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bigassmoonchild · 6 months

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Tears

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You'd never seen Simon cry. He was the scary Ghost, and Ghosts didn't cry. Maybe he had just grown too comfortable with you, because it didn't take long to be pushed back an arms length.

Content Tags: Fluff, Simon Simping, Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Simping, Crying, Senseless Worry, Fear, Fear of Death, Thoughts of Death (NOT suicidal ideation), Hurt/No Comfort, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, No Use of Y/N

A/N: I am so sorry about being awol this week, my heart condition and migraines have whooped my ass. I wasn't expecting how this would turn out, but I enjoy it a lot. Mostly internal thoughts, some interactions here and there. Anyways, here's part 15!

Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist

The few days you spent back home, it was slowly getting better. Your father had accepted Simon, your mother was spending a lot of her time doting on you and Simon, but Clint was still gone. Nowhere to be seen, no one had heard from him.

Arthur still stayed quiet, but you remembered him as the gentle boy he once was. He'd always been that way, especially after everything your father had done when he presented. No one talked about it anymore, but your brother still stepped on eggshells around everyone.

Simon had grown to enjoy spending time with the pack pups, reminiscing on his time with Price's own. Even then, he'd never considered that he would have any of his own. It was terrifying. Clair had pulled him away, baring her teeth and threatening a few different deaths if he'd so much as hurt you.

How dead he'd be if she knew.

And that's all he could think about, watching as Clair doted on her own Omega. Watching as she loved and cared for her pups. Seeing her act like an amazing Alpha, one he'd never thought he would be. Him? Someone's Alpha? It scared him, even so long after it had occurred.

His mind was constantly warring with itself, the old him trying to get him to run, dump his savings onto you and disappear into the wilderness. The other part of him, though, saw you as you existed. In the mornings, hair a mess and eyes still tired. After sex, your eyes slightly glazed over and skin heated.

He could see you, puffy eyed as you admitted your fears to him that first night back. He heard the sobs you gave him, oh so many time.

Simon saw the fire in your eyes as you snapped on him.

And he loved you all the more for it. You were his Omega, his precious mate. What he could consider the love of his life. And yet he looked at you, admiring your older sister with a look in your eye that seemed almost... regretful.

It was then that he really thought. Deeply, on all the past conversations. He had seen a similar regret in your face while driving back to the hotel, eyes still puffy from the crying.

Price, speaking with him one night. "How many people would wish to be mated like that?" Price had once asked him. "She is living, breathing and eating with a man she does not know. You can't make this any more difficult than it is," but this had been the first few weeks of your mating.

Were the two of you still strangers? Or acquaintances now? He didn't even know your favorite color, let alone simple facts about you. And now, as he lay next to you, he feared that perhaps everything had gone too quickly.

Even as he felt your fingers grasping at his sleep shirt, feeling the press of your swollen belly against his side. Everything had happened so quickly, and he hadn't been there for the first, what? Six months? He knew, almost inherently, that it was a poor representation of him.

His Alpha groaned, baring it's teeth at the thought that he was a bad Alpha. Even as he stared at the ceiling, eyes cast over, thoughts prickling over everything. The distaste at the back of Simons throat was strange. His eyes burned, and he blinked his eyes clear.

What the hell? Tears?

Simon was able to get your hands untangled from his shirt, shifting out of bed carefully and finding his way to the bathroom. Shutting the door carefully, he flicked on the light and found his reflection staring at him.

The vision blurred, staring through himself rather than at. He couldn't see himself. Not Simon, barely Ghost, but rather the monster he often thought of in the midst of missions. A killer, someone who took lives, not create. He was a monster, claiming you without permission, and he could feel the heat of his tears pouring down his cheek.s

The door opened, and he couldn't think. Barely heard your voice, calling out, wondering why the hell Alpha smelled sour and was crying. Your arms wrapped around him, pressing a gentle kiss against his back.

You could feel the hiccupped breaths he was taking, you could see the distant look in his eyes through the mirror and his scent was horrid. It smelled purely of distress, pain, even hints of anger. Not the scent of Simon.

Grasping his hand, he followed mindlessly as you dragged him back into the main room, gently pushing him onto the bed. Standing between his legs, you ran your fingers through his hair.

"Simon," you whispered, carefully. "Love, what's wrong? Your scent is so strong, but it isn't you. What's wrong? Please, Simon," and you whispers continued. His eyes remained blank, gone. Even as thoroughly exhausted as you were, you could feel fear twinging in your gut.

You'd never seen Simon like this, but you'd seen soldiers coming back from intense battles who looked like this. Not your Simon, not him. No, maybe there'd be days that he would grow quiet and slightly distant, but he never looked like this.

Even as your hands found his cheeks, your lips pressing against his head, you heard nothing from him. You moved, reaching for the phone you'd tucked somewhere before collapsing into bed, and felt his hands grasp for yours.

His fingers entwined with yours, tugging you closer to him once more. Simons arms wrapped around you, his head resting against your chest. You could hear his sobs, muffled by your body, but you could feel his shoulders shaking.

Pressing your lips to the top of his head, you slowly rocked the two of you side to side. You stayed there, listened, held him. His sobs hurt you, nearly scared you. Such a strong man, an amazing Alpha, broken down into tears. And from what?

You thought, and thought, and thought. There was nothing, you realized, that you could think would cause this. You couldn't remember a thing that happened today that would make him break down. Maybe it had been Clint? Your family initially not accepting him, hurting him?

No. He wouldn't even think about that kind of thing. Sure, he'd had a reddened cheek for some time afterwards, but nothing that would cause him to cry this hard.

Your lips pressed against his head once more, squeezing your arms around him tighter. He sniffled, sobs breaking down into just some hiccups. You could feel your shirt wet, from his tears. You could see your silhouette from the light in the bathroom. The darkness wasn't all encompassing, not in the little hotel room you had.

It was like a gentle blanket, hiding the two of you from the rest of the world. You could feel Simon pull his head up, resting his chin against you while looking up. His eyes blinked long and slow, they were reddened and puffy. His skin was slightly blotchy, but pale from the near hyperventilation.

Neither of you spoke, your fingers brushing the stray tears away before cupping his cheeks. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you gave him a little smile.

"What's wrong, Si?" You broke the silence and he shook his head. His eyes had closed, some more tears breaking free. He tried tugging you closer, your belly stopping you from getting as close as the two of you wanted.

It seemed funny to you. The pup, now seemingly forever separating the two of you just a little. More than you'd been prior to it's conception, it had now separated you. The closest you'd ever get to him would be looking in the same direction, just a step ahead of him. The pup would separate the two of you forever, maybe never gaining that distance back.

But you'd do it all for the loving smiles and little touches you got from him. You'd do it all again if it meant you'd stand right where you were, and you would never change your path. You'd take the same steps every single time if it meant you'd be standing where you were.

And you hoped he could feel it in the way you pressed your lips to his head, squeezed him a little tighter. You hoped he could feel it in the way your fingers ran through his hair, the way you'd always be right by his side.

Maybe he would never know. Even as he tugged you into bed, pulling your back to his chest and burying his face into the nape of your neck. Even while his fingers intertwined with yours, cupping the little pup resting just inches from your hands.

You could only hope, as the two of you woke, he understood how much you truly loved him as you helped clean his face up. Dried tears were a bitch, you knew. You could see the pain in the way his eyes shut a little tighter when the sun rose just a little more. You truly could only hope he would understand how much you loved him as you shut the curtains and curled back up into bed with him.

Maybe, just maybe he would realize how much you loved him while watching his interactions with the family pack pups. Seeing him allowing the little girls and boys paint his nails or play fight with him. Seeing how he treated your mother with such respect, allowing your siblings to do as they pleased to him.

And on the plane home, you could feel him squeeze your hand gently. "I truly love you, Simon," you whispered. "I wouldn't give up a single decision I've made," and he rested his head on yours. "If I had to do it all over, I don't think I'd do anything different," and you could feel his cheek shifting against your head.

"I love you, sweet Omega," he whispered in turn. "With all my heart, I truly mean it when I say I would do anything to make you happy," and his lips pressed against your head. You sighed deeply, allowing sleep to take over you.

Simons fingers brushed along your back, gently shaking you awake. You didn't want to go back, you realized. You wanted Simon all to yourself, maybe have a nice little home in the country. Maybe watch your pups just exist out where they wouldn't have to fear anything.

Keeping Simon to yourself, he would never almost die again. You would never lose each other to the trivial ideations of war. You'd never be given subsidies for his death, and you would never have to plan a funeral for the man you loved.

You wouldn't have to worry about anything if you were able to get him to retire. Maybe the two of you could open a shop, or a little clinic. Help people who needed it the most, ensure everyone was taken care of.

And in the car, you finally spoke up. "Will you stay in the military once the pup is born?" You asked, voice growing quiet. His eyes flashed over to you, his brows furrowed under the balaclava.

"What d'you mean?" He asked. "Obviously I'll get leave to be with the two of you, but I can't just leave my job," he spoke, carefully. You hummed, staring through the windshield.

You didn't look at him. "What if you die? The pup will never know you, it'd be safer to-"

"To what? Go work an office job?" He sounded surprised. "Lovie, working in the military gives me the money we'd need to take care of the pup. This is my life, I can't just drop it all of a sudden. Price is able to balance it all, I can't see why I won't," you looked at your hands, playing with your fingers.

"I'm just worried, s'all," you whispered and you could see him shake his head from your peripheral.

"You needn't worry, I've survived this long. I'm not leaving my job, not for..." he trailed off, not finishing his sentence. You could feel your chest tightening, the dream of the nice little home in the country vanishing just as quick as it had come.

He wouldn't give up his job. Not for you, not for a pup. You were dumb for even thinking it. The car was silent the rest of the drive, you had grabbed your bag as soon as he'd parked and walked yourself back onto the compound.

You would have a lot of work to catch up on, and Simon left you to be. You had entered your office, just staring at the sad little desk and papers stacked on it. You truly were stuck in this life, and you slowly grew to realize you didn't want to be just a doctor.

You'd signed up to be a combat medic, not sit safe and sound in the compound. Had you truly given up your dream? Just for an Alpha, and now his pup? Was this what it meant to be an Omega?

There was no one you would tell that you sat at your desk, door locked and quietly sobbing. You were just so tired, and you wanted to be heard. You knew, unconsciously, it was a big ask of him but you'd hoped, genuinely, that he might hear you out and understand.

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deprixpainsblog · 1 month

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ICH WILL NICHT MHR! Bitte gib mir nh Überdosis Tabletten, schieß‘ mir in den Kopf! Schubs mich von einem Hochhaus oder von einer Brücke! Und bitte lass mich einfach st!rb!en

#depressing life #thoughts #depressiv #sterben #i wish i was dead #im already dead #dead #thoughts of death #tot faszinieren #gedankenüberdentod #gedanken #gedanke des tages #mentally fucked #ptbs #einsam #actually mentally ill #depressing quotes #this is depressing

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estro-gem · 4 months

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Zooble x Pomni (Platonic): Build the bridge to burn another.

Author's note:

Friends! Friends friends friendsfriendsfriendsfri-

Okay, now that that's out of my system, I present to you; probably the most unpopular pairing to exist in this fandom! In this AU, I've always seen them being very good friends that will insult each other to their hearts content. Neither backing down or holding back and definitely no false pretension.

I might be one of the few who supports this pairing. Zooble has no time for bulsh*t and Pomni is continuously losing her sh*t.

It's perfect, I tell you, PERFECT👌

And finally, Caine is mentioned in more than two sentences. I'm not going to go beyond what I'm about to say: It's a slow start. Interpret it any way you want. :)

That is all.

Warnings:

Not recommended for minors or readers that are sensitive about mental illness, psychotic episodes and existentialism. This story also contains ANGST:

Psychotic episodes

Dissociation

Depressive episodes

Suicidal thoughts

Triggers

Foul/suggestive language.

Fun fact: I almost sent myself down a very dark, familiar hole while writing about Pomni's mindset. I'm ok, though!

SUMMARY:

Pomni is having a hard time after an interesting and revealing conversation she had with Caine. To make matters worse, the jester is pushed to her limit by Zooble's shameless, apathetic mannerisms. She would never understand why they suddenly wouldn't leave her alone, after weeks of receiving the cold shoulder.

BUILD THE BRIDGE TO BURN ANOTHER

Pomni was frozen in place as she desperately tried to wrap her head around the situation that she found herself in.

It was a tough morning leading up to this point, having had little-to-no sleep the night before. It was odd; everyone kept telling her that she technically didn’t need sleep and sustenance, but she felt tired. She was exhausted to say the least. It came to a point where her new life was just floating by with each passing moment, as if she was a mere spectator.

At least, it made things easier to move along, only to start off with the next thing.

The night before, Caine, the ringmaster himself, pulled Pomni aside. She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to the fact that he looked like a pair of glass eyes that were accidentally misplaced in a set of dentures, but beyond that; he had thoughts and opinions, like a human had. It was hard to believe that he was one of the few individuals that she interacted with daily, that weren’t human, but advanced A.I.

While it was miracle, he was horrifying, like a monster from an episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog.

How did she recall a television show, but not her own name?

“Pomni! How is our newest member of The Amazing Digital Circus adjusting to her brand-new life in the Digital Plain?” He enthusiastically spoke, like the showman he was programmed to be.

“Uh…” poorly.

There was no question about it; she was adjusting poorly, but she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, “I’m alive… I guess?”

“Why wouldn’t you know… you are right!” Caine triumphantly bellowed, before leaning in too close for the jester’s comfort, “At this rate, you just might beat the record of characters who held out the longest without dying when they first arrived.”

“Wait a minute!” the fool interrupted him just before he could say anything else, “We can die here? Like, pushing up daisies? Final breath and all?”

“Of course, you can! Once your health bar runs empty, you die.” Caine said with an inappropriate amount of chipper.

Pomni felt something foreign rise withing her chest. It felt like hope, with an overwhelming, bitter aftertaste of mind-numbing dread. She found her mind darting to a very dark place – a place she never thought to find herself in. If death was an outcome in this world… and others have died before her…

Did she find an escape, after all?

“Don’t look so disturbed, my dear.” Caine’s light pat on her shoulder ripped her back into reality, as his touch, although artificial, left her flinching into herself. He seemingly paid her reaction no mind. “It will only be a for a few moments! After that, you will respawn and stumble your way back into the position you were before you died – or well, sometimes you’ll respawn a few feet away from that position, but my point still stands!”

The foreign feeling within Pomni instantly dissipated into a bland numbness. Of course, there was a respawn mechanic; how could she ever believe otherwise? In her excitement, she didn’t even consider the logistics of the other characters still being there. Caine’s statement about ‘’holding out for the longest’ suddenly made more sense, but she didn’t like that it did.

There truly was no escape from The Amazing Digital Circus.

Caine’s interrogative questions didn’t end there, but she couldn’t remember much anyway. She vaguely remembered that the ringmaster asked her if her room was to her liking and if she had made any friends so far. His questions were interluded with a monologue following each short answer she gave. She was sure to answer whatever it took to get away and hide in her room as soon as possible.

As it came to be, the jester soon realized that it was foolish for her to have thought that she would be able to keep up a normative façade for that long.

It was an effort to swim through the stale molasses that her mind had become in such a short time.

At one point, she didn’t bother responding, but for a moment, something had her believe that Caine’s tone eventually lost its enthusiasm and greatly decreased in volume. Maybe, at one point, he just stared at her with some unseen form of disdain, but she wouldn’t know – she was too far withing the depths of her mind’s molasses; drowning.

Drowning with the inability to die, forever preserved in the heavy sludge.

Unable to swim up for air. Unable to degrade into the depths.

And yet…

Caine somehow managed to pull her back for brief moments that were long enough for her to have a series of small, fleeting, but coherent thoughts. It was ironic that the showman managed to gain the most attention when growing silent and unenthused. If Pomni had known any better, she would believe that he was being empathetic; helplessly dragged down by the jester’s empty husk that simply chose to stare back at him.

But Pomni did know better.

The ringmaster was probably programmed with a series of reactions and animations in response to people not following the prompt that he gave. She didn’t care at the time, and she doesn’t care now. An A.I. couldn’t feel anything… and at that moment, Pomni hated the fact that she could empathize with Caine too.

She couldn’t feel anything.

SHE COULDN’T FEEL ANYTHING.

It took a moment for Pomni to realize, but Caine was suddenly gone. She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but she found herself alone in the uncomfortably large common area. It should have been unnerving just how quiet it suddenly was, but the numbness clung to damper the little fool’s emotions.

She looked down at her hands and flexed her fingers before her mind could command them to do so. It was as if she was separated yet housed within her own body as a spectator. Her legs started moving, but she didn’t know or care where they were taking her. She just knew that she was moved by her body’s own tuition.

The hallway leading to their rooms slowly came into view. It was small, but a comforting feeling gently caressed Pomni’s otherwise distant heart. She was finally able to collapse in her room!

She walked down the hall with no thoughts beyond whatever came into view.

The sounds of struggling and inhuman screaming didn’t phase her too much, until her slow mind comprehended that Jax was fighting and thrashing in retaliation for being intimately intwined with the ribbons of Gangle.

The jester had never seen the smug rabbit act as he did then. He was beyond himself – as mindless as a brick – and desperate. It was unmistakable that he was desperate as he relentlessly fought and reached for the door in front of him. His pupils were blown, and his jaw was slack, causing only the tips of his teeth to gleam in a menacing taunt. The rabbit’s body was practically bulging as the limbs fought against the mighty restraints, but only able to occasionally have his claw nick the door before him.

The door was littered with deep gashes that left small trenches within the sold wood. There were splinters and wood shavings laying at the foot of the door, while long, spindling spirals sprouted from the flat surface. Additional to the craving into the wood, the profile hanging on the front of the character’s room was also assaulted.

Three ugly gashes ran down Ragatha’s face.

It was only a matter of moments before the fighting evolved into the quiet sound of panting and incomprehensible, murmured whispers.

Finally… FINALLY, the confusion sparked Pomni’s mind back into action and she was met with Gangle’s displeased reaction upon spotting her. She dragged Jax down the hall to disappear into her room, followed by Ragatha leaving her room to inspect the damage to her door as if nothing was wrong. The conversation the girls had, was only effective in highlighting two things that Pomni already knew.

Ragatha was delusional beyond help.

Pomni had enough for one day.

While sleep didn’t claim her that night, the little jester’s quiet, dark room was welcoming.

…

Morning came too soon for her liking, and while her mind was clearer than the night before, Pomni’s motivation to get up and leave the confines of her room was unfounded. She did eventually leave to find herself idly waiting in the main area, but she couldn’t understand why.

There was no aim – there was no goal.

There was no end and there was no point in anything. She never thought that she would long for the privilege to say that she would simply live until the day she died. There was no end. She would live this life day after day, for eternity, with no purpose.

It was an endless desert with no end to its borders. Only the merciless sun in the empty sky, with sand dunes that stretched into the ether of the unseen horizon. Growing taller and taller, the dunes loomed over Pomni, who was sinking into the golden sand.

It was then, when a soft voice shook her to her core, effectively ripping her out of her own mind. Pomni was left frozen in the situation she found herself in.

“You really opt to live on the edge, huh?” Zooble spoke with a bemused tone as she stood behind Pomni, with her weight shifted onto one leg.

The jester didn’t mean to, but she swung around so fast, that she lost balance and stumbled forward. She knocked into Zooble before they could react, and they both ended up sprawled out on the floor. Profusely apologizing, Pomni got to work. literally picking up the pieces of Zooble, who’s only complaint was an eyeroll. The little fool’s mind was rushed into a blind panic. She didn’t know how to comprehend the situation; if the abomination fell apart on a regular basis or if it was painful? Traumatic?

“I’m so, so sorry!” Pomni said, cringing as she held the arm and leg out to Zooble, hating how they still wriggled and resembled someone’s touch despite being severed from the body.

“Ugh, would you quit it?” the Zolo-being scoffed, “You totally ruined the vibes-”

“I know! I- I don’t know what came over me, I just lost balance and-”

“Ok, first of all…” Zooble cut off Pomni’s rambling as they stood up having been reassembled once again, “…you don’t interrupt me. You got that, pipsqueak?”

Pomni nodded, “I’m sorry, I-”

“I’m still not finished.” the colourful character interrupted again, with an annoyed, yet even tone. At that time, Pomni reluctantly kept silent as Zooble continued, “Second of all, I can’t be mad at you being a klutz when I literally fall apart every day. Forget about it. Lastly, the vibes I was referring to, was the depro schtick you got going on before. I was digging it, and you went and ruined it.”

There was a silence that stretched for a moment, as Pomni left enough room for Zooble to add whatever they wished without risking being interrupted again.

“Earth to Pomni?” The Zolo-being waved a hand in front of Pomni’s face, “You good?”

“May I speak now?” Pomni spoke without thinking – her tone a little too hostile for her own liking.

The creature huffed a laugh, “Yo, I like this! Do more of this.”

“More of what?”

“You! More of you!” Zooble shook their head while seemingly getting lost in thought, “You actually have a personality beyond ‘I’m sorry!’ and ‘Woe is me!’”

Something about what Zooble said flipped a switch in Pomni. It was an ugly switch.

Pomni felt the fright and frazzle melt into bitter distaste for Zooble’s implications. Before she could count her words, it just slipped out without warning. She noticed her surprising and unannounced sarcasm a bit too late after the words left her, “Oh geez, thank you! That’s such a thoughtful thing for a rejected arts-and-crafts project to say!”

“Wait, WHAT?” Zooble cried out like a kid in a candy store, before laughing with genuine glee, “Depressed AND sassy? Girl, where have you been?”

Pomni pushed away the urge to apologize for what she said before. Instead, she was dumbstruck with just how… happy Zooble seemed with the situation, “…What is wrong with you?”

This place was demented! These people – if she could even call them that at this point – were all insane. The jester had enough. She didn’t want to be there anymore. Things just HAD to continue in the Digital Ciircus, didn’t it? The show must go on, mustn’t it? Well, Pomni didn’t want a part in it! She just wanted to be somewhere else. She wanted to be something else.

She’s had enough.

She decisively turn on her heels and walked away to spare whatever sanity she had left. It felt good to be MAD. She had reason to be ANGRY and it felt GOOD.

“Wait, Pomni wait!” Zooble stopped her laughter to catch up on Pomni’s strides, “Where are you even going?”

“Anywhere that’s far away from all of you!”

“And you think I’m gonna pass up a chance to ditch?” Zooble walked beside Pomni, who refused to look up at her, “Why are you so triggered anyway?”

Pomni rolled her eyes when she left the tent and sighed in exasperation at the sound of Zooble hot on her tail, “Oh, am I supposed to thank you for calling my personality one dimensional?”

Pomni had no idea where she was going, but she was going somewhere.

“The ‘woe is me’ thing? You know I mentioned two things, right? So that would probably make you…” Zooble sounded much too pleased with herself for Pomni’s tolerance to stand, “…2-dimensional?”

Pomni stopped the throw Zooble a filthy look before eyeing them up and down, “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re more chill than I thought.”

“What about me WALKING AWAY and wanting to BE ALONE, makes you think that ANY of this is ‘chill?’”

“Well, for one; you are finally done hiding behind that meek little mask of yours.” Zooble said almost accusingly, causing Pomni to stop, but not turn around to look back as Zooble continued, “You grew a pair to finally show just how DONE you are with this place.”

Pomni turned around, “What does it matter? Whether I try to be nice… whether I’m angry or sad – it doesn’t change anything! We are trapped here, and you people just go about your day singing kumbaya?”

“Who knew you’d be this spicy.” Zooble said with a taunting smirk, watching Pomni pour her heart out like it was a comedy show.

“You are insufferable!” Pomni accused, walking up to the Zolo-being and poking them harshly in the chest to emphasize her point. When Zooble didn’t react, she growled and walked off as she did before. She still didn’t know where she was going, but she was too overwhelmed to stop.

Stubborn, as always.

Much to her demise, the character walked after her, unbothered and silent, as if they were simply enjoying a stroll in the green, rolling hills. The jester didn’t bother looking back again. There was no way to leave this realm, anyway; and she highly doubted that Caine would leave her roaming as she pleased for an indefinite amount of time. She was sure he would just summon her at will.

Until then, she would allow herself to breathe.

In any other scenario, Pomni would have allowed her thoughts to drift along the rolling hills she was walking among, but she was too distracted by her outburst. She was climbing a hill, not knowing what she would find on the other side, but she also didn’t want to stop either. Her own resilience was like a puzzle with jagged pieces for her to put together. She was driven to push through obstacle after obstacle, even though she knew – she knew – it was pointless. She was standing with the weight of the world pulling her down.

Why?

The little fool didn’t receive and answer, but she did make it to the top of the hill she was climbing. Standing under the smiling sun, Pomni looked over the vast landscape beyond her vantage point. Her eyes were spoiled with the sight of a great, but quiet lake. She couldn’t remember what real lakes looked like, or most things related to nature, but sight before her felt like a blessing to her overstimulated eyes.

The jester felt her knees buckle, so she sat down in the grass that looked too green to be realistic, while her sights trailed along the silver lining that danced along the water surface. The small waves rustled onto the generous, sandy banks - Pomni’s ears were filled with the sounds of them trickling along the edge and she found the sights and sounds drowning the desperate screeching of her racing mind.

It wasn’t a moment of quiet, but it was a moment of peace that she desperately needed.

“So… you found the lake!”

…and the peace was ruined.

“Yup.” Pomni said with a hopeless sigh, “I said I wanted to be alone. This is a big area – did you HAVE to decide to be in MY space?”

“Is it really YOUR space?” Zooble countered apathetically, “If anything, it’s Caine’s space.”

Pomni regretted ever dreading any form of silence.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand any of you.” Pomni shook her head in disbelief, “There is nothing for us here. Everything here is as endless as it is pointless.”

“Uh-huh.” Zooble stumbled beside Pomni, also fixating her eyes on the water surface.

“And yet you guys just keep… going… but you all aren’t even trying to make things tolerable for each other! You guys are a bunch of judgmental, two-faced jerks. On purpose!”

“Yeah.”

“Is that really all you have to say?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You seriously have no regard for your own self-respect?”

“No, everything you’ve said is true.”

Ponmi was struck by the statement Zooble threw to her head. Finally, there was silence, but the jester didn’t enjoy it this time. She turned to look at the abomination with shock. Zooble didn’t seem phased at all. They just kept sitting beside Pomni with a frustratingly difficult face (or lack thereof) to read.

“W- What?”

“You’re right.” Zooble simply says, “It’s torture. Not even abstraction is an out – you just get thrown into a black hole. There is no end to life here.”

The fool stayed silent as a morbid curiosity egged her on to listen. Zooble shifted meet Ponmi’s eyes as they spoke evenly.

“There is only an end to us.”

Time ticked away with the ripples of the water crashing onto the shore. The creature’s words blown into the fool, like a calm breeze. The words tumble and toss in Pomni’s mind, considering the seriousness and honesty Zooble used to deliver them. She finally understood what was meant with the statement.

While one person will live on, even after abstraction, the group will not. With someone already gone, the group that was situated had already been changed – it was no longer set. It no longer existed because someone irreplaceable was already gone.

It hurts to think like that.

“Okay.” Pomni said, glancing at the water once again, “But do you all have to act so demented? Hostile? Jax makes it his personal mission to make you guys into pin cushions. Gangle is either eerily quiet, obnoxiously giggling or crying her eyes out – no in-between. You don’t care about anyone except for Gangle, it seems? Kinger’s just… gone, until he’s not and Ragatha is so delusional about this place that she’s probably crazier than Kinger.”

“Fair enough to say that.” Zooble mused – her tone as dismissive as ever.

“Why?” Pomni pressed, eager to understand. Just a little bit of understanding would do her wonders.

“We all do what we have to do.”

Pomni sighed heavily, not at all understanding, “…Ragatha said that too. What’s with that?”

“Maybe she’s not as delusional as you thought.” Zooble jabbed back with more bite than Pomni expected. The jester reigned back a bit, while Zooble rolled their eyes at Pomni’s display.

“I doubt it,” she boldly disagreed, earning an interested look from Zooble, “…but she’s probably the only one who doesn’t hate me. It doesn’t even make sense that you would sit down to have a conversation with me while Gangle runs at the sight of me.”

“Why would Gangle’s opinion on you gatekeep whether I can hang out with you?”

“She’s your girlfriend!”

“Exactly.” Zooble states, as if hitting a nail into wood, “I’m not her parent, nor is she mine. She’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions, as am I. We are our own people with our own lives, we just want each other in them.”

Huh.

“So… what?” Pomni asked carefully, “Are we hanging out now, or what’s happening?”

“We chillin’, that’s it.”

They sat in a beat of silence before a wave of awkward tension built up within Pomni. It was supposed to be comfortable, she supposed, but it felt wrong to just leave the conversation as it was.

“So you don’t hate me?”

“I preferred it when you were pissed.” Zooble sighed, rolling their eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that day – and it was still morning, “No one hates you. We are just $%&($ terrified.”

Pomni furrowed her eyebrows, while the creature beside her reluctantly explained themself, “We lost one of our own and you just magically appeared on the same day. Can you blame someone for thinking that you seem like some type of replacement for someone who started asking too many questions? Do you know what Caine is capable of?”

Pomni shook her head as the words sunk in.

“Well…” Zooble huffed, leaning back on their palms that was planted behind them, “Welcome to the club, Harley Quin! Neither do we.”

The silence stretched longer this time. The air felt heavy, but Pomni began to see the strange method to her Circus members’ madness. She didn’t fully comprehend it all, but it felt comforting to have had the conversation – a real conversation, without hiding under false pretenses. Zooble saw her true colours – when she was at her worst.

The abomination didn’t even flinch, they went above and beyond to chase her down, delighted.

It was a relief.

Pomni huffed, leaning back onto her palms to match the posture of her new companion, “Harley Quin, huh? Was that the best you could come up with, Jumbo Blocks?”

Zooble sat up, leaning towards the jester with a mischievous sparkle in their eyes.

“Oh, it’s on, you %&@($ air balloon-cosplaying @$&@(!”

Unrestrained laughter chimed in the air as two freaks stared into the unforeseen horizon. For Pomni, the her ways of viewing her place in the circus, was ripped from beneath her feet in a single conversation. She was left on unstable ground.

Sand.

But for that small, precious moment, she was just happy to bicker with someone. They probably weren't enough to be considered friends, but they were together, sharing a space with no hidden intentions. She wasn't bothered with standing tall.

She was too short for that anyway.

Fanart kinda relevant to this story: (CLICK HERE TO SEE)

Oasis: TADC AU list

Masterlist

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whump-tr0pes · 7 months

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Breakfast, Part 1

Many thanks to @newbornwhumperfly for being so generous in letting me put their boy Morja in Situations, and many apologies to them as well for holding onto this story for so many months while waiting for me to finish it.

My masterlist

Morja is a diathésimos, one of a class of indentured servants owned by society’s elite - though some would call them slaves. He has been tasked with a mission of critical importance by his anóteros: to infiltrate a dangerous family that has taken refuge in the north, and kill the criminal that they are harboring: Gavin Stormbeck.

“It is your part to kill me, mine to die without flinching.”

— Epictetus, from Discourses (Translated by Robert Dobbin)

Contents: captivity, conditioned whumpee, past drugging, thoughts of death, past torture

There were footsteps in the hallway. Morja was instantly awake, eyes wide open, back ramrod straight as he sat up. He stared at the door from his sleeping spot on the floor, doing his best to stop trembling before the anóteros of the family - Gray, they told him to call them Gray - came in. They’d done that every morning for the past five mornings now, taking away his bucket of waste, bringing him something delicious for breakfast. It made Morja’s stomach flip with shame to be served in such a way, and by the anóteros no less. If his owner benefactor heard of this, he would be whipped for his insolence. He was still waiting to be whipped now.

He was waiting for worse things than a whipping. He was waiting for drugs in the food, but not a single meal had left him sick, or weak, or unconscious, or in pain. Perhaps it was a slow poison that would work through his body over weeks rather than hours, but Morja couldn’t see the sense in that. Morja had puzzled over it in the days that he had had to himself; when this family had Isaac Moore - whom Morja now knew was a diathésimos like himself - at their disposal, why would they not use him to put Morja down like the threat that he was? Why would they waste their food, their space, their time on him when they were planning on killing him anyway? The time he could understand, even though it made him sick with terror: the time was to break him. The time was only the first step in the torture. But why was the food not drugged? His own anóteros drugged his food. How could this family of criminals, traitors, murderers do less?

The door handle turned, and he shuffled to his knees, just like he had every morning since he’d been locked in this room. And, just like every other morning, he slid his hands behind his head and laced his fingers together to keep them from shaking. He kept his eyes riveted to the carpet just in front of his knees as the door opened.

“Good morning, Morja,” Gray said gently. They stopped at the door.

Morja froze. So the torture would begin in earnest today, then. Starting with going without food. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to blow out a slow, even breath. “G-good morning, anó– Gray.” He must still be polite, even though he was terrified. His anóteros had made sure he could do that.

Still, he was thirsty. It had taken so little time for him to become soft, after having been given food and water so frequently. Morja’s eyes opened again, as he began to see the plan laid out in front of him. He wondered of Gavin Stormbeck had concocted it, or if the entire family was gifted in the art of torture.

“I’m going to stop whatever thought process you’re so clearly lost in right now,” Gray said, their voice soft. Morja braced for whatever blow was coming. “You’re still being fed. You’re still getting water.”

Morja blinked, swallowed. His eyes flicked up towards Gray. His stomach lurched as he realized Gray was the only one standing in the door.

Where is Isaac Moore?

Gray was already speaking again. “What I wanted to ask, without Isaac here, so you wouldn’t feel pressured either way,” they said, “Was whether you would care to join us all for breakfast?” Gray shrugged. “In the dining room?”

Morja shivered as he tried to decipher the meaning behind Gray’s words. He had been tied to a chair and interrogated in the dining room the first night he had been in this house - perhaps Gray was playing a game with him, trying to get him to agree to another interrogation for their own amusement. Or perhaps they simply wanted to move him to another part of the house under false pretenses. Morja was in a reasonably defensible position in this room, and that might be the case. Or perhaps…

Morja swallowed hard, desperately hoping he was not playing into some sick game by guessing. “To… to serve you? Anóteros?”

The corner of Gray’s mouth turned down, and Morja knew he had guessed wrong. He shuddered and bowed his head low to the floor.

“No, Morja,” Gray rasped, holding their hands out to the side. “No, it’s like I told you… We don’t want anything like that from you. I was wondering if you would like to… eat with us. At the table, instead of in this room. That’s all. Not serving us. Just as an equal.”

“Equal…” Morja croaked, staring at his knees. He realized he had spoken out loud and closed his mouth with a snap.

“Yes,” Gray said, sounding tired. “Is that… something you would like? If that would frighten you too much, I understand, but… I think it might be nice.”

Morja’s hands were shaking behind his head. Isaac Moore would be out there, and Gavin Stormbeck. But if he didn’t go… If he displeased this anóteros, and didn’t go…

He swallowed bile, swallowed his fear. He drew in a quavering breath and slowly, slowly let his hands fall until they pressed into the carpet in front of him. “Yes,” he murmured, nodding jerkily. “Yes, if it would… please you, anóteros, I’ll do it.”

“It would please me for you to be free,” Gray said with a tone that Morja didn’t recognize. “And this, I think, is a good first step. Let’s see how this goes.” They took a step into the hall and waited for Morja to get to his feet before they started walking towards the dining room. Morja fell into step behind them. They had their back to him as they walked, he realized with a start.

He could kill them, if he wanted to. It would be so, so easy. They towered over him, but he was strong, packed with muscle, as hard-won as his scars. A kick to the back of the knee, and his hands could close around their neck, or he could bash their head against the wall. He didn’t need a weapon. He was the weapon, and he could kill this traitor, just like he had been trained to. Just like his anóteros had commanded him, just like it had been beaten trained into him for years. Isaac wasn’t here with his gun. Morja could do it, and then go find Gavin Stormbeck to complete his mission. It could be over in a second.

Morja’s hands shook as he clenched them into fists.

But Gray trusted him. They had to, or they would never do something so foolish. Morja couldn’t understand why Gray would turn their back to an enemy, someone they knew had been sent to kill one of their own. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. He forced his hands to open at his sides. He stared at Gray’s back, brow furrowed as his chest ached with an emotion he couldn’t name.

@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck , @whumps-the-word , @justplainwhump , @finder-of-rings , @inky-whump , @thatsthewhump , @orchidscript , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pretty-face-breaker , @cinnamonflavoredhugs , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal , @annablogsposts , @suspicious-whumping-egg

#honor bound au #morja and company #athena/raye crossover #captivity #conditioned whumpee #past drugging #thoughts of death #past torture

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snazzydwarf · 9 months

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A Place To Rest

Do you guys ever think Danny wanderers the cemetery at night, looking at all the graves of past Amity residents and finding a sort of solace in their resting place.

Maybe he has certain places he likes to visits, certain graves he finds to have a more comforting aura to them, almost as if they’re beckoning the young hero to take a break and rest upon their grave. Promising to protect him from harm within the shadow of their gravestones.

Perhaps he’s even envious at the fact they can rest easy, that they have a place to sleep undisturbed while he shambles around in a body that holds his soul but not his heart.

As the years gone pass his visits to the gravesite becomes more and more frequent, to the point he has his own designated area that he claims as his on resting spot.

It’s not much, just a small empty spot under a young tree that’s barely passed the sapling stage. Fitting, he supposes, that the place he wishes to rest is under new life.

His usual Rouges barely visit the place, not only is the cemetery a “not fight zone” for all of the undead but also because they recognise the signs of one mourning their past life. While the kid may not have a body to bury he does have his dreams to entomb, his past wishes and hopes are beneath the earth where his body should be. Instead it sits on-top of the dirt, surrounded by lonely headstones.

Maybe once the day comes for him to go they’ll bury him under the tree that has now fully grown. At least it’s no longer lonely there, he’s surrounded by a few new graves some older than the last.

Two sit either side of the hero's new tomb, while an extra three guard the front protecting the newest but most anticipated headstone.

Finally there’s no reason to be yearning for sleep when he has an eternity to catch up on it. This time though he’ll have people there to watch over him like how he did to them. A town gathered together to protect their oldest and youngest soldier.

The one who fell first but rested last.

#dp #danny phantom #dp fic idea #Dp corpse au?#kinda #more like danny wants to have a place to mourn #angst #shouldn't have written to this while listening to a #really bloody sad playlist lmao #oh!#oooo i might gotta tag this just incase #death #thoughts of death #graves #inspired by the song: danny- nicole dollanganger #it's so sad man #:(#the song has mentions of abuse/beatings/child death so be warned!#SnazzysPrompts

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zindagi-se-darte-ho · 9 months

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"What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age."

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

#Sylvia Plath quotes #sylvia plath #poems #dead poets society #dealing with grief #fear #poetry tumblr #desiblr #desi tumblr #depressing poem #thoughts of death

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peanutbutterwithbanana · 3 months

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Rot

And I lie on my bed

Ripe and full of murk

I think I’ll die here

I think this is my deathbed

my grave and my salvation

I do not deserve the earth they’ll put me in

Once I die

Leave me here

And I’ll lie on my bed

Rotting

Cover me with a blanket

For I’ll be cold

Rotting

Keep me in the fruit bowl

Let me see the other fruits rot too

Leave me alone

And I’ll lie on my bed

Until my bed rots with me

Until the bed is dark with the murk and the blood and the rust

Leave me untouched

For I’ll die on my bed

#poetry #poets on tumblr #poemblr #sad thoughts #angst #thoughts of death #original poem #my poerty #writers and poets #poem

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seldomscilence16 · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 23:

"It's gonna get me by the end of the night."

Shadows | Stalking | "Who's there?"

Fandom: Legend of The Three Cabs

Prompts used: roughly all

So, pretty short this time round, but I wanted to explore a way Josés powers could come into play in the LotTC universe. He got some splainin to do when they are all healed. And yes they are gay cause I said so even tho I didn't.

TW for near death/thoughts of death

…

Donald was not as adventurous as the rest of his family. Between his terrible luck and general want for peace and relaxation, most adventures left him exhausted at best and on the brink of death at worst. He'd done the Navy thing- the sketchiest Navy thing ever but he did it- and before that he'd gone along with his sister and Uncle, he'd faced all kinds of craziness. Of course, the minute he thought some good fortune had come his way, he ended up dragged into another adventure.

He loved Panchito and José, loved the triplets, loved Xandra and Aracuan, he didn't even really mind the adventures, not with them on his side anyway. But of course, nothing good ever seems to last for Donald Duck.

They get seperated on a mission, Xandra hadn't been sure what creature they were supposed to be on the lookout for, no one had lived to tell of its appearance. She had warned them, that as far as she knew, no one had lasted more than a night with the thing. That they would need to watch their very shadows, for as soon as they faded into the rest of the night, it was likely they too would be goners.

Donald had tried so hard to keep them together, they had all been spooked by her words, he was sure they'd be fine- together. But something… someTHING, comes between them, and next time Donald opens his eyes, he's alone.

Well… perhaps not alone.

Donald was used to shadows being more than that, as he stated before, he's lived a crazy life, but he really wasn't liking this.

The forest was dense, the sun had barely penetrated the thick leaves before, but Donald missed the high noon sun. The sunsets rays were casting moving shadows across the ground, and with the fading day, they were spreading quickly. Xandra's warning echoes in his mind, as something cracks behind him.

"Who's there!?"

He turns in a slow circle, dwindling light doing nothing to ease the panic in his chest. Things dance beyond the swaying branches and Donald gets a sinking feeling he's being watched.

"It's gonna get me by the end of the night." He mutters, arms wrapped around himself tightly as shivers dance across his feathers.

Perhaps it will get its fill with Donald and his friends will be safe.

A growl echoes around him, the sun's last rays dance in the sky, and the shadows seem to stretch towards him now. His heart beats in his ears, his hands tremble where they have a white knuckled grip on his shirt, his feet are frozen in place, and not even the moon's glow reaches him here- hidden from him in his last moments.

This is how Donald goes? With no tale to tell his family, no face to blame, no big hurrah or feat of bad luck. Just him, alone with some mystery beast, in a forest he entered of his own free will, his last hope that his friends are free of this demise- the shadows crawl over his feet, up his legs, he stumbles backwards but the limbs refuse to cooperate. His back hits the rough terrain and the inky darkness creeps over his form at an alarming rate, he feels stiff, his heart beating so fast he worries it will explode- this is it then. Breathing becomes near impossible, lungs freezing in his chest, the shadows only have to cover his face, then his end will be nigh.

Tears spill past his defenses, though he can't feel them on his skin, he bids a final goodbye.

He doesn't expect to open his eyes. To see the ceiling of the shack above him. He felt numb- not a new sensation but startling nonetheless. It takes effort to raise a trembling arm, to stare at it incredulously, grooves in his feathers to mar the skin beneath with thin white lines. A hand clasps his own gently, his head snaps to the side to find Panchito giving him a teary look.

"Welcome back Danaldo… you had us worried, amigo."

"W'ht 'append?"

"Jo saved us, he'll explain when you're both back to full health, rest now mi sol, you are safe."

The hut is filled with soft light, shadows staying where they should, and with his hand in a warm hold, he finds sleep pulling on his eyes. His friends were alive, he sighs as his world goes dark once more.

#whumptober 2023 #no.23 #“its gonna get me by the end of the night.”#lyric #shadows #stalking #“whos there?”#legend of the three caballeros #fic #near death #thoughts of death #donald duck angst #donald angst #three gay caballeros #angst #found family #ducktales

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sukiluvvs · 7 months

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thinkin bout how if I ever said all of my thoughts out loud, well I'd be in a mental hospital

#sukiluvvs #mental health #mental illness #actually mentally ill #mentally fucked #intrusive thoughts #tw thoughts of death #thoughts of death #on another note. thoughts doesnt look like a real word

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ocean-blue-whump · 11 months

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Lost in the Dark

Sunny + Star Masterlist

Follows THIS

Tagging - @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @justplainwhump @whumpfessional @winedark-whump - let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: HEED THE WARNING. lady whump. internal dialogue of someone dealing with severe grief. thoughts of death, depression, questioning everything, just a very dark dark mental headspace. follows death of a major character (so spoilers too). look after yourself before engaging with this.

***

Star hasn’t moved from the window.

Why should she? What’s the point? She doesn’t know anymore.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Sunny last night in Mr. Bianchi’s bedroom. She couldn’t stop thinking about what he looked like the last time she saw him. Beautiful. Angelic. Bloody. Dead.

She wants to cry but she doesn’t make a sound. She’s been through every single kind of pain possible in her life, whippings, beating, electrocution, drownings, everything she could possibly think of. There’s nothing like this though. The bond, her love for Sunny, it’s still there, but the other end of the string is deep into a pit of quicksand and it’s pulling under. His death left a void in her, and he took part of her with him when he went. Bondeds are meant to be two halves of a whole.

That’s what she is now. She’s incomplete. She was a bad pet before but now she’s just half of a bad pet. She can’t survive with half her heart. Every single time she breathes, she feels like she’s dying.

How do you survive when your only lifeline is gone?

How can she keep going without Sunny?

And how is she supposed to love and trust the owner when he was the one who took her love away?

There’s nothing left with him gone. She’s worthless without him. She’s not even meant to live without him.

That’s the bond. It’s designed to be unbreakable, even in death. Star and Sunny were designed to need each other, to be completely reliant on each other.

She wishes it was her. It should have been her. Sunny was always good. He always behaved, he listened, he was a perfect pet, catalog pretty. Why did it have to be him? He didn’t do anything wrong. He was just in the wrong place.

He didn’t deserve this. He was good. But now he’s dead.

There’s blood running down the walls. Star can’t sleep. There was a noise when Sunny died, she hears it around every single corner. She’s drowning in blood listening to that noise, listening to Sunny cry for her.

Her stitches itch, she doesn’t touch them. She could, but to do so feels disrespectful. How could she move when she’s only half a pet? Her face was sliced by the glass bottle Mr. Bianchi threw at her. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t get to hurt, knowing that just moments later, he killed Sunny.

When Sunny died, Star died too. But he’s the only one being buried.

Out the window, Comet is digging a grave while Mr. Bianchi stands not too far away. It hurts to watch, but Star tries. She has to try.

His body is wrapped in a piece of canvas and it doesn’t even look like him. Sunny is living and breathing, he’s light and smiles and hope. No one else would love a scarred up Romantic, but he did. Her Sunny loved her, scars and all. And she loved him. They were made for each other, but more importantly, they were in love.

All the light is gone, only darkness remains.

With the hole dug, Comet lifts up the lump of canvas—Sunny. He picks up Sunny. She has to remind herself Sunny isn’t here with her. Sunny is about to be buried and when that dirt covers him up, it’ll all be real.

It can’t be real.

Grief is an ocean and Star’s already drowning in it. She can't take anymore.

Mr. Bianchi beat her but she didn’t feel it. She can’t feel anything anymore. Sunny took it with him.

She should die too. She looks up at the window, but it’s locked. She looks back at the corpse of her bonded.

Was it long ago that they curled up by the fire together? Was it long ago that she gave him the stuffed bear with one eye? Was it long ago they danced in the kitchen?

Was it long ago that he stabbed her?

Was it long ago that she forgave him?

Is it bad that she can’t remember?

All she can remember is his blood on the wall. Mr. Bianchi had it painted over the next day.

Does she even get to feel sad for him? Pets aren’t people, grief is a people feeling. She doesn’t get to have people feelings. Those were beaten out of her when she was in the bad place with the white walls. Before she met her Sunny.

She could have stopped this. She was a Guard Dog. At one point, she was strong, and that made up for how fucking stupid she was. But now she’s nothing. She’s a stupid whore without her bonded. She’s a worthless dog who can’t even serve in the way she was designed to.

Comet is putting the dirt on Sunny. She wants to scream at him to stop, that he’s hurting him, that this is wrong wrong wrong and needs to stop stop stop.

She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t make a noise, but a single tear rolls down her cheek.

He’d kiss it away if he was here, and as if on cue, a draft rushes through the room and knocks the drop off her face.

She’s cold. She’s been cold for a long time, but now she feels it to her bones. If she was cold before from being too skinny and too hurt, she’s cold now because the sun just died.

Died. It’s a funny word. She turns it over in her head and decides it doesn’t fit Sunny.

It should have been her. She was the shadow to the brightness and the world can live without more darkness. Her blood should be hidden underneath the fresh paint and he should be the one with stitches in his face.

She should die too. She looks over towards the bathroom sink, but she doesn’t know how to drown herself. She looks back at the slowly filling grave.

She’s too tired to hate Mr. Bianchi for what he did. Sunny should be here. They should be getting ready for a party together, helping with dresses and makeup and hair.

Comet puts the final scoop of dirt in and packs it down. Sunny’s grave. Unmarked, just a small disturbance in Mr. Bianchi’s yard. Disrespected. Left to rot with no acknowledgement of how good he was. Of how he took the light with him when he went.

She clenches her hands into fists without realizing. She wants to put a hole in the wall. She wants to break every bone in her body. She wants to shatter all of Mr. Bianchi’s expensive wine like she feels shattered. But she doesn’t. Mr. Bianchi is coming inside and he’ll expect things. He’ll expect the Romantic he paid for.

How can she live when half her heart is gone?

Pets don’t have a choice. Sunny didn’t have a choice when Mr. Bianchi slammed his head into the wall.

But the light is gone. She’s lost her way.

She’s lost everything.

#bbu #box boy universe #grief tw #thoughts of death #mental health tw #star #sunny #blue's words #feels...strange to write this #whump #lady whump

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catherineandsarahsatrun · 9 days

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As a follow up to yesterday's Ken post, here's Barbie! She's dealing with things. 😅

#barbie #barbie movie #death #heart #thoughts of death #fan art

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deprixpainsblog · 1 month

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Manchmal bin ich total traurig das ich solche schlimmen gedanken habe und auch weil die so stören, aber manchmal da bin ich wirklich froh sie zu haben da es die einzigen Gedanken sind die wirklich bleiben. Und der einzige Ausweg dann Su!z!d ist.

#depressing life #thoughts #mentally fucked #depressiv #ptbs #actually mentally ill #depressing quotes #suizigedanken #suizidversuch #suizidgefährdet #tw depressing thoughts #bpd thoughts #thoughts of death #gedankenüberdentod

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amalgamationillustration · 3 months

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Unremarkable. Part 1 of ?

#art #digital art #black and white art #death #morgue #mortuary #autopsy #jaw #bones #teeth #autobiographical art #autobiographical #procreate #thoughts of death #persistent #intrusive thoughts #mortality #life

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wanderer-of-nature-and-dreams · 1 year

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I/you could die and you/I would never know

#moood #thoughts of death #depressing part of long distance friendship

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party-gilmore · 5 months

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Check ALL The Warnings In The Tags If You’re Ducking Below The Read More.

DISCLAIMER: This is a post about me specifically and my broken fucking brain. I am not trying to make any sweeping statements about colonizer guilt or “activism burn-out,” of which others have made EXCELLENT points and i am not trying to draw away from those conversations at all. This is specifically about how my panic disorder and suicidal ideation are making it difficult for me to safely manage my level of involvement and interaction online, at the expense of the ability to actually put in the work for change out in the real world.

OKAY.

Last post on mobile. Tumblr is officially deleted from my phone. we are on Set Amount Of Time A Day - PC/Desktop only for a while.

To be very clear the point of this is not looking for sympathy or trying to be guilt trippy, just trying to get a hold of where my head’s at and let y’all know I’m not gonna be around so much but that I’m okay. Or least, this is me TRYING to be okay.

i CANNOT let the doom-scrolling keep affecting my ability to actually do anything that might actually help. The way i’ve been interacting on this site, trying to Stay Informed but blurring that line and crossing into constantly seeking more and more details that i NEED to admit i can’t handle, whether it’s the level of detail or the constantness of it or both…

the paralysis and anxiety and panic and - there’s an actual word for when you keep vividly imagining the absolute worst possible outcome but i can’t remember what it is, probably something else starting with “doom” - anyways the point is i clearly don’t have the ability right now to:

a) have any kind of ready access to The Horrors without making it… LITERALLY constant in my life. i don’t have the control to take it in measured doses, i need to recognize that if i have any kind of access all the time it WILL be a 100% deep dive nothing but the fucking trauma and abominations being inflicted on others in detail from the moment i get up until i finally clear my head enough to sleep for a few hours. which yeah i KNOW Palestinians in Gaza don’t GET that luxury it IS 24/7 all the time for them and I wouldn’t be complaint about that at ALL honestly if it weren’t for the fact that right now CLEARLY i do not have the fucking ability to

b) stop that from paralyzing me from any Real Action. It just locks me up. It SHOULDNT i should be able to compartmentalize that shit because physically for now i am fine my family is fine but instead i just fucking sit there , blankly staring as I scroll through atrocity after atrocity after atrocity that powerful governments are supporting, feeling like i cant do shit cuz it’s just getting worse and worse, then guilty that i feel like giving up, then GUILTY that i feel guilty because who am i trying to guiltrip here who CARES if I feel guilty when i’m not in the same situation they are they have it so much worse and they keep on going what would YOU do in that situation huh if you can’t even handle THIS - then that kicks of the vivid imaginings of me and my family experiencing that kind of slow death and dismemberment and being crushed by rubble then of course because we’re in america close to dc my brain jumps to nukes and how we’re in the zone JUST far away enough from DC for it not to kill us outright it would be slow and horrifying and painful and could i bring myself to at least get in the car and make it up to them so we could at least die together or would it be alone and afraid like all these people around the world are going through, that Palestine is going through, that my government is putting them through -

anyways it’s that spiral that keeps me sitting and scrolling and sitting and scrolling and wallowing in - what i genuinely thought was me just being a shitty fucking person but i realize now was actually genuinely - an anxiety attack (that’s the one that’s slow and creeping, right? panic is the fast sharp one) like an actual physically can’t shake myself out of “i forgot my brain was fucking broken, the adhd meds aren’t gonna magically fix everything” anxiety attack. Every goddamn day.

And let me be very clear again about my point here my point is not to try and guilt trip or garner sympathy my POINT is -

I cant do the kind of shit that actually helps anyone, in real fucking life, if I keep sending my brain into lockdown panic “All Is Lost, You Suck, Just Fucking Die” mode.

I want to be better, do better, be stronger, not have to look away at all. But I can’t trust myself not to fucking…. wallow in the goddamn despair of it all right now. So I need to take that option away.

Because who’s it really for, honestly? All the sharing and the posting? There’s a limit to what actually helps. The people following me have already made up their minds, one way or another. Sharing more of the same old shit isn’t going to actually CHANGE anything. Once youre through the new information of the day, the shit people actually need to know that they might not already… it feels like it’s just fucking… performative bullshit. like it’s all about making sure people SEE you still sharing all of this stuff. Oh look i’m still involved see how involved i am see how i’m still reading and sharing and posting all this stuff arent I a Good Activist?

What does any of that matter if it’s breaking my brain so much I can’t actually do any activism???

I would rather be considered weak and selfish by strangers on the fucking internet who don’t see me sharing as many posts as they think I should, but who ACTUALLY KEEPS WRITING the emails and MAKING the calls and SEEKING OUT events and disruptions and protests that maybe i can actually PARTICIPATE in

Than to keep showing off how i’m not “Looking Away” online but then spend every night sitting on my couch doing Fuck All about it, locked in a perpetual doom scroll through my For You page, imagining my flesh slowly burning and melting off as I hoist my whimpering dying dog’s body into the back of my car and desperately try to reach my parent’s house in time to say good bye and all go together, then shoving all that down into a flimsy box at the last minute to be able to smile at my mom and act like I just swung by to help with the floors instead of absolutely needing to see her and my father alive right now and touch them and fucking hate myself for indulging in that when Palestinians can’t so much that i force myself into an even deeper doom scroll next time as penance because how dare i look away for a MOMENT i can see them i can live i NEED to MAKE myself look at what’s happening-… rinse and repeat.

#thoughts of death #some suicidal ideation #mostly the worst bit is the last paragraph i might’ve gotten a little carried away with explaning my most common imagined death scenario #via Nuke #uuhhhh what else description of a hopelessness spiral #that i’m TRYING to fight it’s not going great but i’m TRYING #i think that’s about it. i swear despite these tags it’s a HOPEFUL post. it’s just i gotta be more realistic about how utterly FUCKED my #ability to stay sane about all this is in order to actually TAKE the steps i need to take to do something USEFUL about it #OH and brief but descriptive mention of dog death for those particularly sensitive to it

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