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ghostmartyr · 4 years

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SnK 133 Thoughts

They’re trying to stop the apocalypse but they’re dummy traumatized and the clap of their sins keeps alerting the glow tree.

Kids, just remember: Body count doesn’t matter, it’s how you feel while producing that body count. If you’ve killed people to stop genocide, you are not immune to being party to genocide. ⭑⭒⋆

I’m being reductive because I’m not too eager to go over how not all murder is created equal again.

Going by a good faith read, I do think what the narrative is attempting to establish is that these characters all know what it’s like to be backed into a corner and do desperate things they’re horrified by.

Putting aside the extra psychological difficulties of his childhood preceding the choice to knock down the wall, Reiner believes he’s saving humanity. There’s an island full of devils, and he’s attacking them. He, Bertolt, and Annie are dumb kids who do what they’re told. Because they think it’s right, or because they want to go home, or just because they are dumb kids.

Armin’s killed plenty of people with the power of the Colossus. He can’t plead innocence; he attacks Liberio’s port intentionally, knowing exactly what terror the people on the ground will be going through.

Connie kills the friends he’s trained with for years, when the worst thing about Reiner and Bertolt revealing themselves is feeling betrayed by comrades he loves.

None of this is directly equivalent. Dumb children at war are trying their best. Always, this conflict has been orchestrated above their pay grade. RAB get abandoned behind enemy lines and are told to make the best of it. Armin destroys Marley’s port because Marley will not stop going after Paradis, and Eren has forced a renewed conflict that they need to move against fast. Connie betrays his friends because they’re okay with letting the rest of the world die.

No one on this ship has enjoyed any of this. They have consistently been doing their best with the information given to them while people with more power drag them into fights that never should have happened.

Shiganshina falls because Marley chooses to murder Paradis.

Liberio falls because Eren turns himself into Paradis’ only hope and puts himself into a situation he can’t win alone.

In the crudest way of putting it, these people are grunts. They’re not the ones who picked the game being played. They’re the ones being manipulated into war after war.

That’s why they look at each other without counting the bodies. It isn’t the scale of their actions that hits at this moment, it’s the decisions they’ve made to be part of it. They choose to keep fighting. When it creates an outcome they hate, what can they say? ‘Look what you made me do’?

Whatever their reasons, and whoever set up the board, they are the ones who participate. In this case, pure moral imperative is the driving force. Daz and Samuel die because they’re willing to let genocide go uncontested. That’s on them.

Guilt doesn’t work like that, though. Daz and Samuel die because they are killed. Connie kills them. He betrays their trust.

All of this is to say that the people on the ship truly do understand each other perfectly, even despite the difference in scale. It’s a bit on the nose, but I don’t think anything they’re going through is at odds with the people they are.

Applying that feeling to Eren is a feat of misguided grace that... hell, I don’t know.

As a human person, I like grace as a concept and want more of it. I don’t want the world to burn, I want the burning to stop, and for everyone to be okay in the end even if they don’t deserve it. A world where we all get precisely what we deserve seems an incredibly dark place to me. That doesn’t leave room for mercy or kindness. You get what you earn, and nothing more.

The more time we spend on this portion of the story, the more I’m inclined to think that the themes agree with me. Our heroes at this point aren’t full of the rage they’re entitled to. Every inch of them is tired, and they’re not here for more death. They’re willing to keep going, but even the thought of killing Eren, when he’s massacred thousands, makes them all hesitate.

Everyone wants to go home and have the fighting stop.

That’s all.

Whatever happened, and whose fault it is -- forget all of it, just give them a place to rest and have it be over.

Thematically, yay. I approve. Beautiful. We start out with a series that makes a name for itself almost entirely on the back of the spectacle of violence, and after years of participating in that violence, the main cast wants nothing to do with it anymore. Love it.

Within the plot, I am not in the mood to have Eren’s traumatized friends apologize for not understanding him.

I get it.

I get why they all feel this way.

I do not like reading it.

They’re projecting their own guilt on someone who has shown a reckless disregard for their lives and sanity.

They’re trying to reach Eren as a human being and friend when he’s done his absolute best to make himself unreachable.

That’s sort of the point Reiner thinks is being made. Eren has intentionally set them up as his adversary so that if he has to be doing all of this, maybe there’s still a chance someone can stop him.

Okay, fine.

It falls short for the same reason all of Eren’s stuff is falling short.

We don’t actually know what the fuck is going on with him. We’re guessing.

You know those picture puzzles you do as a kid? Draw a line from bubble 1 to bubble 2 to bubble 3, and eventually you will make a bunny. Or a dog, or flowers, or something that looks like a picture in the sloppy mess of numbers.

Eren’s general portrayal matches that of a toddler who doesn’t yet know his numbers, and understands the instructions to be that he’s trying to get to the last bubble by scribbling lines through all the other bubbles.

Look, it’s a bunny.

And Eren’s friends are all like, oh wow, that’s such a good job! We’re going to put it on the fridge!

Then people come over and are like, why is there a constellation of a deer jumping through a house on the fridge, but they hear the child did it and immediately are like, oh yeah, that’s the best bunny I’ve ever seen, I can’t draw like that.

The child, being a child, is like, ‘Damn right. I’m going to be in bunny museums.’

Meanwhile, I’m just going to come out and say it.

It’s not a fucking bunny.

What it is, I don’t know, but it is not a bunny, stop calling it a bunny, it is actively erasing the knowledge of what a bunny looks like in my mind.

So ends this skit on what Eren’s portrayal has been like.

Eren has decided that this is all necessary. He doesn’t like it, and wants someone to stop him, but he is totally going to do it, and he knows he’s going to do it because future vision told him so and he’s really sad about that even though he’s emotionally in a place where genocide sounds like the only way out but that is wrong.

I think I’ve said before that Eren getting to this place mentally isn’t too off the rails. His sanity has been deteriorating with each mission, and he’s nineteen. Snapping like this could arguably be expected.

But the last we see of Eren’s thoughts, we still have this back and forth of how he refuses to yield the future to fate, but he already feels condemned by that future because he chooses to cause it.

Eren is clearly trapped by this web of contradictions, but his motivational core is so obstructed that it’s hard to actually connect to. It is easier to say that Eren’s gone off the deep end than it is to spend any amount of time asking how Point A became Point 3.

That’s frustrating, as a reader. I don’t want to be told a story, I want to experience it.

Eren’s experiences are not universal.

I need some hand-holding here. There needs to be a few more clear indications of Eren The Person, and how the individual we know wrapped around to making these choices.

Hooray, he’s not taking away their powers.

The guy he let run his cult still nearly killed all of them.

Hooray, he’s protecting his island.

He just actively courted an international incident so everyone wants the island dead.

Yes, Eren thinks that hope is lost before he makes these choices. That’s how moving forward drags him to this place; he doesn’t have the vision to imagine a world where this isn’t happening.

If you don’t fight, you can’t win, and Eren’s still fighting. But he’s forgotten what winning looks like. All he knows is the dreary march forward.

I would like for that to be explicit, not me extrapolating. Because even as I’m typing all of that, and feeling like it makes sense, it has the confidence of tissue paper, and I know my numbers, but half the numbers making this bunny were missing, and I’m not an artist.

The story I’m digging around here for is one I could like, but I don’t trust that it’s actually the one being told, because too much feels unexplained and weird. You can’t just make your main character nuts and use that as an excuse for anything.

Well, okay, you can.

You shouldn’t.

Please don’t do that.

Which I guess leads us to Eren and OG Ymir doing a Shining twins thing.

Here is my wild speculation.

The Attack Titan is the only Titan capable of resisting the Founder. It cannot be controlled, it simply continues forward, fighting for freedom.

When Eren talks to Ymir, her eyes losing their shadows are the cue for him taking full control of the Founder.

Now we’re back here, and her eyes are shadowed again, with Eren’s joining the ride.

I think that where we’re going to end up is that Eren’s mental fragility made him incredibly susceptible to the Attack Titan’s core nature, and enough of that nature aligned with Eren’s that everything except pursuing a way forward fell away. The Attack Titan is Ymir’s furious will, and she’s had it suppressed for 2000 years. I don’t think either one is emotionally capable of surfacing and deciding to resist the urge to march forward and destroy this world that has cursed them so.

Making my theory that yeah, okay, Eren’s lost it, but he lost it with the help of ancient plot magic, which we are now seeing the full extent of.

Does that have any basis in anything?

Who the fuck knows.

But one thing is very clear: Eren’s not free.

“In order to gain my own freedom... I will take freedom away from the world. [...] You are all free.”

The Attack Titan “has always moved ahead, seeking freedom. It has fought on for freedom.”

Eren, embodiment of the Attack Titan, is the first one to hear Ymir in 2000 years. Going with the vaguely logical theory that Titans are all pieces of Ymir herself, the Attack Titan is the part that rebels against every indignity she bows to in life.

Zeke frees the Founder from its promise of peace. Eren frees Ymir from the chains tying her to the royal family’s will.

All that’s left is 2000 years of trauma, and the ability and will, for the first time, to lash out.

It’s not what you’d call surprising.

It’s the getting here that I take issue with. Now that we’re here, yeah, got it. But I really don’t feel like Eren’s journey here has been done well enough to capture the emotional rawness that is trying to be accessed. His friends are shouting for someone who is effectively dead, for all the presence he’s showing.

Then you’ve got Annie and Kiyomi sad.

ON A BOAT.

While Falco wants to be a Titan with WIIIIIIIIIIINGS.

Kiddos, you’re very cute, and I support you not wanting to sit still and do nothing while the world is ending, but I can’t begin to express how little I care.

Except that your families are alive and you two and Annie deserve to be reunited.

SO FINE, OKAY, FALCO CAN HAVE HIS WINGS AND SAY HI TO HIS PARENTS AND GABI CAN SAY HI TO HER PARENTS AND ANNIE CAN SAY HI TO HER DAD AND IT’LL ALL BE FINE DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THE FUCK WE’RE GOING TO DO ABOUT EREN?

BECAUSE YEAH, I’M SURE THE AIRSHIPS ARE JUST GOING TO SPLODE HIM AND END ALL OF THIS AND EVERYONE WILL HOLD HANDS AND SING SONGS THAT THE EVIL HAS BEEN DEFEATED AND THAT WILL BE THE END OF IT.

Conversation: FAILED

Attack: probably FAILED

GO AHEAD, MANGA. SHOW ME THE DEUS EX MACHINA. I’M NOT GOING TO LIKE IT, BUT I AM PREPARED FOR IT.

inb4 yeah they just are going to bomb Eren with Armin that’s how we end this.

133 status: Still Looking For A Win Condition (This Ain’t It Chief)

#Shingeki no Kyojin #SnK 133 #shingeki no spoilers #SnK spoilers #Survey Corps #tl;dr #chapter post

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 4 years

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Motion Sickness: 5.2 Sector 7

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“Alright kid, just follow my lead and stay quiet unless someone asks you something.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t screw this up for us.”

“Are you done?”

Dust crystals, weapons, and all other kinds of malicious paraphernalia were sold in the lower levels of Mistral. Beneath wired poles and under shady market stalls you could evidently buy pretty much whatever you wanted. In broad daylight. Probably pretty hard to enforce law when everyone was breaking it. The entire place was pretty openly criminal with people who were wearing masks purchasing put together bombs in full view of the sun. Or what counted for sunlight down here.

We followed a spider’s web marking on a wall into a dimly lit bar in which the only barrier between the inside and the elements was a flap with a Mistrali Flag on it. As though that was fooling anybody. It didn’t fool me and I colored myself as someone who was pretty easily fooled.

I took a look around the inside and noted several dozen people in similar purple drab. As if that weren’t enough, many people inside had that same spider web symbol tattooed to their forearms, bicep, or even their neck. I knew enough about gangs to know one when I saw one being so open.

I wheeled Qrow in.

“That's far enough now sweetheart.”

A woman sat alone at a table with two of what were clearly bodyguards on either side of her. I stopped pushing Qrow’s chair and held up my hands in surrender. I wasn’t about to start anything, even if some of the people we had passed were clearly on something and had glints in their eyes that made me want to draw my weapon.

Ether, I hoped, but perhaps even Hyper was on the table. Literally on the table as a dude did a line of white powder nearby.

I made no move towards my weapon anyways because it wasn’t like I could defend Qrow or myself in a tight space like this. We were very outnumbered and probably outgunned and entirely at the mercy of our hosts. I like to believe that I was alright in a fight, which was to say maybe I could take the lady’s two body guards if it was just the three of us and I managed something clever. This was something different. We were surrounded and they were in front of us, behind us, to either side, and, just to make things worse, above us. The place had two floors that I could see.

“Well if it isn’t Qrow Branwen. It's been a long time and you have gotten much shorter.”

“You know, you loose one fucking fight.”

“And who’s this? Some new protege or apprentice?”

The bodyguards came up to search me and I cooperatively handed over my sword and shield to the girl who staggered under its weight for a second before reclaiming her balance. “Jaune Arc.” I introduced myself as the dude patted me down. He came away with some fire crystals and an Atlas army knife. Nothing crazy for a place like this; I mean probably. I didn’t frequently search people who went to bars like this one.

“Didn’t answer my question, hun.” She probed. Jabbing at me with the spoon she held in a pudgy hand.

“He’s teaching me, yes ma’am,” I erred on polite caution.

“Good boy. You can put those arms down.” I did as she directed. “Now I’m sure you’re not here just to catch up with me, now are you?”

“I’m not no.” Qrow wiggled his stumps. I almost laughed. “I need a set of prosthetics, Atlesian or Valean or good enough for hunters.”

Would his prosthetics transform with him or-

“It’ll cost you.”

I’m sure it’ll be fine. Its magic so why not? I couldn’t think of a good reason why his new legs wouldn’t transform with him and Ozpin hadn’t said anything. Not that that meant anything.

“We don’t have much Lien.”

“Oh Mr. Branwen. Lien is how I run my business,” the spider said from her seat. She managed to glare down at Qrow still with a soft smile.

“You also run it with favors and errands.”

“A favor from the great Qrow Branwen.” She took a long drag of either tobacco or perhaps even some greens. It smelled most like tobacco, I think, though. “It would mean a lot more if he was capable of walking,” she jabbed easily. Which I think was perfectly fair.

“You provide the legs and I’ll do the walking. And if you don’t like that then the kid isn’t half bad in a fight either.”

“Hmm.” She pondered. “Okay.” She said with a sly smile. The dude handed me back my switchblade and crystals and the girl handed back my harness with my bigger blades sheathed as though that was some well rehearsed signal.

"I'll need real surgery." Qrow admitted begrudgingly. "Not those ones you just attach and pull off. I'll need them grafted on."

"Well that'll just cost you extra. Two favors.”

“Lets talk it over. Hey kid?”

“Hm?” I wondered.

“Why don’t you wait at the bar while we talk. You’re making me nervous just standing behind me.”

“Alright. Sure.” Why not?

I mosied up to the bar. The bartender in purple had a kukuri and some light armor. He didn’t card me or anything, just looked across the rosy counter towards me. “Whisky on the rocks.” Keep it familiar, keep it simple, keep it dumb, or else you’ll end up under some ganglord’s thumb.

My drink was slid towards me in a crystal patterned glass that I examined. It seemed clean enough. I had a sip. It was smooth. I had another sip.

“Who’s this Melanie?” A voice purred from behind me. A girl’s voice. I ignored it because ignoring women was my MO.

“I don’t know Miltiades, some new huntsman.”

“He’s decent looking.”

“Tall, too.”

I looked around. There were two girls looking at me. They had dark hair and pale green eyes. I looked them up and down. “Are you talking to me?” I wondered. It went against my MO. Explicitly, even. One had a pair of silver blades attached to white boots to match the overall assemble of a white dress. The other had red claws strapped to her back. The red claws matched a tighter red dress than the girl in white who could only be a sister. Maybe a cousin if I was stretching.

They looked damn near identical, though, so I was really stretching.

“Who else would we even be talking to?” I looked around, the girl in white made a fair point. There was nobody even close to me. They were to either side of me out in the open.

“So what brings a huntsman like you down here?” The girl in red asked.

“I’m with him.” I pointed to Qrow, not seeing any point to lying. I pushed him into this place afterall. Out in the open. “Need to get him back on his feet but we’re a little short on cash.”

“And what is he to you?” The girl in red asked.

“He’s not much to be completely and totally honest. Family of a friend,” I answered vaguely. “I didn’t catch your names.”

“I’m Melanie Malachite.” The girl in white introduced herself. “And this is-”

“Miltia.” The other finished. Malachite, like the woman in charge. Well I'd better be polite and not fuck things up. That was all the advice I’d been given.

“Well, can I buy the two of you a drink? Or drinks, rather?” I doubted they would be sharing.

Instead they just giggled a little at me. Cute girls laughing at me was nothing new though and after a few years it meant surprisingly little. Girls like this tended to laugh like that. It would be better for my sanity if I didn’t take it personally.

“I thought you were short on cash.” Miltia returned, hiding her smile behind a hand and failing. Probably intentionally.

“Short on cash for a pair of legs. Not for three drinks.” I lifted my glass to my lips. It was already empty and the glass clinked around in no liquid. “Make that four drinks. What’ll you two have?”

“A white russian,” Miltia said.

“A hurricane.”

I ordered for them and another whiskey for me. Then I slid the red drink to the girl in white and the white drink to the girl in red. I was sixty percent sure they were fucking with me. Somehow. And it was totally working. They were messing with my head completely and totally and probably for kicks.

But they took drinks from their cocktails with a familiarity that threw me off. Maybe they did drink these exact drinks a bit. I nursed my own, making sure to take it slower on my second glass of something straight.

The last thing Qrow and I needed was for me to be wasted.

"So where are you from?" Melanie pulled back from her red drink and bounced out the words. I hope she wasn't clumsy because that drink would stain like a nightmare on her white clothes.

"Vale. I, uh, I used to go to Beacon." I took my weapons off my back and set them on the stool to my left. The stool on my right was occupied by Miltia.

"We're from Vale too." Miltia said.

"Not really the biggest fans of Beacon students but we can make an exception."

"Lucky me." I slipped. "Well the 'ex-Beacon student' is kinda important anyways. I left that place behind after the attack."

"We left with the collapse as well." Melanie added.

"Decided it just wasn't safe enough." Miltia clarified.

"Makes sense. I was out of there in a hurry myself. How did you two get here then?"

"Airship." Miltia informed me.

"Our parents own several so we just flew." They were sisters, then.

"Must have been nice," I let myself grumble. The thought of my feet aching from walking ached.

"Sounds like there's a story to how you got here." Miltia pressed.

"I walked, rode horses, and took a train. Just extra steps comparatively. More monsters, you know?"

Melanie blinked. “You ride horses?”

“Well aren’t you a regular old fashioned knight.” She eyed me in my thick armor. She may be reading into my look and figuring some other things. They were all wrong but she was figuring some things.

"I had to learn on the way. It's not like that."

"Did Qrow Branwen teach you?"

"You two know Qrow?"

"We know about Qrow." Miltia corrected.

"Some hunters are famous like that."

"Him and his sister are both well known but there are others too."

"Winter Schnee, Glynda Goodwitch, General Ironwood." Melanie counted.

"Well Qrow didn't teach me that but I suppose he is mentoring me in other things."

"Like what?" Miltia asked.

"Like being a better fighter, I guess. He knows a lot about how to kill things, and not much else to be on the level with you." I reached the bottom of my drink and debated with myself before ordering another one. I was on the heavy side anyways, so it should be fine? "I really try not to take his advice on other things."

“You’re a heavy drinker.” Melanie watched me order more whiskey.

"Yeah. That's one of those things I really don't want to pick up from Qrow but it might be too late. I might have the sort of addictive personality that leans that way."

"You're not sure?"

"I'm really not the kind of guy that goes to bars much."

"You seem like a regular to bar or club life."

"Yeah. With the right haircut you could be a plain old ladykiller."

I blushed. "I don't think so..."

"Come on."

“I know, let us give you a makeover.”

"Nobody likes a good-looking guy with no confidence."

"Nobody likes a guy with the wrong kind of confidence either. Trust me on that one." I thought of Weiss. She really hadn’t been all that into me. Like at all. But hot girls not liking me was nothing new to my life. It was the rule and there were two redheaded exceptions. Weiss was… probably a friend? Now? I wasn’t really sure. I learned to dislike her a little as a self defense mechanism. And to be fair, while that was probably an unhealthy coping mechanism, it kept me slitting my wrists the short ways rather than the long ways. I sucked on my third drink. My vision was getting a little shaky and my lips and face a little looser. "Where did you girls train?"

"Train?"

"Get your huntswomen training, I mean."

"Huntswomen," Miltia giggled.

"I know he's so careful." Melanie laughed back.

"Listen, I have gotten my ass beat by so many women that it pays to jump through that kind of hoop. It just does."

"We don't have any formal training." Miltia returned to the previous question.

"We're from the mean streets of Vale."

"We're with the gang so…" Miltia finished.

"I see." I nodded along.

"You think it doesn't count?" Melanie prompted.

"It's probably more real than any training someone gets at like, Signal." I disagreed with her implication. "My real training came from after Beacon fell, in the wild. Hunting criminals and real Grimm instead of practice dummies or training partners."

"Plus whatever Branwen is teaching you."

"Eh." I managed. "The chair happened around the same time that I met him. Most of the training he has given me has been verbal rather than hands on. All-l, really-y." I slurred slightly.

"You seem perfectly capable anyways."

"Maybe gang life would suit you."

I watched Miltia trade drinks with Melanie. They took a pull from the others' drink in perfect synchronization. At my look she leaned over. "We don't mind sharing things." She winked.

"Uh huh." I managed stupidly. “So what kind of haircut should I get? Asking for a friend.”

“I don’t know.... What do you think Melanie?”

“Well he looks alright now but he could tame it even more. Slick it back and nice and short. Nothing to grab onto but it would be smooth.”

“Yeah, he’s sort of in between right now. Like go scruffy or comb it over. Pick one and commit.”

“Pick one and commit…?” I trailed.

‘Yeah. You’re scruffy-”

“But not full on scruffy. And you have the comb over-”

“But you didn’t commit to it. If you’d pick one and go with that one who knows what could follow.”

“No one likes a guy who’s indecisive.”

“Seems to me like you girls don’t like a lot of guys,” I cut in. “Indecisive, no confidence, wrong confidence. Boy, is there anything about me girls actually like. I’m honestly asking.”

“What should your angle be? You mean?” Miltia asked.

“Yeah? What cards do I play? I’m too nice for edgy and too honest for mysterious.”

“Well you’re tall and broad so you’ve got that going for you,” Melannie pointed out. “Everyone likes a huntsman. Who doesn’t like a huntsman?”

“Nobody.”

“Okay, I hear that. Let me ask you something. I met the most beautiful girl in the world when I was at Beacon. A smart, gorgeous huntress. Let’s say I was really trying to impress this girl and I tried everything I could think of. I tried singing. I tried asking her to the dance. I tried asking her alone and in groups and in and out of classes. I tried it all. Okay? I tried literally everything and the kitchen sink.”

“And nothing worked?” Melannie asked.

“Nothin’,” I said. “Nothin’ worked. Not a damn thing. I think she hated me.”

“Well it sounds like you were trying too hard. Nobody likes that.”

“And if you’re going to go honest you have to commit.”

“C-o-m-m-i-t,” Melanie hit the back of her hand into her palm with each letter. She spelled it out for me which was good because I’m fuckin’ stupid. “Honest is fine.”

“Honest is good, even. But if you’re dishonest in any way a smart girl will smell that from a mile away. You said she was smart right?”

“The smartest.”

“So what did you really do?”

“We can’t tell you unless you’re completely honest with us,” Melannie ordered.

“Real talk?” I asked. “I… I tried to fake my confidence… and most of my personality...”

“Yeah that’s not gonna work.”

“That’s not gonna work at all,” Miltia agreed. “You can't play the nice guy card and then try and fake it like that. A girl just knows.”

“A girl totally just knows. We would notice if you were faking it right now. It’s like a guy faking their orgasm. It’s not a thing.”

“It’s not like girls can really fake it either…” I pointed out. “It’s pretty obvious and world shaking when a girl finishes for real. And when you do it right she isn’t sure if she wants more or less. Can’t fake that. Come on.”

“He knows…” Melannie trailed.

“He’s onto our entire gender.”

“Who would have thought?”

“Scraggly, tall, and blonde has moves in the bedroom.”

“Please,” I waved off. “It’s so stupid easy to make girls come. It’s literally brain dead. If I can do it anybody can. The clitoris and G-spot are not hard to find. You can make a girl finish even when she is begging you not to.”

“Can you not with guys?” Miltia asked.

“Not a chance. It’s easy to get a guy into it but if he’s not completely into it you cannot get him off. Bet.”

“Is that a challenge?” Melannie wondered. “Are you challenging us?”

“Bet,” I repeated. I finished my drink.

"Are you done flirting." Qrow had rolled up on me without me noticing. No mean feat from the chair.

"I really wouldn't know flirting if it walked up and stabbed me in the front," I leveled against him.

"Well stop it. Come on. I worked out our favors from Lil' Miss Malachite." I said my valedictions, grabbed my tools, and wheeled him back over to the woman in charge.

"So what's the first favor?" I wondered.

"I need someone killed." She splayed her hands across the table. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Well it depends on who it is, doesn't it."

"Does it?" She pressed me.

"Of course. It matters who it is to you too."

"Smart boy. It's a dust witch in a rival gang named Eminence Kramer. She’s been a thorn in my side for far too long and she has made it clear that she has to go."

"And the second favor?" I continued.

"I need information out of one Don Corneo." She took a long drag. "You decide the order. I don't particularly care. After that we'll get Qrow here a new set of legs and the surgery to boot."

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-WG

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #lancaster #weiss schnee #whiteknight #motion sickness #ruby rose x jaune arc #jaune arc x weiss schnee #jaune arc x weiss schnee x ruby rose #war of the roses #weiss schnee x ruby rose #white rose #whiterose

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sultrysirens · 5 years

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how does jo, cassie, and lisa feel about each of the guys?

Oh damn, switching things up on me. Okay then, I’m down. ;)

Jocelyn – the first of the gals. Naturally, she’s head over heels for Raphael, would say or do just about anything for him. She loves every little thing about him, even and especially the things he struggles with (read: his fears and triggers). And while she doesn’t necessarily have a great deal of patience, if he needs her for anything, she’s there and with the infinite patience of a god. I don’t think I need to add how drop-dead sexy she finds him, I’m sure. XP

With Leo, she has notably less positive feelings. Similar to Raph, Leo tends to piss her off, though she understands that nine times out of ten, his intentions are good, even if his methods irritate her. That said, she has a healthy amount of respect for him all the same, and she often finds herself impressed with him, too. After all, it takes an incredible man to be able to deal with three brothers of vastly different personalities – namely in keeping them from getting into fights all the damn time.

Mikey is one of her best friends. As we all know, she has a brother complex, and Mikey perfectly fits the kind of brother she would’ve wanted for herself. She has the most patience for him of everyone, she thinks he’s lethally cute, and while his jokes tend to be ridiculous, she loves that he tries so hard to keep everyone happy. Of all the brothers, she believes Mikey needs a lover the most, so she’s absolutely elated that he found Lisa.

And Donnie’s her low-key favorite bro. Between his calm demeanor, obvious brilliance, and witty sarcasm, she meshes with him amazingly well. She doesn’t always follow his conversations so well, but she’s smart enough to keep up in the long run, at least, and it keeps them on friendly terms. That said, she feels really bad for him; she thinks he’s an amazing guy but he clearly doesn’t feel the same. More than Leo, she wants Donnie to find his perfect someone. She hopes they’ll be capable of handling his unique brilliance.

Lisa – second to fall. Put simply, she’s a mirror image to Mikey, and she couldn’t be happier with anyone else. His affection, understanding, humor, and energy were exactly what she’d needed to really come to life. With him around she’s never bored or lonely or afraid. He makes everything brighter, and she never, ever wants to lose that. At this point she can’t even imagine her life without him in it. The only negative is that they’re both kinda notably dummies, so in situations where she needs to think ahead or focus, Mikey’s nature can irritate her and even drive her to explode.

Donnie is her second-favorite of the turtles. Unlike Raph, he doesn’t tease her, and unlike Leo, he isn’t condescending – unintentionally or otherwise. Plus, she loves his creations. She doesn’t understand mechanics in the slightest, but she finds everything he makes fascinating, cool, and often bad-ass. She still freaks out about Mikey’s jet-board, after all, and Donnie made it. But, unlike Jo, Lisa feels dumb next to him, and it drives her to keep any opinions or – god forbid – questions to herself. She knows she won’t be able to understand him so she generally keeps her lips zipped.

Leo scares her. Not intentionally and not physically, really, but just in poise. When he stands still, quietly watching with his arms crossed, she gets the unnerving feeling that he’s looking into her soul, and given she isn’t even sure she believes in souls, it’s kind of terrifying. She respects him, for the most part, but also finds his personality too stiff; she feels she can’t talk to him. They also share precisely zero interests and she’s discovered (through video games) that he’s highly competitive and a sore loser, so the one thing she knows she can beat him at, she also never challenges him with. She just doesn’t want to make him upset.

And Raph – he’s the big brother. He’s nothing at all like Sam, but that’s a point in his favor. Initially he terrified her just from his size alone, but with time that lessened. She still gets scared of him whenever he loses his temper, but for the most part she’s calmed down around him. She isn’t so fond of his teasing and swearing, and his relationship with Jo makes Lisa very uncomfortable, but overall she’s more at ease with Raph than Leo. He just has a very disarming sense about him, a laid-back attitude, and obvious humor in between every sentence, and it reminds her of Mikey’s personality just enough that he’s an okay guy to have around.

Cassie – friendly, sweet Cassie. To a small degree she’s drawn to all of the brothers, but she finds herself the most relaxed with Leo. He just seems to exude serenity, and it attracts her – though not quite so much as the hidden intensity she can feel just under the surface. A part of her wants to unravel him, figure out why he sometimes tenses up so bad when they’re otherwise relaxed, even as another part of her warns her that she might not like what she finds when she does. Still, he’s been nothing but the picture of politeness and respect the entire time she’s known him, and she loves the way he always makes her feel so safe.

Raphael, well…she’s known him the longest. She’s seen him with Jocelyn and analyzed the way they are together and spoken to Jo, at length, about him dozens of times. She’s seen how gentle and sweet he is with Jo and concluded that he’s a big softy. His anger and strength can spook her, but she’s developed a strong trust for him all the same. She knows he’ll never hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it, and that he’ll definitely never hurt Jo. She believes it all the more strongly after Jo’s attack, too, and would trust him with her own life.

Mikey is, in her opinion, heart incarnate. The first time she met him he’d offered her comfort, and she very quickly became disarmed in his embrace. Ever since she’s known, without a doubt, that he’s probably the most trustworthy of all the brothers. For a while she was uncomfortable with the way he seemed to be pursuing her, but after he got together with Lisa and Cassie saw the two of them together, he went from “kinda weird” to “easily the most besotted person alive”. He’s just too cute, and she feels a bizarre desire to keep him safe – even though she knows it’s the opposite.

And Donnie is…intimidating. She views him as the biggest of the turtles despite Raph’s greater mass, but honestly, the thing that intimidates her the most is his boundless brilliance. She hasn’t talked to him much, but the few times she did, she was immediately swept away by just how damn smart he is. She’s impressed, yes, but also brutally assaulted by his higher thinking. In school, she was an almost straight-A student, a point of pride for her, and next to Donnie she feels like a finger painter. She likes him, overall, but just can’t get along with someone who makes her feel so damn inadequate.

- Nightshade

#tmnt #all the boys #jocelyn #the dancer #cassie #lassie #raphelyn #lisa #the dj #michelisa #there ya go #hope you enjoyed #Anonymous #siren nightshade #sfw #ask

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meetmeatthecoda · 6 years

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Dialogue prompts: 24 and 32. I feel like liz would be saying these to red and comforting him.

50 Dialogue Prompts

24. “You’re trembling.” and 32. “You could have died.”

Hey there anon! :D Thank you ever so for your patience with these prompts! :) As it is, I’ve actually already filled #24 (Chapter 2 of Facets if you’d like to read here) so this one is just #32. I hope you don’t mind! :) This one features an overprotective Red, an exasperated Liz, and a teething Agnes. It’s simple and understated and subtle in tone, I think. I really hope you enjoy it! :) Much love!

Red stops outside Lizzie’s apartment door, leaninglightly against the door frame to gather himself before knocking.

It was a rough day for the task force and Red has beenthere with them every step of the way.

The day started early with surprise intel on theirsuspect and Red arranging a meeting with some shady and poorly educated gunsfor hire that may or may not have had information on their suspect. Lizzie hadinsisted on accompanying him, citing her importance as middle man to the taskforce and her general know-how as a government official. He had relented, despitean odd tingling in the back of his skull telling him not to.

He’ll never ignore that again.

The gang had been dumb as rocks but much too triggerhappy for Red’s taste. After a rather tasteless joke on Red’s part in anattempt to start out on the right foot (something about the collective numberof brain cells in the room), the thugs had started brandishing their firearms threateningly,safeties off.

It was nothing he, Dembe, and Baz couldn’t havehandled but he was suddenly worried for Lizzie, standing stiffly next to him,fingers twitching to her own gun. He knows she can take care of herself (shealso wears a knife strapped to her calf, a fact which he tries hard not tothink about on a daily basis, for his own mental stability) but he suddenly hasa vision of a gun going off with a bang, intentionally or otherwise, and turningto see Lizzie laying on the floor of the warehouse, red slowly soaking thefabric of her blouse.

He is determined to never see that particularnightmare play out anywhere but in his head while he is asleep in his bed,sweaty and tangled in the sheets, yelling for Lizzie to watch out.

So, Red quickly moves to stand in front of Lizzie,blocking her from the leers and bullets of the imbeciles he is trying to reasonwith. He has no reason to, other than his own paranoia, and Lizzie knows it. Hehears her huff from behind him and he can almost feel her eyes rolling but hestays carefully blocking her for the duration of the meeting.

He’d rather have her annoyed than dead.

They’d made it out just fine, of course, he and Dembeand Baz and Lizzie, and only once they were back at the post office did thestrange buzzing in the back of his head fade enough to move more than a footaway from Lizzie and stop shadowing her like she was a big blue planet and hewas a small cold moon stuck helplessly in her orbit.

(He needs to stop reading so much poetry.)

He’d taken the opportunity to escape to the big yellowelevator, telling himself repeatedly that she was obviously safe here in asecret government facility surrounded by dozens of other armed governmentagents, and trying to banish the image of her bleeding out on the warehousefloor.

He hadn’t seen Lizzie staring strangely after him asthe elevator doors closed behind him.

She had called him late that evening when the team hadfinally called it a day and asked him to stop by her apartment on his way backto his current safehouse if he had the time.

He was, of course, already showered and in his cottonsleep pants and t-shirt, playing chess with Dembe and drinking his nighttime tumblerof scotch, but he’d calmly put a fresh suit on and climbed in the driver’s seatof the car, waving off Dembe when he’d heaved himself up off the couch, rubbinghis eyes, protesting that he wasn’t too tried to drive.

No need to make Dembe get up when he was perfectlycapable of driving himself the few miles to Lizzie’s apartment, not when thisparticular safehouse was chosen solely for its proximity to her, for nightslike this.

(Lizzie doesn’t know this.)

So, Red had climbed the three flights of stairs, the thoughtof Lizzie (and maybe a glimpse of a peaceful, sleeping Agnes) propelling him tothe top, and now here he is, waiting for her to open the door.

He hears movement on the other side before the door isopened and there is Lizzie, dressed in soft looking yoga pants and a too big Quanticohoodie, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, face free of make-up and avery awake Agnes perched on her hip.

Red gapes for a moment. Lizzie has never looked morebeautiful.

Agnes coos in Lizzie’s arms and Red is turns hisattention to her. She is growing so fast, about seven months old now, strongenough to sit up on her own. Agnes has one fist gripping the hood of Lizzie’s hoodieand the other hand tugging gently on one of the strings. She also has ateething ring in her mouth which Red expects is the reason for her wakefulnessat this hour.

Is it teething time already?

As she sees Red, Agnes drops the hoodie string andreaches for him with one tiny hand, smiling her gummy little baby smile and hefeels his heart warm from the inside out.

Lizzie watches this quiet exchange with a fond,faraway smile and nods to Agnes.

“You wanna hold her?”

Red can only nod back, too happy to speak.

Lizzie passes Agnes off carefully to Red and ushershim into the apartment at the same time, closing the door behind him.

Red moves into the small but cozy living area, easilystepping over the few toys strewn across the carpet, making faces at Agnes asshe giggles and pats his cheek with her little hand.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Lizzie askspolitely.

“No, thank you,” Red answers quietly, unwilling totake his attention from Agnes.

This is enough.

Lizzie lets him entertain Agnes for a few minutes,watching quietly, before she speaks, revealing why she asked him to come overthis late at night.

“Red, I wanted to ask you something,” Lizzie beginstentatively.

“About?” Red inquires, finally turning away from Agneswho thoroughly enjoyed his funny faces and is now happily grasping his finger.

“Today, in the warehouse, you stepped in front of me.”

Ah. He should have known she wouldn’t let it go.

“Yes,” answers simply.

“Why? I mean those idiots were more stupid than dangerous,really, but even so I can handle myself.”

“I’m well aware, Lizzie,” Red sighs, turning to sit inthe comfortable looking armchair in the corner, adjusting Agnes in his arms ashe does so.

“So why did you do it? Put yourself in danger likethat for me?”

Why did he do it? Because she is dear to him? Because shehas this sleepy little one in his arms to come home to every evening? Because hisfirst and only instinct is to protect her from harm? Because she is one of the onlythings he values in this life anymore? Because she is so deeply ingrained inhis crippled old soul that he can’t imagine a life without her in it?

Something like that.

“Because,” he says simply, shrugging a littlehelplessly.

“Oh, Red,” Lizzie sighs, a little exasperated. Shedrops onto the couch opposite him, sweeping some escaped strands of hair behindher ear. “That was dangerous, what if something had actually happened?”

Red shakes his head. “They were common thugs, Lizzie,Dembe and Baz would have had them all on the ground before they could do anydamage.”

“Then why did you step in front of me? What if youwere shot because you were trying to protect me, quite needlessly, I might add?You could have died. And then what would happen to me? And Agnes?”

Red glances down at the baby, who now has a fist fullof his vest and is trying desperately to keep her eyes open, fighting sleep,gazing up at Red through bleary blue eyes.

Red smiles at her and rubs her little back, watchingas her eyes slip closed at the sensation, finally succumbing to sleep.

“You and Agnes would be well looked after, Lizzie, don’tworry,” Red murmurs, not wanting to disturb Agnes.

“That’s not what I mean, Red, and I think you knowthat,” Lizzie says, quieter to match his volume and not wake her dozing daughter.“We care about you, the two of us. We need you to be careful. Agnes would beterribly unhappy if you stopped visiting, you see.”

Red tears his gazes away from Agnes to look at Lizzie,who he is startled to see staring at him not unlike her daughter was a fewseconds ago, with a strange light in her eyes.

Love.

“Do you understand?” she whispers.

“Yes,” he murmurs, a little stunned, looking at herarms wrapped around her waist, looking small and vulnerable in her big hoodie. “Ican’t promise to stop protecting you, Lizzie,” – he ignores her frustrated huff– “but I can promise to be more careful. For Agnes’ sake.” He smiles at herteasingly.

She gives him a watery smile in response. “Good.”

Agnes takes that moment to snuggle closer to him inher sleep and he tucks her head under his chin, kissing her lightly on top ofher sweet-smelling hair. Lizzie smiles at that before she is overtaken by ahuge yawn, hastily covering her mouth.

Red smiles. He remembers all too well thesleeplessness of these early days.

“How about I stay for a bit and you grab a few hours ofsleep, Lizzie? I’ll watch Agnes, don’t worry.”

“She passed out pretty quickly on you, I’m surprised.I couldn’t get her to sleep for anything. She’s been so restless lately. The doctorsays she’s got a tooth coming in, completely normal. But now that she’s asleep,I can’t say I’d be thrilled to move her and wake her up. Do you mind?”

She is already starting to blink more heavily at thevery mention of sleep.

“Yes, Lizzie, I’m sure,” Red assures her, gently.

“Okay,” she mutters, grabbing a throw blanket off the backof the couch and tossing a few pillows to one end, wasting no time in gettingto her well-deserved nap. “But wake me up in an hour so you can go home.”

She is asleep within minutes.

Red leans back carefully in the armchair, taking turnsstaring at the sweet baby asleep on his chest and the beautiful woman asleep onthe couch across from him, both their mouths open and drooling.

Like mother, like daughter.

He’ll stay here with them tonight, watching over them,just like he promised.

He’ll wake Lizzie in the morning.

#The Blacklist #Lizzington #mine #fanfic #prompts #dialogue prompts #ask #anon #i legit almost forgot to include the dialogue prompt in this #caught it and added it in literally 3 seconds before i posted #:'D #just shows i need to go to bed #:)#i hope you like this anon!#<33

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magical-agatha · 7 years

Text

Don't read this. Keep scrolling i need help this is a terrible way to go about it. Please just keep scrolling. I know i could post this privately but i won't and that surely says a lot about the nature of this post and the purpose of it. Don't read this post. Don't reply to it. Definitely do not message me with practical advice. I'm already seeing professional help. I don't kghrn. Don't read this.

No matter what i do i can't keep my glasses completely clean and it is legitimately upsetting. This is not a goof. It's messing with my ocd and it's hard to explain? It kind of hurts?? And it's like. I can't solve this problem so I'm just gradually getting more and more upset. And there's all this emotion building up that i don't know how to express because I'm all fucked up in other areas. If you ever meet me in person and we have an argument I'll have a really hard time because I'll start to panic and struggle to respond because I'm scared of saying the wrong thing because if i do you'll just pick it apart and use it against me. So I'll panic more and say something dumb and then you'll use it against me and I'll panic and say something cruel or something that's unfair, so that you'll get upset and leave. Because if you keep pushing me I'll just get more panicky and it'll get harder and harder to think clearly. And it'll end badly. I'd never hit another person but there's a dent and a hole on my bedroom wall, where my mum has attacked me and I've panicked and my stupid brain has told me it's fight or flight time but there's nowhere to run so i either hit myself or the house. It doesn't happen often but i feel like scum when it does. I always try to hit the door frame because i know i can't damage it. I've got to stress that it's not anger. I'm not angry. I'm usually terrified and crying. Because I'm a crazy person who's inherently broken inside. I'd never ever hurt someone. I hate violence. I get upset when someone squashes a spider. I mean I'd probably punch a nazi or someone who really deserved it. But i hate it when i panic like that. It makes me feel like I'm less than human. That if i hit a wall or break things, i always try to do it to worthless things like paper or sometimes I'll bite my hands. If i do those things i could hurt a person who didn't deserve it. I'm so scared of hurting someone. I can't convey how much it scares me. It comes down to my feelings on life. Life is special in a very specific way. If you take a life you can't give it back. From that we can also say that hurting someone is a reprehensible thing, because while it's often possible to recompense the victim, you can't return what you took or broke. And something somewhat relevant. I struggle to understand other people who self harm. Everyone else seems intent on being found out or caught. They cut their arms and legs, or some will even burn themselves with matches. I don't understand why you'd let yourself be caught like that i. It's probably just me. I'm scared of having discussions that go too deep because I've been hurt by that before. My mind is constructed in regard to and follows several core rules I've learnt from what I'm realising lately was years of subtle and not so subtle abuse at the hands of my mother. Of course I'm scared of calling abuse because What If She Heard Me Say That???? But i guess that's what it is. I also struggle to call her abusive because while she fucked up in a lot of ways raising me, she's broken too, and she was also raised by an abusive mother who was trying her best as well, but was still broken. Basically I'm 3rd generation and that makes it hard to place blame. But part of me wants to hate her. Does having good intentions excuse you if you fuck up?? There's a saying I'm fond of. "Save us from good intentions" and also "hell is paved with good intentions". But one of the rules hardwired into my brain is that if i ever show a weakness or let myself be vulnerable someone will use that weakness to hurt me. Part of that is that i can't make mistakes or I've Failed and I'm worthless. But this rule tells me that if i were to cut someone would either ask questions, use it against me, or pity me. Despite a lot of things and a lot of logic i am both incredibly proud and have almost no self esteem. So when i self harm i do invisible things. I bite my hands, especially the loose skin on the joints of my fingers and that bit of skin between the thumb and forefinger. And I've learned how to flex muscles in a way that hurts a lot. Not over stretching them or anything. It's sort of a combination of tensing conflicting muscles and then you do this thing where you tell the muscles to move but also stay still?? Hard to describe. That was a lot of rambling. I'm trying to determine something. Am i actually worthless? Or more specifically. If I'm miserable and struggling, and i want to give up on something until I've overcome certain other things. Specifically I've been doing a game design course for four or so weeks now. It should be my dream course. This is what I wanted. But there's a number of factors which are ruining it for me and exacerbating my misery. The travel is awful (5hrs a day 5am start 7pm home), and i had to start almost a month late because someone else fucked up, so I'm struggling with the work enormously, i can follow along and mimic what everyone else is doing but i don't understand how the code I'm typing works. But my brain is telling me i HAVE to enjoy this course and i HAVE to excel. But this conflict between struggling with the course, unrelated misery, and unreasonable unrealistic even cruel expectations i have of myself. The part of me that's in the background and just is, the same part that's dictating those rules, is convinced i have to be incredible at anything i do or I've failed and should mentally punish myself. It doesn't listen to reason and i can't argue with it or even ignore it. If i try and I'm not amazing i feel guilty. I feel miserable and like I've wasted everyone's time. It tells me I'm pathetic. And the hard part is that nothing is good enough. And the bit that makes me want to laugh the same way some who has just condemned themselves laughs?? The way you laugh before they take you to hell and install you in some greco styled sisyphean torture??? Nothing is ever good enough!!! I'm chasing infinity!!! I cannot succeed!!! EVERYTHING I DO RIGHT IS UNDERMINED AND DISREGARDED!!!!!!! AND I'M THE CULPRIT!!! I'M RUINING MY OWN LIFE! MY BRAIN WANTS ME TO DIE MISERABLE AND ALONE. IN MY LASTS MOMENTS I BET IT WOULD SEND ME A THOUGHT AND I'D FEEL THAT I WAS PATHETIC. I COULD HAVE DONE THIS OR THAT BETTER. LOOK HOW PATHETICALLY I'M DYING. The deranged sode effect of this is that ninety nine times out of a hundred i give up without starting or never really try. Why should i bother. WHY SHOULD I BOTHER. Why fucking bother. If i can't ever succeed!! It's just pure cruelty. You know i always tell myself I'd never commit suicide. After all my greatest fear is entropy. Time passing, wasting time. Living with limited time and not using it perfectly. So of course since i don't believe in an afterlife despite really trying to get religious. Of course I'd never waste the only life i have. Surely being miserable is better than not existing. Of course. But i was waiting for a train, and i started looking at the tracks and thought about it. Immediately i corrected it to thinking about how can i step into traffic or in front of a train without dying. Because i have no other capability or capacity to tell people just how sick i am. But for a second i really wanted to die. Which terrifies me. What terrifies me more is that i have to force myself slightly not to give up. That part of me is so ready to give up totally. I can't think about that moment any more. If you read this i don't have much to say to you. This is my only way to say how unhappy i am. Because i can say that no one will read this. This is safe. But it's difficult. If someone does read this and sends me a message or something it's difficult. Because i lack the capacity to really admit I'm not okay. If you message me I'll just explain it away or reassure you I'm fine. This is in simplest terms a cry for help. I could and maybe even should just save this as a draft or post privately. This is my message in a bottle. I can convince myself for long enough that no one will reply. Even if they do, so what. There's only so much a kind person's kind words can do. I'm too good at shutting myself off. And no one here knows my real name except for maybe one person who i used to be close with. But he knows me by some old iscribble username. He probably doesn't remember my real name. Point being that even if you reading this want to help, you can't do enough. I'm too smart for my own good. I've found a way to call out for help, but I'm also intentionally sabotaging myself. It's ridiculous. That's what's it's like living in my head. I can't ask for help because then I'll be vulnerable and if I'm EVER EVER vulnerable something BAD will happen. I've explained it to a psych before, or tried. My brain never specifies the threat it says exists. It's always just something bad, but the kind of thing where you know that means so bad it can't be imagined or put into words. It could be death?? It could be everyone you ever meet or know hating you and laughing at you?? It could be always being a pathetic failure?? It could be anything!! It's genius! I don't even know what the threat is!! And my brain never has to worry about whether the threat is realistic because it's not specified! What a nightmare. What a convoluted mess i am. The most ingenious and sadistic torturer couldn't devise something like this! Design pales in comparison to the sheer stupid thoughtless luck of something created naturally without a goal in mind. Now i sound like I'm bragging so I'm nervous about that, that someone will discredit this entire post and send me a hurtful message. Or something WORSE! Now I'm trying really hard to hold onto my frustration and not let anxiety take over. Look at this! I'm such a fucking joke!!! Thank goodness i don't believe in a god. If i did believe in one what would that make me? If intelligent design is real and a man in the sky controls everything, what do i make of that? For one I'm the greatest practical joke ever told, and another this god clearly doesn't care about us. Or worse, he does care but he's powerless to help us. But that's potentially even more terrifying!! Who or what is more powerful than a supposed god??? I'm so tired of all of this. This revolting nightmare of self hatred that lives in my head. Could you really blame me for wanting to give up, or for wanting someone to save me? I guarantee if you living in my head you wouldn't function. If you had this trash suddenly thust on you with no warning and no time slowly learning to cope. I don't want to sound like I'm being edgy. I'm nervous about this paragraph and scared i sound like I'm bragging. Goodness gracious I'm sick of all of this.

#hashtag blogging with aggy

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