#attempted suicide tw

[bunnieswithknives]

Guess who finally got around to watching Presto like two weeks late LMAO

[jasaginae0]

BUNNYDOLL SHIPPERS LOOK WHAT I MADE

https://www.wattpad.com/story/363138301?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=FeelingxP1nk

Inspired by this art:

[cobawrites]

A Gust of Wind (Vash x Reader), Chapter 2

Vash x Reader, GN! Reader, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn Romance, TW: Mentions of Mental Illness, TW: Mentions of Suicide. Reader awakens to an unfamiliar world, left alone and struggling with mental illness from before the crash. Vash emerges as a guiding light for Reader, and vice versa.

Prev >> Chp. 2 >> Next

Hello again! Here is the second chapter of A Gust of Wind. Major trigger warning for this chapter, though, involving attempted suicide. Please read responsibly.

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By clicking “Keep reading”, you agree to the content warnings. 

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                                                     A Gust of Wind

                                                        Chapter 2

 A sea of stars lit up the rapidly darkening sky by the time you reached the familiar cliffsides. Getting back sure took forever. Between your injured leg and parched lips, you weren’t sure you were going to make it. You regretted leaving your bag at the bottom where you found all those worms. They had probably run off with it by now. No point in wasting the energy trying to check for sure.

Light-headed, nauseous, and going slightly color-blind, you realized that you could have your wish either way. Still, you’d rather die a more ceremonious death than as a dehydrated, heat-stricken corpse in the sand. Chasing after your very own still life. There was nothing holding you back now, so if you were going to do it, you were going to do it right. A love letter to yourself, and nobody else. Your way. For once, you were going to do this your way.

With tired, trembling legs, you stumbled toward the edge of the cliff once again. This was it. You stared up at the sky for a moment, gathering your final thoughts. A double sunset peaked over the distant, sandy hills, and for the first time, you could see it for what it truly was: a marvel to behold. Funny how that worked…

You opened your palms up toward the sky, letting the fading beams of light shine through your fingers. If only it was always like this. If only it had always been this easy.

But a sudden breeze, although gentle and soft, left a bitter chill on your skin. Oh, yes. Nights on this planet were cold. Cold and unforgiving. But you hadn’t forgotten that. You’d only tucked the thought away, like you’d done with all the rest.

With a deep sigh, your hands still reaching for the faint glow of the suns, you steadied your weak legs and took a step out into thin air.

“(Y/N)! What the hell are you doing!?”

The grace within your step faltered, and the foot still left on solid ground tripped over the edge. You felt the back of your shirt constrict, and you were left dangling off the cliff. You really couldn’t have anything nice, now, could you? Not even after crashing your home on a barren wasteland of a planet. Not even after abandoning all that you ever knew. Not even after your mother… You really couldn’t catch a fucking break.

“Let go, asshole!” You growled, thrashing frantically, and attempting to pry their fingers off your shirt, cursing when your nails scraped hard, unmoving metal.

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a no!” They grunted, and you craned your neck up towards the cliff to see a familiar blond man pulling you up.

You planted your feet firmly against the cliff wall and pushed, jolting him forward. Your heart dropped, blood suddenly running cold through your veins. You were trying to free yourself, not take him with you. But your worry turned out to be in vain. Regaining his stability without missing a beat, he began to pull you up.

No way. You worked much too hard to make this happen. You trudged along the scorching sand, pushing through the pain in your leg for so long that your bandages were now thoroughly drenched a deep red.

In a desperate last effort, you clawed at the fabric of your shirt. He would let you go whether he wanted to or not. Managing to form a small tear at the bottom, you grabbed both ends and pulled the cloth apart. With horror, Vash watched as you slipped out of his grasp, an empty, tattered cloth in his hand.

“(Y/N)!” He called out, dashing off the cliff after you. You turned as you fell, catching a blurry glimpse of him springing from ledge to ledge, heading right for you.

This man… This man wasn’t human.

Vash caught you in his arms, and you both crashed on an adjacent cliff wall. He tucked your head securely into his chest as you both tumbled down. He weathered every thud with furrowed brows, rolling over with precision, never once letting you take the brunt of any hit. Finally, you landed on a small outcrop of rock, dust settling around the two of you like the calm after a sandstorm.

With a tenderness you could never have imagined from the man who had just descended a chasm like a wild beast, Vash took your face in his hands, checking you all around for injuries.

“Why?” You cried, thick tears rolling down your face in defeat. “Why do you care so much? Why put yourself in danger like that?”

You wanted to look directly at his face for answers to his crime, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Those piercing blue eyes reached into yours like a vessel down a well. Like he could pull all your sorrows up from the greatest depths of your heart and spill them out onto the ground before you. Those piercing blue eyes… You looked away angrily, jerking your face away from his touch.

“Answer me…” you whispered. “Why did you come back here?”

Vash gazed at you, brows softening as he watched your tears fall. A somber smile fell upon his face. “You had loneliness in your eyes,” he said simply.

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the wind seemed to stop blowing. Loneliness? Is that what it…

“This changes nothing,” you retorted, shaking your head, and looking back at him with a livid glare. “You think you’ve done me a favor today, but you’re wrong. You’re just making things harder than they need to be!”

You moved to stand, but your exhaustion overtook you. Sight dimming quickly, you slumped back down against your will.

“Is that so?” He said flatly, standing up with a hand on one knee, and rubbing his sore shoulders. Vash glanced down at you again while doing so, but he turned away nervously this time. The confused look on your face turned bashful as you saw him clumsily shrug his cloak off and toss it in your direction, muttering something about the cold. You didn’t see what the big deal was. His reaction to your exposed skin, however, was somehow mortifying, nonetheless. Whatever. You were freezing now, anyway.

“I actually disapprove of suicide more than anything.” He declared, turning his gaze back on you once you wrapped his cloak around yourself.

“That’s not something you get to decide on another’s behalf…” you sighed, and slumped fully flat on the ground. You gazed right through him, the will to fight drained from your every limb by the day’s twists and turns. The suns had fully set now, leaving a thousand emerald stars twinkling in the sky.

Although your body was still breathing, you decided that your soul had died that day. Maybe if you just laid here and drifted off to sleep, Vash would accept your fate as a corpse. Maybe that’s just the way it would have to be. Maybe you were always fated to be the dehydrated corpse on the scorching hot sand, after all. The world simply couldn’t grant you a graceful death, but maybe that was okay.

With no more tears left to cry, and no more strength left to muster your anger, you let out a choked laugh. What else could you do at this point? Had you seen such a poor sap on a children’s cartoon, you might have found it quite amusing. Admittedly, it wasn’t nearly as funny in practice, but what did you have to gain by holding back?

“Alright, don’t get all… Uh… Whatever-this-is on me now.” Said Vash, cocking his head, seemingly unable to read you as well as he had mere moments ago. “We can’t stay here.”

“Well, I’m not moving.” You replied, deadpan.

“Now who’s making things harder than they need to be?” He huffed, and flung you over his shoulder like a stuffed animal. This time, you didn’t struggle. Satisfied by the limp feel of your body in his arms, he began ascending the cliff through the easiest path he could find.

“You can’t stop me, you know.” You muttered, eyes still fixated on the starry sky.

“I know.”

At this, you arched a brow. “What exactly is your plan to keep meddling in shit that doesn’t concern you, then, oh knight in shining armor?”

“Hmmm…” Vash paused for a second, mulling it over. “Well, I don’t normally do this… Traveling with me isn’t exactly safe. But I know that if I leave you with Marlene and Georgie, all I’m going to do is be liable for whatever trauma you inevitably cause the poor kid.”

Memories of what could have been churned your stomach. That wasn’t a sight you wanted a child to have to witness.

“So, I guess you’ve got no choice but to come with me,” he decided, after a short pause.

“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions here,” you scoffed. “What makes you think I’ll stick around?”

“Please,” he said with a chuckle. “You’re going nowhere fast with that leg of yours.”

“Ehhh…” you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at what you could see of his spiky hair. “Fuck you, blondie.”

“Blondie? Really?” He gave you a teasing look. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“Okay… Mr. Corn-Husk Toupee. Wait, no – I can do better. Uhhh… Cattle-egret-looking-ass?”

“What?” He laughed with a snort. “What even is that?”

“No idea, saw it in a book once,” you giggled. “But it’s your spitting image, trust me.”

Vash’s smile broadened, looking at you with warm, tender eyes, and continued trekking onward. This might not turn out to be as long of a night as he originally thought.

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A cattle egret, for reference. Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it lol.

Source: Wallpaper Safari

[kalevalakryze]

The Living Waters

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV) Pairings: Bo-Katan Kryze & Sabine Wren, Sabine Wren/Shin Hati, Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer Characters: Sabine Wren, Bo-Katan Kryze, The Armorer, Shin Hati, Mythosaur  Warnings: Hypothermia, Drowning, Attempted Suicide Mention (non-graphic/explicit) Notes: For @whumptober 2023 Day 4. Established Mandalore Recovery & @sabineweek Bingo Prompt Fill "The Living Waters" Prompt: Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?” & The Living Waters Word Count: 1,349 AO3 Link: Here!

The water was freezing as it wrapped icy tendrils around her body, seeping past her armor and soaking her flight suit, seeping past her flesh until it was piercing her bones, shattering marrow under the weight of it’s demands. The light in her rangefinder flickered out the deeper she sank, blue tinged fingertips reaching for the surface with the last of her strength. 

The water stung at her open eyes as it seeped into her helmet, suffocating her as it bled into her heaving lungs; Sabine Wren was dying, yet she felt more alive than ever. 

“It’s not your time, ad’ika.”

The Mandalorian flailed in the water, darkness surrounding her as she looked for the voice. The ice was numbing into a calming warmth, but the voice ignited fear like an inferno to battle the chill. Strong arms wrapped around her abdomen, prompting her to fight back, kicking and struggling, even as another light in the darkness caught the metallic gold of eyes as large as her head. 

“Cin Vhetin, Mand’ika.”

Someone was pulling her back, the surface was closer, and the rumbling of the darkness’s voice eased her fight against the stranger. 

Metal smacked into the ground with a loud clang, a weight settling on top of her as her savior fell on top of her, water dripping from both of their armor as the larger Mandalorian pushed off of her. 

Sabine’s body wracked with sputtering coughs as her helmet was pulled from her head, light from the torches chasing away darkness as her head turned, coughing up mouthfuls of water as she was turned onto her side. 

As water was expelled and oxygen slowly found its way back into her lungs, her Mandalorian savior finally moved off of her, removing their own helmet as Bo-Katan knelt close to the younger woman. “You in there, verd’ika?” Bo-Katan finally spoke, reaching to rest two fingers against Sabine’s spazzing pulse point. 

Golden eyes finally opened to the low light of the living waters. Kneeling beside her, Bo-Katan was brushing soaked purple hair from her face, as The Armorer stood closest to the entrance, arm extended to keep Shin back, both goran’alor and dar’jetti watching with neutral expressions, body language primed to spring forward the moment they were cleared. 

“I’m okay,” Sabine rasped, flexing her fingers together to try and chase some warmth back into the numb tips of her fingers. “I’m okay,” It sounded less convincing than she meant, as her body started to tremble. Bo-Katan looked to The Armorer for aid at last, allowing the two women further into the cavern. 

Only parts of her felt cold, the rest of her body had long since gone numb to the cold that had wrecked her nervous system. Two pairs of hands worked to pull her armor away, as The Armorer unwound the fur from her armor. Shin and Bo-Katan worked on pulling away her flight suit, exposing herself to the warmer air beyond. 

Once she was bare, a dark, thick, woolen cloak was wrapped around her shoulders, falling at the tops of her thighs as the blonde settled at her back tucked her into it. The Armorer’s fur was wrapped around her hands, bringing the aching warmth back into her fingers enough for her to feel the effect the water had on her again. 

A conversation was happening between the two Mandalorian’s and the Gray Jedi around her, though she couldn’t hear past the blood rushing in her ears. Shin’s chest against her back was enough to hear the soothing rumble of her voice as she conversed on the Artist’s behalf. 

The Armorer was the one to lift her from the floor, arms settled under her thighs and allowing the sopping wet Mandalorian to tuck into her neck, arms trapped between their chests, still wrapped in the warm thick fur. Shin stood to fix her cloak, allowing Sabine the coverage and the warmth  as she fixed the way dark cloth fell. 

Raspy breaths were hidden in The Armorer’s neck, chasing the warmth that seeped through the fabric of her neck seal as the woman led the concerned parade out of the caves. Shin and Bo-Katan shared the burden of Sabine’s armor and frigid clothes, bundled up haphazardly between them as they followed the quick pace set towards the med-tents on the planet’s surface. 

The next time Sabine found consciousness, it was in the shock of a heated blanket as it was settled across her body; She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, except now, she was laid out on a cot, with the scratchy feeling of fresh clothes on her skin and the tingle of medicine in her blood, dulling the pain at her shot nerves. “What…?” She tried to sit up, being stopped by  a pale hand that guided ehr back down.

“Easy, verd’ika. You need to get warm,” Bo-Katan’s voice was strained with worry as  she stood at Sabine’s side, unarmored and equally wrapped in new, warm clothes. 

“What happened?” Her voice was scratchy from throwing up excessive amounts of water, vision still spotty as she shifted under the blankets. Her knees knocked together, skin cold where it slid together as she curled into a tight ball beneath the warmed blankets. “Shin..?

“Your Kurs’kaded went with the Goran’alor to secure your gear,” The Mand’alor lowered herself back into her post at Sabine’s bedside, sinking into the chair as she brushed her fingers through her hair. “You almost drowned, you know.” 

Sabine’s brows pulled together, lips pulling into a frown as she turned to the unarmored woman. “There’s no way,” She denied vehemently, shaking her head even as the memories bubbled to the surface. “There might be… some way… Bo, was there something else down there?” 

She remembered golden eyes, like her own, and the calming rumble of a voice that shook the ice from her bones, the promises of a new beginning, the feeling of the water washing away the grime of her doubts and troubles. 

Looking to Bo-Katan, she saw the knowing smile and the twinkle of recognition in her eyes. “The Mythosaur…” Sabine realized, and while the woman beside her was not in her armor, she could still picture the new silver pauldron that had adorned her shoulder, protected by the Mandalorian beast of legend. 

“The bombs opened the Living Waters to a deeper network of caverns below, I met them when I first came here with Din Djarin, saving him as he atoned for the sins against his covert. I was promised another chance; and with it-” Her hand gestured to the room around them, though Sabine knew it was for Mandalore as a whole. “We got to come home.” 

The air shifted in the room as Bo-Katan leaned forward, elbows on her knees as the smile slipped from her lips, watching Sabine with an understanding that the artist didn’t want to offer any power to. “What were you trying to accomplish, going out that far, Sabine? The drop was marked,” 

“I don’t know,” She shot back quickly, staring at her hands beneath the blankets. Bo-Katan didn’t accept it as an answer and Sabine could feel the way her eyebrow rose in response. “I’ve been so…” Frustration had her gritting her teeth; this wasn’t something she thought she’d have to talk about, Ahsoka had so finely skirted the issue, and Shin had needed her to be there, but now that things were mellowing out again, that old, oppressive sinking feeling had settled back in. 

“Kyrunyc…” It was the closest word she had to the feeling, to the hopelessness that had plagued her since the night of a thousand tears. 

“I understand,” Bo’s hand reached out to settle on her thigh, a frown pulling at her lips as green eyes finally pulled away, staring at the unique threading in the blanket. “Did you find what you were looking for, then?”

Sabine blinked, head turning to stare at the older woman, even as she refused to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what I was looking for…”

“But you found something?”

“I did,”

“Cin Vhetin, Ad’ika.” 

Translations: Ad'ika - little one Cin Vhetin - Clean Slate Mand'ika - young Mandalorian Verd'ika - Little warrior Kyrunyc - Dead Soul / lack of spirit

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

The rain soaked Tommy, and it felt as if it had gone past his skin and the cold wetness eked it’s way into his very bones and nervous system as he shivered.

The sky was dark and empty, no stars and a sliver of moon. It wasn’t a pretty sight, as dull and static as Tommy felt. Merely a black, endless void.

He chuckled quietly to himself, the sound lacking in humour. Fitting that sky would be the last thing he’d ever see. Well, that and the neon lights in gaudy colours, burning at his eyes, and the faint playing of muffled music from the casino, but he’d wanted his last sight to be of the stars.

Fitting that he couldn’t even be allowed that luxury.

With shaking hands, he nudged himself closer to the edge of the observation deck, legs hanging off the edge with just the pull of gravity ready to send him tumbling. Instinctively, he closed his eyes and let go.

And with a sudden tug, he was dragged back onto the tower by his hood.

He screamed, images forming in his mind of white masks and axes. He knew he wasn’t allowed to die, he wasn’t, he was going to be in so much trouble, it was stupid of him to even try and take that agency, so stupid, he'd broken out already and Tommy needed to accept that he was just a fucking plaything, and-

“Tommy?” Oh. Quackity. Her voice, unsteady and exhausted sounding, brought him back to reality as she let out a string of Spanish profanities under her breath.

Tommy mumbled some incomprehensible mess of syllables under his breath, only to be distracted when he was pulled into a tight hug. He could feel half-soaked lace, and realised Big Q was probably still in her pyjamas. His face flushed red in shame. That was all he could do, fucking ruin everything.

“Why are you up here all alone, especially in the rain?” Quackity's voice was weirdly soft, and Tommy got the vague sickness in his chest being treated like a child gave him. “I'd- I'd thought-“

“I was going to kill myself.” The words came out emotionlessly, numbly. “The fuck did you think I’d be doing?”

“I don’t know! I thought he'd got you!”

“Well, maybe I wish he would!” Tommy shouted, before covering his mouth in shock. “I- I mean-“

Instintively, Quackity shrunk away from him, curling up. The confident facade of maturity vanished, replaced with a familiar, primal fear, for just a second. “I… is it that bad? Staying here? I just wanted to keep you safe, after that- after he-“

“I just. I don’t like being treated like I’m made of glass. I guess.” Tommy looked at the concrete. “I mean, Dream would treat me like a fuckin' little kid, but he at least didn’t treat me like I was some fucking precious china that'd break if you looked at it wrong. ‘Course, that was because he preferred to beat the shit out of me, but… honestly? I just- I really just wanna be treated like a person. And- Big Q, you’re almost like a sister, right? I mean, you've got that thing goin' on with Wil-“

“What thing? The only “things” Wilbur has ever done are invent new methods of abandoning people without a second thought.” Quackity seethed.

“I mean, y’know, but like- it’s like, I mean, you basically are like an older sister, right? And you’ve always been, ‘cept for when you weren’t a girl yet.” Tommy furrowed his brow. “Though, I mean you were a girl, we just didn’t know it I guess? Anyway, I mean. I just. When I left that bunker, when Tubbo- well, he’s busy now, but- fuck, I just thought, you knew what he was like. And you wouldn’t- you’d understand, and you’d treat me like a human being if I hid here.”

Quackity looked at her hands for a long, long time. “I'm… I'm using the people I love again, aren’t I? I'd thought…”

“You’re not using me, you’re just being a prick. You haven’t made me do anything.”

“I don’t mean, like, fucking making you work the casino or whatever, God no. I’ve got employees to underpay.” The crooked grin she gave after that made Tommy unsure whether she was joking or not. “But… fuck. I’ve been using you to make myself feel like a better person. Like I’d- I'd-“

“It’s fine, big woman.”

“It's not! Like, Tommy, man, you tried to kill yourself! You shouldn’t be the one consoling me, that’s fucked up. That’s- I- I-“

“It’s fine. It’s not like I’m gonna ever get to die properly anyway.” The words came out much more bitter than he meant it to.

They sat there in silence, neither managing to soothe the other after all.

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

The Next Step

Happy four years of Damagemas!

Summary: Cole just wants to get better. But it's easier said than done.

Trigger Warnings: mentioned attempted suicide, pet whump, dehumanization, past abuse, trauma, stockholm syndrome

820 words

Against all odds, time kept moving forward. Even when he… when Cole felt like it never would again. Like time would stop, and everything was stagnant forever.

Somehow, it never stayed like that. He was never alone for long. 

The others didn’t trust him not to try and throw himself off the roof again, he guessed. Not that he could blame them. Sometimes he found himself really considering it. 

It was all just so much. It had been a month since he’d begun to remember himself. A month since he’d finally admitted that he wanted to get better. He did. He really did.

But god, it was so hard. How was he supposed to just exist for himself again when the last year had taught him just the opposite? He’d been forced to live for one thing, and it certainly hadn’t been for himself. 

Learning had been hard. But the unlearning would be so much worse. 

Because now he had an audience. He had people who could see what he had become. His family, who looked at him like he was fragile enough to shatter at any second. Not that they were wrong. 

He’d used to be solid rock. Strong and sure of himself. But now he was practically untethered, never farther from the source of himself. 

How was he supposed to get back? How was he supposed to get them to stop looking at him with such deep pity?

“Cole?”

What if he couldn’t be fixed? What if Master had been right, what if he really was meant to be nothing more than a—

“Cole.” Zane’s voice was firm this time, demanding enough attention for Cole to finally snap out of his quickly spiraling thoughts.

“Huh?” He managed, staring back at his brother, disoriented. 

“Your heartbeat is spiking,” he informed, gentler now. “Would you like to try some of those breathing exercises again? Perhaps it would help to calm you down.” He reached out, moving to put a hand on top of his own.

Cole snatched his hand away. “No,” he said, crossing his arms like a barrier, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Of all the questions that would make him snap, that shouldn’t have been one. And yet…

“Am I s—? Yes, Zane, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be fine? I remember everything now, don’t I?”

“Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean that you won’t be experiencing some negative—”

“Negative? No, no, everything is just perfect.” He said, rising in volume. “I’m home. I’ve been home for nearly three months, and I’m—” his voice cracked. “I’m still…” he couldn’t do this. Who was he kidding? “I’m still not better,” he mumbled, giving up on a fit. Of course he wasn’t going to get better. He’d been reshaped from the inside out. Of course he could never be put back to how he was supposed to be.

“Nothing is working,” he admitted, a new wave of despair propelling him to stand abruptly and begin to pace around the coffee table they’d settled in front of. “It’s been months, Zane, and I’m still — still like this. What’s the point? Nothing is working. Nothing — nothing is working,” he cried, angrily wiping tears away. “Why can’t I just get better?”

Zane slowly rose to meet him, taking his shaking hands. “Cole,” he said softly, “you’re being too hard on yourself. What you went through was… deeply traumatic. But the progress you’ve made since we found you has been exceptional. Recovering your repressed memories was no easy task. You’ve been improving far quicker than anyone could have even predicted.”

It didn’t feel true in the slightest, but he knew Zane was right. “But what if I—” he struggled, pulling away. “What if I’m never the same as I… used to be?”

Zane considered him for a moment. “Maybe you won’t be.” He sat back on the couch, beckoning Cole to follow. “When I first discovered who I truly was,” he began, “and I regained my memories of my father… it was hard. I knew I would never again be the person my memories told me I had once been.”

He put his head in his hands, miserable. “It’s not the same thing.”

“It is not,” he amended. “But what I am trying to say is that… our experiences shape us. But they do not have to define us.”

He slowly looked up, vision blurred with tears. “But what if this does?” He croaked, “What if I — what if I can’t ever move past this?”

“I believe you will. Not only are you stronger than you’re giving yourself credit for, but… you are not facing this alone, brother. We will be with you every step of the way.”

He didn’t know how to say that that was part of the problem. 

At that moment, Kai poked his head in. “Uh, hey guys? The lawyer’s here.” The pit in his chest sank deeper than ever. Shit.

[ironwoodprotectionsquad]

Rwby ost was always funny af because most of the time songs do a better job at developing characters than the show itself.

And of course add the weird gap between the songs that play and the scene they are inserted into.

Like "Be strong and hit stuff" plays during Ironwood vs Everyone for... some reason. "Chatterbox" (a song about Neo and Curuous Cat internally fighting) plays during Jabberwalkers vs WBY for... some reason. And let's not forget "Red like roses 2" playing during RWBY and JNPR vs Nevermore.

Like... at this point I'm not surprised "Guide my way" has nothing to do with vol9 plot nor Rubys arc in the said vol🤷‍♀️

The RW/BY soundtrack certainly makes....choices. Some songs are good across all 9 soundtracks and others are....their. Overall though I tend to not like it when the songs have lyrics during the battles as for me they can distract from the battle itself with wanting to try and listen to the lyrics because as you said, so often the songs do more of the heavy lifting for characterizing the characters and actually giving us insight into their thoughts and feelings.

But on the other hand so often the songs and their placement makes no sense to what is happening thematically. Unfortunately Guide My Way falls into this trap which is unfortunately because we've been so long due for a song that really focuses on Ruby and Guide My Way...falls kind of flat. (TW suicide and attempted suicide discussions below)

I remember when we first heard the notes from Red like Roses I got goosebumps I was so excited and I loved it and it had my hyped for the whole song...but I've realized I don't like anything but that little instrumental section before the lyrics "Red like roses fills my dreams" that is the best part of the song....and its just Red like Roses. But more importantly the lyrics....don't make sense.

I'm begging, can you Guide my way out Of this place?

This song is what plays when Ruby is supposed to be "finding herself" and regaining her confidence in herself. It doesn't make sense for the lyrics to be begging for guidance. If the volume ended with Ruby still in an emotionally shaky place sure the lyrics could work.

Ruby does chose herself realizing her loved ones would miss her and love her because she is her despite her flaws. However she still feels guilty and lost and clearly needs time to heal. The lyrics then have a duel meaning of seeking both guidance in the physical sense and the emotional sense. However that's not what the show went with so the lyrics go against everything the show is claiming is supposed to be Ruby's arc.

Will I ever be (complete)? When will I become all of me?

Again confusing because this is supposed to be Ruby's finding herself and choosing herself moment....why is she asking if she will ever be complete? As I've said it makes no sense for Ruby to in this moment be having these thoughts, the big thing is she should be feel confident in herself and her abilities again and the show has no indication that Ruby is feeling anything but self assured and confident so the song implying otherwise is odd to me.

Your memory ever-lasting at war with my foolish pride What is left?

The foolish pride part is....admittedly kind of frustrating. All last volume the girls all insisted that they where doing the right thing and never really questioned the morality of their actions. The other make sure to tell Ruby when she doubts their actions that that is just thinking like the super duper evil Ironwood and we can't have that. The show has repeatedly slapped us in the face with the fact that Ruby is totes super perfect and is elevating her to this honestly creepy god like status.

This line teases a story line so many people have wanted to see of Ruby actually acknowledging her faults and failures and growing and improving as a person. Unfortunately this does not happen. The mains continue to act as if they can do no wrong and refuse to sit down and reflect on their actions.

I know it's you and I, when I look inside I'll be who you were and I'll be even more

Again, this is supposed to be about Ruby "choosing herself" why is this song that should be about the moment she did in fact choose herself declaring that Ruby will be who her mother was and given that one of the major things that broke her was this expectation that she would solve everything and was perfect and always happy all the time, having her declare she'll be even more feels....tone deaf is the best word I can think for it.

Cr/wby pretended to write this story about a girl carrying the weight of the world and crumbling under the pressure of it all. But then this song is having her declare after breaking that she would be "even more". Pretending that a person who broke under the pressure would turn around and enforce the pedestal they where put on is absolutely insane to me. Just the callousness of it all especially with how Ruby's break was handled.

Cr/wby had Ruby try to end her life. They had her drink tea that she thought would kill her with Neo telling her the world would be better off without her. Neo broke her by reminding her of her faults and failures and made her think the world would be better off without her. Instead of recognizing this pedestal she was being put on was hurting her, they instead reinforced said pedestal and made sure she know how worthy she was of the pedestal putting her realistically in the exact same situation as she was in before.

I am the reflection of who prevails I'm what inspired the fairytale

As stated above, this is just once again putting Ruby further up on a pedestal and giving her this honestly creepy god like status in how she's being revered and inspiring fairytales. It doesn't make any sense to me and it's frustrating how careless CR/WBY has been with this entire arc.

(I can guide me, I can guide my way out) Guide my way out Of this place

"I can guide me" feels almost like an afterthought that was thrown in at the end to me at least. Why is this line a background line if its supposed to be the moment Ruby fully realizes she is enough? Why not have I can guide my way out be the final line of the song? If the song is supposed to be Ruby's entire emotional journey throughout the volume it doesn't convey well at all given how this feels like such an afterthought. If its supposed to be all about how Ruby has found herself it also falls extremely flat.

Sorry to go on a massive tangent their but I had thoughts lolz.

[tatteredxsails]

@vocesofmd continued from here

A cat could re-learn to walk silently with a bell around her neck. It was a formality, a reminder to the creature that it should forego its nature for the sake of the little warm-bodied creatures it shared the world with. It was a reminder that the cat's nature was something to be altered if it wanted the stroke of a sweet and familiar hand.

Or some shit.

Edward had learned how to walk without ringing the thing, but for the moment he just held it clasped in his hand to muffle the sound. He was still wearing it out of a courtesy to Stede and the rest of the crew. He was well aware, even if they weren't, that it was less about their comfort with him and more about humiliating him. Someone would probably say humbling. Whatever it was, you didn't dress a man in rice sacks and put a bell around his neck if you gave two shits about him retaining a sense of humanity.

He'd made them hate him, not intending to stick around and face the repercussions. Not that it had been hard to make them all hate him. He'd had a talent for that his whole fucking life. Came with the territory.

Edward had been thinking about the end of things long before Stede Bonnet had come into his life. Back then it had just been one of those... "oh well. We'll see what happens" kind of things. Then the world had dropped out from under him and that "oh well" became a "please".

He'd been trying to outsource the big job, again. He drove the crew from raid to raid, hoping that the next one would free him. And if he didn't die like that, well. You could only drive a crew so far before they finally turned on you. Best way to get rid of a viciously shitty captain? Kill him. Tie him to something heavy and throw him off the ship. Push, push, push and something would eventually give.

He'd started with Izzy. Tried to end with Izzy, too, and ended up having to accelerate the situation. It made sense to start with Izzy. The man was practically indistinguishable from him. He could turn all of his self-loathing and intentions of harm on Izzy and it would just... be easier. It would be fitting. Izzy would understand what he needed and he'd eventually have to give it to him. Edward had a breaking point, so Izzy must too. He'd gotten the idea when he'd had his hand around Izzy's throat and had felt the brush of his leather glove against his cheek.

There he is.

There he was.

The problem with the whole thing was that Izzy just... didn't fucking break. Not how he expected. Edward took a toe and the man had run to his heel, ever the eager hound. He'd barked and snarled at the crew in Edward's stead, driving them on through raid after drug-fueled fucking raid like he was obeying the will of god.

Even when he'd finally broken, it hadn't been what Edward had expected. It had been a soft refusal, a question, and an unwanted affirmation of, what? Love. It felt rotten and Edward had pressed his fingers into it like a bruise he greedily needed the pain from.

He'd shot Izzy in the hopes that it would do the trick. Nope. The crew rallied around him and tried to save his life. So Ed had gone down into that stinking room. He'd taken a gun with him and had hoped.

Hearing the shot after he'd left the room had just made that rotten spot inside of him worse. Izzy was gone and the shot hadn't taken him with it.

Except... Izzy wasn't gone. Neither was Edward. He could sit and think about that. Were they both here because Izzy failed? ... Technically, but there was nothing mystical behind that. Nothing fated.

Edward let go of the bell, letting it ring softly, as he moved to sit down within the man's radius of misery -- close enough to feel the alcoholic heat of him. They hadn't spoken or directly interacted since Edward's resurrection, but he'd still known there was something underneath Izzy's seemingly restored state of being. After all, there was something underneath his own.

The gun in his lap, finger against the trigger, said it all.

"Wanna give it another shot?" Ed asked him, dropping a hand to rest over his on the pistol.

[thechaoticfanartist]

(banner by @arrthurpendragon )

Chapter 37: And A Million Voices Cried Out

The light called out to her over the darkness. There was so much more of the story left.

The story didn't have to end here. It reminded her.

She had failed. But a new hope would rise.

She wasn't going to die.

Grim swam upwards.

Reaching for the sun. For the light.

There were Jedi who survived. She would be one too.

Read On A03 | Read On Wattpad

Beginning

Masterlist

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed) : @padme--amygdala @soclonely @mrfandomwars @jgvfhl @starlonkedd @milfspectre1 @togrutanduin @jedi-valjean @one-real-imonkey @traygaming @aiylasdrawings @keoxus  @dykerebel @veiled-in-stars @sentineljedi @spicysucculentz @amelia-song-pond @it-was-rose @saturnsokas @thejediprincessqueenofnaboo @veradragonjedi @arrthurpendragon @shrinkthisviolet

[imabillyami]

8 years ago on this day...

8 years ago on this day my dad died. He was 45. It pretty much happened out of nowhere. 

As in, we didn’t expect it to happen when it did and the way it did. 

He was an addict - alcohol, narcotics, plentiful drugs, the whole palate, you name it.

He had already had a massive stomach tumor, a perforated stomach & had already died due to that on the table at age 35. The doctors who brought him back said it was a sheer miracle. 

He got a second lease at life, but he didn’t use it. He never stopped drinking or searching the high of one more hit, even though the doctors told him it would kill him.

Still, his death happened out of nowhere for us. And it was quite tragic.  Cause in the end it the doctors were right. 

Don’t get me wrong, I hated my dad, I really did. He ruined my entire childhood, he ruined my mother, he ruined a good portion of my life.

I don’t remember many days as a kid where one of us didn’t end up beaten into a pulp. He started when I was still a toddler and he never stopped. Yet my mom stayed.

Even after he tried to stab her to death in front of me when I was 10. Even when beat her daily and broke her bones. Even when beat me and broke mine. He tried to kill himself in front of me when I was 12.

He tried to go after my little sister when she was still a toddler, but I never let him. From that day on it doubled the amount of beatings I took, cause he got a kick out of it when I put up a fight whenever he tried going after her.

When I was 14 he once again beat me into a pulp, before he kicked me out for being “a filthy whore” and “his biggest mistake”. After that I attempted to end my life for the first time. And after everything was said and done, my mom made me come back.

Just a few of the many highlights of my childhood/ teenage years. 

My dad left me mentally and physically broken to the point where even now, many years later, most days walking or even standing hurts. Badly. His abuse paved my own way into addiction. 

What I’m trying to say with all this, I’ll never understand that side of my dad. The violent side that is.

What I understand better now though, the older I get? The addiction and the mental health issues he was facing. 

Much like him, I’m dealing with a number of serious mental health conditions. Even now that I’m diagnosed, most days are a never ending struggle. 

Much like him, I’ve been an addict to everything I could get my hands on since my teenage years. That’s when the toll all these beatings took on my body started to really show and when my mind really started processing all the trauma that he'd put us through. 

Much like it did him, my addiction almost killed me. It was only a couple of years ago that my own addiction was so bad that I had pretty much given up and accepted that it would take my life. 

I hate my dad. Most days I’m glad he’s gone. But I understand his pain. So much.

Only thing different is that I never chose the path of violence that he chose. I never chose to hurt anyone or put them down to make them just as miserable as I was. I never chose violence to break someone.

I chose kindness and redemption and I was fortunate enough to find a way out of the addiction he could never escape. I’m thankful I chose that fight every day. And I’ll keep choosing that fight every day. 

That being said, I am 615 days sober today. Longest I’ve been since I started using at the prime age of 13. And I couldn’t be prouder of myself for that. 615 days and hopefully forever. 

I’m not gonna lie, I’m in pain almost every day, both physically and mentally, but for me living with that is better than not living at all. It’s better than endlessly chasing the numbness or the next high. 

And despite everything I just said, I still grieve my dad. Not the man he was, but everything that could’ve been. 

Despite everything he did to me I had chosen compassion. I had helped him get into rehab only months prior to his death, cause everyone else, even my mum, had finally given up on him. 

I was barely 20, an addict myself and in no shape to take care of anyone, yet it was a last ditch effort to maybe somehow make him love me. Joke’s on me, cause he never did. 

Last time I saw him was the summer before his death outside that rehab facility I dropped him off at. Our last text convo was making tentative plans for Christmas. A week later my then 13y.o. sister and my mum found him dead in his apartment. Multiple organ failure.

I never had a proper father figure to look up to, so what I’m really grieving is the idea of a father figure that could have been. 

The topic is quite controversial within our family, too. 

My mum just shoved everything aside and is still making him out to be this great guy that he wasn’t. She chose denial. Deep deep denial. My sister was too young to remember the worst of it. We shielded her the best we could, really. 

My dad finally left us for one of his many affairs and moved out when she was 9. He moved away and she saw him twice a year after that.

I saw him once a year when he came to visit. And we couldn’t be in the same room for more than two minutes without things getting physical between us.

I still remember an instance when I was 17 and he tried to lay hands on me again during his visit. I punched him right in the face in self-defense and he had a pretty shiner after that. 

My dad only moved back into town 6 months before his death in an attempt to fix things with my mum and my sister. I was already in college by then, I visited home during my term break though. Sometimes I wish I hadn't.

In these six months he did a number on my sister though, to the point where up until this day she sees him as this big hero. 

A lot of it also is thanks to my mum’s stories. My sister firmly believes that my dad was flawed, yet was the best dad ever. My mum and sister are both so deep in denial that it physically pains me. 

Me? I can’t forgive him. Never could. I see him for the monster he truly was. And I don’t believe in “protecting his memory”. Not when it’s all lies.

And every year around this day I can’t believe how much power he still holds over me, even from his grave. I’ve been in therapy on and off for 15 years, yet there’s things I can never let go or forget.

I’ve mostly forgiven my mum for what she put us through by staying with him. Mostly. The memories of my dad haunt me to this day though. The muscle memory is still there and the pain never leaves. I have constant physical reminders. 

Anyway. Today I’m grieving the idea of a father I could’ve had and I’m grieving the things and years I lost to his cruelty. I’m grieving, yet I’m celebrating being alive and sober and on the path to a better life at the same time. 

If you made it till here, just know this: I don’t want any pity. I don't wanna hear how strong I am. I know I am. But I wish I wasn't. I'd rather be not traumatized, but that's beside the point.

What I want is this: If you have someone you love, I want you to go hug them (a friend, a parent, a pet, whoever) today and think of a good memory you have with them, maybe tell them you love them. That would make me happy. 

[whumpty-dumpty]

Game Of Silence S01E01 (Pilot)

Trigger warnings and spoilers under the cut:

This series deals with (sexual) child abuse so if this affects you, please be warned. It's the TV Show adaption of the movie Sleepers (1996).

[kuradoberijam]

Parts of a short story I’m writing.

[aromanticbuck]

it's definitely more than just what they're showing us in the clip, obviously, they're showing us that to get us talking about it and drum up hype for the episode. that's the purpose of these clips being released early. every show does it.

but regardless... that situation was never about trust or the lack of it. and I'd like to think that Hen and Chimney are close enough, and that Hen and Maddie are close enough, that she would know that, and be more thoughtful about what she says about that situation.

and my heart goes out to everyone else who was triggered or made otherwise uncomfortable by that clip because it's definitely rough. feel free to message me or vent into my inbox about it. and if you just want it deleted (or posted anonymously without comment, whatever you're comfortable with), just let me know.

I've tried to make my blog a safe space for people who are struggling with anxiety and depression, including the extreme ends of both, and in the spirit of that, I won't be reblogging that clip onto my page.

whatever nuances they give the situation in the full episode, take care of yourselves now. step back, log off, whatever you have to do. 💜

[maurawrites]

Martin Sensmeier as Willie Boy ‘The Last Manhunt’ dir. Christian Camargo

[spending-life-pretending]

listen I know absolutely no one here is looking for Versailles content but all I can think about rn is philippe telling the guards “he missed. Story of his life” after chevalier tries to shoot himself and then like 3 episodes later when philippe is nearly killed by thomas and chevalier goes after thomas and kills him with a single shot

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

Whumptober Day 7: Restrained and Forced Feeding

Prime au. Tommy tries to starve himself in a fit of hopelessness after Dream kidnaps him, believing him to be a Prime in Earthly form- but Dream will not let the target of his worship fade so easily. Warnings for kidnapping, imprisonment, abuse, eating disorders, forced feeding, restraints, drugging, HEAVY religious themes, religious guilt, religious delusions, attempted suicide, self-harm, and self-loathing

ao3 link

—— Tommy was a little unnerved at how easily he’d grown used to hunger pangs.

Eating started feeling wrong sometime in Exile. He felt he didn’t deserve food, and even though he denied it at the time, the little bit of control throwing out most of the meagre rations he was given and vomiting up the rest was intoxicating, addicting even, when he had no other autonomy in his life. Even after, it was hard not to feel shame when he binged, so he went through periods of eating until he was sick, then eating a few snacks in a whole week and usually puking those out anyway because of the guilt.

It wasn’t like he hated his body or anything. Well, he did, but not because he thought he weighed too much or whatever. He didn’t even throw up on purpose; it wasn’t like he was trying to do anything stupid, he just felt so unwell and guilty whenever he could taste something nice on his lips, and it came out of him onto the floor. He wasn’t even sure what that was called. Being a pussy, he guessed.

Now, though, he wasn’t avoiding food just because it made him sick. No, it was the only way he had to die.

The IV drip in his arm provided something to stop dehydration- he’d tried there- along with the weird fuzzy, warm, sleepy feeling it forced him into, making him sleep most of the day and struggle to think very fast. His arms and legs were kept bound by velvet-lined shackles, made out of something lightweight and weirdly comfortable but with just enough slack to be able to eat or do something like knit but certainly not to try and escape, or even try and find something to shove through his throat until he stopped breathing.

Starvation was a painful, slow way to die, but it was a way to die. And dying would be better than participating in this blasphemous show any longer.

The robes Tommy was dressed in were the sacred purple, holy symbols embroidered on that no man should wear, like a twisted heretical display. Bells were hung up on every inch of free space in the room, ringing in prayer to Primes that would not be in such an unholy place. Some were even tied to Tommy’s chains and braided in his hair, making the slightest movement a twisted, arrogant prayer to himself. Every part of the room was carved of marble and oak, from the oversized bed to the ornate throne Tommy spent most of the day chained to, like a mocking parody of a King or a God.

It was disgusting. A nightmarish display of sin, a heretics toybox, and one Tommy had been made an unwilling participant in. The mockery of the Primes he was trapped in was worse than any other fate he could imagine- Limbo, Exile, eternal fucking torture. At least that didn’t spit in the face of the Primes and the Gods that Tommy had devoted his life to, took such solace in.

If he pretended the hunger pangs were his repentance for being forced to sin so, they were almost pleasant. Almost forgiveness.

He’d almost fallen asleep, exhausted from whatever sedative was being pumped through him and the physical stress of not eating for… Prime, he didn’t even know the time anymore. Sleep was one of Tommy's few escapes from his heretical prison, so he welcomed it whenever it overtook him. Unfortunately, the opening of the heavy iron door, threatening the worst hours of the day, woke him up with a start, dread pooling in his stomach.

Dream refused to look him in the eyes as he entered, head bowed in sinful reverence. Like this was a church, not a torture chamber. Under his breath, he whispered prayers for forgiveness, shifting between English and what Tommy recognised from talking to Ranboo as Ender erratically.

There were more scars on his skin, more bloodied bandages. Tommy frowned, seeing that. Dream insisted on “punishing” himself whenever he displeased Tommy, which was often considering the blasphemous hell he’d forced him into, his insistence that he was somehow a Prime and not a humble man. And, yeah, Dream might be a torturer and a heretic, but Tommy knew how it felt to tear lines in your skin. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even Dream.

“My Prime.” Tommy jumped out of his skin as Dream directly acknowledged him- or rather, what he thought him to be. “Why have you not been eating? Has what I’ve made been unfit?”

“I’m not hungry,” Tommy mumbled.

“I see. You’re not used to eating with your physical form.” Dream said that like it made sense and wasn’t the most absolutely insane bullshit imaginable. “I know you’ve forgotten you used to be a Prime, but this is proof you must be, see? There’s no need to be humble.”

Tommy just slumped further into his seat in defeat.

“I brought your favourites, if that helps,” Dream continued. Of course, he knew Tommy’s favourite food because he was a creepy ass stalker even before he got this weird idea into his head about Tommy being a lost Prime or whatever. “As many golden apples as you’d like.”

“I’m not hungry.” Tommy repeated, slightly louder this time.

“You’ll die if you don’t eat,” Dream said softly, like he was explaining the concept of being a living fucking being to a toddler. “And I don’t want you to be further tainted by that. I- I committed a grave sin, forcing a vessel for the Gods to experience the pain and mortality of death once. I can’t let that happen again.”

“I’m not eating anything you give me,” Tommy said, with an air of finality to it, and Dream sighed.

“Then you leave me no choice. I hate to have to do this, but…”

He trailed off, adjusting the slack of Tommy’s shackles to keep him completely immobilised. Tommy didn’t have the energy to struggle, and he mentally cursed whatever fucking potion he had hooked to him, keeping him tired and compliant. He wanted nothing more than to fight, to shout and scream and kick, but he barely had the energy to keep his eyes open. Dream said it was better than “despoiling the holiness of a pure being” or whatever, but not only was Tommy not holy in the fucking slightest, he’d have felt much less despoiled or whatever if Dream just beat him up like he used to. At least then he could be a prick about it.

With shaking hands, Dream shoved a piece of crushed golden apple into Tommy’s mouth, giving him a guilty look. Tommy spat it directly onto his stupid face, glaring. “What the fuck, man?”

“I can’t just let you starve. Tommy…” He sighed. “Please, I don’t want to have to force you.”

Tommy stuck out his tongue in defiance. Fuck no, he wasn’t going to participate in this blasphemous display. He couldn’t stop Dream’s hours of prayer, his nonsensical preaching, the lavish “gifts” he’d give, but he could refuse to eat. Maybe the Primes would shine upon him again if they saw his attempts to remain devoted.

Immediately, he regretted it, as another tiny slice of golden apple was shoved into his throat, a hand covering both his mouth and nose, forcing him to swallow the food to be allowed breath again. His weak, human, ungodly body fought for it even though Tommy wished he could just let himself suffocate. It was painful, but not just that- it was utterly humiliating. He could feel his ears heating up as he ate what must have been a whole golden apple, slice by agonising slice, tears pricking at his eyes. Thank the fucking Primes- the actual Primes- that Dream refused to look at his face. He’d hate the idea of Dream seeing him crying over petty shit.

He took deep breaths when, after agonising minutes, he had finished. The food sat horribly in his stomach, and he felt queasy and lightheaded. Worse, he felt, for the first time in his life, faithless. There was nothing to be done, no resistance, no defiance. The Primes had abandoned him, the Gods must surely be mocking him. The rest of his life- the rest of eternity, even- would be spent forced into a heretical mask, and he would never rid himself of the sin sticking to him.

He couldn’t even die to repent.

Wilbur had read Tommy a story once from an old book about a strange God, where there was a tree and an apple and the first humans. The apple had contained knowledge- on what, Tommy wasn’t sure- and upon eating it, the humans had discovered sin and therefore became sinful. He’d found it fucking stupid at the time- how could an apple give knowledge, and how would it be the humans' fault? But it made sense now. He could feel the sin of his own forbidden fruit, forced down his throat, sitting painfully in his chest, a knowledge he wished to erase forever trapped in his head. Damnation would have been a mercy.

And when Tommy looked at Dream, anger replaced with broken exhaustion, the determination hunger pangs brought him replaced with mental agony, all he could see was a snake.