#watch me suffer the millions stages of pain

[marasvenus]

How An Author Would Describe You & Your Person ┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。

Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

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Pile 1 ࿐

This is actually a very cute energy 🥹. If you were in a book, I think the book itself would be about your child/children but you and your person would play such a huge part in it.

An author would describe the two of you as a couple that had been through so much but came out of all of it stronger than ever. Maybe the two of you got together very young and struggled through some of the most transformative years of your life together, loving each other through a million different stages as you worked to find yourselves and each other. An author would write a lot about the bond the two of you share, the way it’s almost like you can read each others minds and understand each other on a level that is rare and beautiful. An author might write about financial struggles or loss that you may have faced together early in your relationship and how those struggles shaped each of you and your relationship as a whole for the better. There’s a strength and stability in your relationship because you survived your lowest points together and loved each other through your worst moments so you could become your best selves together.

Because this books seems to be from the POV of your child, it seems as though your relationship and the strength/stability of it would be referenced a lot in this book. You and your partner would be written in as voices of wisdom and words of advice when it was needed, helping guide the story in the right direction and give the reader hope and a sense of peace. I heard “the book wouldn’t feel whole without you” for some readers, you’d make the book really worth reading.

Pile 2 ࿐

An author would describe this love as a beautiful, all encompassing kind of love. Possibly a first love, the kind of love that you only feel once. There’s a rush of so much emotion and excitement but also fear of the unknown. This love is about embracing the uncertain and opening yourself up to another person in a way you haven’t opened up to someone before. Laying all your cards out on the table and hoping the other person is prepared to do the same. This love would be described as watching curiosity and infatuation bloom into love and admiration for someone that you’ll never get tired of getting to know. It’s about taking someone in for all that they are, mind, body, and soul.

This love would be described one of the most beautiful things that we get to experience as humans and part of what makes life so worth living, written as every beautiful emotion that makes all pain and suffering that we face at some point so worth it. I think you would be the author of the book this love is written in, writing from a place of wisdom and looking back on the past and everything that made you the person you become to be, writing about all the moments in your life that shaped you as a human and shaped you for better or for worse.

Pile 3 ࿐

This love is a love you haven’t found yet. Some of you may be going through heartbreak and I think this reading is meant as a beacon of hope, your guides reminded you that there is better for you out there and it will come when you least expect it. I heard “don’t hold on so tightly to something that no longer serves you”

This love would he written as devotion and certainty from the point of first eye contact. A love that never weavers and doesn’t leave room for any doubt. A love that you are deserving of. This love is a love worth fighting for. This is something you’ve dreamed about since you were a child, to finally receive everything you’ve been giving for so many years. It would be written as kind, gentle, forgiving, safe. This love is pure happiness and bliss and you will never be left doubting it or wishing for more.

This book would be a fantasy or fairytale book. Filled with beautiful scenery. You and your person would be apart of some sort of series of books, a couple that readers root for and want to see succeed. The book would provide readers with the same sense of comfort and safety that you and your person provide each other with. Stories of your love would give readers hope for themselves and their future.

[mytalemyworld]

Okay, this was the most tasteless scene I've ever watched.

I know the ship is too extreme and problematic in some ways however, if they hurt each other at least give me a sensible writing. Not out of blue moments, I hate that. Every time the show wants to stall time and needs some sharp moments, they throw plastic angst because one character has serious problems so he/she can do that. NO. It does not work like that. I need logic, build up and reason. This looks cheap.

Btw I am not mad at him leaving the bar with a girl. I am mad at his words on the stage. WTH? He's always mean, yes, but for him to get "that" mad, there has to be some serious heartbreak before that which did not happen. Also they've progressed a lot, they aren't what they used to be. The writers had a million opportunities in this episode to make things tense but they didn't use it. Then pooof this!

Oh I am seriously angry at him. I hope he will suffer a lot and realize his mistake.

But this was so beautiful, I can't get past that. So that's why maybe it's so utterly shocking to hear those words. Because after these looks, it did not make any sense. He thought they finished singing, stopped playing his guitar, but she continued singing without music, it was too intimate and sad…Damn. The boy was truly mesmerized.

Btw the song they sang here doesn't belong to the pop genre, they covered it, so normally I don't like the original version but their version made me emotional. Plus the actors used their own voices (he's musician-actor anyway and has a marvelous voice imo) so it hit different.

EDIT: I've watched the fragman, yeah he's suffering, he's crying, he's in pain. I hope he suffers more. Seriously I don't think I'll forget this easily.

[gyubby99]

@disneyanddisneyships me when im obsessed with two things and I put them together

Summary: an anniversary tribute by Emilia Hartfelt.

"A Million Miles Away"

[Heaven]

1 year.

Theodore has been informed that it's been a year since he died, and went up to heaven for his soul is purer than the world he came from. It welcomed him with open arms, took him in a place where it was safer, nothing can hurt him anymore.

Oh, but heaven..

Heaven never had anything he wanted.

His parents.. his aunt and uncle..

Emma..

It's been a year that he dreamt of just one of them following him up here. A year of dwelling on a great loss, yet a new beginning for him.

He couldn't bear it. The pain. The suffering that came within. Still he waits. He doesn't care about who it is that follows him up in heaven, just.. just one of those people..

He avoided anything that reminded him of memories that will never fade until the end of time. And at this time of year, he didn't want to know what they were up to. He didn't want anyone to be miserable, especially the ones he cherished the most.

He just decided to stay here..

Let time pass..

He would have been 20 by now.

He wanted to think of something that would distract him, and that resulted to just watching the television. Watching the cherubs, life on earth, a cheesy rom-com, you name it. He almost chuckled at the holy christian parody of "Friends", which he found familiar from his mother and aunt.

Unbeknownst to him, he clicked on a button that transferred him to another channel.

His eyes widened, the setting.. the very stage of a club he knew all too well.. the place ge wanted to avoid.. lights flickered in the color of his eyes, and it seemed like something was quite familiar.

He never knew what it was for, until he saw a familiar figure of a woman walk up to the front, everyone standing in the crowd as she did so.

The lights flickered again, revealing her solemn expression.

Theodore noticed it. The all-too familiar red eye, her hair, her face.. everything in this woman resembled the one he loved most in this world.

He looked at her figure, looking deep into it.

She was shaking.

Oh, Emma..

The headlines of the livestream read: Fiancée of Late Theodore Hartfelt Offering a Tribute To His One-Year Death Anniversary.

Music started to play.

Theodore gasped at the word "fiancée". He never had the chance to propose to her. He saved up a ring, sure.. but he died before he got the chance to put it around her finger.

He looked at her as her right hand revealed a ring.

Theodore felt his heart sink into his stomach. It was the ring he saved up for her. The ring he put in an envelope.. the ring that when he bought it, he had already been practicing what he was going to say. The ring he promised himself he would give her after they graduated college.

Emma proclaimed herself as his fiancée.. his future wife..

His heart started to break even more when she sang.

Light glimmers in a flower

Like jewels in a dream

The sky breathes life, love to everything

At times I've thought "I'm not enough"

The chains that tied my heart

But there's still a path that lies ahead for you and I

Another headline called her, "Emilia Hartfelt."

He couldn't help but tremble when he heard her voice again, and she seemed to be holding back her tears.

Memories fade away

Clouds of yesterday

With no one to love

Is this life worth living?

Theo not only noticed her voice, her hands shaking.. but he also took notice of the words that came out of her lips.. now that he was gone, she doesn't see life having worth anymore.. atleast.. not that much worth as it used to have.

The camera pans to his mother, beside his father, aunt and uncle.

[Hell]

Come back to me, and stay by my side

I feel my heart shake

Come, ease this ache

I'm standing over here, reaching for you

A million miles away, come back and stay

"Emma.." Mal found herself muttering under her breath, seeing her daughter reminiscing about the love of her life, carrying an unmeasurable amount of pain in her heart. It was unbearable to see, but she needed it.

Aponi's breath shook, as she felt the words she sang resonating with her. Alastor held his wife close to him. They might have resolved issues now, but he felt like something had been missing.

Aponi felt warmth at his touch.

No matter how far the memories may be

When I close my eyes, you're all that I see

Come back to me

A million miles away, come back and stay

Emma knew that there was no way this will get to Theo, given that heaven is quite literally a million miles away, and she didn't even know he went up there in the first place. She didn't even know what she was doing, standing in front of a crowd singing her poor battered heart out. But she knew that letting go of the weight on her shoulders were the best thing for her, and probably Theodore.

He doesn't need her hung up on him after a year.

She's surpressed these emotions for satan-knows how long.

When she had stopped singing, she just looked down at the ground, barely facing anyone. She stood in long silence, so long almost everyone thought the whole thing was over.

She spent those times thinking about Theodore.. her Theodore.

She wanted to remember his eyes, the feeling of his arms around her, his voice, his lips.. telling her he loved her more than anything in all of hell.

A part of Mal wanted to approach the stage and take her out of there, for she thought it was too much for her.

But.. Emma had insisted she wanted to do this. For him. Aponi felt the same about the concern for Emma. She lost her true love, Aponi lost her everything, Mal and Vox lost a part of themselves. Alastor lost his legacy. When Theo went away, everyone lost.

And as much as they all wanted to bring him back, they couldn't.

After the long wait of silence, Emma finally sang..

La-la-la-la

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

"Theo, no! Val is a dangerous overlord that not just anyone can mess with! If it'd been easy to beat him I'm sure he's already gone by then."

"Emma, I want to be able to do this. For my father."

"What about your mom? You can't take Val, you don't even have a rank!"

"I'm not wasting my chances of making my father proud. I can't throw away my shot."

La-la-la-la

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

"Theo, please! I can't lose you.. I don't want to lose you. I won't let you do it!"

"Em, you won't lose me.. ever."

La-la-la-la

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

"What if I do?"

"Then I won't be far away from you.. even if we're a million miles apart.. I'll love you until the end of hell."

"I don't want that. I just want you here.."

"Then I'll be here! I'll be back before you know I'm gone."

"Theo.."

La-la-la-la

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

"Believe in me."

"..I believe in you, amor. More than anyone, or anything."

La-la-la-la

'Even if we're a million miles apart..'

Emma had stopped singing, her hand covering her mouth as she cried, finally. Mourning the loss of her beloved. Her most beloved.

"Emma.." her family in unison stated in concern. Emma never cried in front of anyone else, yet here she is in front of the crowd.

Mal looked around as voices begin to sing the tune of Emma's song. She gasped as she tapped Aponi's shoulder and clung onto Vox's arm.

Emma looked up from her misery upon hesring the crowd- Almost all of hell!!

La-la-la-la

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

La-la-la-la

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

The family found themselves joining in, as if calling out to theo, everyone's eyes glowing like headlights on a dark night.

La-la-la-la

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

La-la-la-la

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

At that moment, Emma understood now. Theodore wanted to protect whom he loved. He never had a death wish! He wanted to make his father proud.

He risked his life to defend their name. He was thinking clearly. He knew he never stood a chance against Val, but to die in such great honor was something to be proud of.

Hell never deserved someone like him. Never.

Right then and there, Emma decided she would be taking his name. In memory and love for him.

Emma felt herself smiling; a genuine smile she never had in a while.

To think that he no longer has to suffer the depths of hell, that he could no longer feel pain.. maybe it was for the best she starts letting go.

The music started to sound lively again, with her looking up at the sky and smiling.

Then she let something she never knew she had out. She spread her wings and flew as high as she could, feeling a not-so unfamiliar presence consume her again.

Love.

Sing, let your heart soar!

Sing forever!

Sad and so happy! Feelings flow over,

Now our world is full of all kinds of colors

Closing my eyes I can still see the stars

Shine in the sky, sing in their harmony

Flowers, they're blooming, oh it's beautiful

Emma flew all over the place, feeling finally free now that she'd decided to finally mourn theo's death, and not push away the feeling of overwhelming emotion.

Sure, she will still be missing him. She will still drop tears that are only for him, but she will be crying with a smile. With comfort that wherever he is, he is in a better place. No more pain. No more suffering. He won't be able to feel it all.

Sing! Sing! Sing!

Sing this song, I won't stop now

Sing it through, I love you

The voice carries on

Emma finished her song, tears brimming her eyes as she looks down at her family in tears as well.

...

.....

[Heaven]

...

"Emma.." Theodore's eye twitched, before he broke into a fit of tears.

"Emma..!" He sobbed, falling to his knees as he clutches his chest. He had wanted to embrace her so badly, tell her that he was there, truly watching over her like he promised.

"I miss you so much, amor.. so much.." his hand covered his mouth. "And mom.. dad.. aunt mal.. uncle Vox.."

They all missed him, and he missed them as well.

I'll wait for you up here, Froggie.. I will.. no matter how long it takes for you to come here..

..I will be here reaching for you as well,

A million miles away.

[contentment-of-cats]

Text from the WP: The Ambiguity of Remission

There is an art to living in a constant state of health ambiguity — something 18 million cancer survivors in the United States well know.

When award-winning feminist literary scholar Susan Gubar was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 2008, she assumed it was a death sentence. Fifteen years later, thanks to experimental drugs, she’s still in remission. Gubar’s brutally honest book “Memoir of a Debulked Woman” gave voice to the complexities of living meaningfully despite the specter of mortality.

I recently interviewed Gubar, 78, via email about living with cancer. As a 57-year-old blood cancer patient myself whose mother and maternal grandfather died at 60 of blood cancer, the topic is personal.

The following was edited for length and clarity.

“The question mark of remission can feel like a sword of Damocles. When will the cancer return? How long have I got?” Gubar says.

Q: You write: “Remission, I could tell you, would always have an invisible question mark after it. … Remission brings a heightened sense of contingency, of being healthy-but-only-for-a-while, and therefore the anticipation of waiting for the other shoe to drop.” How do you live with that “question mark”? How do you find joy when wellness is precarious?

A: The question mark of remission can feel like a sword of Damocles. When will the cancer return? How long have I got? And those fearful imponderables spawn others. Will there be an available treatment that I can endure? Can I bear to go through the life-in-death of being a patient again?

But if the remission lengthens, the question mark generates an exclamation mark. I have survived 15 years after a diagnosis that gave me three to five years! I received an experimental drug in a Phase I clinical study that many could not tolerate, and it worked for nine of those years! For the last two years, I have been on a drug holiday — because long-term use of the medication can cause leukemia — and I’m still here!

When the question mark of remission produces an exclamation mark, the exultation has everything to do with astonished gratitude for the bonus of unanticipated time … in which I have seen my children marry, welcomed grandchildren into the world and fussed over my beloved husband.

What more can one ask for?! There’s still a question mark, but there’s also a thrilling exclamation. With the passage of years, terror shrinks while thankfulness swells.

Q: “Watch and wait” is the medical stage when cancer is being observed but not treated. Seasoned patients know it as “watch and worry.” How do you live fully despite anxiety?

A: No one wants to be counted among “the worried well.” Yet it is impossible not to fret at aches and pains that might portend a recurrence. It is also impossible not to suffer from “scanxiety” as scans, tests or biopsies loom. I search for distractions: trying out a new recipe, watching a movie. A good book can provide a voyage away from myself into another realm.

Unfortunately, it fails to transport me on the day one of my daughters, who inherited the BRCA mutation [which heightens the risk for several cancers, particularly breast and ovarian cancers], goes into the hospital for a scan. She is among the previvors: survivors of a predisposition to cancer. I have resigned myself to the fact that the day of her testing will be given over to fright.

Q: Most people run from conversations about death. In what ways has facing death brought you clarity or comfort?

A: Like Buddhists and hospice workers and activists for medical aid in dying care, I believe that anticipating and preparing for one’s own death paradoxically leavens morbid perseverating, especially when it puts us in touch with networks of people also contemplating their proximity to the cusp of existence. Which is why I continue to attend twice-monthly meetings of my cancer support group. I have had to say goodbye to a succession of friends in the group. Our conversations help me find the praise songs, eulogies and elegies that many of us will want to accompany our dying.

With the time remaining to me — and neither the well nor the ill know how much time they will get — I do not fret about things I have left undone.

Like [Washington Post contributor] Steven Petrow, I seek joy. But, as many philosophers have pointed out, joy can be elusive. It is often a byproduct of activities related to some other goal: baking bread, making a quilt, writing a book. So, despite my physical impairments, I keep busy.

Q: Many patients find it difficult entering through hospital doors — over and over — for ongoing treatment and care. Your description in “Memoir of a Debulked Woman” hit home: “Upon arrival, the Shakespearean stage direction: ‘Enter, fleeing’ echoed like a refrain in my head.” What hacks do you use to endure hospital visits?

A: I hate entering the hospital in which I underwent so many ghastly operations, infusions, radiological interventions, CT scans and blood draws. I bring toys: an iPad (with podcasts and games on it), knitting (socks are especially portable).

Since all of my cancer history occurred in one place, I was lucky to make friends with some of the staff. Until recently, the pleasure of a gabfest with Alesha Arnold, my research nurse, offset the horror of the place; but Alesha died of lung cancer this year.

At my next visit, I will look for the plaque explaining that a fund has been established to honor her: It will sponsor an annual award for nurses who manifest her loving and meticulous caregiving. Then I will sit in the waiting room and remember how Alesha protected me from unnerving responses to my liminal situation.

Patients like me need from our companions what Alesha had: the courage not to sugarcoat our precarious conditions.

I learned from her how to pace myself to the syncopation of fear and hope that accompanies my passage in the perplexing terrain of remission, a borderland between wellness and sickness.

[martinacollenderplaywrightblog]

The day Leonard Cohen died even the sky wept for him. I woke to texts from my friends at the time trying to protect my broken heart from grieving but as much as we want to protect our loved one's hearts from grieving it's a form of magic not accessible to us mere mortals. I died a thousand times missing Leonard and I know some people will call me silly for grieving for someone I didn't know but what you must understand, I spent so many lonely nights comforted by his words and his words alone, so how could I not know him?

I went to see the Elvis film with my sister, and as I walked into the cinema, I KNEW he died at 42, I know he suffered drug and alcohol abuse, I KNEW this but still the knowledge didn't protect me from breaking down in the cinema when they showed his last performance singing "Unchained Melody" and when he sang "I'll be coming home, wait for me" I disvoled into a grief of such intensity I was sure I was simply going to die. There's a moment in the film where his ex wife is telling him I can get you help, I can bring you to Rehab and there's a deep sadness in him and he just says no. That's all he says is no. Two letters. But those two tiny letters held this pain that he was beyond help.

I'm poor and a nobody. Somedays I fantasise about being famous and rich but most days I'm grateful for being a nobody. I think it's a terrible infliction to be famous. Your worst days, the times your on your knees are splashed across the front pages of newspapers and people talk about you as if your absent of feelings. The world watched Amy Whinehouse, Elvis, Whitney Houston, Leonard Cohen and many many more being really sick and suffering. There pain was splashed across newspapers and people on radio and TV debated there sickness and addictions as if it was entertainment.

I'm a huge fan of Harry Potter; it was my childhood and I'm grieving because JK Rowling has come out with such hate for trans people who I adore, I'm heartbroken that my childhood hero has turned to hate against the very people she gave hope to. Daniel Radcliffe suffered an alcohol problem, he said he turned 18 and was handed millions of pounds and was surrounded by people who never said no to him and he began drinking a lot. I don't judge him for a second as I often to turned to seeking answers at an end of a bottle but it upset that pictures of him drunk and in an awful state where splashed across the papers, imagine being on your knees in pain and photos of your agony being so public, it's horrible and cruel. Emma Watson said in a interview the day the she turned 18 she went for dinner with her family and when she can out of the restaurant, the photographers were lying on the ground trying to get photos of her underwear up her dressed because she was now 18. To be victimised at such a young and venerable age was deeply distressing to me particularly Emma who is a fierce warrior for equality for women. These are just two examples of how vicious the media can be with no regard for human emotions and feelings.

I'm from Waterford, Ireland and I joined Waterford Youth Arts when I was 15 years old because I was interested in theatre. I hated it. There was far too much hugging and screaming from the other members and I found the games stupid and embrassing. I was all set to leave the world behind me after a month or two when I made my way to Garter Lane Theatre to see a production of To Leap From Paradise by the late, great Jim Daly. I was captivated and fell in love with the words and life's on stage I recognised as my own. I found out about Red Kettle Theatre Company and fell in love with the idea that a group of people from my home, from Waterford, got together and created magic. I loved that they put on plays with a beginning, a middle and an end with sets and costumes. I was far more interested in this than playing silly games. In my investigation of this group of people I discovered Ben Hennessy, a wonderful artist and set designer, my now favourite ever Playwright Jim Nolan and an extraordinary actress Jenni Ledwell. They were so talented, nationally known and famous artists, and they were from my hometown. I adored them and they became my hero's, by absolute stroke of luck they became my friends I'm so grateful to be able to say. I remember seeing Jenni Ledwell in Eden in The Theatre Royal and I fell head over heels in love with her. She was amazing and stole my heart. I waited for her afterwards with the intention of asking for her autograph, but when she came out from backstage in whirl of energy and light with a radiant smile I was too shy to go up to her, this was THE Jenni Ledwell like. I told her years later when we became friends and she laughed and said "Yea fecking eejit Teeny!" We lost Jenni recently and I've never been as affected by death as I was by hers, the grieve of losing someone famous, someone I adored and someone who is my friend is unbearable on the worst days, heartwrenching on the somewhat better days.

I find it very distressing to watch these famous people suffering because in my mind I simply can't separate the fact that they have feelings and are in pain with that there famous.

When I told my pyschratist I was grieving them, a look of utter confusion came across his face and he said "I'm sorry Martina we don't have a tablet for that" he simply didn't know what to do with such an intense grief on a daily bases.

I'm a mess, I cry when I'm sad, I cry when I'm happy, I'm always crying. I can't separate loving someone and being in pain for their pain, I'm constantly and forever more overcome with emotions on a daily bases, either overcome with love and drowned in grief. I'm mental and I don't know if it's because I'm mental or if it's just the way I am but everything is very intense. It's a price I pay for being able to love and if that's the cost I don't mind paying it.

I'm obsessed with famous people, the talented who rise to the top, sometimes I feel like I have no right to know these initmate details of their lives but I only want to know to understand their lives and hearts.

I was going through a really hard time, was hidden in lies and secrets. Jim Nolan, my favourite Playwright knew me briefly at the time, he could see I was in pain and reached out to meet me for a coffee. I couldn't tell him what was troubling me. The coffee was brief because I didn't have the words to explain my pain but at the end Jim peered at me with concerned eyes and said "Martina someone told me on my dark days, no matter how bad things seem, it WILL pass, try and remember that" I didn't believe him at the time, I couldn't ever imagine that pain leaving but I'm grateful to say Jim WAS right. It passed. It was such a gift to know my hero, someone famous, had dark days too and survived. It gave me hope that not only could I survive but I might be able to be talented too despite my faults.

Right now, I'm exhausted with emotion, nothing bad happened! In fact quiet the opposite I had a great week but I'm just drained for feeling so happy and love for my friends and family. I do become so overwhelmed with love for the people in my life I have to cry to release the emotions. Its funny and I'm used to it and I know I need to rest for a time now. I wonder if their is a heaven, and I highly doubt I'd be allowed in for my sins but if I am I wonder will I get to meet these famous people and thank them for the profound impact they've had in my life. Because really amongst the love is a deep gratitude to them. What can I say, I love the bones off them!

[deyadee]

What Am I Even Supposed to Do?

I was watching this YouTuber that I usually watch. I always assumed she was a few years older than me, only to find out in a video I was watching a bit ago that she’s actually only a year older than me. I just felt this pit in my chest that hit out of nowhere. In a year most people would expect me to be at that stage. She can drive on her own, lives on her own, is out of college, and has an actual fucking job. I have none of that. Sure I’ve had a job before, and I keep saying that I’ll get another- but I’m fucking lazy and never actually try. I’m just scared I’m gonna be miserable.

I haven’t gone to college because I didn’t know what I wanted to do and decided it was pointless to go to college just to go for nothing when nowadays a lot of jobs don’t require it or they expect fifteen years of experience on top of it.

I haven’t moved out both because I’ve never had the money but also I know… if I do go out and live on my own I’ll end it all in the first week. I look out on my life and think “Is this it? You work until you die and you have no friends and nothing to live for while the few people you do care about slowly drift away?” How are people even expected to start living on their own anymore when everything’s so fucking expensive? I know the day I get my own place I’ll maybe survive a day then I’ll blow my brains out. I can’t imagine living on my own. I’ll spiral and think of how I’m fucking useless and life is just fucking misery and I’ll end it. At least when I’m here I can imagine the horrified faces of my family if they found my body. In my own place it would take them at least a little bit before they found out. There’d be no one to stop me but myself. I know I’m a fucking pussy and I’ll stop myself cause I’m terrified of the pain, but I know one day I’ll finally do it. I’ll be fed up with hating myself and being lonely and end it all. I’m not scared of dying. I’ve just always been scared of the pain or if I fuck it up. I don’t know how long you live after you pull the trigger, but I can’t fathom the pain. It makes me physically sick.

Though if I keep staying here nothing will get better. I’ll be that fucking loser that’s wasting her life away in her parent’s house and can’t do fucking anything for herself. I already know I’ll die alone cause I’m fucking ugly, asexual/don’t want sex, boring, don’t do drugs, don’t drink, and have the mind of a fucking twelve-year-old- if I add on a fucking loser that lives with her parents and can’t drive then I KNOW I’LL FUCKING DIE ALONE.

Maybe some fucking fairy-tale movie scenario could happen where I just find the person girl who loves me and I can be her housewife or something- but that’ll never goddamn happen. If a girl wanted a housewife she’d want a pretty one who’d fuck her. She’d want anyone who isn’t me. So I know I’ll end up miserable in a marriage I don’t want to a dude where I just shut my mouth and get assaulted. Have kids that fucking hate me. Have them fuck up my body even worse. Until they and shithole husband leave me for someone not fucking fat and ugly and I shoot myself in a hotel room- no one to remember or care about me. Or maybe if I abandon everything that I enjoy or makes me happy I could- give up all my beliefs just to find some crazy bitch who’ll abuse me into her puppet until she kills me.

I’m horrified of driving because it doesn’t matter if you don’t make any mistakes and are the perfect driver that follows the rules- any fucking dickbag can plow into you at 100 mph and you suffer until you die. But they get out without a single scratch. Also I know I’d get distracted and crash or not stop at a stoplight or any million amount of things that could happen at any second.

I’m scared of the future pain- so I just want to end it before any of it starts. Besides, my time playing with toys in my room brought me back to my days playing board games by myself in the basement. Peak of happiness, with no one to bother me, and no fear that anything will hurt me or go wrong. Maybe I should take one last happy day and then end it all since it’s all downhill going forward.

[jim-fetter-illustrations]

We are using Artificial intelligence (AI) to design human intellect to something it's not and can't even relate to.

Ya know, it seems to me that airplanes are being manufactured cheaper and cheaper to sustain those maximum profits, while consumers are paying the price of safety concerns while flying on a cheaper built aircraft.

This latest Boeing 737 Max 9 incident is a perfect example of that scenario. A piece of the aircraft falls off mid flight on a relatively new aircraft?!?!?!?!?

I remember illustrating a design for the new Boeing 90 engine to print on T-Shirts for the Boeing employees back in 1996. This new aircraft engine used AI (the simulation of human intellect in computers) to design the new aircraft engine that used 50% less fuel and produced 50% less noise, and was designed in 50% less time than any other aircraft engine in history.

Designed with the first of its kind artificial intelligence genetic algorithm,..... A genetic algorithm operates through a cycle of three stages: Build and maintain a population of solutions to a problem. Choose the better solutions for recombination with each other. Use their offspring to replace poorer solutions.

This new artificial intelligence genetic algorithm did it using a large maze with mice in the maze looking for the best pathway to find their food. The computer was given eyes in the form of 70 cameras over the maze to watch the mice go through the maze seeking their food, and when the mice went down a blocked pathway in the maze they would backtrack and choose another pathway to achieve their goal of getting the food.

This taught the computer that when it came to a wall in designing it would backtrack and redesign over and over again to come up with a positive solution instead of just stopping until the human programmer would tell the computer to do something different, and in this way the computer would recalculate over and over millions of times a minute all by itself until achieving a positive result.

This was the birth of designing computers to understand human intellect in the designing process, and do it better and faster than human beings could,.......... as the GE 90 was the first aircraft engine to be designed in 18 months, when all other aircraft designs by human beings took and average of 7 years to fully design.

.......But at what cost are we today trusting computer Artificial intelligence (AI) to make human life better and safer?

Artificial intelligence (AI) is not human by any measure of standard, it's totally logical, human beings aren't.

In wartime scenarios Artificial intelligence (AI) doesn't take into consideration human suffering, pain or life for that matter, it only takes into consideration WINNING THE BATTLE.

Soooooo what makes people think Artificial intelligence (AI) logic for designing aircraft is any different, and the object is to fly from point A to point B cheaper, and airline comfort and safety for passengers is a secondary concern, and why we are seeing airline seating packing human beings into aircraft like sardines for maximum profit, and manufacturing designs that are suppose to be logical, performing illogically, like pieces of aircraft falling off the plane while in flight as we saw in that Boeing 737 Max 9. But the design of the aircraft was sound enough that it could still land without passenger death this time so Way-to-go-Artificial intelligence (AI)?!?!

Ya see now, this is why I take the train, which isn't really all that much safer, because many train designs, routes, schedules and so on are also designed by Artificial intelligence (AI) for maximum profitability, but at least in a train you don't have far to fall when it breaks apart.

Because more people are dying on aircraft a year than on trains, as 99% of train deaths are at unprotected crossings that the train runs down, not people on the train,.........

Just a passing thought on humanity and where we are taking it, and continue to vote for unwittingly........

[storytimewithnova]

Him and I

semi and his wife Sho  have this wild rebellious love they describe it being like Bonnie Clyde world most famous out laws it was semi’s concert and sho was dueting with him

In a dead gc

Noya:are you guys going to the concert tonight

Everyone: ofc we all  are

Akaashi:Do we know who the singers are

Tanaka:nope but they are revealing themselves tonight

The harem: we hope chibi-chan/shrimp/sunshine/ shoyo ect can come

Suga:apparently she is busy

The harem: aww

They kept discussing the concert and about the mask singers little know they are about to be in for a shock 😲

Time skip to the concert

The host:Welcome to the stage the act you have been waiting for  the masked singers with a new song

Chears and screams rang out

Sho:🎶Cross my heart, hope to die To my lover, I'd never lie He said "be true, " I swear I'll try In the end, it's him and I🎶

Tendou:that sounds adorable

Sho:🎶He's out his head, I'm out my mind We got that love, the crazy kind I am his, and he is mine In the end, it's him and I, him and I🎶

Semi:🎶My '65 speeding up the PCH, a hell of a ride They don't wanna see us make it, they just wanna divide 2017 Bonnie and Clyde Wouldn't see the point of living on if one of us died, yeah Got that kind of style everybody try to rip off🎶

Kawa:Bonnie and Clyde aren't they outlaws but the line after is so cute

Kenma:they must really love each other to Describe the relationship that way

All the setters hum in agreement

Semi:🎶YSL dress under when she takes the mink off Silk on her body, pull it down and watch it slip off Ever catch me cheating, she would try to cut my🎶

Sho:ha-ha-ha

Kuroo:their love do be crazy if she is threatening to cut his dick off

The singers started to reveal their faces

Everyone: semi and sho

Semi grabs Shoyo’s face to make her look at him as he sang

Semi:🎶Crazy, but I love her, I could never run from her Hit it, no rubber never would let no one touch her Swear we drive each other, mad, she be so stubborn But, what the fuck is love with no pain, no suffer Intense, this shit, it gets dense She knows when I'm out of it like she could just sense If I had a million dollars or was down to ten cents She'd be down for whatever, never gotta convince (you know?)🎶

Semi then kissed her roughly making her act all giddy

Sho:🎶Cross my heart, hope to die To my lover, I'd never lie🎶

Semi:🗣I love you baby💓

Sho:🎶He said "be true, " I swear I'll try In the end, it's him and I He's out his head, I'm out my mind We got that love; the crazy kind I am his, and he is mine In the end, it's him and I🎶

The harem watch a little crushed they thought 💭 she looks happy they really have a crazy love even we can't compete with

Sho:🎶Him and I Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh In the end, it's him and  l💗🎶

Semi whispers in Shoyo ear making her face go red

Sho:🎶Him and I Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh In the end, it's him and  I💓🎶

Semi:🎶It's her and I, mobbin' 'til the end of time Only one who gets me, I'm a crazy fuckin' Scorpio Remember this for when I die Everybody dressed in all black, suits and a tie My funeral will be lit if I- Ever go down or get caught, or they identify My bitch was the most solid, nothing to solidify She would never cheat, you'd never see her with a different guy Ever tell you different, then it's a lie See, that's my down bitch, see that's my soldier🎶

Sho:💞

Semi:🎶She keeps that thang-thang if anyone goes there Calm and collected, she keeps her composure And she gon' ride for me until this thing over We do drugs together🎶

Sho:🗣together

The harem: can you run that last bit past us

Semi:🎶fuck up clubs together🎶

Sho:🗣together

Semi:🎶And we'd both go crazy🎶

Sho:🗣crazy

Semi:🎶if we was to sever You know? We keep mobbin', it's just me and my bitch Fuck the world, we just gon' keep getting rich, you know🎶

Sho:🎶Cross my heart, hope to die To my lover, I'd never lie He said "be true, " I swear I'll trynIn the end, it's him and I He's out his head, I'm out my mind We got that love; the crazy kind I am his, and he is mine In the end, it's him and I🎶

Backing singers:🎶Him and I Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh In the end, it's him and I🎶

Sho:🎶Him and I Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh In the end, it's him and I Cross my heart, hope to die To you, I've never lied For you, I'd take a life It's him and I, and I swear (ayy)🎶

Semi:🎶'Til the end I'ma ride wit' you Mob and get money, get high wit' you, yeah🎶

Sho:🎶ayy Cross my heart, hope to die This is our ride or die You can confide in me There is no hiding, I swear🎶

Semi:🎶Stay solid, never lie to you Swear, most likely I'ma die wit' you, yeah🎶

Sho:🎶Cross my heart, hope to die To my lover, I'd never lie He said "be true, " I swear I'll trynIn the end, it's him and I He's out his head, I'm out my mind We got that love, the crazy kind I am his, and he is mine In the end, it's him and I🎶

Backing singers:🎶Him and I Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh In the end, it's him and I Him and I Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh In the end, it's him and I🎶

Semi grabbed sho's neck and brought her in for a kiss and turned to the crowd and said  

Semihina:we have been Semi and sho the masked singers good Night Tokyo

The harem went to see them backstage

Kuroo:so when were you going to tell us you were taken chibi-chan

Sho:i am pretty sure Kuroo san this was me tell the world i am taken

Semi:sure was songbird

Tendou:how long?

Semi:huh?

Tendou:how long have you and paradise been together

Semi:first of all you can stop calling her that second of all we started dating backing in high school after they won that match against us and you all officially started forming a harem to her so she was a first year i was half way through my second year you do the math

Sho:4 years hubby roughly calculation if you are factoring in when i went to brazil

Semi:that checks out so yeah songbird is right 4 years

The harem: 4 YEAR'S

Sho:with two lovely babies

The harem: YOU HAVE KIDS

Semi:she just said so if you excusa us we have to get going back to Amilla and Mei now

With that sho and semi left

The harem: we really never did have a chance she is married with a family

With that the harem went home upset but also happy their sunshine is happy

[warishaaa]

My words drizzle like rain all around over the freshly bloomed flowers, the muddy roads,the rubbled streets, the sun-soaked dry clothes hanging from days before;but it never could touch you, because you never step out without umbrella.Your hatred for rain, made my words flood my city.Now, there's water in my shoes that feel like I am stepping on my tears and the plants that once bloomed are now waterlogged.My words are like torn hanging pages of books you're used to ignoring and I wish I could add an address to these sheets and make a letter out of them.

My words often try to cross your paths like dust and plastic and smoke just to watch you and return. So, if you ever stumble, I apologize on behalf of them.They are violent, they can't bear being hauled.They are the only thing free on this day.

There is a river of sadness that flows in my veins and sometimes they leak and fill up my chest, often times my heart is drowning, and all the millions of alveoli are on the verge of bursting and bleeding and I lose my breath on land, and I don't know how to make others understand what's wrong.There are mosses covering my ribs and ink stains on my diaphragm.

On Sundays I open the fridge and from the third chamber take out my loneliness and cut into five pieces to feed each stage of my grief and celebrate making it till the weekend. I hand feed pain to love, and love to deceit.Mostly I am what is wrong with me.

Somehow all my new shirts have crinkles from old clothes I abandoned.All new roads covered in leaves of last autumn and although I am walking ahead, I am finding myself surrounded by all landmarks I remember.I am suffering from chronic broken heart syndrome, that doesn't show up on any test and I believe its psychosomatic.The ECG shows normal rhythm, the echo shows it beating calmly but nothing shows that there's something in there which responds to certain sounds in the most violently shattering way.

On Mondays I feel like I'm at a pharmacy begging them to give me strongest painkiller to stop the hurt and they refuse to hand me without a doctor's prescription, but the doctor could never figure out the right medicines for my condition as there's no cure to heartache that's embedded in your soul. You just have to keep living like that.

You're fated to be embraced only by pain because you reciprocate with same intensity.A lot of stars that once glimmered are now sucked by monstrous blackhole and the memories of them are the biggest triggers.

I have always thought sadness runs in families. Every day my mother mopped the floor to put grief out of my way as it is more contagious specially for people like us who have genetic predisposition for it, but ma it has a found a way as soon as I stepped out of your walls.

We poets are miserable people so much that our miserability has learned to talk.It has grown limbs of its own that dances over blank sheets, fingers that only know how to tremble.

तुम मोहब्बत से बग़ावत करते रहे

और हमने उस नफ़रत में अपना घर ढूंढ लिया।

कैसे तोड़ोगेे उन दीवारों को,

जो ईंट से नहीं, लफ़्ज़ों से बनीं है।

कैसे मिटाओगे उन रास्तों को,

जो नक्शों पर नहीं,

दिलों में बसे है।

[ihernglass]

House of Flowers: Opening Scene

Title: House of Flowers Genres: Sapphic romance, sci fi Status: 1st Draft completed; posting 2nd draft chapters during November here and on ao3 Featuring: Sapphic enemies-to-lovers, asian rep, slow-burn, angst, so many queers, female friendships Summary: Here

Illuminated by a single spotlight, Spring writhes on the circular stage, deep in the clutches of her Bloom. White-streaked tendrils of grey branches carve down the landscape of her pale body, a root system greedily seeking nourishment, leaving only pain in its wake. Spring is a Cherry Blossom, evidenced by the light vanilla smell permeating the air, the trembling green buds on the branches, soft pink petals peeking out the florets – the same pink that colours her hair and eyes. Eyes that are in that moment dark and dilated. They betray none of the sensations that war inside, her suffering concealed expertly, the whole spectacle a performance designed only to arouse, to tease.

Aden watches from the viewing booth, her nose nearly pressed against the clear glass, as the branches graze Spring’s protruding collarbones and caress her heaving ribs. Like all Flowers, Spring is breathtakingly beautiful. East Asian in origin, she has large, doe-like eyes on a sweet and delicate apple-shaped face. She glows under the spotlight, arousal flushing her cheeks a rosy red. With her arms raised above her head, wrists restrained by flowing scarlet silks that descend from the ceiling, she is the perfect picture of a pliable, demure doll, at the absolute and utter mercy of the Blossomer.

In front of her, the Blossomer is as still as a statue.

Contrasted against Spring’s naked, slender figure, the woman is dressed in a white silk robe, flowing down to her ankles, cinched around her waist. A middle-aged woman with narrow eyes and a large mouth spread wide in a gleeful smile, she traces the seed – the white diamond shape scar that marks all Flowers, present when they are born – on the centre of Spring’s throat lightly with one finger. And without warning, she yanks Spring’s head back, and drags her tongue the length of Spring’s throat, making her shudder, the markings on her skin shiver.

By Aden’s side, Tsu Mi snorts quietly.

“The Blossomer pays one million dollars for the privilege of completing Spring’s Bloom. They like to… make the most of what they pay.” The Mistress of the House of Flowers turns to her, cool brown eyes nearly level with her own. For a woman in her sixties, she is astoundingly well-kept. Unfathomable wealth will do that – maintain an ageless beauty free of sun damage. The pristine burgundy red pantsuit cut to her slim figure undoubtedly costs at least ten times what Aden’s suit does.

“At 2.2 million dollars for each Bloom Viewing, Spring is the most expensive Flower in the House of Flowers –” a smug smile graces Tsu Mi’s lips “– and the entire world.” She gestures at the two levels of tinted glass windows surrounding the revolving circular stage, barely visible in the shadows. “Twelve booths in total, including our own, at a price of one hundred thousand dollars each. But for you, tonight? It’s free of charge.” She lets out a soft chuckle. “On the House, shall we say?”

Aden highly doubts that. But she keeps her voice even, her face placid. “I see. And as you said earlier, you won’t tell me why until after the viewing, yes?”

Tsu Mi’s smile becomes wolfish. “Indeed. All will be revealed in due time, Dr Masters. I wouldn’t want to distract you from this… unique experience of Spring’s Bloom.”

Right on time, a barely stifled moan draws their attention back to the stage. Spring rolls her head forwards, eyes boring intently into the Blossomer. She presses her thighs tightly together.

“Please.” Her plea falls from full red swollen lips.

“Please what, Spring?” The Blossomer’s voice is irritatingly high-pitched and nasally.

Annoyance flares in her chest at the Blossomer’s blatant disregard of Spring’s discomfort. It is a well-known fact that the main symptoms of the Bloom include excruciating pain along with urgent arousal. But as the Blossomer draws the moment out, savouring every one of Spring’s heavy breaths, she understands that when one pays a million dollars, they expect to get their money’s worth.

“Please do it,” Spring whispers. “Please fuck me.”

The woman cocks her head by Spring’s mouth patronisingly. “I can’t hear you, sweetheart. What do you want me to do?”

Aden’s fists are clenched so tight that her fingernails bite into her palm.

“Please, fuck me,” Spring manages to raise her voice. “Please.” Sweat trickles down between her breasts.

The digital timer on the base of the stage flashes – twenty minutes into the thirty-minute Bloom Viewing.

Concern overrides Aden’s desire to appear nonchalant. “What happens if she doesn’t bring her to orgasm?”

“Then she will never step foot into the House of Flowers ever again,” Tsu Mi replies coldly, unblinking eyes fixed on Spring. “The purpose of the Bloom Viewing is first and foremost, to bring the Flower the relief she requires. If the Blossomer fails in that regard, another Flower will be brought in to remedy the situation immediately to prevent the death of the Blooming Flower.”

“I see.”

“But, do not worry, Dr Masters. It has never happened before in the history of the House. The Bloom will be completed.”

As the seconds continue to tick on relentlessly, the Blossomer finally reaches in between Spring’s legs, causing her to let out a soft whimper, and she gyrates her hips against her touch almost desperately. But the woman slaps one firm hand onto Spring’s hip, stilling her, unwilling to allow her the satisfaction of control. Spring ceases her movements, dropping her head in submission, but she lifts heavily lidded eyes to the Blossomer, her unsaid needs clear. Satisfied, the Blossomer grins and slips her fingers into Spring and starts thrusting.

Their heavy breathing and laboured moans fill the booth. Aden spares a glance at the shelf along the wall – neatly arranged luxuriously thick towels and expensive, branded lotions and lubricants – and the large armchair in the centre of the booth; a reminder of what others may be doing in the privacy of their booths.

She forces the thought away, focusing on the stage.

With every thrust, the branches creep further down and across Spring’s body, and they start to coil around her calves. There are only inches of bare skin left, inches that spell the difference between life and death for Spring. A guttural groan comes from the Blossomer, her cheeks and neck flushed an angry red; she has her other hand around Spring’s throat. She tightens her grip, increasing the tempo.

Aden’s chest tightens. She knows this is a show, that all Flowers are trained to entertain and to titillate, their consensual submission what the wealthy pay exorbitant amounts to consume. That Spring is one of the best, if not the best, entertainers in Bloom Viewings. But as Spring bites down hard on her lip, her eyes squeezing shut, all she can think about is how violating it must feel for her. To not be able to have any say in how she achieves her orgasm.

Spring arches her back, gasping sharply. Her wrists snap the restraints taut.

The Blossomer offers no reprieve, maintaining a steady rhythm.

Then all at once, Spring cries out loudly, rising to the tip of her toes, her entire body quivering.

Immediately, the Blossomer exits the stage, leaving Spring alone in all her glory. She licks her fingers as she descends the stairs. Aden knows it is part of the deal. All those in the viewing booths will want an unobstructed view of what comes next – Spring in full Bloom.

In an explosion of vivid colour, all the swollen, pulsing buds burst open, painting the canvas of her body in dots and splashes of vivid hues of pink. It is a stunning sight – cherry Blossoms cover her from neck to calves and the delicate petals dance as though an invisible breeze is sweeping through. The scent of vanilla, initially light, thickens in their nostrils, becoming sweeter, almost sickly.

Unabashedly curious, Aden leans forwards to observe the markings on Spring’s body, her palms pressing up against the glass. The Bloom is a view reserved for the wealthiest of elites, a sight long scrubbed from the internet by the Houses, protecting their expensive and exclusive source of revenue. This may be the only time she witnesses one.

In doing so, she catches a glimpse of her reflection. There is an entirely greedy look in the wide almond-brown eyes on her angular face, short hair slightly ruffled. She focuses back on the stage instead.

Spring is drenched in sweat, her bangs sticking to her forehead. Her chest heaves heavily, petals fluttering in tandem. As they watch, clarity appears to seep back into her eyes and she sucks in a deep juddering breath, raising her head to blink lazily at the booths around her.

Then, very slowly, a smile spreads on her face. It is the smile of one who knows she has every eye on her, knows that everyone present wishes they had their hands on her. Then, she closes her eyes again, taking another long deep breath. And as her chest expands, the blossoms start to flutter, more violently this time.

It seems the show has not ended.

The light breeze swaying the petals increase into a stronger wind, peeling the pink petals away from the branches, resulting in a mesmerising swirl of movement. Aden watches as a petal crosses Spring’s stomach and dissipates away into nothing on her back. And as the rest float away, the branches start to retract, uncoiling from Spring’s ankles, pulling back slowly into the seed where they wait patiently for the next time she Blooms, their deathly grip foiled this time.

Aden inches closer, wishing she study the markings up close. She wonders what they feel like to touch; whether Spring has any sensation of their movements, perhaps like ink spreading beneath her skin.

But the windows turn a shiny black, cutting off all view of the stage and signalling the end of the Bloom Viewing. She knows the move is intentional, leaving spectators wanting more. Leaving them clamouring for the next Viewing, funding the House’s outrageously deep coffers. By her side, Tsu Mi is staring at her, another knowing smile curling her lips. She reminds her of a shark, a careful, slightly menacing glint always present in her eye, the smile too predatory for one to be entirely comfortable with.

“Well,” Tsu Mi says. “I hope you enjoyed the show, Dr Masters.”

[ywhiterain]

At this point, do you think AH maybe misremembering certain details which is why there is hardly any evidence of physical abuse?

Some graphic details below.

Traumatic memories are complicated, particularly when they are over the course of years. She submitted evidence of 14 incidents of abuse to the court - but that doesn’t mean that’s the entire story. That doesn’t mean she documented or reported every single time Depp abused her. Details might get mixed up in terms of what happened when, but not necessarily that they didn’t happen. There might even be incidents she blocked out and don’t remember. I don’t remember every time my dad raped me.

Want to know why maybe not her entire phone’s content was turned over? Because there is some evidence she might not want out for public consumption. Like her goddam medical records. Or her body more visibly battered. You think she’d find it cute you throw around her pictures of some of her worse moments a la Nicole Brown or Rihanna? Particularly to use against other victims? Her testimony, third party explanations from third party experts of medical records, her goddamn testimony - that’s a fucking enough.

Ambers hours of disposition of being abused is physical evidence. Her tears and panic and flinching away when Depp walks over to her after reliving how he abused her for the goddam world to see. That’s fucking evidence. His abuse left scars so visible it makes me fucking sick. Her testimony is evidence itself because she’s got lifelong injuries if you know where to look and when she’s presenting them.

And people know that. It’s why we have body language experts. It’s why people say she’s acting. It’s why people think she’s doing coke while wiping her tears on tissue.

It’s why people are gleefully waiting for the cross examination. More pain for her and even more abusive than the last time she went on stage because she’d going to have her story questioned and prodded to look for lies and she’d practiced oh she’d practiced and prepared herself for this in mock trails.

And people are going to make memes off of it and pretend it’s sexy and make money off what she didn’t want the public to know. People will make names for themselves abusing longer. Careers. Passive income via merc for the rest of her life and her daughter’s life.

But she’s asking for it by disclosing it you say. She needs to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt. NO SHE DID NOT. Amber didn’t want to press charges. She didn’t want to go to the police. She wanted to be left alone. Johnny Depp wants to abuse her via the court system and to globally humiliate her (in his own words).

That’s what we mean when we say the court and jury are set up against the victims. Cross examination is not how we should be gathering evidence. It’s not even enough because people want medical reports and pictures of her vagina after Depp raped her. Because they want her to suffer.

I have expertise on this. I’m not going to watch more of her witness statement than I have already (about ten minutes in total). I’ve seen enough to know what’s true - he abused her. Not that I didn’t already know after she told me, I’m not her friend or her therapist. I don’t enjoy watching people be abused.

But her op ed destroyed him. She didn’t give details and no one would ask if she was giving an op ed about her car being stolen and how that crime is harmful - at least not at this level. And she only wrote her story as an advocate to help pressure lawmakers wrt the violence against women act.

He destroyed himself. And he’s going to try and destroy her. I hope she doesn’t and her support system and loved ones are supporting her. I’m doing what I can online.

He still might kill her. With his own hands or through a stranger sending her death threats. She’ll need security for the rest of her and likely her daughters life and the 100 million she’s not likely to get from him should pay it.

It’s what Depp wants. It’s why he’s having fun in court unless her lawyers are challenging him and he cedes a bit of control.

He could stop this. But he won’t. Because as Amber points out he’s a washed up old loser and a baby. (No offense to babies and apologies for the comparison).

[uelden]

Vanity Fair interview translated

Just a side note before the actual translation; I don't know why, but instead of reporting the full questions and answers in full as she should, the journalist decided to report only summarized fragments of what Måneskin said and patch these fragments up into messy clusters. She also worded a couple phrases in a very confusing way (and yes, she's fully Italian). In short, she did quite a poor job, so the final shape of the interview is not that good. I didn't expect top-tier journalism from Vanity Fair but ffs. You'll see what I mean.

I translated it as it is, adding just a couple footnotes to give you insight on Italian pop culture references.

Translation under the cut

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

by Lavinia Farnese, 09 June 2021

"True justice is being judged for what you do and not for what you are." The ones who are convinced of this are Damiano, Victoria, Ethan and Thomas who, by being the emblem of a generation that is finally free, refuse labels and conformism. In life, in love and on the stage. Where, maybe precisely because of this, they're winning everything

With the still unexpected (first place at Sanremo Festival) and the incredible (triumph at Eurovision) in their eyes, Måneskin are on the sofa of the house-studio they rented - to resume writing songs and rehearsing them - like you are after a won battle: lying in a calm and unreal silence, alert and a bit irreverent, happy.

In the garden there's the tennis table and the pool, the light of summer when it's starting and calming the country all around, and it filters inside from the large windows, and it goes onto the shining black of Ethan's hair, which blends with Thomas' eye shadow and the butterfly he has tattooed oh his naked forearm, which completes the picture of Victoria's golden crucifix hanging between neck and tank top and ends on the black nail polish of Damiano's stretched hands.

It's a human fresco, a Theatre of wrath [translator's note: "Teatro d'ira"] - to call it with the title of their latest album, a platinum record already - where their flaunted 20 years of age, their irregular femininity and virility are grown into proud and challenging custom, a pop glam rock generational manifesto of hard-earned liberties in a finally-unconditional expression of the self.

To watch them from any angle and from another age is to think that a great love will be born in those who'll understand: this new way of being in the world, the true and sovereign realm they hold where "diversity=exceptionality", the power of the artistic and cultural revolution of which they are healthy carriers in establishing in all lyrics and gestures the right to live according to one's own nature past the "people (who) talk, the people (who) unfortunately talk, and don't know what the fuck they're talking about." [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

We go where we're afloat, where the air isn't gone. [tn: journalist's own variation on "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

Miley Cyrus says hi – The numbers of a phenomenon

"The streams of Zitti e buoni are growing by the second, and they bring us above Muse, at the top of English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. Followers almost tripled, in the post-Rotterdam period (from 1,4 to 3,3 millions, ed.) Contagious and universal folly: t-shirts and merchandising sold out in 10 minutes. Like the records, the tickets for a tour that keeps adding dates and expanding over geographic maps. They're contacting us even from some festivals were The Rolling Stones went." Thomas

"After the pretextual controversy over cocaine that France built against us, later disproven by my drug test, some graffiti popped up in Spain depicting me as a “No drugs” poster guy. Some tweets made us laugh: "Congratulations, Italy! I've never been more certain that four people have had sex with each other." Miley Cyrus started following us -You're great. -You guys are greater." Damiano

From the garage to the stars – Story of a flight

"It was only 2016, and we played in restaurants, in the streets, in via del Corso. Damiano without even a microphone, Thomas' guitar with wonky strings, Ethan was drumming on a cajón. During Rome highschools' sit-ins (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first confirmations and half-hours of celebrity, playing among those who criticized us and those who went "wow they're really cool." One of the rare times when they would have paid us – 50 euros each – we gave the money to the next band in the lineup so that they would make us play in their spot, later in the day, when there would have been more people. We had already realized how things worked. Visibility mattered more than money. And we still think that." Victoria

The intimacy of rock – Choice of a genre

"Music allows us the miracle of extending to others some very personal and private topics, sometimes even difficult and thorny ones. They are and they remain deeply your own, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage that is alike a delivery, they find a place in you as well, a processing of them. You overcome them, you accept them. One second it's something aggressive, the next it's a ballad. Cathartic». Damiano

Against panic – The stage as therapy

"I've suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it's an issue I've worked on thanks to a psychotherapy course, my friends and my family. Playing helped me in not letting myself be paralyzed by my fears, not making myself limited in my private and professional life. I've learned to accept, to live with this side of myself. I don't hide it. I don't feel ashamed of it." Victoria

Analysis as necessity – Relying on someone saves you

"This belief that only madmen go to the psychologist is a widespread ignorance. No-one's born learned. [tn: common Italian saying] And it's often hard to understand the very reason why we're here, let alone the origin and direction of our desires. It's a long and legitimate journey towards lucidity, a kind of backing to become transparent." Damiano

Being out of our minds – But different from them [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

"When you feel a strong passion towards something that is not a canonical job but an artistic language, that already puts you on a level of anomaly, which is not superior or inferior to other people, but it puts you in the position of the one who breaks the mold and also works at a loss, the one who sustains great risks while trying to do something that who knows if it will take you anywhere. "Why do it if it doesn't pay?". You want to give this dream of yours an aesthetic, but it becomes "You're dressing so weird! You must be gay!" - now that I'm 22 I laugh about it, but when I was 17 it had an effect on me, too." Damiano

The beauty of uniqueness – Of believing in it and defending it

"And I mean, at the end of the day if we're all different it's not because we want be alternative but because, really, no-one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty." Ethan

Fluid sexuality – Pride is freedom

"Heels for men that like themselves in them, kisses among ourselves, we have an open, extended mind, and we're proud of it. The horizons become vast, past the oppression of conservative families. With the information on the web knowledge becomes greater and with it the possibility that minorities will be less and less minorities, because the majority will be less of a majority. This way we'll make insults and bullying grow quieter. If social media get to a village of 50 souls and reveal to a girl who's afraid of the dark that someone has felt her same fear, then there's no reason to give a name to that fear, to mark it with labels which also limit and restrict. Definitions always had this effect on me. You shouldn't even consider the gender when judging someone, let alone their orientation." Victoria

Sexism – A culture to be dismantled

"Emma [tn: Emma Marrone, Italian singer] drops the bomb: “At Eurovision when I was there they massacred me for a pair of shorts, while they said nothing to Damiano – bare-chested and in heels.” The easy judgment against women is more fierce, constant, debasing (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool while Vic is a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader while Vic is despotic and a pain in the ass who reached success because she's hot.) As a male I'm privileged, the abuse I get is not comparable to those a woman has to live through, the comments over my aesthetic are centered only on my aesthetic and don't insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thought in a systematic way. It happened though to find myself standing with a woman who while pulling me to herself to take a selfie, started licking my face out of the blue... I mean, what the hell do you want? Who asked you? Consent exists, and it's due." Damiano

Grow yourself – The only commandment

"To me conformism is the opposite of education [tn: could also mean "politeness"] and is the asphyxia of expression. I fortunately never endured heavy bullying, heavy enough for the the judgement of others to change me. But the mold of the small crumbs of bullying I got and of the kind of aggression that scars is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and likes dolls you have to let me do what I like. I was a kid who wanted to keep his hair long and played with Barbie. As a teen, my friends looked at my hair: " You have to find a girl with short hair to be at your side." My grandparents took away my dolls: "Stop it, they're not for you." Ethan

"When I was six I was already sick of them, the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things that were typically defined as girly, and all around me they mocked me because I went skateboarding, I played soccer, I didn't wear skirts, I was giving myself the chance to be as I wished. I endured it a little, I suffered a little, but I had courage, and now thanks to that courage I know that I could have gotten even much more hurt, otherwise I would have left to others the most important choice: the one about myself." Victoria

Love in progress – Music, girlfriends

"I've been married to music for the last 20 years. I can't wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary." Ethan

"Everyone makes their own experiences, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it goes wrong, but it's always not anybody's business." Thomas

"When I first felt feelings and attraction towards a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage of going beyond the limitations I had put for myself. For society being heterosexual is the norm and so you often define yourself in that way automatically, depriving yourself of the freedom to live many shades and faces of love. Once I overcame the initial insecurity of having to call into question my certainties I've lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone." Victoria

"I had paparazzi at my door every day and night. So, after four years of relationship, I revealed her name. I still have paparazzi at my door every day and nigh, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore." Damiano

The worth of the group – Phenomenology of protection

"The true engagement though, the true family is among ourselves, our band. We've believed in it since day zero, even before we called ourselves Måneskin (Moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon on the flier for the first concert we ever did. We share everything, even the pain for the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because of racism. [tn: I think the journalist asked them their opinion about Seid Visin's death, which was a current events topic in Italy, and then pasted it syntaxically in the middle of Thomas' answer, which was not a great move] A group is what we all should be: stay united and not back down an inch in the face of oppression that is generated by a distorted view of diversity." Thomas

I'm not of the right age – Like Gigliola [tn: Gigliola Cinquetti won Eurovision with her song "Non ho l'età", which means "I'm not of the right age"]

"Before you the only one who won both Sanremo and Eurovision on the same year was Cinquetti (1964). If there's anything I feel I'm not of the right age for? No, honestly no. Maybe having children. Regarding children I'll be honest: I'm not of the right age." Damiano

Having touched the sky – The fears that remain

"We're more than inside the dream, we're in the conquered dream. When you fly high there's the risk of plummeting and hurting yourself, but we'll work hard not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - a bit pretentiously - reassures us rather than scaring us." Damiano

[iridiscent-aesthetics]

Head Cannon of Az being jealous when he sees Gwyn and Eris talking?

Hey! Thanks for asking! This is my first time writing a headcannon so I'm aware its not very perfect but I hope y'all like it!

It hurt to watch them like that. No, It didn't hurt to see Mor lean into Emerie and whisper something into her ear making the female blush furiously. It didn't hurt to see Nesta and Cassian nestled in each other's arms so irrevocably in love with each other. He didn't feel envious when Rhys watched Feyre and Nyx with starlight dancing in his gaze. He hadn't found jealousy anywhere in the corner of his thoughts when he saw Elain smile shyly at Lucien and look at him as if he was her only sun while he was comically explaining something throwing his hands in the air. No. Azriel didn't feel that gut wrenching pain of realization that he was utterly alone. He didn't feel envious of any of his friends' happiness. No. He felt happy for them. Truly.

It was them. It troubled him hugely to see that male talk to her. To see fucking Eris Vanserra absolutely smitten talking to Gwyneth. It hurt him that Gwyn seemed equally interested in associating with the likes of Eris. It made him envious to the depths of his soul to hear Gwyn's melodious laughter along the hall and know that he wasn't the one that caused her cackle. He was watching the Autumn court heir and the Vaylkrie across the room; engrossed in conversation, either oblivious to the rest of the world around them. Azriel clutched his wine glass firmly, his knuckles white and shadows aggressively swarming around him. "Stop sulking and go take action thundercloud." He turned to his side to see Amren twirling her wine pretending it was blood. "I understand that I might not be the best person for relationship advice. But it is glaringly obvious that you're considering the million ways to kill Eris." She said with a slight smirk and knowing glow in her eyes. Indeed he was deliberating all the ways he could make Eris suffer. "And as much as I would enjoy that, the night court finds an ally in him and hence I'll have to prevent you from doing so. Instead, how about you man up and go do something about that." She said pointing a sharp finger at the two redheads. "What, how do I.." Az began with an almost whine. "Don't ask me how boy. You're half a millennia old. If I had my way I'd already have kissed the priestess." Az gave her a look of complete disbelief before shaking it off in realization that the tiny female might hold true to her word. He gathered all the courage he had and walked across the room to Gwyn thinking of how to get her attention to him. Would he tell Eris to simply fuck off, that he was troubling his Gwyn? But Gwyn didn't seem troubled. Would he ask Gwyn to have a word about her training and carry her as far away as possible from everyone else? The question of training at this ceremony seemed uncalled for, but anything to get Eris away from Gwyn. As he approached them he finally saw Gwyn completely up close. She was radiant. There were no words to describe her beauty. There she was the light of his life, in a turquoise dress that brought out the color of her beautiful eyes with sleeves that fell from her shoulders, dress bunched at her waist and then flowing down in a gradient of dark blue to her ankles like a fountain. Her wild chestnut hair left loose today and dancing with the wind. She seemed to have try and tamed them with a bunch of star shaped clips on one side that reminded him of her freckles and the constellations they made. How many times had he had to refrain himself so hard from holding her beautiful face in his hands and kissing all of those freckles, counting them and tracing the constellations he could form. Her bright teal eyes stood out even more today outlined by kohl while her lips were painted a plush peach. Mother how he wanted to kiss those divine lips. Az stopped dead in his tracks. He shouldn't be thinking of Gwyn in such a way. After all that she had been through, she didn't need Az thinking of her like this, with desire. She deserved better than this. Better than him. He was about to turn back when he caught eye of Eris looking at Gwyn with such fondness. Az couldn't stop himself then, He walked straight up to them. About to punch Eris straight in the nose when Gwyn looked at him with a glimmer in her teal eyes with the brightest of smiles. "Shadowsinger! Hello!" "Spymaster. What brings you here to us?" Eris bit at him as if annoyed to be disturbed. Azriel cut him a short glare and focused back to his priestess. What would he say now, why had he come here to them. "Gwyneth," he gave her his softest smiles "A dance?" His words tumbled out surprised of his own boldness. Gwyn seemed to consider him a heartbeat, enough for him to fear his rejection, before she answered, "It would be my honor, of course. Excuse me Eris, I'll get back to you." She threw him a promising smile to which the male mocked a bow "I'll be holding up to you on that." He said

with a wink and kissed her hand before turning away. Az tensed. He was going to kill Eris, for so much as looking at Gwyn and then he had dared to talk to her, wink at her and Kiss her hand! He was going to rip that sorry excuse of a male to shreds. Ally or what may go to hell. "Shadowsinger?" Came that familiar voice, Az couldn't stop glaring at the eldest Vanserra as he made his way though the crowd. White hot anger seeping his veins and calling at him for violence. "Azriel?" Gwyn placed a steady hand on his stiffened chest. Was it the way he finally heard his name on her lips in her melodious voice, or was it how her touch to his chest unlocking something deep within, he felt a simmering gold ribbon making way out as he turned to look at Gwyn. The ribbon reached from him to her. Was this it? Was this the mating bond? No, it couldn't be. He was delusional. He had been so obsessed with a mating bond that he was now imaging things. Gwyn couldn't be his mate. She was so much more than him. Strong and courageous, beautiful and determined, she was glowing happiness and light. In no way did he deserve her, his scarred hands and tainted soul, the overwhelming darkness in him. His intimidating shadows and him, a hopeless monster. She saved all those children at Sangravah, at the expense of her own. And him? He couldn't even save her, couldn't be there for her on time. No Gwyn was so better than him, there was no way the Cauldron would bless him with a mate and more at that, such a wondrous mate, no matter how much he desired it to be true. It was not, this was the final stage of mania hallucinations. And as if on cue, the ribbon bridging them reduced to a faint presence. "Is there something wrong?" Came her soothing voice again, breaking him away from his darkest thoughts threatening to spiral down to his worst of nightmares. It took all his five hundred years of being a Spymaster to forge his expression neutral before looking into the depths of her oceanic eyes with his darkened gaze. Gwyn's eyebrows furrowed with concern and confusion. For him. Mother above, she was adorable. One look at her and he was smiling, "Nothing at all, Shall we?" He gave her his arm and beckoned to the dance floor. Gwyn yet seemed unconvinced but didn't complain as she walked by him to the midst of the floor. As a slow song played, Az snaked his arm around her waist and held her hand in another as she placed one on his shoulder, slowly swaying to the tune, smiling contently. "That was the first time you called me by name." Her eyes widened a fraction "I- I didn't, I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable." Now it was his turn for his eyes to widen "What-Gwyneth, No. I liked it." A blush creeped up his neck. "It felt nice, hearing my name from you." She took a second to consider and then one corner of her lips curled up as she answered "Well then I'll make sure to call you Azriel more often Azriel." To that he laughed, laughed from deep within in his heart. Marvelling at how his name sounded rolling off her tongue. And at that moment, with Gwyn in his arms, looking up at him with her wide, beautiful eyes and bright smile, such adoration. His shadows swirling around them; in their darkness making Gwyn glow brighter than ever, that faint ribbon twirling around them pulling them closer to each other. As something sparked in his chest once more, Az decided; he wanted this. He wanted this feeling for the rest of his life. Nothing more, nothing less. And he would do anything to make Gwyn smile. He would be the darkness to her light.

I tried! Always open for suggestions and feedback. Feel free to send me Head Canons and other prompts!

[you-can-call-me-wanda]

There’s Been An Accident

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Author’s Note: Just a warning, this includes mentions of serious injury. I have very little medical knowledge so please just bear with me...

It was Slash who first realized that something was wrong.

It was the middle of a concert and Guns N Roses’ manager was conversing with some of the crew side stage. That itself wasn’t unusual, but the look on his face was. He looked concerned. His brows were creased, and he bit at his lip worriedly as he stared off at something further upstage. Slash turned to see what he was looking at. It was Axl.

Now, it wasn’t uncommon for management to be concerned about Axl. The redhead had a notorious temper and loud mouth that often got the whole band into trouble, but tonight nothing had gone amiss. Not that Slash had noticed at least. Axl hadn’t arrived late to the show, he hadn’t chewed off an audience member. He was performing like normal, dancing like a madman and singing like an angel.

“Something’s wrong,” a voice mumbled in Slash’s ear, causing the guitarist to jump. It was Duff, Guns N Roses bassist. He had made his way across the stage during the song and was now leaning down and speaking to Slash as the song finished. The audience was applauding and cheering as Axl encouraged them, oblivious to anything out of the ordinary.

“I know,” Slash replied. “What do you think it is?” He glanced back at their manager nervously. He was still focused on the singer.

Duff shrugged. “There’s only one song left,” Duff said. “Guess we’ll find out soon.” And with that, he was swiveling on his heel and headed back to stage right for their final song of the night.

“Yeah,” Slash said, mostly to himself. “Guess so.”

After their bows, the band rushed backstage, post show excitement practically radiating from their bodies. It seemed only Slash and Duff had taken note of their manager’s nerves. Soon though, they would all be made aware of what was going on.

Axl was stopped immediately by their manager once they all left the stage. The singer only had to take one look at the frown on his manager’s face to know that something was up.

“What is it?” Axl asked. His tone was teasing but anyone could hear the agitation in it as well. No doubt he felt he was going to get chewed out again for some lewd or crude behavior.

“There’s been an accident,” his manager replied, surprising Axl greatly and rendering him speechless.

The rest of the Guns N Roses boys lingered nearby. They attempted to look busy doing something else, handing off their instruments to techs or taking off their sweaty shirts but in reality, they were focused on the conversation between Axl and their manager, curious as to what had happened and if everything was okay.

“What do you mean?” Axl finally got out. He was completely serious now. Something was clearly wrong. His mind raced to everyone and anyone he cared about.

“There’s been and accident,” his manager repeated, “and (Y/N)’s been critically injured.”

It was like time stood still. A million thoughts ran through Axl’s head. (Y/N) was hurt. There was an accident and (Y/N) was hurt. What kind of accident? What kind of hurt? There were so many questions Axl needed to be answered yet he seemed incapable of asking them. He just stared wide-eyed at his manager.

“I’ve already booked you a flight back home. There’s a cab here ready to take you to the airport when you’re ready,” his manager said, knowing exactly what Axl was thinking. He needed to be with you.

“Jesus Christ,” Axl breathed out, already halfway to the dressing rooms. He didn’t even glance at his bandmates as he rushed by. “I need to go now.”

****

Axl tapped his foot anxiously as he sat in the waiting room of the hospital. He hated hospitals. They were full of stress and sad people and they always smelled weird. He hated them.

He had been sitting in the waiting room for thirty minutes now, waiting for a nurse or doctor or anybody to call him back to see you. He just needed to see you. A nurse had filled him in when he’d arrived on your condition and what exactly had happened. You’d been hurt badly in a car accident. Some drunk asshole had veered into your lane quickly and suddenly and flipped your car over the guardrail and into a ditch on the side of the road. The man who hit you, of course, wasn’t injured. You, on the other hand, were suffering from a plethora of injuries most concernedly a punctured lung and possible head trauma.

Axl was furious of course, but even more so upset. He had no idea what you were feeling or what your current state was. He didn’t know jack shit about lungs or the brain or broken ribs. He didn’t know anything about concussions or fractures. All he knew is that it was serious.

“Mr. Rose?”

A nurse had finally come to retrieve him. Axl rose to his feet hastily.

“You can follow me.”

Axl did so without a word.

As the nurse led him back to your room, Axl’s nerves began to grow. With every step he took, he became more and more nervous about seeing you. It’s not that he didn’t want to be there for you. He was just scared to face the reality of the situation.

“I just need to warn you,” the nurse said, stopping outside one of the doors in the seemingly endless hallway. “Things might look a little scary when you go in. (Y/N) is hooked up to a lot of stuff right now. Most of it is just to monitor different vitals and such. They are now in a somewhat stable condition.”

Axl nodded his head and took a deep breath before following the nurse into your room. The breath left his lungs quickly at the sight of you. You were laying on a hospital bed in the center of the room and although the nurse had warned him about all the things you were hooked up to, nothing prepared Axl for the sight of the various tubes and cables attached to your body.

Your eyes opened a little at the sound of someone entering your room and you attempted to smile at the sight of your boyfriend in the doorway.

“Hey,” you croaked out, immediately regretting speaking. Your chest was in excruciating pain.

Axl wasted no time rushing to your side. His hand instinctively reached out to grab your own, but he hesitated before touching you. He didn’t want to accidently hurt you. He instead grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it to the side of your bed.

“Oh my god,” he breathed out. “Oh my god, (Y/N). Are you okay?”

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the tears that were rapidly gathering there. Of course you weren’t okay. Anybody with eyes could see that.

You reached your hand out slowly, little by little, hoping he’d take the hint and hold it. He did, though his grip was soft and light as if he was afraid of breaking it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you whispered, knowing that you couldn’t speak much with him. It hurt too much to talk, but you felt those words were too important not to say.

Axl just looked at you and nodded before bursting into tears. Sobs raked through his body and you watched sadly, wanting nothing more than to pull him close and wrap him tightly in your arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said, choking back a sob, “I’m sorry. I was just so worried y’know? Nobody could tell me anything for so long and I was so afraid that you were…” He wiped at his tears furiously with his free hand, refusing to let go of you. “What can I do babe? How can I help you?” he asked.

“Stay,” you replied. All you needed was him to stay. You had been so scared all alone here. Now that Axl was here, you could finally relax just a little.

“I will,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. “I promise.”

You smiled tiredly at him. You were exhausted. Your eyes felt heavy and now that Axl was here, you finally felt comfortable enough to sleep, but you didn’t want to stop talking to him. Axl could sense this and reassured you that it was more than alright for you to rest.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”

All you could do was nod your head a little and squeeze his hand as you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe in your boyfriend’s company.

[mkakki]

The Things I Couldn't Say

Inumaki is one of the best boys, and I adore him. He deserves so much after the Shibuya incident

I can't wait to see what updates Gege has once back from haitus

Until then, sweet boy ಥ‿ಥ

I listened to this because I like to break my own heart

Manga spoilers below if you aren't completely up to date.

Broken, utterly defeated, useless, unable to perform. All of these vicious words chipped away at his already fragile soul as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. Sure, he had done a relatively good job at evacuating civilians, there were more survivors because of him. Yet he couldn't help protect his friends, his underclassmen.

He couldn't help to protect you.

The guilt that continued to flake away at his mind prevented him from opening the door whenever you came to visit. He pretended to be asleep, listening to your soft words from the other side of the door. Promising to come tomorrow, that you missed him, and that you wanted to help. He flexed his hand at his side, mouth paper dry.

Your relationship had always felt so one-sided, he knew you could do better. He couldn't even tell you that he loved you without worrying about possibly hurting you.

He couldn't tell you how your smile lit up his world.

That he would do whatever it took to make sure you were safe.

"Toge, I know you're awake in there. Panda told me he was here not too long ago." He couldn't bring himself to wince at the way your voice trembled, muffled by the door. The most he could manage was to turn his head to face it, already knowing what you were doing on the other side.

Trying to keep a brave face while wringing your hands in front of you with worry. You had always been a bit of a cry-baby, but you always insisted that you weren't. It never bothered him that you mourned so freely, that you didn't allow this twisted world to take that piece of innocence from you.

"Why won't you let me see you?" Your voice cracked under the pressure on the last syllable, which made part of his heart crumble.

He wasn't sure how many days it had been, or how much was changing outside of that door, but he felt that this was his penance. Despite his age, he knew that you would be the person he wanted by his side for the rest of his days. It was never a question to him. From day one, his soul had touched yours and felt immediately at home. Whether it was some sort of weird phenomenon with cursed energies, or just his brain convincing itself that this was fact, he didn't care. He would face down a million special grades to prove his worth to you, even though you would never want him too.

"If it's something I did- something I said, or maybe even something I didn't do, just- just please tell me Toge."

Pulling himself free of his bed was nearly impossible, but he managed to push himself up with one arm, trembling the entire time. He crossed his darkened room, knees ready to buckle the entire time, and contemplated.

This might be his penance, but he wasn't alone in it. You were suffering just as much as he was, and it wasn't fair to you. He remembered the pit that had opened in his chest when they pulled you from the hole, unconscious, and bleeding from injuries he couldn't keep track of. The panic he felt when you stopped breathing for a moment, hand cold in his.

"If you want me to leave, just tell me."

Someday, you would die, and he wouldn't be far behind.

The doorknob felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds as he tried to twist it open.

There you stood, his angel, his light, the person who held his heart. He thought giving it to you might leave him feeling empty, but that space was filled with so much love that it never made him second guess his decision.

"Toge." your lips trembled at the sight of him, bruised and battered. Bandages still bulked around his left shoulder. You weren't in much better condition, bruises in various stages of healing peppering your face. Your lower lip still swollen and scabbed slightly.

How scared were you when you woke up, and he wasn't there? Blood loss had made him drift off into peace shortly after you both arrived at the hospital, despite how hard he had tried to fight it off. He didn't want to allow himself to possibly miss your last breath.

He was careful when he pulled you to his chest, mindful of the bandages wrapped around your torso.

Panda had told him how hard you had fought. How a curse had run you straight through, and that the patchwork-faced curse nearly ended you.

He tried to open his mouth, for any sort of comfort to come, but all he could do was produce a weak and pained noise.

"I'm so sorry Toge," you sobbed against him, hands bunched in the front of his wrinkled shirt.

What did you have to be sorry for?

"I should have listened to you- I shouldn't have tried to do more than I could." You tipped your chin up to look him directly in the eyes, only to pause.

Tears fell from his eyes with no hesitation.

When your hand came up to cup his cheek, it felt like warmth being pressed back into his weak soul. It only made a wet sob rack his chest, his guilt finally dissolving into a semblance of relief.

"It's okay, we're both okay, I promise. I'm out of the woods now, I promise."

How could you switch it up so quickly? How was it so easy for you to go from needing him to comfort you, to you comforting him as if it was the most natural thing in the world?

He might not be able to speak it, maybe not now, but he could write all of the words he couldn't say.

He swore as you drug him back into his dorm that this wouldn't be it. Even as you quietly began the electric kettle he kept ready, he began to harden his resolve. He would do whatever it took, go through whatever hellish training he needed too, just so that someday he could safely tell you everything that you ever made him feel.

"I understand that you feel bad about everything that happened, but next time you need to think about me too, Toge." You sat a chipped mug on his bedside table, eyes downcast. "You weren't the only one hurt and scared."

He watched the tea leaves bleed flavor into the steaming water, a lump forming in his throat. The way you put up with his selfishness was astounding.

"Next time, I'll just have Panda break the door down."

He grasped one of your hands in his, a silent plea.

Love of mine, some day you will die, and I'll be close behind. I'll follow you into the dark.

[siriuslyobsessedwith]

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger: Nightmares

They are about three months into dating, still in the early stages of testing each other’s boundaries and asking guiding questions when Hermione sleeps over at Draco’s apartment for the first time

Stumbling through the door after a casual night out, their hands are on each other in a millisecond: Draco threads his fingers through her curls while she grins into his lips; Hermione’s hands slide up his neck and her legs straddle his waist and they tumble through the apartment and into his bedroom and the night progresses

Neither of them think to mention their nightmares before they fall asleep tangled into each other. Burgeoning love has a way of doing that to people, of turning normally careful, disciplined individuals soft with happiness and safety.

But the nightmares have come for both of them for years. Draco’s began the summer after 5th year when his father was in Azkaban and Voldemort set up his court in his home. For the first time in his life, he felt helpless, terrified, and, above all, alone. His father was gone and he felt the responsibility of protecting his mother in every waking moment. At night, he failed over and over and over again.

Now, however, his nightmares are of him failing everyone he loves and having to watch them die. But they are also of his very real failures, of watching his now-girlfriend scream and contort under his aunt’s curse, of watching his mother be punished for his inability to kill.

Hermione’s nightmares start the same time. She dreams of the curse she was struck with in the Department of Mysteries, of the cruel twist of the Death Eater’s wand as he sent the bright light toward her. As the danger becomes more imminent, her nightmares change to watching herself make a mistake that costs her friends their lives. She, too, lives with a constant burden of saving everyone. At night, she watches everyone die, and then wakes screaming as she too is punished for her failure.

After Malfoy Manor and the Battle of Hogwarts, however, her nightmares change. They are less visual, more visceral. She feels Greyback’s breath down the back of her neck, the lightning strike of each Crucio. She can hear the screams of Mrs. Weasley over Fred’s body and the whimpers of Lavender Brown in the Great Hall. She is surrounded by horror through all her senses but sight. Through it all, she can see nothing. She is helpless, lost, and in the dark.

They both wake up from nightmares differently. Draco convulses as the green light inevitably jets towards him or his mother or his father and his eyes snap open, and for a moment he is paralyzed with horror. His breath come in frantic puffs and his hands clench into fists. He lays stiff, eyes wide and staring, his mind willing his body to respond. But for a moment, he is trapped, unable to do anything but try to breath.

Hermione wakes up screaming every time. She bolts upright and her cheeks are crying and she has to hold herself to calm down, calm down, calm down. After the war, she took to putting silencing charms on her room when she was staying with the Weasley’s. The first night she forgot was the first day she started looking for her own apartment. The pity and pain in everyone’s eyes the next morning was worse for her than any nightmare.

Even though they are both nestled into the other, safe and happy and hopeful for the first time in a while, their nightmares still find them. Hermione wakes first, screaming and stuffing the sheets into her mouth in an attempt to muffle her cries. She buries her head into her knees and shakes and sobs as silently as she can. She didn’t want him to think she was so broken anymore. And she can’t possibly see the same pity in his eyes. That would break her forever.

Draco is an incredibly light sleeper, so he is slammed out of watching her scream at his home to watch her sob in his bed. For a moment he is still paralyzed, at once trying to calm himself down and trying to make himself move. He’s furious at himself for being so weak and so trapped that he can’t comfort her. For a solid minute he is trapped and just has to watch her sob and heave and tremble and god he swears it’s worse than any nightmare.

When his body lets him move again, he reaches out for her, threading his hand around her back and pulling her to him. She jumps, turning wide eyes to him that seem to search for something. He holds her gaze, and they communicate silently for a bit. Sometimes words don’t work.

I hear you, he thinks to her. I’m here and I don’t want you to be alone.

I’m sorry, she thinks to him. I’m sorry you have to see me like this and I’m sorry I’m too lost in my nightmare to help you with yours. 

I have nightmares too, they both think. We are both so broken, it’s almost funny.

Is their shared suffering beautiful? Maybe it’s not, but understanding without pity is something neither of them had every truly hoped for before this. They say a million important things just with their eyes, and then, in silent agreement, Hermione nestles herself into Draco and they fall into an uneasy but nonetheless comforting sleep. Hermione, lulled by the sound of Draco’s heart while he counts her breaths and watches her face, gradually dips into sleep.

They don’t mention the unspeakable. That their nightmares are opposite and the same. That he dreams of doing nothing while she suffers, and she dreams of the terrifying, impossible pain and the memory of being utterly helpless.

When Hermione wakes up to the sound of the coffee maker, she startles a bit, realizing that she isn’t in her own flat. And then she remembers last night. The spot in the bed next to her is cold, and she bunches the covers up over her chest as she shivers. 

She tiptoes out of bed, rustling through his drawers to find a t-shirt of his to wear, and attempts to wrangle her sleep-ruined hairdo from the night before into something kind of ok. When she tiptoes out of the room, she imagines she is leaving the nightmares behind. She catches him in the kitchen, humming to himself as he makes coffee just the way she likes it, and she smiles at him because this man, without the burdens of the world, is all hers. 

And then she remembers. And she’s guilty and angry and sad and worried. He heard that scream, watched her heave and shake and try to remember it’s over, it’s over, it’s not real. There’s no way he will look at her the same. The acceptance of last night was temporary, a necessity of two sleep-deprived war survivors.

“Granger, don’t you know it’s rude to stare? And a bit creepy, if I’m being honest.”

She’s startled out of her thoughts by a steaming cup of coffee and cream and she looks up and his eyes are full of understanding. Not pity. Understanding and promise. For a moment she thinks they are just not going to talk about it (and if she’s completely honest, she could live with that), but he proves her wrong, just as he has so many times before. 

“Nightmares, huh,?” he quips, eyes boring in to her without apology. “Every night?”

“Yes,” she whispers. 

“Always the same?”

“Yes. You too?”

“Yes. Do you--,” he pauses, hand worrying the back of his neck. “Do you want to...talk about it?” His eyes are hesitant, as though there is an invisible line he knows he can’t cross. 

“Not really,” she murmurs. “Do you?”

“No.”

They pause in silence for a moment. He’s thinking of how he can possibly comfort her if she doesn’t want to talk and then condemning himself for thinking she would ever want to talk to him about it. She’s imagining all the things he’s thinking, that she blames him or that she hates him or that she’ll never forgive him. 

They’ve never broached the subject of that night. He’s told her of everything he did to protect his family and stay alive, and she’s told him about the months on the run, of the months without Ron. But they’ve never talked about Malfoy Manor. 

At the very same time, they speak: “I’m sorry.” and “I never blamed you.” at the same time, and then terrified eyes lost in each other’s gaze. 

Hermione’s never been one for difficult emotions. She starts laughing, giggling at first and he’s looking at her like she is unstable and insane and she’s choking on how insane this all is and how did they find each other. 

“We are,” she breaks off, interrupted by another chain of giggles, “We are quite a pair, Malfoy. However did we find each other?”

Nothing else needs to be said. They find comfort in the unspoken: touches, eye contact, acts of kindness, protectiveness. They don’t need to talk about things they desperately want to leave behind them. 

“Well, Granger, I believe you burst into my compartment looking for a toad some years ago.”

“And you were an utter arse for the next 7 years.”

“And then you became obsessed with me. And of course I pitied you, so here we are,” he smirks, knowing he’s bought himself a thorough chastisement. 

He doesn’t expect his witch to launch herself into his arms, to place her soft lips on his in a touch that says everything and nothing. 

And their nightmares don’t define them. Maybe they’ll talk about them, maybe they won’t. They won’t let the darkness of before taint the dreams they have for the future. The dreams of something that might be, something that could be, some future that links them together.