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#what i wish i could say
sadstarsz · 8 months
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future
whenever someone asks me where i picture myself in the future i always think of the same thing; dead. i have wanted to be dead for as long as i can remember, i can literally physically feel the depression in my body. however, i never tell anyone because it feels attention seeking or im worried they'll see me differently or even say it's just some 'teen angst' but i am so much more than that. so you know what? fuck that. i am tired of wanting to die or disappear. in the future, i want to move to a nice city somewhere far away from my current town and live in a flat with my future girlfriend. i want to have reached out and gotten help. i want to be going to therapy and doing better. i want to stop self-harming so my scars will hopefully fade and showers will stop making me wince at the constant stinging. i'll publish poetry books and YA novels. i'll to get a semi-colon tattoo on my left wrist, a star behind my right ear and a music note on my shoulder. i'm gonna make music. if i don't earn enough money from writing and music i'll either open up a little shop filled with alternative clothing, records, trinkets etc (basically something similar to a charity shop) or i'll be a criminal physcologist. i want to be something.
i want to make an impact on the world because i dont want to have wasted my life being sad; that's what i've been doing for god knows how long. i really want to be able to say all the things im too weak or too quiet to. i wish i could say what i want to; future me better try and do that. i hope in the future people know me for something good. i dont want to be the 'person you sit next to in class' or 'the girl who let you copy her answers in maths'. i want to make a difference. i want someone who is struggling and is different just like i am to know that i understand. all i've ever wanted is to feel understood. so please future me, make a difference and help one sad teenager feel understood.
when i get older (like grandma kind of old) i want to live in a little cottagey type of home but not one with a straw roof. i want to grow old there with the future girlfriend who will at this point hopefully be my future wife. i want to have bookshelves and bookshelves of books. i want to travel around the world in a caravan with my wife for about a year.
my final wish for future me is to just be happy, in all honesty as much as i'd love all this all i really need is to be happy.
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katesamone · 1 year
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Goodnight, I love you
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You are the reason I am still alive.
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a-stupid-little-diary · 7 months
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I wonder if you still think of what we could have been?
If you still think about the things we talked about?
If you still hope that maybe one day those things will come true?
Just like I do.
Do you still look at old pictures and smile?
Still think back to the time we spent together?
No matter how short the time was.
Do you still listen to the songs we would listen to together?
The songs you would sing to me?
The songs I would sing to you?
What about the things you wrote?
Do you still write?
Your poems and songs?
I just have to wonder what they sound like now?
Are they still just for me?
Or for another person now?
Do you think of someone else when you listen to the songs that used to remind you of me?
Do you do the same things we did with them?
Sing to them?
With them?
I hope not.
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I don’t know what’s going on in your head. I want you to talk to me, I want to understand but I can’t read your mind. If I did something I’m sorry and I didn’t mean to, I want to know how to help. I’m on your side here but I need you to talk to me. If you’re going through it right now and need some space that’s perfectly okay but just let me know, the silence is deafening. We both don’t do well in silence, that much I know, and I’m not sure why you’re keeping it this way. If you gave me a chance to I might be able to help, and if I can’t help I can comfort you. I just wish you’d talk to me. I miss you. I miss talking to you, it’s one of my favourite parts of the day. If we don’t talk before I see you next I don’t know what will happen. I don’t want to push you. If it’s me I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. If this has to end then I’ll understand, no matter what we are to each other I care about you. I just wish you’d talk to me. I tried to start the conversation, I’m trying to be mature and open but you’re shutting me out. If emotional intelligence isn’t your strong suit that’s okay but I need you to communicate what’s going on because I don’t know. I wish I did but I don’t know what’s going on. I’m sorry if me being around your friends was weird but they’re my friends too. And I know you’ve never had a close group of friends before and I absolutely don’t want to ruin that for you, that is never what I want to do, I respect you and your relationships with them. And I don’t wanna seem clingy and childish but you couldn’t even look at me. The whole night you sat across from me and didn’t look at me. You talked and joked with my brother the whole night but refused to acknowledge that I was present. Did I do something to upset you? Is there something else going on? I just want to know. I know four years doesn’t seem like a big gap until it does, but I’m trying my best here, I’ve never had a healthy relationship before and I’m trying my best to be mature about all this but if I let my impulses dictate this conflict then I would lose you for certain. I’m trying here, but I won’t be in another one sided relationship so you have to try to. Just talk to me, please. You’ll never hear any of this because I won’t subject you to the ramblings of a ball of anxiety. Talk to me, please, I’ve done the ghosting when shit gets hard, it doesn’t make anything better, ever.
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thetimelordbatgirl · 24 days
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The police in Scotland have the chance to do the most funniest thing right now.
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catgirl-pawbs · 11 months
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Hi [redacted],
I'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond to your email, unfortunately recently I have been depressed and hated being alive, and as such I'd forgotten to check my emails. Unfortunately, it will happen again. And again. And again. Thank you for your time and your patience with me.
I wish you all the best,
rose
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So far...
Own pace.
It's you against the pressure from your environment.
Embrace the uncomfortable. Learn from it to know comfort.
Don't settle for less. Be high maintenance. Always.
Trust your gut. Follow your intuition.
Wait. Patiently.
Don't rush decisions just because you're pressured.
Never compare. We're all unique and winners in our own way.
Keep on learning. Technical and soft skills.
If it's not 100% yes, it's a no.
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somerandomdudelmao · 6 months
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Heeeey @tapakah0
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Happy birthday:D
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i, personally, will take forever doing what i'm doing on purpose because i can accept my neurodivergence, and the lagging it causes in my brain function and behavior, so yes, i will be taking the extra time it takes to prepare myself for the world, i will not be forcing myself into a panic because someone else thinks i'm taking too long, good day and fuck off 🖤
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darkobssessions · 1 year
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The New Resume Format
able to take a thing and make something new with it, a visionary and a results driven creative force in the work place, I put into action plans for futures previously unconsidered through opening eyes with a talent for breaking complex topics down simply. A very visual and graphic person, alternatively wired and weaving something new from every challenge. Constantly regenerating, self reflecting and adjusting, an entire ecosystem that brings with it its struggles, limits and capacity but that is how nature is built for without the limits there would not be form. So we have form and this form speaks the language of the hidden things, molds and shapes worlds out of thin air, copies the likeness of, names and shapes young minds, tools, processes, dynasties and beyond. This tongue is sharp, I was once called silvertongue. These words may ring harsh or be misconstrued. Oracular talent.
Been to Jordan, Syria, Palestine, Mexico, USA, Spain, Netherlands, Turkey, Cyprus, Greece, Italy, France, Germany, Belgium, Lithuania, UK, Nicaragua, studied this that and the other. Worked sparesely but thoroughly, cracked a mystery or two, struggled through more problems than an average human will ever encounter during their lives, smahsed it because I'm still here and I really really need this job so if you can not ask me if I applied to the right one at the end, or tell me that I'm overqualified that would be really nice. See above. Gifted and also handicapped in a million and one hilarious ways. Basically an enigma. Does not come with a paper manual, I am the manual I can explain if you listen. Otherwise I will not talk, but the job will get done so if you can handle that and a spark of madness and problem solving, then clearly I am your candidate.
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confessedlyfannish · 21 days
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Writing Prompt #12
Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.
Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.
Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.
While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.
These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".
There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—
"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.
But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.
He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.
"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.
"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.
"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.
He doesn't look away from the man.
"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."
"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.
The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.
The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"
Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."
"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."
He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.
"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.
"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.
"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."
"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.
"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."
"Him."
"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."
"Why me?"
"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."
This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.
"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"
"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."
Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."
"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."
"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."
"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."
"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."
"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.
"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.
"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."
"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."
"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."
Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.
Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.
"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."
The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.
"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.
"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."
"I have more than one."
"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."
"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"
There is a pause.
"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."
"Resolve what?"
"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."
"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.
"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."
Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."
The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.
"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."
"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."
"They will have already muzzled him."
Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.
"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."
"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—
Clack!
"sluuuuurp!"
"Master Timothy, honestly!"
"Sorry Alfred!"
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welivetodream · 1 year
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"What do you wanna do when you grow up?" Asked the relative for the 100th time.
I don't know if I am ever gonna grow up. And if I do, you are in my hit list.
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katnisscarter · 1 year
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Yknow what I’m actually fucking so pissed off at you because you act like our love meant nothing. You act like five years meant nothing. You act like all those times we laughed until we cried meant nothing. You act like holding eachother crying meant nothing. You disgust me for that. It took me a year to listen to pierce the veil again, which was MY band LONG before you. I just used sugar scrub for the first time tonight since you left me because of the nights you’d rub it all over me in the bath. I haven’t watched a new scooby doo movie because you’re my partner to watch them bc no one else critiques them the same way as me. I haven’t been to plaza, MY fav home town restaurant in MY home town in over a year because of you. Because those were OUR things. Because I can’t do those things without you. And you fucking have the audacity to act like I mean nothing to you? You have the audacity to say she has to come for us to talk? After the things we’ve shared? You’re fucking disgusting for that. You’re a disgrace. You act like I’m crazy and That I’m this nuisance blocking you from living your best life with your new girlfriend? Go fucking live it you piece of shit because you don’t deserve me. You don’t deserve the depth of love I can give. You don’t deserve the thoughtfulness that I can encompass. You can act like I was the worst mistake you ever made but fuck you for that because it was you and me all those nights in bed together talking about life. It was you and me that would sit in the car and listen to albums all the way up and scream them together. It was you and me that laid on the floor that night crying in eachothers arms. It was you and me that went to that fucking wedding venue to see what it was like. And you acting like I don’t mean anything to you? That all of those years of love and happiness and real true care for eachother is nothing? Fuck you. Fuck you so badly. Because I didn’t mean nothing , I was the light of your life. I was who you wanted forever with. I was who you were proud to bring home to your parents. I was who you cried to. I was who was there for you. I was who celebrated your accomplishments. I was who was proud of you. I was the first person to ask you about you and celebrate you for being you. I was who held you and told you it was going to be okay. I saw the ugliest parts of you and I loved them too. And how do you treat me? You fucking slept with her and you left me. You don’t love me like you did yesterday. You broke who I was and you don’t get to judge me. All I did and all I’ve ever done was fucking love you unconditionally, and you shattered me. You’re the piece of shit here, I think it’s time you fucking remember that. And you know what? You know what’s fucking pathetic? Even after all of this, after all of the ways you’ve hurt me and seem to enjoy it, I still love you. I still smile when I talk about you. I still go to text you Goodmorning. I still go to buy you things I think you’ll like. I still go to ask you to go do things. I still try to understand why you did what you did and that I don’t hate you. That’s what’s fucked up. Fuck off god I’m so sick of this. I love you so much but I can’t. I want to be with you more than anything and yet I wish we never met. I can’t stop crying because of you and I want you to wipe my tears.
you’re deliberately twisting the knife in my chest and I’m telling you it’s okay you don’t mean to hurt me and wiping your tears.
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aman1taverna · 2 months
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what the actual fuck? all of the comments were supporting this dude even after this disgustingly misogynistic comment. I feel so bad for the women at that event.
"I don't even act like a man" yes you do. you're just completely delusional. @redditreceipts
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applestruda · 1 year
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Small comic thingy in reference to one of the rambles that wonderful anon wrote about
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