in film culture and the broader world.

So when such a speech is delivered at the Oscars, it's bound to garner attention:

All our choices were made to reflect and confront us in the present — not to say, “Look what they did then,” rather, “Look what we do now.” Our film shows where dehumanization leads, at its worst. It shaped all of our past and present. Right now we stand here as men who refute their Jewishness and the Holocaust being hijacked by an occupation, which has led to conflict for so many innocent people. Whether the victims of October the — [Applause.] Whether the victims of October the 7th in Israel or the ongoing attack on Gaza, all the victims of this dehumanization, how do we resist? [Applause.] Aleksandra Bystroń-Kołodziejczyk, the girl who glows in the film, as she did in life, chose to. I dedicate this to her memory and her resistance. Thank you.

Glazer highlighted in his speech that victims of the ongoing situation and the last 75 years, whether Palestinian and Israeli, all stem from the occupation and are casualties of entrenched ideologies like Zionism. But when he said this on stage and was immediately misquoted online on social media and by reputable news sources, alleging that he simply renounced his Jewish identity.

He also faced considerable backlash from those indicating a persistent conflation of anti-Zionism with anti-Semitism. It really parallels previous speeches of resistance at the Oscars. Boos rang loud and clear during Michael Moore's opposition to the Iraq war (which we know was a colossal failure by Geroge Bush and the US Government who perpetuated and pardoned multiple war crimes in the region after lying to their own people about evidence of weapons of mass destruction).

There was also Sacheen Littlefeather's advocacy for Native American representation and the direct of attention to the Wounded Knee Occupation, a speech that had bodyguards having to restrain people from getting on the stage and attacking her.

And, of course, Vanessa Redgrave's aim at “a small bunch of Zionist hoodlums whose behaviour is an insult to the stature of Jews all over the world and to their great and heroic record of struggle against fascism and oppression”, which still feels relevant today.

Turning to Glazer's film, I am baffled at those who vehemently objected to it: Did they actually watch it? Because if they had any negative feelings towards Glazer's speech, especially after watching his film, it suggests, to me, a deficiency in critical thinking.

Glazer's film portrays a chilling atmosphere where genocide becomes normalised, echoing real-world situations like the ongoing conflict in Gaza. The film serves as a stark reminder of humanity's ability to coexist with atrocities, often turning a blind eye for the sake of comfort.

The horrors adjacent to the characters' lives evoke contemporary parallels, particularly in regions like Gaza. With over five months of relentless violence, Israel's defiance of international court orders, and Western governments passively reprimanding while fueling the conflict with arms shipments, the spectre of genocide looms ominously. It risks becoming a mundane backdrop to daily existence. It is a stark portrayal of how affluent lifestyles can be linked to neighbouring atrocities, challenging the notion of denial and complicity.

The film doesn't centre around the Holocaust (Glazer's own words), with its specific historical context. Instead, it delves into a more universal theme: humanity's ability to coexist with atrocities and even derive some form of reconciliation or gain from them. The discomforting reflections are on purpose. It prompts us to acknowledge that the threat of annihilation of any people is always closer than we might imagine.

One of the most poignant moments in the film occurs when a package filled with clothing and lingerie pilfered from the prisoners of the camp arrives at the Höss household. The commandant's wife decides that everyone, including the servants, can select one item. She claims a coat for herself and trys on makeup discovered in one of its pockets.

How can the people who are so staunch against Glazer not draw parallels with Israeli soldiers who have recorded themselves rummaging through the lingerie of Palestinian women and slut shaming them? (Why are Israeli soldiers obsessed with Gaza women's underwear?) Or proudly displaying stolen shoes and jewellery for their partners back home (Israeli soldier loots Palestinian homes for his engagement party). Or celebrating International Women's Day with a photo of women soldiers posing for selfies against the backdrop of destruction (How an AP photographer made this image of Israeli soldiers taking a selfie at the Gaza border).

The film is rife with these parallels that it feels like a documentary. It is a grim reality: the potential emergence of the first live-streamed genocide, captured by its very architects.

Gaza doesn't mirror the systematic mass murder machinery of Auschwitz, nor does it approach the scale of Nazi atrocities. However, the entire purpose behind establishing the postwar framework of international humanitarian law was to equip us with the means to collectively recognise practices before history repeats itself on a large scale. And disturbingly, some of these practices – such as the construction of walls, creation of ghettos, mass killings, openly stated intentions of elimination, widespread starvation, plundering, gleeful dehumanisation, and deliberate humiliation – are recurring. And have been long before October 7th.

How do we disrupt the cycle of trivialisation and normalisation? What actions can we take? There are persistent protests and acts of civil disobedience to "uncommitted" votes, disrupting events, organising aid convoys, fundraising for refugees, and creating radical works of art.

And as genocide fades further into the background of our culture, some people grow too desperate for any of these efforts. I am certainly one of them.

Yet, these efforts seem insufficient, particularly when those in positions of power remain indifferent. It's insufficient when I watch a video of a little girl saying that the violence has made her feel less beautiful before she talks about her father being kidnapped by Israeli soldiers or of the orphans visiting their mother's burial spot in the street. It is insufficient when the death toll rises to exceed the daily death toll of any other major conflict of the 21st century.

Perhaps it's unfair of me to prioritise one tragedy over another, given the multitude of suffering in the world – the ones that are in the news cycle and the ones that are not. Yet, my connection to Palestine and its plight feels as personal as it can be without me actually being Palestinian, fostered from childhood teachings and further enriched through my own research. I have loved ones directly impacted by this conflict: friends in the diaspora grappling with survivor's guilt, friends in the West Bank enduring the daily hardships of occupation. And my friends in Gaza are all either dead, dying or being pushed straight into the arms of death.

The realisation that my efforts to help them are insufficient fills me with frustration. I'm angered by the indifference of those in power and by the hostility encountered by those attempting to bring the truth to the forefront.

[ruiniel]

What You Choose

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Rengoku Kyojuro x f!reader

Count: 2K

Rating: T (M later)

On AO3

Summary: I recently watched/read KNY and have emotions. Likely done before, but wanted to get this out of my system so wrote it down. Rengoku survives the fight with Akaza, but some battles are not so straightforward.

Tags & Warnings: Rengoku lives AU, multichapter, blood, injury, pining, angst, second person POV, demon slayer!reader, tsuguko!reader, alternating POV, Oblivious Rengoku Kyojuro, for a while at least, Death, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut

All characters depicted are 18+

I.

Everything fades. His body is going numb, his vision blurs as he stares down at his reflection in the dark pool of his own blood, unable to lift his head. The cries of grief surrounding him become dim and scatter like dying leaves from his consciousness.  

I've done my duty, I've given my all.

The last he remembers is a small, clawed hand and a sudden, blooming flame bursting through his shattered torso, scalding him from within in ways his own fire never could. 

I see... So this is what it feels like… to burn. 

The balmy weather outside has no effect on you, seated at the side of the infirmary bed, your head in your hands. 

“Perhaps you should go and rest. There’s been no change, and we’ll be sure to inform you of any developments.” 

Aoi’s words are void of their usual sternness. You’ve heard them before, and yet—

“I’m fine, I really am.” You gaze back at the prone figure lying motionless beneath crisp white sheets. His gold and crimson hair is messy, and you’ve never seen him so pale, his features so sunken. The bandage covering his left eye is stained red in places, the usually smiling lips dry and bloodless.

Aoi sighs but says nothing else, and soon her departing steps echo against the walls.

I can’t. I can’t leave his side. You wish your thought could reach him, down to whatever place he’s struggling in now. You ball your hands into fists over your knees, a poor attempt at holding your composure. Please, come back. Please.

Weeks have passed since the mission on the train, since your group has returned with wounded bodies and spirits, though none in such a critical state as your mentor. Rengoku Kyojuro has not awakened since, and in contrast, since the nightmares the demon has placed upon you in that baleful encounter, you’ve not been able to sleep more than two to three hours every night. Every time, waking up in a sweat, the memory of what happened always the last image you remember. 

“How is he today?”

You’re drawn from your thought by the gentle voice of the person you feel like you owe a life of debt to, and turn to gaze into the tired, worried eyes of Tanjiro Kamado. He stands by the bed now, glancing down at the Hashira. The slow rise and fall of his chest is the only sign that he is still alive. 

You shake your head as Tanjiro takes a seat. “How is rehabilitation training going?” 

Tanjiro smiles, still staring at the bed and its unresponsive occupant. “Almost done, I feel my strength returning to what it used to be and more. I admire how well you’ve upheld yourself, though,” he murmurs. 

It’s true, for some reason, you’ve been the least scathed of them all, needing much less medical care than the rest. No, you know the reason why. “It’s because of him,” your words escape you. “If… if he hadn’t trained me as he did, if he hadn’t driven me so far beyond my limits, I don’t know if I would have survived for as long as I have in my role.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard. They say Lord Rengoku’s methods are… harsh to say the least.”

A smile tugs at your lips as a known pain pricks your heart. “But… but I’ve been remiss in thanking you, young Kamado—or rather, your sister. If she hadn’t…”  Your throat tightens; you don’t want to break down, not here, not before Tanjiro and not before him, no matter he can’t hear it. 

“Please, please don’t worry, it was a stroke of luck and quick thinking on her part, I only brought the box closer—”

“... she healed him! I saw the flames engulfing him, I saw the wound close. I don’t know how she did it but… Nezuko is someone... very special.”

Tanjiro lowers his head in humble acknowledgement. “I will tell her.” Then, as though remembering something, he reaches into his pocket and hands you a small bag. “Here, I’ve not seen you join meals very often and… well, please take them.”

You don’t have the strength to refuse, and take the bag from his hand, meeting his kind smile. “Candies…”  You thank him before placing them on the bedstand, and after a few more moments of sitting in comfortable silence, Tanjiro takes his leave. You watch him depart, endeared by his manner and honesty. He has a good soul, a strong will—perhaps the strongest you’ve known, apart from…

You stare back at your mentor, memories of the past flooding behind your eyes.

Five months prior

“Good! Again!”

You’re panting, your total concentration breathing nearly failing as you evade another deadly arc of the Third Form: Blazing Universe. 

The sun has westered and a bluish twilight sets over the lands, but your mentor still has you parrying his unwavering techniques, before making you attack using combinations of them in turn. 

“Lord—lord Rengoku—”

His blazing speed cuts your words short as your blades clash, and you stare into bright, golden-rimmed irises. He’s smiling, as usual, with a devilish spark in his eyes. There is a sudden flutter in your stomach, overriding the fatigue in your burning muscles. “Come now, don’t tell me you’re beat! You’ve come so far after only three years!” he says as you fall back, lunging for another attack the following second.

The sudden weakness you feel when you’re close to him has you confused, because it was not there before. It all began in the past year: whenever he stares at you in a certain way, whenever he touches you during training or meets your eyes, something gnaws achingly at your chest. It’s as though you need something from him, but have no idea what it is. 

“I knew it from the moment I took you on as a successor,” he says, merciless in his offensive. “If you—” Parry. Lunge. “—carry on like this—” Attack. Jump. “—you’ll reach a Hashira level of skill in no time at all!” 

You don’t have the chance to reply, though his words feel like honey coating your senses. At first, he’d been sparse and strict, keeping to instructions and nothing else. But you struggled, worked harder than you had for anything in all your life, and it seems he acknowledges this fully now. 

“Now—Ninth Form: Rengoku!” 

That means you must attack, and he must deflect. But—Ninth Form?! “I—I can’t, I’m… I’m too exhausted for the Ninth!”

He bursts forward with Unknowing Fire, forcing you to duck and curl your body, rolling away into the dust, rising on one knee. 

The Flame Hashira turns, pointing his weapon at you. “Is that what you plan on telling the demons?”

“Well, no, but—”

“At no point during a battle will you have the luxury of biding your time. If this were an actual encounter, you’d be dead.” He no longer smiles, his face turned cold, eyes glinting like molten steel.

You feel the rush of shame like fangs biting into you, fueling a horrible need to prove him wrong, to rise up to the challenge in his voice. With a hiss and a groan you grip the handle of your katana tightly, breathing and striving to light that spark in your heart. 

With a cry you speed forward, clashing with him in a desperate lunge. 

“Ha!” The smile returns as you grit your teeth. “Better!”

His face is so close to yours again, so close you feel the rush of his breath on your cheek. 

Your knees feel weak again, and you close your eyes, pushing forward in an attempt to skew his balance. 

What the hell is happening to you? 

“Faster, the fire is still weak! It must rage!” the Hashira says, grinning like a madman now, and where once you enjoyed the path of learning and reaching your full potential, now his attitude brings forth an ache that confuses you and leaves you anxious.

Even so. Your blades sing against each other as you lunge back in a high jump, landing in a lowered stance with one palm braced against the earth. Your uniform is wet on your back, and you’re closer to your breaking point than you've ever been.

But the thought of disappointing him, now that feels unbearable. So you do what you always do: you push yourself more, more, harnessing all your strength into one melting core, bathing your heart in it and firing up your veins. 

You attack.

He laughs outright. “Not bad, but—” Your swords clash, fiercer than before. “I know you can do better, and you can be faster.”

“I’m doing all I can!” you yell, at the end of your tether now. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. But he takes no offense, he never does, and that's one of the things you appreciate about him. “But you—you make it impossible! You always want more, even if you know I’m not ready for it!”

It must be the fire rushing through you that has you speaking this way, daring to say such words despite knowing full well what you were in for, when you accepted to become his successor. 

“Wait until you’re ready, and you will never improve!” the Flame Hashira throws back.

A growl leaves your throat as you fall back then speed towards him again, trying the Second then the Third form in succession sloppily but you’re past caring. 

Your arms feel as though they will tear and your bones might splinter as you crash against his unwavering stance, and you meet his scarlet-gold gaze as he speaks softly, his voice imbued with warmth: “You can surpass the impossible. I believe in you.” 

Your eyes widen, that damned ache ringing through your body like a weakening poison and—

For one split second, your stance weakens, and you’re thrown back, losing your balance and falling heavily onto the ground. 

Rengoku stares down at you, tilting his head to the side with a strange look on his face as he sheathes his katana. 

Your vision sways, your lungs might burst. You barely clutch at the helping hand extended to you, aiding you to your feet. He grasps your shoulders. “What happened there just now? Your focus melted like wax.”

“I…” You can’t look him in the eye. His hands on you diffuse heat, permeating through your clothing. It feels good. It scares you. “I don’t… know.”

“Tomorrow, again,” he says, releasing you. “Please do better. Remember we’re doing this for you, but foremost for the people.”

“Understood,” you murmur, biting back tears as you watch him walk away.

Midnight has arrived when you end your reverie, thinking about that emotion that took root in your body and spirit, growing stronger as time passed. And you never dared tell him, never dared facing it nor can you explain why. You take a deep breath, leaned with your arms folded on the edge of the bed, your forehead resting on them. You never told him, and now… 

And now with each day I’m losing hope.

Your shoulders are shaking, and your eyes sting. There is no one else here but you and him, the long chamber of empty beds the only witness to your breakdown. 

You’re so absorbed by despair, you don’t perceive the faint movement, or the hand gently placed on your head.

“... Why are you crying?”

You choke on a silent sob, blinking in shock at the low, throaty voice, broken with disuse. Slowly, you raise your head.

He's staring at you, a bleak smile on his lips, and you're utterly, incomprehensibly frozen.

“You… you’re awake?” It feels like the dumbest of questions: your body knows the truth before your mind catches up. 

“That… depends. Are you really here?” he asks in turn. 

You nod, biting on your lower lip and wiping your eyes with your sleeve. “Yes, yes I am.”

The smile wavers for a moment as he grimaces in pain. “Oh, I see. Then… it seems… you’re not rid of me yet.”

All the gods in all the world couldn’t keep the emotions flooding you at bay, and you shake your head as warm tears flow down your face. 

PART II

[angstywaifu]

Take A Chance - Brennan Sorrengail

Part 2 to Love Doesn't Suit You Requests Open.

Masterlist

My eye lids feel heavy. Gods my entire body feels heavy. It’s like I’m wadding through water to even try to open my eyes. When I finally do, I’m met with a dimly lit room. The mage light above my head barely emitting light. And judging by the slight coolness to the room it must be night time. Then the smell hits me. The infirmary.

I was alive. Somehow I was alive. But I shouldn’t be. There was no way to get me to a healer or mender in time. I should have died in the training room. Should have bled out on the floor. And yet here I was, lying in the infirmary alive. No pain. Nothing. A sniffle draws my attention to a chair pulled up next to my bed. The occupant leaning forward with their elbows on their knees as they stare at the floor, one of their hands clasped firmly around mine. Brennan. Brennan who is crying. Brennan who I’ve never seen cry a day in my life.

”Bren?” I say, the words barely audible due to how hoarse my throat was.

Brennan's head snaps up at the sound of my voice, his eyes puffy and red from crying. His amber eyes are still filled with tears. For a few moments, all he does is stare at me, as if he can't believe I've woken up.

”What are you doing here?” I ask him, my voice shaking as those damn words echo in my head again.

”Y-you almost died. You were bleeding out in my arms.” His voice cracking slightly. “I… I thought I lost you. I should have lost you.”

I look down at his hands still clasped firmly around mine, noticing the slight tinge of red to his skin. Blood. My blood. He was the one I heard screaming my name as I fell to the ground bleeding out. The one to pull me into their arms before I blacked out. I should have died in his arms.

”How?” I ask, looking up into his pained eyes.

He drops his gaze from mine, letting out a shaky breath as he squeezes my hand. “My signet.”

But Brennan didn’t have a…. He’d manifested his signet because of me. I reach down and pull the sheet back revealing my exposed stomach. Where there should be long gaping wound, is smooth skin. No sign of the knife that had cut me open. There was only one signet that could make that possible. Brennan was a mender.

”Thank you.” I say softly as I place the sheet back down.

”I’m sorry about yesterday.” His voice so quiet I barely hear it as I look back at him.

”You weren’t wrong though. Love and me don’t go together.” I say bitterly as I remove my hands from his.

A pained look quickly flickering in Brennan’s features as I remove my hands from his. “I just….. I just thought we we’re going somewhere. That you might finally give me a chance after all these years of whatever this is.”

He wasn’t wrong. I wanted to be with him so badly. Everything about Brennan drove me crazy. I wanted his eyes on me, his hands on me, wanted to be his. But I couldn’t. I had seen first hand what came from two dragon riders being together. My parents. My very dead parents. Both gone, leaving me behind.

”I… I can’t deny it’s something I want. But we both know what being a dragon rider is like. Any day could be our last and… I don’t know if I could cope with losing someone close to me again. It’s just easier this way.”

”Easier?” My eyes snapping back to him at the anger in his tone. “It’s easier for you to just keep screwing other people than it is to just take the leap and actually be in a relationship?”

”Yes Brennan. Because if I get attached and you die……” Lies. I was already attached. A tear rolls down my face as I look down, quickly trying to wipe it away before Brennan sees. “I have my reasons. Just because it’s easier doesn’t make it easy.”

Brennan scoffs as he shakes his head, pushing up from the chair, his eyes staring down at me. “You’re a coward. You’d rather push away people that care about you so you don’t have to suffer.:

I pull back the sheets, standing up to face Brennan. Fresh tears rolling down my face.

”You don’t know what I’ve been through. Watching an entire family of dragon riders die, till I was the only one left. Till no one came home. Sorry if I’m protecting myself. But I know I can’t go through someone I care about not coming home again.”

Brennan and I just stare at each other. Brennan’s breathing slow and deep as if trying to compose himself. I’d never seen Brennan like this before. Never seen someone push him to this point before. Brennan was always the level headed calm one. But not now.

”You’re right. I don’t know what its like to live like that. But you’ll stand there, and call that protecting yourself? You know as well as I do you’re just afraid. You’re afraid you don’t deserve to be happy. That’s the real issue here.”

”Because I don’t Brennan! Anyone I’ve been close to, anyone I’ve let myself love has died. I don’t deserve to be happy.”

Brennan shakes his head, stepping towards me. Taking one of my hands in his. “That’s not true. None of it is.” He sighs. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t push me away.”

I reach up with my free hand, placing it on his chest. A war ragging inside my head if I should push him away or not. If I did push him away… There was no going back. If I did that would be it. We’d had this argument before, but never like this. Beneath my hand I can feel his heart beating heavily. Just like my own.

”And what if I don’t push you away?” I ask softly.

He places his hand on top of mine. “Don’t push me away. Give this a chance. Give us a chance. Give this a chance knowing I will do what ever I can to get back to you every night.” His voice almost pleading.

I step forward, a small smile on my lips, my heart beating heavily in my chest. Absolutely terrified of what I’m about to do. There was no going back from this. I take another step forward, barely any space between Brennan and I, having to crane my neck to look him in the eye.

”Then I won’t. I won’t push you away.”

Brennan’s shoulders sag at my words, letting out a breath I don’t think he realised he was holding in. His hands moving to cup my cheeks. “Then prove it.” He whispers, his thumb gently rubbing across my cheek.

I’d kissed Brennan many times before. But as I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss….. It feels different. My heart beating fast, as if this was the first time we’d kissed. But even though this wasn’t the first time we had kissed, this was our first real kiss. Not as friends hooking up. No. We we’re more now. I wouldn’t push Brennan away anymore.

[kk095]

Life and Death in the ER: Dr Lindsay

*Good evening everyone, I hope all is well. I greatly appreciate all the positive feedback on my last story Alexa's Arrhythmia! I'd like to try something a little different with the story you're about to read. Although it may not be everyone's cup of tea, I think it's a great opportunity for you guys to get to know some of our go-to characters a little better. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it!*

Aside from medicine, Dr Lindsay’s passion in life is running. The cute, sporty tomboy doctor we all know and love was a college track star at the D1 college she attended once upon a time ago. Believe it or not, Lindsay had legitimate Olympic aspirations, and at one point in time, she was set to qualify for the United States women’s track team. But fate had other plans, which came in the form of a sudden, severe ACL and LCL tear in her left knee. Reconstructive surgery was performed and she of course recovered, but Lindsay definitely lost her X factor. Even though Lindsay could still run circles around 99% of humanity as a 33 year old with a bum knee, she lost that slight edge all those years ago, which is all it took for her Olympic hopes and dreams to go up in smoke. Sometimes Lindsay thought “what if?” in regards to her potential professional sports career, but at the same time, being an ER physician fulfilled her in a different way.

Lindsay truly embraced her role as a doctor and caretaker in the emergency department, always going the extra mile for her patients and thinking outside the box to try to save them. Time after time, Dr Lindsay found herself in the midst of life and death struggles in the trauma bay, always seeming to have her hands inside the chest of a beautiful woman. But right now, somewhere in an alternate reality, the role was reversed, with Lindsay being the beauty fighting for her life in the all too familiar emergency department.

The room Lindsay found herself in was quite a scene. A cacophony of sound hit anyone the instant they set foot in the room. Alarms and monitors were going off. Orders were being barked. Footsteps pitter-pattered around the room. The high pitched, electrical whirring of defibrillators charging echoed around the room from yet another unsuccessful shock. The tension was palpable.

All across the floor of the room, various items were strewn about. Wrappers from bits of medical equipment were tossed to the ground. Empty, used up blood transfusion and IV bags found themselves discarded. Lindsay’s bloody, tattered clothes also wound up on the light colored tile after a brief encounter with a set of shears. Small droplets of blood made a trail leading from the room’s entrance, all the way over to where the trauma room table was.

On the table, underneath the harsh, bright, fluorescent overhead light was the center of attention for the room’s occupants. Dr Sarah, Nurse Nancy, and Nurse Heather worked as a trio, each lady knowing their role inside out, backwards and forwards, from A to Z. Everyone knew their jobs at an expert level, but it was easier said than done for the emergency department’s triumvirate to maintain composure and impartiality, considering a friend and colleague was the poor soul requiring their lifesaving services this time.

Nurse Nancy, the 20+ year veteran of the ER who’s been there, done that, and seen it all stood at the head of the bed ambu bagging, sending much needed air into Dr Lindsay’s lungs. The stress, chaos, gore, and shock that came with being an ER nurse never fazed Nancy, especially after being exposed to such things for over two decades. But in this scenario, Nancy struggled. This wasn’t a stranger on the table tonight. Nurse Nancy couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of the ER’s go-to, unanimously loved leader being the one on the table this time. Heck, Nancy couldn’t even bring herself to look down at the table, not wanting to see her friend’s face, or the overall shape she was in. There was a knot in Nancy’s stomach, and her heart was racing. She hoped and prayed Dr Lindsay would pull through, but as each minute ticked by, each one faster than the last, Nancy’s hope was soon replaced by dread.

Heather, our emergency team’s dependable, hardworking nurse who regularly showed her moxie, stood off to the side of the table, tasked with keeping an eye on the heart monitors in order to note any changes, as well as pushing meds and setting up any equipment Dr Sarah may need. Heather’s eyes were trained on the heart monitors, which displayed a squiggly, sinuous, unorganized line. That squiggly line Heather watched signified something called ventricular fibrillation- a situation where a patient’s heart is twitching instead of actually beating, typically requiring a defibrillator shock in order to restore normal cardiac activity. Ventricular fibrillation, commonly known as v-fib amongst healthcare professionals, was something Heather has seen more times than she could count during her handful of years as a nurse. However, Heather found herself stunned when eyeing the heart monitor, coming to the stark realization that a familiar face was the one being resuscitated this time.

Dr Sarah, the cute, petite, nerdy redheaded doctor who, for all intents and purposes, was Dr Lindsay’s right hand man and most important ally in the battlegrounds of the trauma bay, stood right up against the table, doing anything and everything to bring her fellow ER doc back. Sarah had her gloved hands inside Lindsay’s chest, which was splayed open earlier in the struggle via a clamshell thoracotomy. The redheaded doctor’s hands were firmly wrapped around Dr Lindsay’s boggy, fibrillating heart, vigorously massaging away. A wet, rhythmic squishing sound was produced from Sarah’s internal compressions. “come on Linds… come on….” Sarah uttered under her breath, trying to fight the overwhelming emotions that attempted to consume her. “You were just talking to us Linds… Come on…” continued Sarah, trying to will Lindsay back amongst the living.

Sarah composed herself for a moment. “Let’s shock her again. Recharge the paddles to 30, Heather.” Ordered Sarah, stepping up to the plate. Heather did what she had to do. She set the crash cart to 30 joules and hit the charge button. The high pitched, electrical whining of the internal paddles charging filled the room as Heather handed Sarah the large, spoon shaped devices. Sarah pulled her hands out of Lindsay’s chest cavity and grabbed ahold of the internal paddles. Dr Sarah lowered the internal paddles into the gaping chasm of an incision site, around Lindsay’s erratically fluttering heart.

While her friends worked urgently to save her, Lindsay laid on the table, stripped completely nude, her toned, athletic body on full display in a room full of familiar faces, the violating nature of that fact going to the wayside due to the dire essence of the situation. Lindsay’s sandy, light brown hair was tied back in a messy bun or ponytail of sorts, being held in place with a black headband. The doctor’s icy, sky blue eyes remained open, her pupils the size of dimes, staring up above with a full blown death stare etched onto her face. She was intubated, with the ET tube being secured by a blue tube holder around the area of her mouth and lips. IV lines stuck out of both her arms. Her torso was littered with EKG electrodes and wires. A chest tube stuck out the left side of Lindsay’s ribs, redirecting blood and trapped air outwards. The rest of her upper torso, and belly to a lesser degree, were soaked with a combination of both blood and betadine. However, Lindsay’s chest was the main sight of shock and awe. Her chest had a large, crude, gash just below the nipple line, extending the entirety of her chest horizontally. Not only was there a massive gash, her sternum was sawed in half, and her chest was splayed open via a clamshell thoracotomy. A metal rib retractor sat dead center in her chest, keeping everything open. A large, metal vascular clamp stuck up and out of the incision site. Sarah could also be seen holding the internal defibrillator paddles in place in anticipation of a shock.

“Paddles charged. Everyone… CLEAR!” Dr Sarah called out, everyone else stepping back from the table. THWACK. The shock was delivered. “mmmph…” Lindsay moaned softly, her torso twitching sharply in response to Sarah’s shock. The trio paused after the shock. The monitors beeped fast and loud, everyone’s eyes looking over to see if there was a change. “Come on… she’s still in v-fib. I’m going again at 30. Everyone…. CLEAR!” shouted Dr Sarah, immediately shocking Lindsay again. Lindsay’s shoulders shrugged forward and her arms shivered, a wet thump being heard. Like before, Dr Lindsay’s heartbeat was unable to be restored. Sarah decided to up the ante, shocking her friend and coworker at 40 joules during the next go around. “MMMM!” Lindsay moaned louder, as if she could feel the stronger intensity of the shock. Again, v-fib persisted. “I’m going again at 40! Everyone…CLEAR!” Barked Sarah, determined to keep going. The next shock caused Lindsay’s toes to scrunch up hard at the far end of the table, showing off the bright white nail polish on her toes, along with the wavy, thin, but prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of the big, size 11 feet she was always so self conscious of.

Sarah wasn’t giving up, and neither was v-fib, so the fight was on. “Going again at 40! Everyone… CLEAR!!!” Sarah passionately yelled out, shocking Lindsay once more. Lindsay’s torso shot up and plopped back down hard all within the span of a second. The monitors kept alarming, but by that point, the trio tuned out the noise of the monitors, considering they were well aware there was a major problem. In the seconds after that shock, Lindsay’s heart fluttered and danced weakly for a moment, before coming to a sudden, complete stop. The heart monitors flatlined, and Lindsay’s heart sat completely motionless inside her cracked open chest. Lindsay’s beautiful blue eyes stayed wide open, staring up above, almost as if she was watching her friends determine their next move.

The flatline on the monitors was an absolute gut punch for everyone. Sarah stood there holding the internal paddles, deep in rumination about her next move. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy shined a pen light into Lindsay’s eyes. Lindsay’s pupils were the size of dimes, completely blown, not reacting to the pen light in the slightest. “oh… poor baby…” Nancy uttered, placing the pen light back in her breast pocket. “Pupils fixed and dilated.” Nancy continued, informing everyone, shaking her head. Heather looked over at the heart monitor. “Asystole on the monitors, down 37 minutes.” Added Heather. There was a collective pause after Heather’s words. Nancy didn’t say anything, but she went ahead and detached the ambu bag from the ET tube, a small amount of air quietly hissing out. The two nurses looked over at Sarah, knowing they’ve done all they could for their friend, but needed Sarah to make the final call.

Dr Sarah stood there shell shocked. Sure, Sarah has lost patients before- any ER doctor has. But this was different. This was a coworker. A colleague. A leader. Someone she looked up to. But most importantly, this was a friend. Sarah felt morally and emotionally obligated to continue resuscitation efforts. How could she just give up on Lindsay? At the same time, Dr Sarah viewed the situation clinically and logically. She knew that all possible options were exhausted. An asystolic patient with a downtime of 37 minutes and blown pupils was too far gone for additional interventions. With all this in mind, Sarah snapped back to reality, eyeing each member of the trauma team. Dr Sarah didn’t say a word to any of them. Finally, her eyes looked over at the clock that sat on the back left wall of the room. Sarah gently placed the internal paddles back down on the crash cart, then peeled her blood soaked, latex gloves off, her heart racing, eventually making the dreaded announcement. “Time of death, 8:08pm…” Sarah’s voice wobbling, on the verge of tears.

Nobody said a word, but everyone knew exactly what to do next. Nurse Nancy switched off the flatlined monitors, silencing the once noisy, hectic room. Heather disconnected the EKG electrodes and removed the IVs from each of Dr Lindsay’s arms. A blue surgical drape was hastily tossed on top of the open thoracotomy site, obscuring Lindsay’s inert, motionless heart from view. A toe tag was then filled out and placed on the big toe of Lindsay’s left foot. The tag dangled against the fine, thin, but prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of Lindsay’s feet. Lastly, a cover was placed over Lindsay, concealing the hauntingly beautiful gaze forever etched onto her face. Unfortunately for Lindsay, a cruel twist of fate- and perhaps irony resulted in her dying in the very place she spent so much of her time. In this alternate reality, Dr Lindsay was now the hottie who laid toe tagged and under a sheet in the emergency department.

[daflangstlairde-art]

"A Noble Occupation" Chapter 2, 7936 words

Summary:

The shame burned. Dream felt as though everyone knew. Knew that he was a failure, that he needed something additional to work (and he was already worse at his work than he'd like). Knew that he wasn't the beacon of happiness and hope that they believed in, that they needed, that they loved. That he was something flawed, which felt sorrow and exhaustion and shame. — Dream acquires a new coping mechanism. It's not a very good one.

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

It… became a habit, as shameful as that was.

On lighter days, when his emotions weren't exhausted enough and therefore reached him, Dream would… well, first he would busy himself. When there was nothing obvious that needed him (uncommon occurrence), he sought out how to be helpful, how to be of use. When there was little of that (very rare occurrence), he trained with his teammates, or made preparations.

When that ended and he was home, Dream still looked for ways to make his time worthwhile. Even cleaning was better.

But when he was at a loss on how to do that, and he was thinking and feeling things the Guardian of Positivity shouldn't be… he drank.

The experience didn't get more pleasant, but he grew accustomed to it. The same way he'd learned to bear wounds. The same way he'd learned to bear his own bad emotions.

Go to the store. Internally writhe in shame as he got a bottle of alcohol (wine, since he was most familiar with it). Sometimes he lied that it was for a friend or a gift. Go back home.

Drink it all as fast as possible.

Get hit with the effects all too suddenly.

Feel miserable. Throw up. Go to bed. Sleep like a log.

He learned to keep a glass of water at his night stand. He learned to set an alarm so he wouldn't sleep until noon. He learned to take headache meds in the morning so his functionality wasn't impaired.

It wasn't a big deal, really. It rarely happened, once every several weeks at most.

It helped him sleep, when he did it. It helped him, well, drown his sorrow — make it dull and fuzzy, allowing him to wake up the next day and pretend like none of it existed in the first place, because it shouldn't have existed in the first place.

He was a Protector of the entire Multiverse. If this made him better at his job, at giving the people what they needed in a way that didn't affect them negatively at all, what's the harm in it?

—

Dream should get a mat or something. For his bathroom. The floor tiles were cold.

At some point, he figured it was easier to just drink in his bathroom, since he was inevitably going to end up throwing it up.

The floor… wasn't particularly comfortable, but that's fine. Dream just had to sit here for a bit. Knees pulled to his chest, breathing steadily. Waiting for the alcohol to kick in properly, for the nausea to really rear up. Everything was already fuzzy and tilting, so it was on its way.

And then his phone rang.

Dream winced. He felt his metaphorical heartrate pick up, because it was late, and today had been easier, so this had to be an emergency, and he was a useless mess–

"Hey Dream!" Blue's voice came through.

"Blue?" Dream swallowed. Oh, he hadn't yet… experienced talking to anyone in this state. And he knew alcohol changed the way people spoke. Stars, he really hoped Blue wouldn't pick up on it. He really, really hoped that.

Blue was one of his best friends. One of his teammates. He was… so nice. He genuinely… cared about Dream, not just– about what Dream could do for him, not just about Dream's role. Blue was a good person.

What would he think of Dream? Would he be disappointed?

Dream would not be able to handle that.

He couldn't let Blue know.

"–always for some emergency or another, soo I thought I'd just… you know… call to chat! Just as friends," Blue spoke. His voice was… calm and cheerful. No emergency.

His words caught up to Dream. He wanted to… chat. As friends. That was important. Dream… didn't want Blue to feel like they're just co-workers. They were friends. Blue mattered a lot to Dream.

He was right. Dream had to make more time to spend with his friends. As friends. The last thing he wanted was for them to feel like… like he didn't care about them because he spent all his time helping other people instead.

(He had to have learned from his mistakes. He had to.)

Dream exhaled through his nose, trying to string together a coherent reply. Come on, he wasn't that drunk. Liven up!

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding even if Blue couldn't see. "I– I also… I'd enjoy spending time with you too. As friends,"

"Yay mweheheh!" Blue exclaimed, and Dream huffed in mirth at his endearing laughter. "Unless you're tired, that is– oh no, did I wake you up? I should've asked if you were available to talk first, gah, please prioritize your rest–!" he rushed out.

Dream shook his head. "No, no, I'm available," he spoke slower than the other. It's like the words were fuzzy in his mouth. It was weird. But it didn't sound weird, at least not to him.

"Oh! Okay then, great! Anyway. I'm making dinner!"

Dream hummed. "What're you making?"

"Vegetable cream soup!!!" Blue exclaimed.

That simultaneously sounded really tasty and made Dream remember the upcoming nausea.

"Sounds lovely," he focused on.

"Uh-huh! I hope so. You can try it tomorrow! It's a bit pot. I'm making it with the usual ingredients — you know, carrots and onions and potatoes, but I also decided to add cauliflower because I quite enjoy cauliflower–"Blue started rambling. He enjoyed cooking, as was characteristic of many versions of Papyrus. Funnily enough, Dream had caught him and Horror discussing food prep in the middle of a fight once or twice. It was bizarre. Dream wasn't against it though.

He didn't… think hating Nightmare's gang would solve anyone's issues. He wished he could help them instead. They… hngh. People hated them for ruining and destroying, which was understandable. Dream also, well, highly disapproved of their actions. But they were people, too. And, occasionally, he could feel their hurt. And there's no way being with Nightmare helped.

He exhaled. Maybe someday, he'd figure out a way to help them too. If he tried harder. If he was better.

…Ah, he wasn't listening to Blue. What a friend he was. How could he help Nightmare's gang if he couldn't even be enough for one of his best friends?

"–with an egg, and then it's going to be all done. What about you, what are you up to??" Blue asked curiously, because he was a good friend.

Agh. Dream would have to lie again. He felt… ashamed and guilty. What should he answer?

"I was… cleaning earlier," he answered. He did clean just a little.

"Cleaning? Tsk tsk tsk Dream, I told you to go home and rest," Blue said, light-hearted, more teasing than anything. Though there was soft, disguised concern in his words.

Dream winced. He swallowed. He almost reached for the bottle again before he remembered it was already empty. It was really getting to him. As always, it left him feeling odd. Fuzzy at the face. Nauseated.

"Sorry," he said, sort of by reflex.

"N– it's alright," Blue was quick to assure, and then he paused for a moment. "Are… you alright, Dream?"

Oh no.

Good going, Dream, you couldn't even compose yourself enough for one phone call. Blue just wanted to spend time with you, and now you're making it all about yourself and your problems which you shouldn't be having in the first place. Selfish.

Ugh, and the wine wasn't helping him at all. Dream felt… messy, when he should be the pinnacle of put-togetherness. He couldn't cry now. He couldn't.

"I'm okayy," Dream tried to put a sincere inflection to it. He'd mastered that long ago, except now, it fell oddly, drawing out the end of the word just a bit. Dammit.

Blue was quiet for another moment. Dream had to fix this.

"…Dream, you can ta–"

"I'm just a bit distracted, sorry," Dream lied, "Planning. You know how it is. …Sorry for interrupting you," he winced.

"…Right," that didn't sound like Blue believed him. Dream hunched in on himself. He felt sick. "Just–" Blue took a breath, "–don't stay up all night planning, okay? …Take care of yourself. Please. You don't have to– …You… you'll need the strength, so we can, uh, help people the best we can!"

Right. He was right. Dream was so selfish to be doing this.

"…You're right," he agreed softly. "Thanks for the chat, Blue. I really enjoyed it. Can we… I… I really appreciate you as a friend, you know?" he swallowed. "We should… hang out more. I'm sorry we don't hang out more. I'm s– I… I think I'm gonna go to bed now," he finished on a bit of a lame note.

"I'd love to hang out another time," Blue said all warm, and Dream knew he meant it. "But right now, you going to bed will make me even happier! Good night, Dream! See you tomorrow!"

"Good night," Dream returned quietly. After a beat, the call ended.

Dream let his hand down, blinking bleary at the wall. The silence lingered. He was alone.

He shuffled over to the toilet to throw up so he could go to bed.

—

He was growing too accustomed to the alcohol. One bottle wasn't making him as sick. He had to get two.

The shame burned. Dream felt as though everyone knew. Knew that he was a failure, that he needed something additional to work (and he was already worse at his work than he'd like). Knew that he wasn't the beacon of happiness and hope that they believed in, that they needed, that they loved. That he was something flawed, which felt sorrow and exhaustion and shame.

…He was finding more varied places to get the alcohol from.

—

Several days later,

"Dream!" Ink grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Ink?" Dream was immediately aware, "What is it, why did you call me, are you alright?" did Error go too far again, did Dream need to heal him? Was an AU being destroyed?

"Oh I'm great," Ink waved a hand, and then once again grabbed Dream, "But I really really really need your help!"

"Yes? Of course!" Dream would always help his friends.

"I need you," Ink said gravely, "to have a beach day with me."

Dream stared back at Ink's intense stare.

He resisted the urge to sigh. That'd be rude. And he wasn't really irritated with Ink anyway. Both because he didn't feel irritation, and also because it was Ink, Ink was like this.

"Come on pleeasee! It's really important!" Ink shook him a little. "It's for one of my stories! It has to be realistic. I stayed up all night thinking of plot points to put to the test,"

It still often baffled Dream how Ink could use up his time and energy for fictional stories like this. Then again, he'd… learned Ink perceived real people as fictional too. And besides, he wasn't Dream. Other people needed breaks and hobbies to function and to feel alright, so it was justifiably important. Even if Dream, personally, wouldn't dare.

"…Right," he replied carefully. "How long is this going to take…?"

"Uhhhmmm about a day, less even, so it's basically nothing," Ink shrugged. "We'll leave if there's an emergency, too, I promise,"

Okay, that eased some of Dream's worry. And it's not like this was the first time Ink hauled them away to do stuff relating to his stories. Last time was a few months ago, a camping trip in the mountains. Blue enjoyed that one. Dream did too. He held the memory fondly.

"Okay," he relented with a sigh and a smile. He'd rather be used by his friends.

"YES!" Ink threw his hands up.

And so here they were. Having a beach day.

It wasn't some private beach — there were a bunch of monsters around, but it was very far from crowded. It made Dream feel less like everyone would be looking at him and disapproving of this unearned leisure.

They'd already gone into the water, which wasn't awfully cold. And either way, the sun was high up and hot, seeping warmth into Dream's bones. The air held a gentle breeze that smelled of salt and sand and seaweed.

"Ink, pass it!" Dream hollered, grinning.

"Incomiiing!" Ink laughed, turning so he could pass the ball to Dream. With a running start, Dream jumped to dunk it past the net.

Blue laughed loudly at that, whistling. Error couldn't be assed to rush to catch the ball, even if he was literally a few paces away from it.

Blue had the idea that they play beach volleyball, but they'd needed a fourth person. Ink ended up nagging the Destroyer until he finally agreed, though he wasn't exactly passionate about it. Still, it was really fun. Error made up for his lack of involvement by cheating. This was the third ball Ink had drawn, haha.

And honestly?

Dream was having fun. Even with just the four of them, he was having a great time. All those fighting skills turned out to be useful — agility and precision and team coordination. Both teams were about evenly matched, making the game just engaging enough. Though weirdly, Dream didn't feel drained by all the movement and emotions.

The other monsters around the beach were relaxing, wafting off pleasant contentedness. Blue and Ink were as cheerful as ever. Even Error, as much as he complained about the sand, didn't seem to loathe it too much (likely because he was sort of friends with Blue and was familiar Ink).

It all left Dream collapsing onto his towel with a grin that was so big it ached against his face and a pleasant buzzing in his bones. This was yet another memory he'd hold near and dear.

("Thank you," Dream said to Ink quietly, but from the heart, as they all were sat to eat lunch during a brief break.

Ink chuckled, sharing a brief glance with Blue. "Anytime," he nudged Dream with an elbow.)

.

.

.

…Unfortunately, Dream remained a mess.

He was trying to sleep, he really was. He'd gone to bed over half an hour ago and he'd stayed there. Feeling lighter after a fantastic day. Calmer. More put together. Hopeful, the positivity inside him fresh and sincere, braced to live.

But he just… couldn't sleep. Which, to be fair, was far from new. Actually, he struggled to sleep most of the time. Which wasn't ideal since he got to bed, hm, maybe once every three days, but he was still fully functional so it must be all he needed.

Dream sighed, rolling on his side. Purple teddy bear held to his chest as always.

He wanted to sleep. Bad dreams or not, selfish or not, he was tired and he needed energy to bring his best for the Multiverse. Simply laying around certainly wasn't better.

He didn't understand why he couldn't sleep. He felt so cozy and comforted after the day at the beach. Filled with an unmarred warmth.

…Maybe…

…Hm. Did he need to drink an entire bottle every time? Maybe… drinking only a little would be fine. Just enough to dull his hyperawareness. What's so different to using melatonin pills?

Carefully, still a little ashamed, Dream got out of bed.

His head didn't even hurt in the morning, so it must've been fine.

—

It's really not that bad. Dream remained Dream, the Guardian of Positivity, member of the Star Squad, Protectors of the Multiverse. He was just as reliable, endlessly and gladly inspiring hope in everyone around him. Everyone knew how Dream was. Dream helped and asked for nothing in return. Dream always saw the best in people. Dream determinedly kept his stance in the face of terror and destruction. Dream embodied goodness, in everything he did, everything he was. Always smiling sincerely, reaching out his hands. Dream and all that he was belonged to the people. He served his role dutifully, humble and dedicated, glad and proud.

After years, he'd eventually settled into this balance. Always outputting as much productivity as he could, and always looking to do it more. A worn routine.

This was just… another… tiny part of said routine. He never dared to overdo it — he never drank around people, the same way he never cried around people. He never did it two days in a row, never even did it twice in the same week. He was always very careful that he wasn't needed when he was… uhm, in that state. He didn't… always drink himself to sickness, some nights it was just to help him sleep.

No one was noticing. So it was fine. Dream was ensuring he was highly functional and stable. He could get out all these unwanted emotions and thoughts, flush them down the toilet, and then continue as if it wasn't needed in the first place.

Until he was taken off-guard.

His phone was ringing.

Dream picked up immediately, desperately hoping this was just Blue or Ink wanting to chat. Because here he was once again. Dressed in pajamas, on his bathroom floor. Staring at the swirling and swimming tiles with over one bottle of alcohol in his system. Waiting for the sickness to come and pass, as usual.

"Yeah–?"

"Dream, emergency," Blue's alarm was audible over the line. Dream's rolling stomach sank. "Nightmare and his gang attacked–"

"On m' way, give me– minute," Dream hauled himself to his feet, and promptly regretted it as sharp reflux burned his throat. He pushed it down.

To his credit, his awareness sharpened a bit, as he listened to Blue give him the details of where to go and what state they were in. Ink was already there, and he heard Blue go through one of his portals. At that point Blue had to hang up to engage in combat as well.

In the meanwhile, Dream tried to gather himself into something semi-functional. He knew he looked terrible when drinking, and he was far from dressed for fighting, he had to hurriedly put on more combat-appropriate clothes so he wouldn't earn himself unnecessary wounds or impede his movements. He also took barely a few short seconds to splash his face with cold water.

As always, his mind kicked into habit as soon as he heard 'emergency'. Settling into familiarity. Forcefully jammed into strategy and pragmatism, away from sorrow and pain and all those distractions.

In about a dozen minutes, he arrived at the described location, more specifically in a version of Waterfall. The teleportation made his stomach do uncoordinated flips but Dream barely even noticed it, because he spotted Killer and Dust both engaging Blue in combat and jumped in to deal with at least one of them.

"Dream!" Blue exclaimed in relief.

"Here," Dream called back, parrying the swing of Killer's knife with his staff. Sometimes Killer preferred regular ranged attack bullets, but it seems today (or, tonight, according to the Omega Timeline's cycle) he was more for close-ranged combat. Which was fine because Dream was experienced in both.

"Well look who deigned to join!" Killer spat laughter in Dream's face, gladly engaging him in a fight. He was as vicious as ever, relentless and dirty with his attacks. Dream was used to him and knew to keep his guard up at all times, responding with fast, precise blocks and attacks of his own so as to not allow him openings to abuse.

Or… he was used to Killer.

But as they fought, and Killer kept taunting him as he usually did, Dream was… having a harder time than he should be.

It felt like he was reacting on time, except again and again, Killer managed to steal hits from him that Dream should've been perfectly capable of handling. His reflexes were… fuzzier than he'd like. In a normal fight, they would still hold up, but again, this was Killer. Nightmare had picked out the members of his gang for clear reasons.

Everything was just a little uncoordinated. Just a little unstable, like they were fighting in shallow water even though they were still on dry land, like Dream couldn't manage his footwork. Each hit that landed jarred Dream, even though the pain was muffled as well. Dream was lacking.

…And Killer was catching onto it.

"Heheheee did we catch you off-guard, dreamboy?" he jeered as he slammed his blade against Dream's staff once more, undistracted by his own words. "Are you losing your spark?"

Dream didn't reply, focused on matching him beat for beat as much as he could. Though that wasn't uncommon. He wasn't much for mid-fight banter. That was more Ink's thing. It's why Killer liked fighting Dream specifically. He wanted to crack his composure.

"You're sloppy," Killer hissed, grinning, dodging and slashing in the same movement, "Not usually your style, Mr. Perfect!" he mocked.

And he was right. Dream excused the rushing of his metaphorical heart on the adrenaline.

"This is who our enemies are? Pathetic," Killer successfully managed to slam the hilt of his blade against Dream's wrist, which weakened the grip on his staff, allowing Killer a wide swipe that landed despite Dream's attempt at dodging. Dream registered absentmindedly that, thankfully, it wasn't a lethal wound.

"What is up with you?" Killer crooned. "Am I scaring you, sunshine? Was this a bad time? Or…" he paused, in a dangerously considering way.

Dream's gut wrenched. His eyes widened, just the tiniest bit that people usually would not notice.

But this was Killer. Killer, when he wasn't drunk on violence and pain, could be terrifyingly observant. He was like a shark sensing a single droplet of blood in the water.

Killer barked out a hysterical laugh.

"Are you drunk?!" he loudly marveled.

Dream was too late to catch the wince he made at that. It was just the confirmation Killer needed.

"Oooohohoho oh this is incredible!" Killer laughed, fiercely back to attacking. "Your Guardian, everybody! A drunkard! I knew I could smell something familiar!" he declared it all loudly, even if there was nobody here to hear except the two opposing groups. And the echo flowers.

But even though there were no civilians here to hear, Dream was violently cringing inside. Please, no, he begged, please just let me handle this and go back home.

"What, got sick of living the life anyone else would kill for?!" Killer mocked, abusing his new knowledge to gain the upper hand in their fight. Dream was even sloppier, struggling to keep up with him, backing up as Killer pushed onwards. "I'm embarrassed to even fight you, Dream! Tsk tsk tsk!"

Usually, Dream mentally shielded himself from Killer's and Nightmare's and everyone's negative remarks as much as he could. Usually he knew the point of their words was to get to him, him specifically. To weaken his resolve, to hurt.

So why was it getting to him now?

Horrifyingly, Dream realized he wanted to cry.

All Killer needed was for him to stumble for a moment, and then Dream cried out as a knife was plunged directly into his chest. Killer seized the opportunity, shoving him towards the wall with it so he could push the blade in up to the hilt.

As soon as he accomplished it, he twisted the knife, Dream letting out another highly pained sound, and then ripped his knife out to let him bleed.

Dream, uncoordinated, sloppy, hurting, overwhelmed, slid down to the ground, trying to at least breathe. Everything was spinning, and the back of his throat stung sharply and discontentedly.

Dream didn't even process Killer lifting his knife and summoning four blasters with the same gesture, laughing hysterically above him. He flinched and cowered pathetically as a second shape jumped between them, and it was the final push as he leaned forwards and retched on the ground. Or… he aimed for the ground but didn't quite make it. The humiliation burned as he saw he caught the bottom of his pants and his shoes and it was gross and he wanted to cry. He was shaking.

"–eam are you okay?!" Blue's worried voice floated in from beside him, and Dream squeezed his eyes shut, pulling his knees closer in, hiding his face in them.

He was collapsing in the middle of a fight. His friends needed him. He was letting them down. He was letting everyone see his composure break. He was broadcasting his weaknesses, his wrongness to their enemies. What was wrong with him? Why was he like this? Why couldn't he just work?

Adrenaline and shame and sheer overstimulation wracked him inwardly and he felt sick, he felt so sick, he was going to throw up again.

"Dream, hey, hey, listen to me, it's okay, focus on my voice," Blue spoke. He was– he was kneeling next to Dream, blocking his view of the rest of the fight. If both of them were dealing with Dream's mess, then Ink had to be handling the rest on his own. And Ink was strong and incredibly capable, he was creative and didn't let things get to him, but Dream was letting him down.

They were both going to be disappointed in him. The thought felt like getting stabbed in the chest again.

Dream– Dream couldn't do this. He was a disappointment. He was a useless. A mess. He was a failure.

In barely a flash, he was back in his bathroom, bending forward to throw up into the toilet. Everything was spinning, and he clutched the bowl to stop the shaking of his hands. His face felt hot with shame and the blubbery tears breaking out of their prison.

Dream was struggling to breathe. It felt like his rib cage was made of stone, and he couldn't breathe in right. He was– he was trying to gasp in air but every inhale got cut off sharply, he couldn't breathe, everything was vibrating like pins and needles.

Dream let his forehead thunk down on the toilet seat, the cutting breaths starting to sound more like hiccups, like sobs. He couldn't get himself under control, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't even think. It was all just a barrage of emotions he shouldn't be capable of even having, uselessness and panic and sorrow and self-hatred and guilt and disappointment and shame shame shame. He was a ruin. He felt so damn sorry the Multiverse depended on this thing.

Suck it up. Pull yourself together. Handle this. Be better. Be better!

But he couldn't. He couldn't. Every desperate attempt to pull himself together only made him more overwhelmed, only made him feel more incapable. He wanted to claw out the emotions. He wanted it out.

It hurt as he retched into the toilet again, acidic magic trailing down his chin. It was gross, it was so gross, he hated it. He hated the way his uncontrolled sobs echoed in the bathroom. He hated the way he couldn't even get up, trembling and weak and aching all over. He hated hating, he shouldn't even be capable of it.

How was he going to sleep like this? How was he going to look his friends in the eyes like this tomorrow? How was he going to look at anyone? Maybe they wouldn't know how much of a useless disappointment he was, if Nightmare didn't broadcast it to the whole Multiverse, but Dream would know. It would be in the background of all his actions, following him, never allowing him to forget because he had to remember his mistakes, he had to learn from them, he had to be better.

Who would need– who would want a Guardian of Positivity who wasn't even positive?

He tried to reign in the sobbing, he tried, he swore he tried. He always tried so, so hard but it was never enough. He was never enough. People always needed more, there was always more to do, he always had to be more. He couldn't even stop crying, when he shouldn't be crying in the first place.

Dream raised his hands, slamming them into the sides of his head. Just stop it. Just stop it. You're the one that messed up, you're the one who always messes up! It's your fault! It's always been your fault! Why are you crying? How dare you feel sorry for yourself you useless thing? People suffer constantly, and here you are, sniveling!

"I'm sorry, 'm sorry," Dream blubbered incoherently, not even sure to who. It was just– instinct, deep inside him. Sorry that he was wrong, sorry that he wasn't enough, sorry sorry sorry.

The tears didn't stop coming. It's like every tear he'd ever repressed was coming back for him with vengeance. He just kept crying and crying and crying, like he was trying to hold back the tears with his own hands but they just kept slipping through. How was he supposed to calm anyone else's tears when he couldn't even deal with his own?

He was made to help people, it was the definition of his existence to exist through others and for others. If he couldn't be theirs then he was nothing, he was as good as de–

"–shh, shh, it's okay,"

Dream jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder, no, no, what? There wasn't supposed to be anyone here, he was alone, he–

"Dream, it's okay, it's alright," Blue was kneeling next to him, keeping up a stream of reassurances, and the sudden shame Dream felt, like someone had grabbed his nonexistent intestines and squeezed.

"Blue– you– n– m– I–" he stammered, words slurred in a way he hated.

"It's okay," Blue insisted, "Look, look at me, hey," his hands came to cup Dream's face, and Dream felt borderline scared as he looked at Blue's gaze. It was gentle, but sure. "You're okay. Everything is okay. Stop thinking, just– breathe with me, please?" he said.

More tears bubbled into Dream's eye sockets because he couldn't, he couldn't–

"I need you to remind me how we did it, please? Please? How did we do it? How do we breathe deep?" Blue tried desperately.

He needed Dream. He needed Dream's help, and that's all Dream's shattered thoughts could focus on. His friend needed him.

Dream forced himself to gasp in air even as it burned, his chest and his throat.

"There we go, that's right," Blue encouraged, still holding his face, keeping Dream's eyes on him. "I think I'm remembering, keep showing me, okay?"

Dream gasped for air again, and Blue followed, inhaling deeply. Much more steadily than him. Dream tried to hold the breath but it burned and escaped him, and Blue held and exhaled with him, although slower.

Dream was still shaking with sobs but he pushed through, hands clutching tightly onto nothing, forcing himself to breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold, repeat. Blue following him beat for beat.

They barely spent a few minutes that way before another presence joined them and Dream flinched, his already unsteady rhythm knocked off again.

"It's just Ink, it's okay," Blue reassured quickly. "He's got some medical supplies–"

Dream's eye lights snapped back to Blue in alarm, "Who's hurt?" he asked immediately, still struggling with cohesion.

Blue's face saddened, and that only panicked Dream more. There was someone injured who needed his help and he was sitting here freaking out–

"You are," Ink said next to them and flicked Dream's head with two fingers. Dream startled at it. He saw Blue send Ink a look at that, but he sensed no regret from Ink.

His mind grappled to process the words.

He was? He was what? Hurt?

…Oh wait. Yes. He was hurt. Killer stabbed him in the chest, he was still bleeding from it.

And then– then he'd–

More tears and shame pricked at his face. He shook his head insistently, though he wasn't sure what he was trying to convey.

"Dream, please let Ink help," Blue pleaded, worry lacing every word.

Dream hated to make him worry, especially over him, so in guilt, he relented.

With shaking hands, he removed his capelet and his shirt so it would be easier for Ink. Looking at it now, the wound was bad. It wouldn't kill him, it would take a lot to kill him, but it was bad. His blood dripping down from his severed ribs. It'd soaked into his clothes. It explained the burning of his breathing only partially.

"It's going to be okay," Blue lifted his face up again. "Just let Ink heal it, it's going to be okay Dream,"

He shouldn't be the one reassuring Dream. Ink shouldn't be the one cleaning his wound carefully to heal him. Dream should be the one taking care of them, not the other way around.

"I'm sorry," he whispered through hiccups, not even flinching as Ink gently cleaned his wound out with rubbing alcohol.

However the smell reached up to Dream's nose and nausea rolled in his stomach.

He shoved himself away from Blue to gag, pressing a hand to his mouth because he'd hate himself even more if he threw up on his friend.

"Whoops, sorry about that," Ink said casually, assuming he'd done something wrong.

"Not– not your fault," Dream reassured him, struggling to breathe through the nausea.

"Oh, I thought that's what we're doing? Apologizing for things that aren't our fault?" Ink said with a mischievously innocent smile.

Blue whacked his shoulder. Ink showed no regret, chuckling.

Dream was trying not to throw up again. He didn't usually vomit this much, but he usually stayed in his bathroom with little physical strain too.

He really, really wished they didn't see him like this.

"Oh, you still feel sick?" Ink spoke again, pushing himself to his feet, "I'll be back in a mo, keep an eye on him," he told Blue and then disappeared through a swipe of inky magic.

"Okay–" Blue exhaled through his nose, picking up the cotton and the rubbing alcohol, "I'll treat your wounds for now then, is that okay?"

Dream stared at the plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol. Just the thought of the smell made him feel sick and ashamed and guilty, like he wanted to hide under his blanket.

"Oh–" Blue looked down at the bottle and then put it down.

"No, no, it's fine–" Dream was quick to reassure. His words were slightly clearer even though everything still felt like pins and needles. He was still intermittently hiccuping and sobbing, breathing shakily. And bleeding.

"No, we'll think of something else," Blue insisted, and Dream cringed. He couldn't even give it to them to not be a difficult patient. Way to burden your friends with what shouldn't even be their job, Dream.

He reached for the plastic bottle. He could patch his wound up himself, it was far from the first time.

Blue grabbed his wrist.

"Dream." he said sternly, and Dream couldn't help but hunch in on himself at the tone.

"Sorry,"

Blue breathed in and out in a measured manner.

"It's okay, I'm not mad at you," he said gently, and Dream could feel he wasn't. Mostly, he felt– frustration, worry and care, and sadness.

"Are– are you okay?" Dream asked. He didn't want Blue to feel frustrated and sad and all.

The frustration reared up at that, and then Dream felt it get intentionally shoved down.

"'S okay to be frustrated," he reassured, hand reaching up to Blue's shoulder in sloppy comfort.

"I'm–" Blue exhaled, "I'm not frustrated because you've done something wrong," he explained, "I just– I want to help you but I don't know how, and I'm... frustrated you're not letting us,"

Oh.

"Sorry," Dream mumbled, "I'm– I'm alright,"

"You're not," Ink reappeared, and Dream saw Blue wince at the bluntness. "Maybe this will help though?" Ink crouched down next to them, holding out a blister pack to Dream.

Dream let go of the rubbing alcohol, so Blue let go of his wrist. He accepted the blister pack, reading the name on the back.

'DETOX' and underneath, in smaller letters, 'active charcoal'.

"Charcoal?" he frowned.

"Yup!" Ink exclaimed. "It helps draw out, uh, bad things from your digestive system! Like food poisoning. Or alcohol,"

Dream stiffened, deeply uncomfortable and ashamed. Maybe they'd just heard Killer. Maybe they'd connected the dots. The two bottles still remained in the bathroom, after all, which is where they were sitting right now.

"I, I–" he scrambled.

"You don't have to explain yourself," Ink cut him off with a raised hand. "If you think that'll help, take it. You can even take two, it's not dangerous," he pointed at the active charcoal pack Dream held.

He hesitated.

"...Okay," Dream accepted, popping two out and swallowing them dry. It didn't taste like anything. He was thirsty. He felt completely drained, which didn't help the shaking and the wooziness.

"Wanna know what would help right now?" Blue spoke, and Dream looked at him hopefully.

"What?"

"Telling me how this upsets you so I can think of something else?" Blue pointed at the bottle of rubbing alcohol tentatively.

Dream cringed again. He should just tough it out. He was making things needlessly complicated, when he should be the person that makes things easier.

...But... Blue said it would help.

Dream took a wobbling breath in, then let it out. He was still blinking tears out of his eyes. Even though they weren't wracking through him anymore, he couldn't stop them.

"It's– the smell," he admitted quickly.

"Oh! Psh, well that's not a problem," Ink said easily, for some reason unraveling his (very long and thick) brown scarf that he loved. And then, bizzarely, he started wrapping it around Dream's neck, pulling it up so it rested over the lower half of his face too.

When Dream breathed in through his nose, all he could smell was Ink's natural scent, ink and paint and cloth.

"I– but what if I throw up again?" he looked up at Ink, voice small, eyes wet.

Ink stood with his arms crossed, smiling.

"You realize I throw up when I get overwhelmed, like, half the time, right?"

...Oh.

They were being… so nice. Showing him so much care, even though they shouldn't. But because they… wanted to?

It made him want to cry all over again, expression wobbling. They were so nice, and warm. He could feel their care.

"Thank you," he said softly to both of them.

"Anytime!" Ink beamed. "So is it gonna work?"

"I– yeah, I think so," Dream nodded, raising a hand to press the scarf to his face.

When Blue brought a cotton swab soaked in rubbing alcohol to try cleaning his stab wound again, the smell didn't hit Dream's nasal cavity, it didn't make him want to bend over and retch.

They spent some time in the quiet like that. Blue and Ink cleaning up his wound, healing it, and dressing it in a practiced manner. There were still tears half-heartedly streaming down from Dream's eyes, no matter how much he wiped them away with his hands and tried to hold them back.

He could feel the ache of the wound settling in, sharper now that it wasn't covered up by alcohol and adrenaline, but it wasn't more than what he could handle. His metaphysical stomach felt desolate, and he was so thirsty, but he worried he'd just throw it up again. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs and his eye lids, from the amount of energy he'd wasted in throwing up and freaking out.

And in the middle of a fight, too. And his teammates had rushed after him to help him, oh stars.

"What about Nightmare's gang?" Dream suddenly piped up in alarm.

"Oh don't worry," Ink waved a hand, "I ditched them at Error's," he cackled. Blue snorted.

Oh. Okay then.

"Good job," Dream praised them both. He really couldn't ask for better, more capable, more reliable teammates. Friends. "And… thank you. And– I'm–" his mouth wobbled more, and he tried to breathe the uprising tears away. "I'm sorry, I... I just– this–" how could he explain this? How could he justify himself?

He didn't want to lie to them. He hated lying. Especially to his friends.

"I thought it would help," his voice broke against his will. He stared at the floor, starting on the damned crying again. Get a hold of yourself, Dream. "I was trying to– I thought it would–"

Wordlessly, Blue reached over and dragged him into a hug. A second later Ink flopped into the embrace too, both of them sandwiching him like endearing annoyances.

Dream was… a bit stupefied. Here he was, drunk (post-drunk?), having botched a fight. Vomited magic dried on the bottom of his pants (he'd kicked his shoes off). Sitting with his best friends on his bathroom floor, an undignified mess in all ways.

And they just… hugged him.

Blue's arms around him were solid and strong, an unflinching aura of care. Ink had a steady calm presence, for all his hyperactivity, never overwhelming Dream with emotions due to their artificial nature.

They were… so warm.

Dream pressed his face to Blue's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut painfully. Blue rubbed his back, as much as he could with Ink there at least.

"It's okay," Blue comforted him gently. "You're okay. Everything is alright. You didn't do anything wrong, alright? You can let it out,"

Dream shook his head.

"Heeyy! There's room for only one emotionless Protector!" Ink whined, "Don't infringe on my copyright!"

Dream laughed wetly at that.

"I'm– but it's wrong," he argued, daring to voice his inner turmoil. Uncertain how exactly to describe the way he felt about it to someone else. "I– I wasn't made to cry," he tried.

"I mean, you can cry though, right?" Ink pointed out. "Sounds to me like you were made to do it, then,"

And… and Dream couldn't really argue with that. He was left speechless.

"Come on, what do you always tell other people?" Blue guided. "What do you say when someone's crying?"

Many things. But among those things,

"That it's... normal, and... healthy," Dream replied, quiet, uneasy. "But I'm not– it's not the same,"

"Why not?" Blue exclaimed. "Didn't it feel nice just now? Letting it out? Everything that was built up?"

…Miserably, Dream had to admit it did. Like there had been a dam accumulating inside of him, turbulent and heavy, metric tons of tears built up. And finally, he'd let some of it out. He was exhausted, and ashamed, but he did feel… eased, in a way.

"You're allowed to cry, Dream," Blue insisted softly. "Heck, you of all people should get to cry!"

"Don't worry, we won't tell anyone," Ink said in a jokey tone, "It's going to be a Star Secret,"

"Yeah, Ink will probably forget in a day," Blue teased.

"Heeyy!" Ink complained with no upset behind it, instead amused. "Maybe you should forget it too, did you consider that?"

"Nope! I'm a magnificent keeper of secrets, mweheheh!"

Dream giggled wetly. They were so nice. He sobbed again, muffling it into Ink's scarf. He loved his friends so, so much.

"There we go," Blue encouraged, amused but sincere. Patting his back gently. "Do you still feel sick? Do you think we can move to your room–?"

"Yeah, it's alright," Dream swallowed.

"Dream,"

"No– it is, it really is, I– I want to change my clothes," he insisted, it was the truth.

"Alright, Ink, move a little please,"

Ink complained and there was a bit of shuffling. Dream also got ready to disengage from the hug, but instead he was taken off guard as Blue lifted upwards, still holding him. Easily picking Dream up, making him yelp. Jeez, he sometimes forgot how much sheer physical strength Blue had.

Blue cackled, having definitely done that on purpose.

Dream sighed in feigned annoyance, but considering how tired he was, he honestly appreciated the lift to his bed where Blue deposited him. Ink happily trailed after, and flopped down right beside him.

"Do you need anything else? Where are your clothes?" Blue hovered, still on his feet.

"I can get it," Dream pushed himself up.

"Noooooo," Ink complained, wrapping around him like a squid.

"Guys,"

"Dream,"

"Just–" Dream sighed, "please? I swear I'm better," either from the DETOX or he'd thrown it all up, or both. And from the sheer comfort and positivity of his friends. He was just… tired. So tired.

But… not in a hopeless way. Rather in a really sleepy way.

Blue was visibly unsure, but relented, sitting at the bed. Dream smiled at him. Ink unlatched from him, letting him get up. He got into pajamas, brushed his teeth because yuck, and also went to get himself a glass of cold water from the kitchen. He drank it slowly and crossed his fingers, hoping he wouldn't throw up again.

He lingered in his kitchen for a moment, just… breathing. His body was tired. Heavy and dragging. It was so much more than simple lack of sleep. It felt like he'd bled out. Not just literally. A part of him dreaded how this would all crash down on him tomorrow.

And he was still highly in danger of crying.

…But…

…Maybe, he was made for it. Maybe, it was good and healthy for him. That's what Ink and Blue thought. And Dream both trusted them and trusted their view. They were some of the most truly kind, capable, honest, caring, dedicated– ah, he could go on. Point was: he appreciated them. Maybe... maybe he should take them as a guide instead.

It was a bit terrifying? Because what if he was wrong? What if Dream was daring to go against everything that'd kept the multiversal balance intact this far?

…But he hadn't been enough, this far. So... clearly something wasn't working. It was time he tried to change things up Just a little. For the sake of goodness.

(And maybe, just a little, for his own sake.)

Dream refilled the glass, taking it with him. Pattering back to his bedroom.

Ink and Blue were still laying there, their collective aura easy and light and warm, though with mix-ins. They were chatting about something. Ink was holding up the purple teddy bear, making it move as though it was acting out their conversation.

Dream passed by and primly snatched it out of his hands.

"Heeyy!" Ink protested, and then his mental track switched as he grinned, "Oh I'm so happy you kept him!"

"Of course I kept him," Dream rolled his eye lights. "He's a gift from you doofuses,"

"Mweheheh!"

"I like his ribbon," Ink pointed out. "Purple and yellow, complementary colors,"

…Yeah.

"Dream. Bed. Sleep. Don't make me make you," Blue threatened.

"I dare you to try," Dream grinned.

"Oh Dreamy Mr. Guardian," Ink clasped his hands together theatrically, making his eyes big and sparkling, "I need aid remembering how to get into bed, can you please show me–!"

Blue mercilessly whacked him over the head, making Ink kick his feet and laugh loudly.

Blue sent Dream a glance, but Dream was laughing too. He wasn't particularly offended. Partially because it was Ink, but mostly because Ink was... pretty accurate with it, haha. Oh stars.

Oh so benevolently, he flopped into bed, laughing quietly as he got dragged in for cuddles. Holding the plushie close.

Tomorrow, the shame and guilt would crawl up his spine. Tomorrow, he was probably in for… difficult conversations.

Tonight, instead of alone, Dream was held by his teammates, his friends, listening to them chat and breathe, and he felt... alright. Tonight, instead of lying, Dream had cried and it was alright. Tonight, Dream slept alright.

[haoboutyou]

till death do us part | wen junhui

angst, hurt/no comfort | 1158 words | warnings: major character death

an: @bluehoodiewoozi swore at me for writing this. hehe. would you believe i wrote all of this through text?

These days, the world outside was rather… quiet. The town lay in eerie silence, its once vibrant streets now hauntingly empty. Abandoned cars scattered haphazardly along the roads, their doors left ajar as if their panicked occupants had fled in a hurry. The once cheerful storefronts now stood as decaying shells, their windows shattered and doors hanging off their hinges. A thick layer of dust and debris covered everything, as if a shroud had settled over the town.

The few remaining streetlights flickered sporadically, casting long, ominous shadows that danced across the lifeless buildings. The air was heavy with the scent of decay, a putrid combination of rotting flesh and stagnant water. Occasionally, the only sounds that broke the silence were the distant moans and shuffling footsteps of the undead, hidden in the shadows and alleys.

You were tired. Junhui was tired. The air was heavy with a palpable sense of despair, and the once-familiar landmarks now stood as haunting monuments to the fall of civilization. You hadn’t had a second to relax ever since leaving your now-infested apartment complex. Your only dream right now was to lay on a comfy bed, after days spent sleeping on hard grounds. 

What a shame that you’d only find yourself on one after barely escaping a surprise horde of zombies

Battered and bruised didn’t stop Junhui from carrying you into the nearest zombie-free house, shielding you against his chest as he tried to press on your fresh wounds.

He set you down in a bedroom furthest away from the entrance, on a dusty queen-sized bed He immediately rummaged through the house looking for things to stop you from bleeding out and withering in pain. Medicine, bandages, ointments– anything he saw, he brought them back to you.

You winced and grunted every time he tried to apply something other than pressure on you. At one point, the stinging from the ointments became too much, and you weakly swatted Junhui’s hand away from a gash on your side. 

Junhui’s head tilted down, hair shaggy as he clumsily worked his way through his loot. Pouring this, dabbing that, he busied his hands, attempting to wrap gauze on your arm. It didn’t stop you from noticing how shaky his hands were, or how his body shook every few seconds as tears cascaded down his face. 

“Jun,” you voiced, barely a whisper, but still enough for him to lock eyes with you for a moment before going back to the task at hand.

“Jun.”

“Junhui.”

“Wen Junhui!”

“What?!” Junhui finally snapped, staring at you with glassy eyes. Noticing the way you flinched, he softened his gaze, hand moving to push a stray hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, love. I’m just trying to help you.” His hand landed on your face, letting you weakly nuzzle in his warmth. “Is anything else in pain?”

“Jun…” 

“Is the bandage not tight enough?” 

“No, I-…Look at me, Junhui” 

He touched your hands, fingers interlocking. Your fingertips were getting colder, he noticed. He moved to cover you with a nearby blanket, before the gravity of the situation hit him.

“No, no no no,” he grasped your hand tighter, not caring for his knees that had been kneeling for the better part of the past half hour. “You can’t– We promised to find Jeonghan at the base… We… We’re supposed to go together!” 

Wen Junhui was full-on sobbing now, whole body slumped over yours. You mustered what was left of you to place a gentle hand on his head, caressing him softly. 

“You’ll still have to go. Promise, okay?” You were smiling now, but your eyes were just as full of tears as his.

“I… I can’t do it without you!” The hand he had on your stomach started to feel damp again, as he realised more blood was seeping out of the wound. “Y/n…!”

"Just hold my hand, okay? Nothing will happen to you.” Junhui’s grip on your hand was hurting you, but nothing could compare to the pain you felt from the mere thought of having to leave this man behind. 

“I won’t let anything hurt you." His voice dropped to a whisper as he kissed the top of your knuckles, bringing your hand that was on his head to his cheek.

“Okay,” speaking now had gotten to a point where it hurt, but comforting the crying man by your side mattered more. 

You fought off the urge to close your eyes, trying to delay the inevitable.

“Promise me… that you’ll find everyone else…” You barely managed to cough out the words. “You have to live, promise.”

Junhui could feel your very life force seeping out of you.

“I promise… I love you, y/n. I love you so much.” He saw you struggling to hold on, for him. The very thought of you putting his selfish wants first, even on your deathbed, hurt his already throbbing heart.

“Let’s meet again soon, yeah?” He had to strain his ears to hear you now. He mustered up a gentle smile, looking at you with all the adoration he held for you. With his free hand, Junhui attempted to wipe away his tears as much as possible. At least, he thought, he’d like it if the last thing you saw was him smiling, not crying.

Tears, like glistening droplets of sorrow, slowly traced a delicate path down the contours of your cheeks. Nevertheless, you tried your hardest, returning his efforts with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen grace your face.

It was barely moments after that your hand slumped in his, lifeless. Junhui spent the night kneeling on the floor by the bed, trying to grasp whatever warmth was still on you before it all seeped out. 

Morning came. He had to leave now if he wanted to reach the base camp before dark. He finally pried his hand out of your cold and clammy ones, moving them to rest over your stomach. He touched you once more, as if his fingertips were memorising every contour of your face and committing them to memory. Finally, before he covered your face with the blanket, he unhooked the necklace you had always worn around your neck. It was a little bit selfish, he thought, but he wanted at least something to remind him of you. 

Fastening it around his own neck, he spent the next hour gathering his and your supplies, checking his routes and weapons in silence. 

By noon, he walked out of the house, clutching the necklace by his heart.

Jeonghan and the others would be heartbroken when they find out why he arrived alone, the light in his eyes shining no more. They would take care of Junhui, watching after him as he fiddled with the necklace, making sure he slept and ate his meals. But he wasn’t at the camp yet. Until then, there was no time to grieve. 

He had to survive. For you.

[tache-noire]

for @thlayli-ra :)

punkintyre whump with dodgy religious symbolism yippee

Drew is still seeing red when he stalks down the ramp, backstage, his ears ring, echoes of cheers and boos rattling in his head like the labored breath in his lungs, and there’s no medics to fawn over him and hold his hand, he’s not their christ gingerly lowered from the cross to be interred in an eternal viral tomb of replays and highlights. The highlight of his career is his lowest point. He won’t be Judas, he won’t be Brutus, he couldn’t end a tyrant or even create a martyr. He is Goliath, towering, humiliated, over David and his sling. What is there for him? Just his feet carrying him. The blood dripping between them every other step. A smeared handprint left on the door when he pushes it open and barks “out!” at its occupants.

And there is CM Punk. There is still CM Punk. 

They surround him, still, looking up at Drew now but still touching his skin. Dabbing at scrapes. Prodding bruises. 

“Out,” Drew repeats.

Punk waves his attendants away.

“You should get that stapled,” he rasps. “You’re bleeding too much.”

Drew shakes his head, dislodging clots from his hair that stick to his skin. Silence hangs between them. There’s the unspoken question– “what do you want?”-- that Punk won’t ask, and Drew won’t answer. He doesn’t know. But he knows that Punk can give it to him. He ought to be higher, on a throne, not a folding chair so far below Drew. He has to sink down to his knees to make it right, to pray for… For what? Forgiveness? Mercy? Permission to keep living, as pitiful and wormlike as he is? He’s bleeding too much, it’s starting to make him dizzy.

Punk carefully pulls matted strings of hair away from Drew’s wound. Some of them stick and pull. He grooms him in silence, until he’s pure. Until his flesh is bared and he can feel Punk peering through the chasm in his scalp and straight into his skull, and his tears cut through the blood and grime on his cheeks because he knows. Nothing in there is worthy. The dark thoughts, the hatred, the rage, the obsession, the things that Punk brought out of him were there all along, and they’re still there. They cause his fingers to clench into fists and bile to rise in his chest. He still hates. He’s still caged. Punk holds his foul crown in both hands and strokes the edges of his wound (unholy, not like the wounds Punk’s attendants are blessed to touch). His thumbs push the two sides together.

His lips bless him and come away stained with sin.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s over.”

Drew is absolved. His trembling hands raise to Punk’s knees, and he sobs in his lap in relief.