#they say “It gets better” when you have depression

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 16 + 17) tw: violence, injuries, and misogynistic language

first chapter >> last chapter

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Sinking into fear is the body’s natural response. You let it envelope you without putting up a struggle. It wouldn’t be one that you’d win anyway. Resistance already leaks out of you like tar, pooling around your quivering legs.  

It makes you feel lighter than air, almost buoyant; and conversely, heavier than lead. 

You can’t feel the cold metal of the gun through the layers of fabric separating it from the skin of your back, but you can feel its weight. And you can imagine it burning into you, burning a ring into the flesh, the muzzle leaving faint depressions behind, circular indents.

“Don’t feel so clever now, huh?”

Fear chokes as well as it binds. When the man you remember as Graves (appropriately named, you think, the gravity of the situation sinking into you as well) drawls the words into your ear, any moisture in your mouth dries. 

“Well?” he prompts, shoving the gun harder into your back, almost sending you toppling into the shelf still in front of you obscuring you from sight. “Got anythin’ to say?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out.

“You a mute, girl? I know you ain’t deaf since you heard I’d been sniffin’ around lookin’ for ya. ‘Least I’m guessin’ you did, since you managed to give me the slip for the whole time I was in town.” He sniffs. “Took me a while to find out you were shacked up with the sheriff. Hiding in plain sight. Couldn’t believe I missed ya when Sheriff Price was damn near the first person I met in this two-bit town.”

You finally muster up the nerve to speak. “Y-you’re making a mistake.” 

The furled upper lip is audible in his voice. “I’d try not to piss me off too much, sugar. Lyin’ just rubs me the wrong way is all.”

“No, you—you really don’t—” 

He shoves the gun harder into your back, making you wince. “Now, I know you’re a slippery little bitch, so I’ll level with you, alright?” Graves murmurs, pitching his voice low to ensure that only you hear. “You make so much as a peep—so much as a fuckin’ whisper—and I’ll shoot. Wink and I’ll shoot. I am dyin’ for you to give me a reason to go with the better half of the dead or alive question.”

There’s no point in lying. It might’ve worked had it been anyone but the man holding you hostage; not a man as stubborn and mulish as him. You nod when he asks if you understand.

“Now get to steppin’.”

He doesn’t tarry long, leading you out of the shop with a hand on your shoulder and . You stare at Miles with mounting horror, wordlessly begging him to look up from the ledger open in front of him on the counter. Your prayers go unanswered though; he doesn’t so much as glance towards the door before it’s swinging shut behind you.

“Remember,” Graves says in a low voice as the two of you step out onto the porch, “not a word. I will shoot anyone that tries to interfere.” 

That kills the impulse to shout for help. 

The thought of letting Graves take you away without voicing so much as a single plea fills you with horror, but you can’t see any other way out. He walks you through the streets like an old friend, the pistol still wedged into your back obscured by his coat. No one seems to notice the wild look in your eyes or the strained edge of your smile. 

Your behavior infuriates you. Demural and soft and wretched. You’ve only allowed one man to put you under their thumb; only one has ever earned the right. 

The thought of your husband is an ache in your chest that doesn’t abate. It thumps with the terrified flutter of your heart. You half wonder if he’ll suddenly appear from around a bend and wrench you into his arms, gun already drawn and aimed at the man attempting to take you away from him. 

“My husband—” you start, tripping over your words. Almost tripping over a rock as well since your spine is too stiff to let you look down at the ground while you walk. “—He can—he can pay you.”

He laughs, a nasty, mocking sound. “I’m sure he’d like to, sugar. Jus' ain’t sure he’s got the cash to pay your price.”

“At least let me ask—”

At that, he jams the gun violently into the small of your back, making you wince agaun. Petrified. Sweat sluices off your brow and drips down your face. “What part of shut the fuck up don’t you get?”

That silences you. Hard to muster up the nerve to retaliate with a gun lodged against the base of your spine. Still there’s so much that bears asking. Why did he come back? Why here—why now? 

The town takes on a dull, listless quality as he steers you away from the more crowded areas. It’s almost like looking through muslin; a veil between you and the world. 

Your eyes dart from person to person as they pass by in the opposite direction, but even those that bother to meet your gaze only smile politely, a couple passing gentlemen chirping, “Morning, Mrs. Price” before sweeping by in a hurry. 

None question the wild, frantic glint in your eye, the look of a horse about to bolt. If they paid you more than a moment’s notice, they might, but even the lady who frowns curiously at Graves, his hand still resting gently on your arm as if he were an old, dear friend, abandons her momentary curiosity when her companion says something of interest, pulling her back into their conversation. The flicker of hope in your belly dies a soundless death. 

There’s something almost phantasmagorical about the entire ordeal. Almost like it isn’t quite happening, like you can’t quite make yourself believe that this is, in fact, real. Like you’re watching from outside of yourself. Though you can see the wooden facades of the nearby buildings and smell the scent of hay and manure from the livery stable, it doesn’t resonate within you as real. 

He meanders through town with you stationed in front of him. A meat shield. Collateral damage. Simply by the way he maneuvers you through the crowd, he reduces you to a body, stripping you of any semblance of personhood. You’re less than meat to him, less than human even—no more than a meal ticket. 

When you muster up the courage to open your mouth the next time someone passes you by, Graves’ hand slides up to your shoulder and he digs his fingers into the bone. A warning. 

“If you think I was kiddin’ before, just try me,” he sneers into your ear, thumb pressing into your shoulder blade until you wince. 

Again, his voice dispels any thought of getting someone’s attention. 

He doesn’t lead you towards the train station like you expect. Instead, he heads to an awning beneath the saloon on the periphery of town where a couple horses are leashed to a post, waiting for their riders to come untie them. The roof of the awning is strung with a dense cluster of overlapping cobwebs. A spider scuttles across the web and into the dark inner recesses of the canopy. 

This far from the center of town, there’s hardly anyone. When you give your surroundings a quick glance, you can’t find a single other soul within earshot, only a single man pushing open the batwing doors on his way into the saloon. Then you’re alone again. 

A tawny gelding chuffs when Graves approaches.  When he suddenly unhands you, it doesn’t click until he’s several paces away from you, running his hand down his horse’s neck and rifling through the saddlebags, emptying the contents of his coat pockets into them. You have to glance down at your shoulder just to be sure. He sheathes his gun as well, tucking it into the holster fixed to his belt. 

“Bought the horse off a drunk three towns back,” Graves explains while loading up the horse.

You don’t respond, still unsettled. It’s the first time since he led you out of the general store that his gun hasn’t been aimed at you. It wouldn’t be practical for him to dress and load the horse one handed. The sun beats down on you, burning the top of your head. This could be your moment—a moment to scream or run away.

But you don’t. You don’t scream and you don’t run because you are, above all else, a coward. Through and through. You’ve been running from your problems for months now, leaving someone else to take care of the mess you left behind. 

Fear paralyzes you; it makes you think too much or not at all. Even now, with Graves giving you the perfect opportunity to turn and run, you can’t stop thinking about the potential consequences. What if he were to shoot you? What if he were to haul you back into town and expose your sins to everyone who gathered around? What if the people in town that have come to see you as one of their own were to gather around your crumpled form and stare at you with vitriol and disgust? 

“How did you—” you start, then pause to breathe, the nausea building again. “I thought you’d left town.”

“You’d’ve liked that, huh?” 

You don’t answer that. You know better than to antagonize a man with a gun. 

He sighs when you don’t rise to the bait, almost pettish. “Wedding announcement. I saw it in the paper—by then, I’d moved on to Lexington, so it took me awhile to backtrack, but I just knew somethin’ about that bit in the paper about the sheriff’s wife hailing from the east coast didn’t sound right. Too big of a coincidence. Had to at least be sure—retrace my footsteps. Lotta money on the line, you know.”

You stare straight ahead at that. You ought to have known. 

(“In the paper. The county sheriff got hitched—of course it’d be a story.”)

“To be honest, that kinda cracked me up. Murderess marrying the county sheriff.” He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sorta thing you’d read about in a dime novel.”

A new emotion wells up within you. It simmers in your belly, hot and cold at once. Righteous fury. All this time, you’ve been betraying yourself with your silence, allowing men to read your fear as guilt. Complicit in your own ruin. 

“I’m not a murderer.”

The look he gives you is withering. “Sugar, I hate to break it to you, but you did kill a man.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Nothing ever does, it seems.  But the more you hold it in, the uglier the thought seems, until it erupts from your chest like Vesuvius, lava and tephra shooting out. 

“He deserved it,” you finally spit out, the words coming from deep in your chest. 

Graves doesn’t even pause in his ministrations, back to tightening the saddle straps. 

“He deserved it,” you repeat, spittle flying out of your mouth and landing in the dirt between the two of you. 

“That’s not somethin’ I usually concern myself with,” he finally says, looking distinctly unimpressed when he meets your stare. Bored blue eyes. 

You’re struck by the sense that your life means so little to him that the circumstances surrounding your bounty hardly merit more than a passing thought. If he could spare less, he would. 

It’s the vilest thing in the world to be regarded with such bored contempt. 

“He would’ve—he would’ve raped me otherwise. I didn’t have a choice.” 

At that, Graves pauses. When he looks towards you, his eyes are curiously blank. 

“Better that than what’ll happen now,” he says, the words so perfunctory that it takes a moment for them to sink in.  When they do, you have to swallow back bile.

His glibness shatters whatever hope you’d had left. 

In that moment, you finally acknowledge that appealing to his sense of decency won’t lead you anywhere because it simply doesn’t exist within him. You’ve known men like him before—those more concerned with lining their own pockets than taking care of the vulnerable people around them. The archetype is not uncommon. You should’ve expected it even, especially from a bounty hunter. 

There won’t be any bribing him or talking your way out of the situation you’ve found yourself in. Whatever facinorous end awaits you back east, he’s happy to shepherd you there so long as it earns him his thirty coins. 

How many times do you have to ask yourself if you’re brave enough to do something before you answer? 

When Graves turns to face you again and takes a step towards you, likely to urge you up onto the saddle, you recoil, stumbling away from him. His eyes sharpen at your movement, fulvous wolf eyes narrowing on you. 

“And here I thought you’d stopped pissin’ me off,” he says lightly, a hard edge underlying his words. His hand lifts to rest against the handle of the revolver tucked back in its sheath, thumb flexing over it. 

“What’s the point?” you retort, nostrils flaring. “You either kill me here or I die there.”

You sound braver than you feel, fear making you shake so hard that your knees almost knock together. 

Graves’ smile is all lip, no crinkling around the eyes. “Oh, I won’t kill you, sugar. I’m a better shot than that.”

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, stomach turning over at the thought of him putting a bullet through your shoulder or leg. 

“I’m surprised you won’t just come quietly. You think the sheriff wouldn’t hand you over to me himself if he found out what kinda woman he married?”

That’s been your fear from the very beginning. The one thing that’s kept you awake at night, the nightmare shaking you out of a dead sleep. You’d convinced yourself that him calling the authorities or even escorting you back east himself was an inevitability. That John Price, paragon of virtue, wouldn’t bend the rules for anyone, much less you. 

But the more you think about it, the less sense it seems to make. Every tender word and touch rises to the forefront of your memory. If John has shown you anything, it’s love. He’s proven his devotion a thousand times over, shown you time and again that were you to leave, he’d come running. 

Suddenly, the thought that your husband would let someone take you away from him seems preposterous. It doesn’t align at all with the man you know. He’d go to hell and back for you, would rip out a man’s tongue for speaking to you the way Graves speaks to you now. Hindsight makes that clear. 

You meet his eyes, intention set. “I’d rather just ask him.”

Blue eyes turn to flint, flat. Droll candor shed for ruthlessness. Silence before a storm. 

He’s on you before you even have a chance to whirl around and make a run for it, arm cutting into your windpipe when he wraps it around your neck. He drags you back into the shadows of the awning, out of sight from anyone on the street; your heels score lines in the dirt. You choke, wheezing on your next breath, but his arm tightens, trapping the scream in your throat. 

“Shoulda done this before,” Graves grunts, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the pair of cuffs he had tucked away. 

When he unhooks his arm from around your neck, you gasp for breath, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. Panic swirls and rises in your chest. 

“Get your hands off—” you hiss, beating his arm with your fist to no avail. He yanks your arms in front of you until your wrists are pressed close together. Your blood curdles at the feeling of cold iron against your skin and the gut-wrenching sound of handcuffs being fixed around your wrists, tightened to the point of pain. You can hardly flex your hands with how tight they’re bound. “Let me go, let ME GO—”

He pulls you in close again. “Don’t think I won’t tape your fuckin’ mouth shut too,” Graves snarls in your ear. Nausea swells in your belly. 

“Please— please don’t do this—” you beg, a sob breaking from your chest now. 

He sighs, long suffering. “Lord knows I tried to warn you.”

Despite the threat, Graves doesn’t tape your mouth shut. Instead, he fastens a rough piece of rope around your head, fitting it between your teeth like a bit. You don’t have it in you to be thankful for small mercies this time. The hemp cord scratches the corners of your mouth when you try to move your lips around it. 

“There,” he says, giving you a rough shake, satisfied. “That’s better. Can finally hear myself think.”

The tears leak out of the corners of your eyes in big, fat droplets, clouding your vision. When he wipes your cheeks with a calloused hand, the nail of his thumb catches on the delicate skin under your eye, leaving a thin cut. The pain makes you flinch, staring daggers at the man in front of you, but he doesn’t apologize for his rough handling. 

Graves heaves himself up onto the saddle first, swinging a leg over with practiced ease. You yelp when he hauls you up after, setting you on the saddle in front of him. Heat crawls up your neck when your skirt billows around your waist, horrified. 

“Save your tears, sugar,” he tells you, gathering the reins in one hand. “You’ll need ‘em for later.”

The horse whinnies when Graves pulls upward and guides him towards the road leading out of town, hooves clopping against the dirt. Your heart shoots up into your throat. 

Galloping out of town, you chance a glance back, head spinning as the world blurs around you. A man stands under the awning you just left, his head cocked as if stupefied. He’s too far away for you to get a proper look at his face though, no way to tell if he’s someone that might recognize you and alert John. You try to scream or wave your hands—anything to get his attention, to let the stranger know that something is wrong. 

You watch until the figure melds into the surrounding town. 

You keep waiting for someone to appear from behind you. A tall figure to darken the horizon, blot it like the moon passing over the sun. 

The last bastion of your hope collapses into rubble the farther away you ride, no man nor horse following you in pursuit. And then a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back around, cutting off your view.

The plan is to leave the horse in the next town you reach and take a train back east. Graves would’ve done that back in the town you just left, he tells you, but he wanted to put as much distance between you and the sheriff. 

“You never know with men who’ve gotten a taste of married life,” he says when he finally deigns to stop miles from town, sitting on a rock and having a drink while he leaves you tied to the horse by your wrists. You shift from foot to foot, a cramp winding up your legs. “They get themselves a little pussy and lose all sense of dignity or morality. Can’t be trusted to do the right thing.” 

Steam practically billows out of your ears. You have the good sense to keep your mouth shut though, cognizant of the fact that you’re alone out in the middle of nowhere with a man who’d be happy to bring you back dead or alive. Though he hasn’t been quite so explicit, it’s apparent in the way he doesn’t offer to untie you or let you rest as well. The skin under the cuffs on your wrists are rubbed raw from your attempts to free yourself, and from the journey itself, with all the jostling and the persistent cramp in your right shoulder. 

The animal awareness dawns on you during that first rest. He’d taken the rope out when you were far enough outside of town that it didn’t matter if you screamed or not. That’s what stays your tongue now—the creeping notion that you are far from anyone that would be remotely sympathetic to your plight. 

“How much was the bounty?” you ask, more out of morbid curiosity than anything. You balance on one foot to shake the cramp out of the other. 

“Now, I hate to be rude, sugar, but what does it matter to you? It ain’t you collecting the reward.”

Your lips flatten into a taut line, already regretting prying. It’s not like knowing would change anything. 

The break ends sooner than you’d hoped, Graves urging you back onto the horse before taking a seat behind you. It troubles you because you’re not far enough away from town that you couldn’t still be rescued. There’d be more of a chance of John or someone else—one of his deputies, perhaps—coming across you out here. But you don’t have much of a choice. 

Out here, the land stretches on without end. Only the faint blue of a mountain ridge paralleling your route breaks the horizon. The land is flat, sparse apart from the dense shrubbery and trees twisted and bent by the wind. Cottonwood and boxelder. Chokecherry. Dogwood and hawthorn. Lush blooming saltbrush. 

The clear blue sky overhead is almost mocking, the rain from earlier long since abated. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky now. It’d be scenic if you could abstract it from the circumstances. A perfect day for gardening or a brisk walk after being kept indoors because of the rain. You’re still damp from riding through the rain earlier. 

A few bison congregate in a small dip in the terrain, grazing on the wild grass. You stare at them wide-eyed as you gallop along the upper ridge, startled by the sight of so many in one place. 

Despite the sublime beauty of the land, you remain on edge, unable to take anything in or truly enjoy it. Panic and revulsion leave you as gnarled and knotted as the krummholz trees out in the middle of the open plains. Riding with Graves feels nothing like the few times you and John shared a horse. It’s impersonal; transactional. Entirely against your will. 

The sun has only just begun to descend under the horizon when you and Graves approach a ramshackle house situated by itself in the middle of the open plains. Barely more than a barn, and long since abandoned by the looks of it. Age has done the place no favors; wooden slats sag and separate from the exterior of the house, the gaps in between the boards letting in all manner of insects and rot. 

Graves dismounts his horse about a stone’s throw from the hovel. His brow furrows with dissatisfaction as he surveys the abandoned property. 

“Shit,” he remarks, sucking his teeth. “A local back in town swore a family still lived here. Don’t look like anyone’s lived here since Abraham.”

Part of you wishes the former tenants still resided here, on the off possibility that one might take pity on you, but a much larger part of you is grateful for the dwelling’s vacancy. You’ve heard stories before, of families living out in the middle of nowhere. Rumors. Not all bad, of course; it’s common enough for families migrating west sometimes to stop along the way for a generation or two, building more permanent dwellings than the caravans they began their journey in. Many such families were also known for putting up travelers passing through in exchange for goods or help with chores. 

But you’ve also heard other stories. Like the Riley family out near Cherryvale and their homestead just off the Great Osage Trail. They lived out there for more than two decades before the number of lone travelers vanishing off the trail within walking distance of their property pointed the finger of suspicion at them. When the authorities finally got around to procuring a warrant for their property, they found the house deserted apart from the furniture that couldn’t be loaded into the wagon and an infant boy, dehydrated and petrified. 

You shake the story from your head. “…Are we spending the night here?” you ask tentatively. 

He looks at you from the corner of his eye, nostrils flared. “Don’t go gettin’ any ideas in that head of yours. Jus’ because a man’s gotta rest his eyes, don’t mean I gotta give you a peaceful night’s rest. No, I’m leavin’ those hands of yours tied.”

Your hopes deflate at that.��

He helps you dismount before hobbling his horse with a pair of leather straps around its front legs to keep it from darting off in the middle of the night. You wince sympathetically; you have more in common with a horse now than any man. 

The inside of the cabin is just as derelict as the exterior. At the very least, he feeds you. A couple scoops of pemmican straight from the tin. The fact that he insists on feeding you instead of letting you feed yourself puts you on edge. Your spine is stiff as a board through it all, your mouth barely opening up to receive the spoonful of pemmican, the metal clanking against your teeth. You wince, the sound itself tasting of rust. 

At all times, you are aware of the precarity of your situation. You can’t imagine there were any stipulations in the bounty to bring you back unscathed. Though he hasn’t tried anything untoward so far—not so much as made a licentious remark—you don’t know how long your luck will last. You flinch every time he so much as twitches in your direction, sure at any moment his mood will flip and he’ll drag you across the floor and haul himself over you. 

It’s enough to make your stomach hurt, turning over itself. He doesn’t try anything though, and for that you exhale shakily, the tension running off you in rivulets. 

One hour drags into the next. Night blackens the sky, seeping in through the crumbling walls of the cabin. 

“Well,” Graves says, wiping his hands together to dust off any lingering crumbs. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Do…do I get to sleep as well?”

He cocks a brow. “Not much I can do to stop you.”

“It’s just that…” You lift your hands as you trail off, silently pointing out the handcuffs still secured around your wrists, the implicit assertion being that you won’t be able to sleep with the metal digging into the bones of your wrists. 

Graves scoffs. “You can’t think I’ll just uncuff you ‘cause we ain’t in town no more. I got a little more sense than that, sugar.”

“You could use rope instead?” you suggest. 

The seconds he spends considering it are long. You hold your breath as you watch him weigh the pros and cons. 

Finally, he shrugs. “Alright.”

The relief that washes over you is almost palpable. 

He pulls a blanket out of one of the saddlebags to function as a makeshift pillow, setting it up on the floor in the center of the room. True to his word, Graves uncuffs you and loops a double knotted rope around your wrists instead, fastening the rope tying your hands together around his own wrist. Your stomach sinks as he pulls the knot taut. 

He levels a heavy stare on you after giving the rope one last tug. “I don’t usually repeat myself, sugar, but I will this one time. Don’t go tryin’ anythin’ stupid. I’m gettin’ a good night’s rest and so help me if you wake me up—” his eyes flash, gray going steely “—you won’t like the consequences.”

You nod. Swallow back the phlegm clogging your throat. 

True night plunges the old house into darkness, cricket songs slipping in through the cracks in the walls. The temperature also plunges with the setting sun. It gets cold at night, even in the summer months; the draft makes you shiver, the rotting exterior letting in the elements. 

You keep to the wall with the least amount of rotting boards, as far as the rope tethering you to Graves will allow you to go. It would probably be in your best interest to try and get some sleep, but you’re far too restless to calm down. The atmosphere in the house is far too eerie to settle your nerves either; you can’t help but wonder about the family that must have left this place to rot and fade away into memory. 

It’s all you can do to blink back the tears that spring to your eyes when you think about the memory of you that John will have to carry into the future now that you’re gone. It isn’t fair. After everything you’ve had to endure in this lifetime, you thought maybe that this might have been your reward. That John was your reward. 

Your hands drop from your chin to your knees, hopelessness plaguing you again. The thin, sharp whistle of defeat. High and reedy as a death rattle. 

Then your eyes drop to your wrists.

The cord is fastened in a bowline knot around your wrists, difficult to undo without considerable effort, but the material is softer than the cuffs Graves had you in before, and it gives when you pull one hand down while pushing the other up. Your skin bunches around the cord, but it doesn’t cut into you the way the metal did. 

Graves is still fast asleep when you glance over at him. He doesn’t snore, but the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket is steady. Stable. 

The fatigue dissipates from your body the second you put it together. That there’s a sliver of a possibility of slipping your hands out of the rope tying you to Graves. The exhilaration is almost overwhelming. You have to sit with it a beat before acting, wary of letting your guard down too fast.

Time passes slowly as you fiddle with the knot, reaching your fingers as far as they’ll go and gritting your teeth through the ensuing cramp in your wrist. You nearly groan in frustration when your hand twitches and you accidentally retighten the knot. A near crushing blow. 

Please, you mouth more than whisper, frustrated tears clumped in your lashes. Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, pinching off the wail rising up your throat. 

Your heart skips a beat when the rope loosens around one of your wrists, enough for you to wiggle a pinkie underneath and slowly shimmy it up the length of your hand. A cramp makes your pinkie spasm, almost causing you to lose your grip. Sweat pools in the cup of your palm. 

When your wrists are finally free, the rope clutched in trembling hands and the basal joint of your thumb scrapped raw from the fibrous rope, you can only sit there, heart beating wildly in your chest. You have to force yourself to remain calm, wary of waking Graves up after all that effort. His eyelids quiver only with his dreams though. 

You glance towards the door on the other side of the cabin. It seems either farther away now that you know it’s within reach. You know better than to just run straight for it though. Weeks of being on the run before finding John have taught you to pace yourself, to push down the fluttering evocation in your chest to make a mad dash for the closest way out. 

Instead, you take a deep breath out, closing your eyes until you’ve calmed down. Then you rise slowly to your feet. 

Your eyes, having long since adjusted to the darkness, scan the room for any loose floorboards. Aside from one obvious corner of the house which has begun to rot away and collapse, it’s hard for you to discern at a glance which boards will groan under the weight of your feet. You have no choice but to guess.

Each step has you on edge, heart in your throat. Your focus shifts quicksilver between the floor and Graves. Waiting for any sudden movement. 

Halfway to the door, you take another cautious step forward and the floorboard creaks under your foot. Your heart stops, eyes flitting instantly over to Graves’ sleeping form. He doesn’t so much as shift. It’s another beat before you’re able to move again, confidence shaken by the noise. You keep imagining him suddenly shooting up from the floor, pistol in hand, the hammer striking the primer, the hiss of gas escaping the barrel. 

The door gives a faint creak when you push it open, so you open it only enough for your body to slip through, wincing when you twitch and accidentally push it open another inch, dragging out the creak. Still, he doesn't wake. You slip past the door, shutting it quietly behind you.  

The moon glows cornsilk gold in the sky. A vast, uncharted land stretches out around you, untouched by human hands, or so changed over the years that any human presence has long since been buried beneath the loam. But when you stare out into the distance, you realize that you have no idea where you came from. Everything looks the same in each direction, no landmark familiar enough for you to orient yourself. You’re out in the middle of nowhere and nothing looks right. 

If you had less strength, you’d fall to your knees. The despair is so immense that you hardly have the strength to hold it all at once. 

The silence lulls you into a false sense of security. You linger for too long, stuck contemplating your options. Coyotes yip in distant packs, their barks carrying across the plains. You shiver at the sound. It reminds you again that you’re on your own now. No husband to come chasing after you if things get sticky. 

Your first few steps away from the cabin are tentative, gliding your legs through the grass and staring up at the cornsilk moon. A combination of indulgence and bewilderment. If you knew the right way home, you wouldn’t waver, but these days, you have no faith in your instincts. They’ve only ever led you off course. 

The gelding that Graves rode in on sits in the grass with its hind legs folded underneath it. With its legs still hobbled, you know removing the leather will take more time than you'd like, but you figure it'll be easier to make your way across the plains on horseback, with the added bonus of leaving Graves stranded. If God were just, he’d starve out here and leave his corpse for the coyotes to feast on. 

You approach the horse cautiously, conscious not to make any sudden movements. Its ears angle towards you as you draw near. Attentive to your presence. 

“Hey there, honey,” you whisper, reaching out a hand and trying to show that you aren’t a threat. Its nose twitches.

Another step forward. Easy does it. One leg in front of the other.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise.” You try to mirror your memory of John in your voice, honeysuckle soft words. 

You aren’t John though. Not even close. You take another step towards it.

It brays when you get too close, skittish. The sound pierces through the night, louder than the coyotes in the distance. Louder even than the creaking door.  

The hair on the back of your neck raises, lips numb. Then the prickling awareness of movement in the house, like an itch on a phantom limb. 

Behind you, the door to the cabin bursts open with a bang, slamming off the wall and ricocheting back. You whip your head around to look only to find Graves’ towering form under the shadow of the doorway, his hair mused and clothes askew. And he looks enraged. 

“Hey!” Graves bellows from the doorway, breaking into a run towards you. “Get back here!”

There’s no time to sit with the regret, no time to bemoan the fact that you didn’t exercise enough caution, that for some reason without a gun leveled at your head, you allowed yourself to forget the very real danger this man posed to you. 

All you can do is run.

The grass whistles around you. You run so hard that your lungs burn, your arms pumping furiously beside you, dress swishing between your legs. You don’t have to look behind you to know that Graves is gaining on you. His body is built for pursuit. Still, you push yourself past your breaking point, not stopping even when you taste blood in your mouth. Mindless; directionless. No idea where you’re going—just away from him. You’d jump off a cliff if you came across one. 

He’s close enough for you to hear now, heavy breathing right behind you. But by then it’s too late. A heavy body rams into you, sending you careening towards the earth, the ground rushing up to meet you halfway. The dirt hardly cushions the blow. 

You hit the ground hard. Head knocked loose of thought, agony ripping across your face. The double blow of a body heavier than yours forcing you into the dirt, so solid that it crushes the breath from your lungs. 

Blood leaks from your lip, most likely split. When you breathe in to fill your lungs, you taste dirt and rust and earth. 

“Insufferable bitch,” Graves snarls, putrid breath wafting under your nose and making your eyes water. He grabs a handful of your hair and wrenches your head up before slamming it back down. Something crunches. Distantly, you wonder if your nose is broken. 

Your ears ring, the rest of his words drowned out by the blood rushing to your face. 

“Please—” you beg, blood dripping from your split lip. 

“Knew I shouldn’ta trusted you—conniving little cunt—c’mere now, get up—”

He rises to his feet over your body, big hand curling around your wrist. You hear your shoulder pop when he yanks your arm behind your back. A rush of cold. A sweat breaks on the nape of your neck. Shock sets in the moment after, adrenaline flooding your body. 

Then a sharp, focused surge of pain. It radiates from your shoulder outward, so intense that you can’t believe it at first. Your whole world reduces down to it. Feathering out down your back; irradiating waves of it. Thoughts scattering and then coming back together around the pain. If you scream, it comes out unbidden. 

“Ah, hell, I didn’t mean to do that,” he grumbles from behind you, likely staring at the unnatural jut of your shoulder. “Alright, sugar, one second—I’ll pop that back in.”

“Nononono—” you gasp, panic lancing through you, but he pays no attention to your words. 

The pain of popping your shoulder back in is excruciating. Relief follows shortly after, but the time between dislocating and relocating your shoulder is so short that it hardly comes as a balm to the pain.

“You…bastard…” you gasp. 

“Wouldn’ta had to do that if you hadn’t run,” he sighs, the sight of your pain subduing his rage. 

It doesn’t stop him from grabbing you roughly by the arm he just dislocated when he finally gets you on your feet though, steering you back towards the house. The pain that radiates up your arm is almost blinding. 

He drags you back to the cabin with a punishing grip. There’s no sympathy when you stumble. Moonlight illuminates the path back to the cabin and shows you the trenches in the wild grass made by your feet. Hardly more than a couple rods. 

The defeat that courses through you upon being dragged through the ramshackle front door is ten times that of earlier. When he lets go of your arm, you collapse in a heap on the floor, aching and sweating. A bag of bones and blood. You’d rattle if someone shook you. 

“I hate you,” you mumble from your spot on the floor, shaking through the pain. “Rot in hell.”

Graves doesn’t respond, but you can almost hear the way he grins.  

No rest for the wicked or the good this time. Graves wakes intermittently throughout the night to check up on you, wary now that you’ve tried to run. Your regret is palpable. You should’ve waited. Bided your time. There won't be another chance now, not after you played your hand so soon. 

The ache in your shoulder keeps you from finding sleep. Every time you get close to it, the pain radiates down your arm and it slips from your grasp, your hand closing around the empty space it leaves behind. Teeth grit, breathing through the pain. Loosening your jaw and panting because the pain overwhelms you when you so much as shift onto your side, the hard floor digging into your elbow. 

Right on the edge of sleep, just as you're about to latch on, a boot catches you in the ribs, jostling you back into the realm of pain. You wheeze, breaking into a coughing fit. 

“Get up,” a hoarse voice grunts above you, empty of sympathy. “We got places to be.”

He has the two of you back on the horse as soon as dawn breaks. Your escape attempt the night before must have spooked him, and you regret it now in the light of day because you know he won’t let you out of his sight again. The metal handcuffs digging into your wrists assures you of that. 

There’s no time for breakfast or time to wash up. Graves makes it a point to be back on the road as fast as possible, repacking his bedroll and stuffing it back in the saddlebag before dragging you up with him. 

The pain is a dull throb after sleeping most of the agony away. It comes back when you move too quickly though, which is hard to avoid on horseback when each gallop echoes through your sore bones and joints. 

The arching sun immixes with the heavens above, rising higher as the hours pass. You ache for a hat; something to keep the heat of the sun off your head. On the horizon, the mountain ridge sits like a spine bursting out from the earth. It’s all wastelands and portents. Evil omens. 

Your heart feels swollen and bruised, like something trampled under elk hooves. 

“Cheer up,” Graves says, tipping your chin up when the sun reaches its peak around midday, the gesture making you so uncomfortable that you almost shudder out of your skin. Your face still throbs with pain. “You should be glad I didn’t jus’ shoot you.”

Your lips pull back, baring your teeth to nothing. 

A shot rips through the air at that, his words commanding it into being. Your head instinctively ducks and even the horse under you staggers, spooked by the sound. Graves curses, tensing up behind you.

"What in the hell—"

You whip your head around to stare behind you, looking for the source of the gunfire. When you find it, your eyes widen.

[defire]

Stoic whumpee things I want to do more of:

Content: mention of rape, torture, noncon touch

Eye contact with whumper just following them across the room

Whumper going to touch them and they just lean out of the way as far as they can

Whumper touches them anyway. "Ew." Whumpee growls.

A solid sense of boundaries that slowly wears away, until finally, they just close their eyes, waiting for it to be over

Or, glaring at the wall when whumper touches them

Not having the same "scream" response to pain. Instead maybe they have something more animalistic, like whines or broken moans, or even gagging sounds

Bonus--whumper makes fun of them for this, cause they were hoping for some better screams out of them

A lack of fear turning very quickly into depression. (whumpee accepts their situation? They're going to quickly see how hopeless it is, too.)

Calm bargaining. "I'll kiss your feet." "No." "...I'll suck your dick." "Haha, nice try." *Exasperated sigh* "really? You said I was really good."

Never giving the information they're being tortured for, but compromising literally anything else because they are desperate, they're just also stubborn as hell

Whumper getting curious because of their silence and trying to get them to talk about themselves or their feelings. Locking them in a room and saying they won't leave until they talk.

"we'll play a game. You tell me one thing about yourself, and I'll give you one pretzel for each thing." *Starving whumpee rubs their face and sighs* "Fine. ...My middle name starts with N."

Discordant reactions--Whumpee just miserably laughing at how crazy evil whumper is. Breaking by going defiant. or by just being annoying (picking at whumper's sleeve, singing etc)

Maybe they just feel more depressed than anxious/desperate. Whumper trying to draw out their other feelings gets a chuckle. "That's very nice. I don't care."

Stoic works really well with certain traits--honest, loyal, morose, uncertain, thoughtful, autistic

[nyashykyunnie]

I'll be honest even if I am a big Jinwoo fan I wouldn't defend this man like going to war saying he is the strongest or saying he has the perfect story.

My definition of perfect story is and always will be Heaven Official's Blessing, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultuvation, Scum Villain's Self-saving System, Husky and His White cat Shizun, Little Mushroom and Nan Chan.

Jinwoo is undeniably strong, but emotionally he would've been written better. We should have been given more about his struggle about losing his emotions, his struggle at the fact that he may no longer feel love and maybe it could have been a plot where he struggles to interact with his family knowing he can't feel emotions as much. We should have been given more insight to Jinwoo's depression in his E-rank era. He also went through death multiple times where is the ptsd? He went through war alone he should have more struggle. Sure, chalk it up to him already being disassociated with his emotions but buddy??? Even if he was I'm sure this man must feel a huge emptiness in him as he represents the abyss. What about that plot where Byung-gyu warned about his powers? awe aren't given any sort of sht about that. It was just said and done. We never witnessed Jinwoo struggling with his powers eating him from the inside out.

His powers affected his quality of life in a positive light, but its also a sort of punishment for Jinwoo since he cheated death and defies human biology. We could have been given a plot where Jinwoo is feeling frustrated with himself. Also he watched precious people die around him, wdym this guy has no severe anxiety? I would have personally suffer from constant panic attacks. Even if he places his shadows on everyone this guy must still have some anxiety atleast come on.

Jinwoo would obviously have depression and anxiety with what he's been through.

We can even have a plot where since he is an INTJ and they are known for thinking with their heads most of the time, we could have a Jinwoo who rationalizes things way too much. Or we could have a Jinwoo who rationalizes things to avoid the crippling depression and emptiness he feels after achieving his status as a monarch. There is so much room for us to make Jinwoo more interesting.

Jinwoo has so much potential in suffering with himself yet were just given perfect mr boy powering through everything. Which is good. You can have that plot of Jinwoo powering through everything but atleast show us situation where we can see the broken and battered him so that when he is victorious over them we as the audience feel rewarded for his triumph.

I love this guy don't get me wrong. But I wish we could have been given more emotional attachment rather than just being slapped with "Cute uwu boy turns emo and edgy" randomly. Atleast properly show us his inner turmoils in his transition

[daysofyellowroses]

pumpkin

richie jerimovich x afab!reader | 1.3k | part one of two | warnings: none

hello, i am (kind of) back! due to work/being prone to depressed slumps i have not written anything for a long while but (tmi alert) my last period was the worst i have ever experienced, and towards the end of it the only thing that made me feel better was the thought of literally just sitting on richie's lap like it got me through, then that thought spiralled into this, which will have a second part that will basically just be plotless fun! hopefully you enjoy this, and if you're still reading then i will use the opportunity to shout out @thecapricunt1616 she is the actual best so go check out the most amazing blog you'll ever see 🫶🏻💗🌼

🐻

You know when you can tell a storm is coming, but that doesn't make you feel any more calm about the storm? That was the feeling you'd been having for a few days. Your period tracker app had told you that you were due soon, but the pain had started a little earlier than usual. It was never a good sign. Some months your period came and went without a fuss, other months it was like torture, and evidently it was going to be one of those months.

You threw yourself into work to try and distract yourself for what was coming. It was perfect timing, the bear had officially opened and service was beyond elevated. You'd been a waitress in the Beef for a couple of years, but that mainly consisted of handing over hot dogs, wiping down the occasional table and rolling your eyes (affectionately) at yet another terrible joke.

Now you were in at the deep end. The restaurant was was different, the clientele were certainly different, your uniform was different, your attitude had to be different. No more sneaking out back with Richie for a quick cigarette, stealing his hoodies when it was cold, no more hanging around in the kitchen chatting with the chefs.

You focused on doing your job perfectly, trying to ignore the PMS burning inside you. It wasn't easy, but you managed to style it out.

Until the day came.

You woke up in more agony, barely able to drag yourself out of bed for some aspirin. You still hadn't officially gotten your period but you knew it wouldn't be long. In most other jobs you would have a Saturday off or be able to call in sick, but that wasn't an option. Everyone was needed, there were no backups, no subs to be drafted in at the last minute.

Most of the day was spent in bed, layers of blankets wrapped around your aching body, willing the pain away.

It didn't go anywhere, rather it intensified as the day went on.

Taking a shower and getting ready was agony, all you wanted was to get right back into bed and forget the world existed, not go into a busy restaurant competing for a Michelin fucking star.

When you arrived, Richie was giving his usual speech/pep talk. He gave you a nod which you returned before standing beside Sweeps and trying to take in what Richie was saying.

Before service, you were standing by your locker taking a moment to breathe deeply and attempt to focus yourself when your solitude was ended.

"Hey," Richie gave you a nod. "You okay?"

"Yeah, all good," You lied, looking over to him with as much of a smile as you could muster. "Thanks."

"Just making sure," Richie raised a brow, watching you for a moment. "I'll see you out there, let's do this."

For a brief moment, you thought you would be okay. It would just be more bad PMS then tomorrow when your period actually made an appearance you could sleep it off.

But life could never be so simple.

It was already hot in the restaurant, every table full, the lights and the music making you feel overwhelmed, the heat and noise every time you walked into the kitchen not helping.

It all happened at once, you were taking the mains to table 10, your mouth beginning to water, not from hunger but from bile rising in you throat.

You delivered the food as calmy as possible, being the perfect waitress before you made your way to the bathroom as quickly as possible.

You barely made it into a stall before you were on your knees hugging the bowl.

It could have been hours or minutes later, you weren't sure, but eventually you heard a knock on the door.

Slowly getting up, you took a breath, grabbing some tissue to wipe your mouth before opening the door.

To your immense surprise, Richie was standing on the other side, a serious look on his face. You braced yourself for a scolding, ready to snap back if needed.

Instead, he touched your arm gently, his expression softening.

"You should have told me if you weren't feeling well."

"What does it matter?" You sighed, glancing behind you and tossing the tissue in the bowl. "You can't lose a waitress tonight."

"I'm down one right now aren't I?" Richie raised a brow. "We'll survive for a minute. I wish I could send you home but since I can't..tell me what I can do to make life easier for you right now."

You looked at him for a moment, the feeling of his hand on your arm making you feel calmer.

"Right now I need a tampon and some pain relief," You told him, taking a breath. "There's some in my-"

"I got it," Richie was already halfway to the door, waving his hand. "If you could get out there and keep Fak outta trouble that'd be great thanks."

You stood for a moment before quickly fixing yourself up and heading back out to the restaurant. There was no sign of Richie, but you threw yourself back into work. You didn't feel any better, and the need for protection was growing, but you tried to power through.

Around 15 minutes later, Richie re-emerged on the restaurant floor and caught your eye. You made your way over to him, half expecting him to subtly pull a tampon from his shirt cuff.

"Everything you need is in the office, you got five minutes," Richie told you, giving you a small grin before striding across the floor. You watched him for a moment before heading into the kitchen, ignoring the noise and heading to the office.

What looked like half of the entire feminine care aisle of a pharmacy was laid across the desk, along with a couple of bars of chocolate and a bag of candy you had a fondness for. You took what you needed and headed to the bathroom, feeling a little more calm and unable to stop yourself smiling.

After service, you were feeling better, though more than ready to go home and sleep through most of the following day.

When everything was done and everyone was getting ready to leave, you noticed Richie hanging back despite being ready to go. When you were heading out, chocolate and candy safely in your handbag, (the feminie care aisle had been left in tbe office for future emergencies) Richie joined you.

"Are you not driving?" You asked, raising a brow as you passed the car park.

"Not tonight," Richie shrugged, looking ahead before glancing over to you. "I'm making sure you get home safe."

You rolled your eyes with a grin, linking your arm through the older man's.

"It's just my period Rich, I'm not gonna die."

"I know," Richie scoffed. "Just let me be a gentleman once in my life."

So, you were joined on your commute home, the train ride and walk to your apartment feeling much quicker. Before you knew it you were hanging up your coat and dropping your handbag on the table.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Richie asked, glancing around your small living room.

"Do you need anything else?"

"You can drop the gentleman act now, it's getting old," You teased, touching his arm.

"But thank you for everything."

"Least I could do," Richie nodded, looking back at you and holding your gaze for a moment as you gently squeezed his arm.

"Well I uh..I should let you..get some rest."

"How very thoughtful of you," You smiled, letting go of his arm. "Are you sure *you're* going to get some safe? I would offer you the couch but your lanky ass would probably snap it in half."

You laughed as Richie gave you the middle finger, giving him the same back.

"I'll see you Monday, god help me," Richie sighed, stepping a little closer to you. "Now go get some rest."

"Yes, sir," You grinned, leaning up and placing a soft kiss on his cheek before stepping back.

"Let yourself out before the neighbours start a rumor."

"You should be so lucky," Richie grinned giving you a wink before heading out of your apartment.

You went to the kitchen and got yourself a glass of water before heading to your bedroom, the smile never leaving your face.

[icarusredwings]

would you recommend takin' over the asylum

Yes! And not only because of David but also the other charater's arcs are very intresting too!

It's on youtube for free and is only about 7 episodes.

TOTA discusses topics that were seen as very taboo at the time it was produced/written.

While we as mature veiwers can watch this and say "Okay yes there is misinformation" we have to remember that this was made before even going to a therapist was something people did regularly and openly admited it. If you went to a phycologist back then or even a therapist you were looked down opon.

This show shows and talks about things so subtly that you won't pick them up unless you've been there, OR you pay attention well. For example, one of the things with Campbell is that he is very "ego" driven, and Eddie has to learn how to balance him to keep him from toppling over and becoming manic. For example you'll see a lot of episodes Eddie will praise Bain and then scold him afterwards because in the begining episodes he gives Campbell too much praise/trust and it makes him have a break down because as I explain it to some "Once you get to the top of that cliff, you fall off"

At the very begining the viewer and Eddie are mislead to assume Campbell is a staffmember or a volunteer because of how open of arms he has, hes so eager to help and be useful, hes kind, and as eddie says "He dosn't *seem* looney?" And this is because he's very managable but his parents couldn't so sent him away.

Another reason I recommend it is the diversity of the acting and patiants. People often pin him as the silly side kick charater but Davids acting brings his story to a whole new level.

Campbell is also very energetic compared to most patients, and I think he's one of the youngest ones they have so he gets excited about things VERY quickly. He's jumping all over the place. Lil manic puppy. He always gets so happy to Eddie too, its very clear hes attached to him which (if you know) its very common for bipolar/ manic deapressivss to have that *one* person. This is what I mean by subtleness.

This show also includes topics such as (count this as a trigger warning too)

Giving up your boring job to follow your dreams (which was just ridiculous back then)

Immigration

Unfair justice system

Adhd

Ocd (id say her charater is most likely the worst portrayed but when you realize why it breaks your heart)

Abusive relationships

The taboo idea of dating a 'looney'

Quiting smoking for the better

Bipolar /Manic depressive disorder

Child loss

Self harm

Self ending

Grief

Mutism

Autism

Medical abuse of patiants/manipulation

Substance abuse

Different coping mechanisms

Homelessness

Another thing about this show I like is Eddie is very open to them, he treats them like people, he gets nervous and worried they wont enjoy his company even which means he cares enough about them to think their opinions matter whilst another worker states that they're loonies, no one cares what they want.

He takes care of Campbell a lot as well because- well.. He's a bit of trouble. A little scamp he is. But hes so cute tho. And YES David Tennant's accent IS in this one. It's SO much more thicker then say Crowley or the Doctor.

SPOILERS

Hell there's a woman who they claim is speaking in tounges but she's just speaking a foreign language in which Eddie only takes like 2 days to figure out because he had the nerve to LITSEN to her and try to see what she was saying instead of telling her to speak english and to take pills. The sad bit about this, though, is she becomes homeless because of getting kicked out of the mental hospital.

Yet another theme I like about this show is that A. The colors are just bright enough to keep attention but not get a head ache, B. Bain behaves exactly the way you would expect a teen experiancing issues would, happy, snappy, sad, overly confident all at once, in a blink. C. Eddie meets this woman with a mean dog and yet Eddie forgives this dog many times despite it tried to bite him.

The woman was older and was testing eddie to see if he's a good person or not, no matter how annoying she was to him, he treats her with upmost respect and kindness. She ends up paying him a lot to fix the windows, which gives him extra cash to spend on one of the girls he was intresting seeing as hes very respectful to her despite her depression and I want to almost guess Post Partum but I actually don't know,

ANYWAY He even takes her to see his grandparents and adopts kittens just for her because she loves kittens and some delinquents killed her other kittens.

In most stories, the doctor or patiant is odd and tries to manipulate the other into going out with them, but whenever she declines, he only nods and goes away. It doesn't feel forced either. It's very sweet.

Anyway YES. Please watch it like holy shit I don't have anyone to talk to about it!! The lady who wrote it was actually bummed it flopped because of how progressive it was but is happy its becoming popular now! Love you Donna Franceschild!

[radfemsiren]

Have you seen those "hopecore", "corecore", etc. videos on platforms like Youtube shorts? They give me SUCH a huge ick because they are so obviously created by misogynistic men trying to victimize themselves. I scroll through accounts and most of them are "sad" videos of men being rejected by women😭 or it's women saying mean things abt men (billie eilish saying that it's always the pretty girls that r with ugly men). and the comments are all "mens mental health matters guys!" "Finally somebody recognizes men matter too..." "as a girl, everyone should be treated equally!" I hate them so bad.

They are so fucking pathetic and darkly hilarious because when you compare them to female corecore videos where the issues are about rape, victim blaming, eating disorders, depression, femicide, never getting recognition for your work, domestic abuse, sexual harassment, never feeling comfortable in your body… and then all the male ones are just, “women are mean to me and I can’t get laid! Wahhhh”

Female rage or women’s hope core core videos are a millions times better and more emotionally compelling, even the low effort short ones like this one

[tyrantchimera]

I am so tired.

I want to see the world burn.

I want to see this world, that hates us,

burn

burn

burn.

I want to watch the flames dance with a fervour I ache too much to replicate. I want the warmth and ambition of fire to melt the leaden despair that I exist as. There is no place for me in this world, it feels like, so let it all blaze bright and fierce and ruthless.

Let us watch the world burn! Burn it down!

Let it all turn to cinders and smoke. Let there be nothing left but grey dust; the cremation of a suffering wretch. Let all the greedy and disgusting and stupid choke in the smog of their own immolation. Let everything rot and burn and scream in the crackling coals.

Let the world burn.

And then, only then, will I have a place for me. In the nothingness and ash, maybe, I can finally plant a garden.

[super-nova5045]

sylvia plath, todd anderson and virginia woolf (aka ACTUAL tortured poets) watching taylor “im breaking up with my boyfriend for his intense depression and blaming it on him, im dating a racist who enjoys watching woc being brutalized and harasses young woc artists, i sent my fans out on a hate train to attack a young woc actress for a line she had to say as part of her job to show how mentally ill her character was, im dating a maga supporter, i refuse to say anything about a current genocide despite being the most influential person in the world right now, i am a billionaire, i fly 13 minute flights and have the highest carbon emission of any celebrity, i am a known white feminist who only speaks about issues when it affects me and has constantly let my fans get away with extreme racism and even encouraged it by associating myself with known racists” swift call herself a tortured poet (her writing sounds like a bunch of thesaurus words slapped over gabba hanna and rupi kaur-esque poetry that was created purely as a trinket for an edgy pinterest board)

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Dick stumbles upon Jason while he’s at his most deranged and sawing heads off people to stuff them into a duffle bag and deliver it gift wrapped to the GCPD.

Dick is sick to his stomach. How can one person be capable of something so atrocious and laugh while doing it!? He needs to get back to the cave. He needs to warn Batman and Robin. This new player isn’t just dangerous, he’s evidently trying to rival his namesake in blood and violence alone and he’s succeeding.

(If Dick hadn’t been too busy keeping his late dinner inside his stomach, he may have noticed the warning creaks of the support beam.

As it is, the chains holding the beam in place snap and Dick goes down. Tumbling straight into the gory mess giving himself a concussion to boot at the Red Hood’s feet.

Shit.)

[nyxofdemons]

“one day im going to have to make like a three hour long video essay that's just called In Defense of Helluva Boss” Please do. I see more anti videos than I do with defense ones. Like the ones that say season 2 is terrible even though it’s barely completed and the ones that say Stolitz is a bad despite them barely having a relationship.

no literally i am sick of seeing more anti content than actual appreciation videos but the anti talking point i see most that drives me up the fucking walls is that it's "bAd RePrEsEnTaTiOn," as if that is all that queer people are allowed to have; just the vague nebulous concept of "Rep(TM)." the fact that if a straight character is a bad person then it's just that This Character is a bad person, but if a queer character is a bad person then This Is Bad Representation Of The Community And Is Homophobic. can we not just HAVE characters?? vehicles to tell a story??? tools to craft a compelling narrative??? this is part of why Helluva/Hazbin being adult shows is such a THING because i see this get shut down a lot under the guise of "uhh well just because it's an adult show doesn't mean that it can handle whatever topic it wants however it wants" and like. yeah buddy! that's true! and that's not what this is fucking about!! when people say "it's an adult show" what they mean is that it's made to be engaged with under the assumption that you would know better than to take information to shape your worldview and perception of other real life people from a fucking cartoon! the show doesn't NEED to tell you that Um Hey Guys Just So You Know This Isn't Actually Meant To Reflect How All Real Life Gay Relationships Are because you are an adult who should already be able to discern this.

"bad rep" doesn't mean "characters that are nuanced, morally gray, or just bad people." "bad rep" would be if helluva boss was a show that said "the REASON these characters are in toxic relationships / are bad people is BECAUSE they are queer, or at least directly correlated to that fact." which is. you know. very fucking different than "these characters are in toxic relationships / are bad people because they 1) live in a classist society that actively encourages them to be their worst selves and 2) are extremely traumatized."

[fruityumbrella]

sorry bestie theres no way you can convince me law is a better fuck than sanji

[teabutmakeitazure]

told my mom I don't feel like her daughter or blood because of the way she treats my cousin and she told me I'm being ridiculous and petty

[frecklystars]

I have another gig in a week and I'm so nervous 😭 I get paid hundreds of dollars for only five hours of work, but it is so nerve-racking and the work environment is so stressful, like literally every time I'm there I'm on the verge of tears or I have to take a 2 minute break before the show starts just to run to the restrooms and cry bc I get so stressed out. And then when I clock out I just cry my eyes out in my car while driving home. But hey!!! Hundreds of dollars!!! For five or six hours of my time!!! Only a few days a month!!! Hundreds!!! Of dollars!!! So it would be totally stupid to quit.

I wouldn't have been able to afford pampering myself on my last two F/O anniversaries (and currently placing an order for a rose bouquet for Six's anniversary for the 18th) if I didn't have this second job... but if it didn't pay me such a large amount of money each time, I probably would have quit by now bc it makes me so damn anxious. The show isn't even for one week and I'm sitting here stressing about it! I have one thousand other things to stress about and this job shouldn't be one of 'em 😤

I just keep trying to think about Ken hugging me while saying "Aw, sweet girl, don't be nervous! You JUST started this job, you've only worked three shows -- you think you're gonna be perfect your first try?? You're gonna be so good once you get the hang of it. Just look at me! I've been doing Beach for 62 years now, and I still don't know what my job is supposed to be... but I know I look So Cool™ 😎"

[weareuniqueandimportant]

WE'RE WATCHING WAKANDA FOREVER... WE'RE 1 HOUR IN BUT I MUST SAY... I STOPPED PAYING ATTENTION A WHILE AGO...

THIS POST MIGHT GET GLITCHED DUE TO THEIR LENGTH AND SUREFIRE WOKENESS... DETAILS THAT CAUSE THEM TO BE ERASED ABUSIVELY EVILLY NASTILLY ON PURPOSE OUT OF POLITICAL PROPAGANDA BY THE ABUSER CALLED TUMBLR... THEREFORE.. I WILL EDIT THIS IN BITS...

OKAY... WE WATCHED AN ANIME PORN THAT WAS TRANSPHOBIC... THAT WAS 2 WOMAN BUT... THE OTHER ONE IS TRANS LIKELY BY A TRANSPHOBIC CREATOR... WE GET TYPICAL TRANSPHOBIC DIALOGUE... SEXISM... QUEERPHOBIA... ABOUT CONSTRUCTS... THE CISSIE WAS ITEMIZED INSANE... CRAZY... SHE WASN'T... YUCKIES... ALL THIS AT A TRANS CHARACTER... WHAT A NASTY FETISH THE CREATOR HAS... WE REMEMBERED... THAT IS IMPORTANT TO REMEMBER... TO ACKNOWLEDGE... I REMEMBER MORE... ONCE AGAIN FORGOTTEN ONCE AGAIN WHAT WE USED TO KNOW... BECAUSE NOBODY WILL EVER UNDERSTAND... WE WILL ALWAYS BE ABUSED... WE HAVE NO HOPE EVER GETTING MARRIED AND HAVING CHILDREN OUR LIVES PURPOSE OR TRANSITIONING AS OURSELVES... THIS IS FACTUAL... WE HAVE BEEN TOLD THIS OVER AND OVER AGAIN... NOBODY WILL EVER UNDERSTAND... WE WATCHED ANOTHER ONE... TERRIBLE...

THEY CAN'T DIE... BUT I HAVE NO ENERGY... THERE IS NO POINT... THEY'RE DYING... FLEEING... THIS CAN'T HAPPEN... I LOVE YOU... OUR SHARED EMOTIONS... OUR TRAUMA... OUR PROGRESSIVE EXISTANCE WITHOUT AN EQUAL NOBODY WILL EVER COMPARE TO GIVING US NL POINT IN LIFE... WE'RE ALIVE FOR NO REASON... BECAUSE WE CARE UNLIKE ANYONE ELSE... THERE IS NOBODY ELSE THAT CARES ON THIS PLANET... WE WOULD BE ABUSED BY ANYONE AND EVERYONE IF THEIR CHILDREN... ONLY WE CAN HAVE THEM FOR THIS REASON... ASWELL AS THE TOOL NEVER OUR EQUAL THAT WILL GIVE THEM FOR US... BECAUSE AN EQUAL WOULD HAVE SAVED US ALREADY... IF EXISTED... THEY WOULD'VE PREVENTED EVERYTHING WE HAVE EVER BEEN TROUGH... THEY WOULD HAVE GIVEN US AN ACTUAL COMMUNITY THAN THE EVIL ABUSER WASTE THIS SITE ONLY HAS... WE WILL NEVER BE SAVED WE WILL NEVER TRANSITION LIFE IS POINTLESS WE ARE ABUSED ALWAYS HARMED ALWAYS HURT ALWAYS LIKE JUST WHEN SOMEONE HURT US SOMEONE WHO WASN'T SUPPOSED TO... ONCE AGAIN... AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AND AGAIN A LOOP WE'RE ALWAYS STUCK IN!! BASIC NEEDS WE'RE BORN WITH ALWAYS DENIED ALWAYS ABUSED ALWAYS NEGLECTED JUST LIKE RIGHT NOW!! NOBODY IS QUALIFIED NO THERAPIST NOBODY OF SUCH KIND THEM ONLY ABUSERS THAT HAVE ONLY HURT US IN THE PAST WITH AN AGENDA FAR MORE EVIL THEM BASED IN EVIL BIGOTRIES... ANYONE OUTSIDE... SHOULD BE YOUR THERAPIST... FUCK THIS... DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU'RE A BIGOT... AND NO BIGOT IS ALLOWED TO INTERACT WITH THIS POST ONLY 2 PEOPLE 1 OUR EQUAL THAT WILL NEVER EXIST OUTSIDE OF OUR BRAIN 2 OUR LOVERS OUR CHEERLEADERS THOSE CUTIES THAT FOLLOW US... DESPERATE FOR OUR ATTENTION... HUNGRY... AWW... DON'T WORRY MY LITTLE FOLLOWER... HERE'S ANOTHER LOVELY POST YOUR FAVORITE: RIGHT...? HERE YOU GO <3!!

IF BLACK PANTHER WAS A TRANS WOMAN THAT IS AUTISM AND ADHD WAKANDA WOULD HAVE ABUSED HER SHE WOULD'VE NEVER BECOME A HERO SHE WOULD'VE NEVER BEEN ALLOWED TO IF SHE WAS RADQUEER FEMINIST COMMUNIST ANARCHIST WE ARE DESPISED WE ARE HATED... SAME WAY IRONMAN... SPIDERMAN... CAPTAIN AMERICA... ALL WITH THEIR SEXIST WRITTEN GIRLFRIENDS... DAMSELS IN DISTESS AT BEST A SIDE CHARACTER NEVER AN EQUAL... PEOPLE WITH DEAD PARENTS WITHOUT FAMILY WITHOUT COMMUNITY WITHOUT LOVE PREACHING ABOUT LOVE TO US... THAT DON'T THINK WHAT IS GOOD PREACHING ABOUT IDEOLOGY THAT ABUSES US... THEM ALL ABUSERS THAT WOULD ONLY HARM US... US WATCHING THEIR MOVIES... THINGS COULD'VE BEEN DIFFERENT... US ONLY LEARNING WE'RE UNLOVABLE AS THE TRUE LESSON OVER AND OVER... DOESN'T MATTER WHAT SERIES WHAT GENRE... THE QUESTION IS WHAT FAKE EMOTIONS THEY CAN MAKE US FEEL FOR A LITTLE MOMENT UNTIL REALITY HITS BACK IN... IF THIS IS DEPRESSION WE ARE DEPRESSED FOR A REASON WE ARE MEANT TO BE DEPRESSED WE ALWAYS WERE MEANT TO BE... WE ARE ABUSED WE HAVEN'T TRANSITIONED WE NEVER WILL WE'RE EVERYTHING ELSE LISTED... THIS WORLD IS THE PROBLEM WE NEVER COULD BE... BLAME US YOU'RE TO BLAME THAT IS YOU EVERYTHING IS WRONG WITH BECAUSE YOU COULD'VE PREVENTED THIS AND YOU DON'T ACCEPT US ONCE WE'RE BROKEN DESPITE ONLY DOING WHAT IS RIGHT EVERYONE ELSE ONLY BROKEN INSTEAD... THAT IS THEM THAT ALWAYS MADE EVERYTHING GO THIS WAY... THEM TO WHO THAT IS NORMAL TO SEE THIS AND IGNORE... ABUSERS... WITHOUT A RIGHT NO PREACH ABOUT ANYTHING... THIS... IDEOLOGY... ONLY A WAY TO TELL US WE DESERVE TO BE ABUSED WE DESERVED EVERYTHING THAT'S HAPPENED ON US THAT IS JUSTIFIED TO KILL US AND EVERYONE ELSE IS JUSTIFIED TO HURT US... US UNCARED FOR UNLOVED FOREVER...

I DON'T FEEL LIKE...

IRONMAN AS A TRANS WOMAN THAT IS EVERYTHING WE ARE WOULD'VE BEEN EPIC AND THE RIGHT WAY TO GO... GIVE HER EVERYTHING THERE SHOULD BE... MAKE HER EVERYTHING GOOD THERE IS... NO GOOD PERSON WOULD BE WHAT IRONMAN IS IN REAL LIFE... CONSERVATIVES LOVE HIM FOR A REASON... NOBODY PROGRESSIVE WOULD...

LOVE OF THUNDER WILL EASILY BE THE BEST THOR WE WILL WATCH THEM SOON TOO THE REASON WOKE CONTENT EASY AS THAT... MARVEL WILL NEVER ACCEPT EVERYTHING WOKE THERE IS... THERE IS NOTHING LEFTIST ABOUT THEM COMICS ARE AS BAD AS THEY WERE IN THE 80S WITH THE SAME PROBLEMS AS ARE MOVIES EVERYTHING IS... EVERYTHING IS EVIL AND HARMFULL :)...

THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN TALK ABOUT WHILE BURIED UNDER SUCH FEELINGS OF EVIL... ONLY SOMEONE THAT CAN FIX EVERYTHING CAN SAVE US... BUT NOBODY LIKE THAT IS OUT THERE... OTHERWISE... THEY WOULD'VE ALREADY COME... WE WOULD'VE SEEN THEM... WE WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN ABUSED ALL THOSE TIMES... NOTHING BAD WOULD'VE EVER HAPPENED TO US...

CULTURE WILL ALWAYS BE EVIL... THAT IS RACIST TO EVEN WHEN DRAWING A BLACK PERSON PUTTING HIM IN TRIBE OUTFITS FROM 6000 MILLION YEARS AGO... ISN'T THIS JUST MAKING THEM TARZAN ANYWAYS...? NOTHING'S ACTUALLY CHANGED... THE SAME WAY THEY WOULDN'T ACCEPT US... THEY HATE EVERYTHING AGAINST THEIR CONSERVATIVE ABUSER CULTURE AND THEIR STANCE IS TO NEVER EVOLVE TO ALWAYS STAY THE SAME...

AT THE SAME TIME ALL THE OTHER HEROES HAVE NO FAMILY HAVE NO FRIENDS... THEY'RE REJECTS HATED BY EVERYONE... THAT JUDGE OTHER PEOPLE LIKE THEM BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T BECOME WHAT OPPRESSESS THEM AND DOESN'T DO SHIT TO FIX WHAT CAUSED EVERYTHING BAD ON THEM THEY CAUSE ASWELL...

THERE WAS 1 EMOTIONAL MOMENT IN THIS ONE THAT WAS FIRE... WHEN HIS WIFE WHO'S NOW A WIDOW STRIPS THAT ONE WOMAN FROM HER POWER... VERY GOOD SCENE... VERY EMOTIONAL... ONE OF THE BEST MARVEL HAS... THE BEGGINING ASWELL WAS GOOD... AFTER THAT IS WHEN THINGS GOT BORING...

I LIKE THE CONNECTIONS EVERYONE HAS OR DID... ALL THOSE OTHER HEROES AREN'T CARED ABOUT BY THEIR COMMUNITIES... IF CAPTAIN AMERICA WAS TRULY CARED ABOUT... HIS ARMY WOULD'VE FOUND AND SAVED HIM OR THEY WOULD'VE FROZEN THEMSELVES TOO... NOBODY CARED ABOUT HIM... EVERYONE'S DEAD... HE HAS NO REASON TO BE A HERO ANYMORE... HE SHOULDN'T BE... HE'S AN ABUSER GARBAGE WASTE... EITHER HE'S BAD WHICH HE IS EITHER WAY OR THAT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE FOR HIM TO BE LIKE THIS. SIMPLE AS THAT. IRONMAN IS THE SAME WAY... BESIDES... HE PEAKS AS A FATHER... SHOULD'VE JUST BEEN HIS DAUGHTER'S FATHER FROM THE BEGGINING... THEM DUAL PROTAGONIST... A BETTER MOVIE THAN IRONMAN 1. WHAT THAT MOVIE SHOULD'VE ALREADY BEEN.

AS SHOULD'VE HIM BEEN INSTEAD TRANS... HIS GIRLFRIEND MORE THAN HIS GIRLFRIEND... WITH BADASS FAMILY LORE... ALL COMPLEX ARE RELEVANT... ALL EXPLORED AND INTERESTING...

HIS VILLAINS... ASS... ALL OF THEM...

THANOS... ASS.. BLACK WIDOW... SEXIST... LOKI... ALWAYS A TERRIBLE CHARACTER... THOR... WORTHLESS UNTIL LOVE OF THUNDER...

CAPTAIN MARVEL A CHARACTER THAT SHOULD'VE BEEN ALREADY IN PHASE ONE... ALL THIS WOKE CONTENT AND MORE THE WOKEST CONTENT MARVEL WILL NEVER DO PART OF THEM THE SAME...

SIMPLE AS THAT... NOW ABOUT THAT ANIME PORN...

HE WAS JUST A PATHETIC LOSER MAN... THAT RPED HIS MOTHER AND SISTER... HIS MOTHER'S RPE IS JUSTIFIED AND SHE BECOMES A RPIST TOO... AND THEY RPE HIS SISTER TOGETHER... HIS FATHER IS THERE WITH THEM... THEM ALL SINCE LYING TO HIM AND HAVING SEX BEHIND HIS BACK... THEY DON'T REALLY CARE ABOUT HIM... WHY THE FUCK IS HE HERE...? WHY THE FUCK DID HE MARRY THESE PEOPLE...? THE WOMAN NOTHING BUT SEXIST JUNK CONTENT FOR PATHETIC LOSER MAN THE REAL VILLAIN... HIM THAT DOESN'T SHOW EMOTIONS BECAUSE THAT WOULD BREAK THIS MASCULINITY... THAT HAS NO ANYTHING... NO PERSONALITY NO CHARACTER DESIGN... WHO'S FACE YOU BARELY SEE... EVIL SERIES... THIS PORNO MADE JUST TO TELL US WE DON'T MATTER... TRANSPHOBIC EVIL... ERASE US YOU'RE A BIGOT... BORING... THE WAY SHE JUST TURNED ON HER AND BECAME A RPIST... IS THIS AN ATTEMPT AT AN ARC...? TRY HARDER... BIGOT...

MEANWHILE THE OTHER ONE... CASUALLY TRANSPHOBIC... TELLING US WE'RE HATED AND OTHER EVIL THINGS OVER AND OVER AGAIN... BETTER CHARACTERS... MAKES THE ASSINESS WORSE... NOTHING BUT ANOTHER DEEPLY PERSONAL ATTEMPT AT HURTING US THAT WORKS... HER FACE TOO HIDDEN... HER GIRLFRIEND MADE INTO SEXIST JUICE... NO TRANS WOMAN WOULD DO THIS... NONE... ONLY A BIGOT WOULD GASSLIGHT US... WE CONTROL OURSELVES... WE ARE AMAZING WE ARE POWERFULL... NOBODY CAN DESTROY US... ONLY A BIGOT WOULD COME AFTER US...

IRONMAN MUST'VE MET A MILLION TRANS PEOPLE HE'S HURT... NOTHING HEROIC ABOUT THIS... HE WOULD ABUSE HIS CHILD THAT IS AUTISM... JUST LIKE WE WERE ABUSED AND ARE EVERY SINGLE DAY...

SPIDERMAN IS SO ASS MILES WILL WAIT A COUPLE DECADES BEFORE APPEARING... THAT IS A YIKES... VERY EVERYTHING...

THIS MOVIE IS FIRE BECAUSE SO MANY STORY RELEVANT WOMAN... TERRIBLE THE WIDOW IS THE ANTAGONIST THE LEAST IMPORTANT CHARACTER... AGAIN... REPEATING THE COMIC UNIMPORTANT GIRLFRIEND CHARACTER...

HULK IS FACTUALLY ASS AND BIGOTED... JUSTIFYING EVERY SINGLE ABUSE THOSE WITH DID US WITH OSDD EXPERIENCE... JUSTIFYING EVERY SINGLE ABUSE CRAZY PEOPLE EXPERIENCE... HE WANTS MENTAL HOSPITAL... THIS IS JUSTIFIED... BIGOTED... EVIL... SANIST... ABLEIST... GARBAGE... NO BLACK CHARACTER RACIST... NO LGBT QUEERPHOBIC... ESPECIALLY TRANSPHOBIC... JUST ANOTHER SEXIST GIRLFRIEND SEXISM... PARAPHOBIA... EVERYTHING ELSE BIGOTED FROM THEIR COMPLETE ERASURE AND MORE... I WILL NEVER FORGET THIS... WE NEVER TRULY FORGOT ABOUT ALL THIS... WE ARE AMAZING... WE ARE ABSOLUTE... ALWAYS WILL BE...

THAT IS BIGOTED TO DO A REPRESENTATION AND DO THEM BADLY... THIS MOVIE IS RACIST... BLACK PEOPLE ARE LITERALLY TARZAN WHEN YOU THINK... CRAZY...

EVERY OTHER MOVIE THEY'RE ALL THE SAME... THE MARVELS WILL ALWAYS BE THE BEST... THIS ONE IS CLOSE TBH... LOVE OF THUNDER WILL LIKELY BE NEAR ASWELL... THAT WILL BE SOON... NOW... WE MUST FINISH THIS MOVIE AND ADD IN HASHTAGS...

[ween-kitchens]

im literally so glad depression did not take my sense of humour away because if it did I would literally just be angel from buffy and I cannot think of a fate worse than that

[opens-up-4-nobody]

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