#<- phrases that are haunting my brain forever now

[bmpmp3]

waai waiwai waiwaiwai is the most song ever

[aetherdecember]

Look, I love BBC Merlin and how they told the lore, but I’m a sucker for the relationship between Arthur and Mordred in the mythology. Specifically, I love how Mary Stewart (author of The Arthurian Saga**) and Nancy Springer (author of I Am Mordred**) wrote about the father/son relationship between them. So naturally, my brain has been conjuring up how I can include that in my Flipping the Coin au.

Since the main premise is Merlin died/Arthur lives, and now Arthur is the one waiting for Merlin to come back, things would stay consistent with canon up to the last episode (when Merlin flips the coin of their destiny and sacrifices himself so Arthur can live and thus stop Camlann from happening altogether). Which is where this idea will start:

Gwen is barren. She and Arthur never have kids. Eventually, everyone Arthur knows and loves dies. He can’t rule Camelot forever, and after Gwen’s death, he no longer wants to, so he fakes his death and wanders off figure out why he’s still here. He never gets an answer for that. Arthur spends the next millennium waiting. He keeps living. He meets people, experiences things he’d never experienced before, and learns things he’d never dreamed of learning. He can’t stay anywhere long, or else suspicions will rise, but he gets to see the world change, how technology advances, and witness humans continuing to be humans. When war breaks out, he joins the battle. It’s familiar. The rush of adrenaline is the same whether he’s wielding a sword or a gun. Only, he can’t see the enemy’s face anymore.

Peace comes again. At some point, he sleeps with a woman, and she happens to become pregnant. Bisexual disaster that he is, he’s had all sorts of partners from both sexes, but has never had this happen, even before the advent of reliable birth control. Later, he’ll learn her name is Morgause. She doesn’t look like the Morgause he knew before, nor does she act like her, but her name haunts him. After the baby is born, she gives him to Arthur, says she has no intentions of being a mother, and leaves. The last thing she had said to him was the baby’s name.

Mordred.

That night, Arthur holds Mordred and weeps.

There is irony in his son being named Mordred. First, in that the legends surrounding him, Merlin, Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table, and all of it, had long ago decided Mordred was his son. And two, in a retelling of that legend, it had aptly phrased what he sensed was happening now. Granted, he isn’t a sorcerer, he doesn’t have magic, so he can’t support his feeling with anything other than he’d been around a long time and knew to his very core that it was true. Mordred’s birth is a signal of the beginning of the end.

Fatherhood brings him a new sense of purpose. Gone are the days of loneliness and drudgery. Every day with Mordred brings a new light into his life. Each smile is a miracle. Seeing Mordred experience things for the first time brings a new appreciation. Being there to watch him grow makes time fly like it never has before. But Arthur is afraid. He doesn’t want to be his father. He doesn’t know how to be a father, or what the right way to do it is. In all the years he’s been on the Earth, he’s never known a man who could concretely say, “This is the way to raise a son,” and actually reap the fruits of their efforts. Too frequently, he’d seen sons grow outside of the visions their fathers molded for them and receive only disappointment and disdain in return. So he was afraid, because he too had been that son.

*cue a series of fluffy father/son one shots of Arthur raising Mordred until Merlin comes back, takes one look, and is is like WTF????? No, I won’t have Mordred for a step son >:(*

**Mary Stewart and Nancy Springer have several other works, not just the stories I mentioned. The ones mentioned are the ones I’m pulling inspiration from ^^

Additional notes below the break:

Guinevere’s barrenness is not a headcanon I typically subscribe to for BBC Merlin. My headcanon is that after Arthur’s death, Gwen gives birth, and their child eventually succeeds her as ruler.

I’ve always seen Mordred’s appearance as the harbinger of Arthur’s downfall. Thus, the reason for the plot bunnies in my brain going crazy with this idea of how I could bring him in, still remain mostly canon compliant with BBC Merlin, and build off some of my favorite parts of the lore. (Mandatory disclaimer: for BBC Merlin, I don’t headcanon Mordred as Arthur’s son. But for the mythology, I do wholeheartedly support that canon.)

Arthur’s choice to participate and live once Camelot is gone is a decision to contrast my headcanon of how Merlin handled it. I don’t think Merlin thrived. I think he stayed busy, and tried to remain hopeful, but I think he was anxiously consumed with the anticipation of wondering when Arthur would come back. In this au, Arthur may or may not know that Merlin is supposed to come back (I’m still working on that detail), but he’s always been around others. I think he would seek camaraderie, and companionship, and that he would connect with others but only to a superficial level. I don’t think he’d exist in a void of loneliness. Plus, he doesn’t have the guilt of knowing he failed because the pressure from the prophecy is very one sided *coughcough*causemerlinnevertoldhim*coughcough*

Anyways, that’s enough rambling from me about this. I’ll probably share some snippets of writing next because there are some fantastic scenes coming together in the draft so stay tuned! ;D

[sinofwriting]

Pastime - Marcus Armstrong/Reader/Callum Ilott

Words: 990 Prompt: “Just this once” Note(s)/Warning(s): Some Angst, Happy Ending, Talks of Sex, Talks of Period Sex, Talks of Oral Sex (female receiving), Marcus is vocally into period sex, Callum is into the idea but doesn’t say so

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“Just this once.” The words rang in her head, haunting. It should’ve been just once, maybe twice, perhaps thrice, but she couldn’t count how many times it happened. Didn’t have enough fingers or toes to count. Had run out right before August ended.

It was her own weakness that made the phrase so untrue. It didn’t take much, a goading look, her name said low into her ear, a breathless please before lips are pressing against her neck. When it came to Callum and Marcus there was no just this once, it was only forever, just as it had always been.

She’s thankful however two months after the first time, she can finally say no and not give in to them.

She’s under a blanket on her couch, Callum beside her, while Marcus sits on the other side of him. The two had shown up just before one pm and invited themselves in, happily joining her as she rewatches some mindless tv. A hand slips under her blanket and onto her covered thigh, she doesn’t think anything of it, until it slips a little further, and there’s Callum’s lips just an inch away from her ear, saying her name.

The feeling, sensation of it all, makes her breath hitch, but she keeps her eyes on the tv shaking her head and grabbing his hand and pulling it away from her thigh and out from underneath the blanket. “Not today.” She’s surprised by how strong her voice is but is grateful. Maybe it will mean next time, if there is next time, she’ll be able to resist them then as well. “Are you alright?” And a cool hand is touching her forehead. She huffs and pushes away Marcus’ hand. “Of course, I’m alright.” “You’re saying no to sex.” Her lips press together to stop a laugh from spilling. If it had been anyone but Marcus saying that or Callum, she’d be angry, glaring, cursing and threatening them, but they had known each other for so long now and Marcus wasn’t wrong in the slightest.

She had never been one to turn down sex. She liked sex. She liked how it made her feel during and after. The way bodies moved and made noise. The scent of it that thickens in the room, nearly like a fog.

“I’m just not in the mood.” “Okay,” Callum starts, picking up the tv remote and turning the tv off. “Now, something is definitely wrong.” Both of them are turned slightly to look at her and she can see the younger’s hand that's under Callum’s hoodie, fingers moving beneath the fabric. It makes her thighs clench knowing what those hands look like on both Callum and her. “Nothings wrong.” They continue to look at her unimpressed and she rolls her eyes, raising a brow. “I’m on my period.” The British driver’s eyes widen but her focus is on Marcus who has the audacity to pout at her words.

“Does that mean you won’t let me eat you out?” “Kiwi.” Callum groans, though his eyes have a bit of interest as he looks at her as well for an answer. She shakes her head, trying not to think or wonder why exactly Marcus seemed so disappointed at the idea of not getting to eat her out. “It means no sex. Not with me at least.” Now both of them are pouting at her and she sighs. “No. The only people I have period sex with are significant others.” “Well, we certainly fit the bill.” She lets out a hum before reaching for the remote still in Callum’s hands only for him to hold it away from her. “What was that?” “What?” “The hum. After Marcus said we fit the bill.” She looks away from the both of them, heart clenching inside of her chest painfully. She didn’t need a reminder that they weren’t together, that what they had with her was just sex. She keeps her eyes on the powered off tv, words rolling around in her brain before she finally speaks. “I mean, we never talked about anything. It was pretty easy to assume that it was just sex.”

Silence fills the room as tears fill her eyes and it’s broken with an “oh, baby.” and Callum’s hands on her hips, pulling her onto his lap and then half on his and half on Marcus’. “Have you thought that the whole time?” “No, I mean, yes.” She sighs. “It’s just we never talked about it, addressed it. We’d just continue hanging out after or the next day we’d see each other it was like nothing really happened. I didn’t know what to think.” “Well, we’re together, all three of us.” Marcus states, but an elbow to his side makes him retract. “I mean, only if you want to be with the two of us.” Her elbow finds its way into the older’s ribs as she finally looks at the both of them. “Of course, I want to be with both of you.” “Thank god.” Marcus breathes and the slight worry that had been on both of their faces is gone.

“Now please tell me I can eat you out.” “Kiwi!” He pouts at both of them. “You I get,” he nods to her. “But you, Callum. Mate, you're supposed to be on my side.” “Buy her dinner first, mate.” His eyes narrow at the British driver and he’s tugging her fully onto his lap before leaning over to kiss Callum. “I’ll buy you both dinner after. Just let me have dessert first.” He pleads. Her and Callum share a look and he gives her a slight tilt of the head, a silent your call. “I have never had period sex before.” “Splendid, a first for all of us.” He says, but still doesn’t move waiting for clear consent. She’s stifling a laugh from him saying the word splendid, but nods. “Alright, Kiwi. Let’s add another first.”

@benstormy @darleneslane

[shepherds-of-haven]

What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral? and Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you? please! :)

What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

I go feral for a lot of words... "Luminous..." "Perspicacious..." "Ache..." "Pearlescent..." "Iridescent..." "Radiant..." "Luxe..." "Crystalline..." "Lithe..." "Celestial..." "Stutter..." "Halcyon..." "Ambient..." I just... I love words

Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you? please! :)

I'm haunted by writing all the time! "Haunting" to me has two separate but similar meanings: when a piece of writing is so impactful that it changes your brain chemistry and style of writing forever, and when a moment in a story is so emotionally impactful (whether due to sorrow, joy, catharsis, closure, love, nostalgia, wistfulness, what have you) that you're still overcome with feelings about it even years later. And sometimes it's because of both! Frodo sailing away to the Gray Havens is an "emotional" haunting for me--so is Knightley's "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more" in Emma--while there are lots of prosaic moments or turns of phrase all scattered throughout the books I've read that have also haunted me in how they changed me as a writer (like Margaret Atwood's textual descriptions of Crake in Oryx and Crake, which aren't emotional but fundamentally impacted how I write certain characters).

Aerin and Luthe's final parting in The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley is something that continues to haunt me, decades later, both emotionally and textually... I just--ugh. I can't even talk about it, I've committed those last few paragraphs to memory and they still mess me up!

As for my own writing, I wouldn't say any of it "haunts" me: in fact, once I've committed something to its final draft, I curiously seem to forget a lot of it! It's like I've finally offloaded it from my brain the way it's supposed to have been offloaded, and now my brain is relieved and utterly done with storing any of it, so I forget it all as soon as it's set down in its final form! XD There are a few lines that I've come up with that I've never been able to fit anywhere, and that continue to crop up in my mind time and time again, so I guess those do haunt me, demanding to be use-- but I'll just wait for the right time to fit them in somewhere before I share them... :)

[charmwasjess]

12 and 14 for the ask game? :D

I'm sorry this is so late, Boli - I was having fun with it and took forever. <3

-12 a trope you’re really into right now

So with Rabbit Heart, I was trying to take the old fashioned shippy whump fic and hit as many of the expected classic tropes as possible.

I'm surprised how much fun the "sharing a bed" one has been. Especially because for at least the first half, I have two tall, absolutely disgustingly people crammed onto a single bunk and the idea of them snuggling their horrible bloody wet mud-caked bodies together is very wonderful to write. And then Sifo-Dyas starts taking apart his lightsaber in bed and is adding, like, literal oil to this upsetting mélange? I know they're in their early twenties here, but I think this pair still has a little lingering "feral teen boy" energy in this phase. God, and that makes me think - can you imagine how bad Lene Kostana's quarters smelled between those two haunting it sweatily and a literal bird of prey living there?

In general, I do a lot of Friends to Lovers and my work has a ton of Jedi as a Found Family.

-14 where do you get your inspiration?

I think a lot of my inspiration comes from a compulsive interest in people. I'm a snoop. The same part of my brain that can't help looking in other people's carts at the grocery store just to see what they're buying is the part of my brain that makes me a writer. I like to people watch, I pay attention to my friends and people in my life, little gestures, small quirks of phrasing, and I like to sketch them later with words.

I also try to put a ton of useless information and experiences into my life, and I get a lot of energy and inspiration from that. That's not to say that you have to, say, have gotten a tattoo to know how to write the specific bumblebee pain of getting tattooed, because lots of writers can accurately and interestingly write things they have no concept of. But I think I write my best when my life is very full and busy and I'm doing a lot of stuff and experiencing a lot of new things. Getting out of my comfort zone really shakes up my brain in a way that makes better images fall out of it.

[netherworldpost]

I hired a business consultant with a report delivery of Friday end of day.

Because they are an Actual Professional it came on time and was very thorough and complete.

Because I am a Cartoon Professional I changed my email password immediately after signing the contract so I wouldn't obsess.

Then watched Scooby-Doo for several days, obsessing anyway, until I could no longer take not knowing the results (Sunday morning at 4:17AM)

This covers a 10 year period

RED = MYTHOLOGY (Evil Supply Co. public shop before closing + private practice for mythology clients, which did not close)

BLUE = OTHER STUFF with red removed so I can see what percentage of income is mythology vs. not.

Got a bit of red on me.

In this chart you can see where I had my 2020 traffic accident and the subsequent rebuilding of my life and business practices.

Now let's talk about why I'm making this post. You can tell where I added artwork to this "hide private information" chart because it's bright pink.

I feel like following me on social media is a combination of mythology and benefiting from my investments in business + therapy. Consider this part of the value proposition in following oh stones I can't with the business talk.

atty (me, hi) = cartoon business person doing fun spooky things + occasional thing that is accidentally actually useful = public posting (desire for attention + lightly marketing)

Which is a quick commercial break for our sponsor (hi, it's me, I'm the sponsor on my own post)

netherworldpost.com has the mailing list when the public side of Netherworld Post opens later this year.

Greeting cards, postcards, stickers, zines, stories, rambles. All original art and writing about queer monsters, witches, ghosts, mermaids living in paradise.

Mental and physical therapy... are... continuing... and as they improve I can make stuff faster and get closer to launching

Thanks, back to rambling.

One of the things that has sat heavily in my brain since said traffic accident is a variety of soul haunting "what if?"s

This chart is to showcase the utter irrelevance of this line of thinking -- you cannot change the past -- in hopes of helping me and subsequently you to move on.

One of the biggest things I am trying to unbuckle from my brain is this idea that life is a linear experience with a finite number of resources and opportunities.

My brain has been ground into the position of "I must constantly hustle because every opportunity not maximized is lost forever and is thus one more step closer to irreversible failure. Going slow or stopping to rest = bad."

This is a coldly logical statement that sounds great when you're being punitive to yourself for choices made by you or others.

There is some small truth to it (your daily existence is comprised of 24 hours) but the fundamental and utterly overwhelmingly larger truth underlying is life is not comprised of a straight forward math formula.

Here is a zoom in + direct message summary

Bad thing happens.

Work harder for awhile.

Things resume on the previous path.

Worry over choosing the wrong path is extremely probably corrected over the long term.

Your "what if?" -- my "what if?" -- is irrelevant.

Not just because you cannot change the past. But because continued hard work averages out losses and "non-selected opportunities"

(don't you love that? "non-selected opportunities". This is a new phrase to me. Such a nice way of passing up "I didn't take the objectively better path for reasons.")

I hope you find it helpful!

I hope you sign up on netherworldpost.com which has an auto-merging feature if you've already signed, meaning if you're unsure, sign up again, you won't get duplicate emails in a few months when we launch!

Thank you, it's time for coffee, I have spent 5+ hours reading this damn thing and making this post

[2n2n]

OK. I can think about chapter 100 now!!! I've had sex calmed down.

What a fun time we're having, and what an awful guy Kou can be wwwwww....

shoutout to, me calling Kou emotionally like a 5 year old (compared to Amane being a 13 year old...), and him right now represented as an extremely young child having a tantrum... god what an epic drag!!! THANK you AidaIro!!

very cool and good of Mitsuba, I'm really liking him more than ever... drag him.... this is so good... perceive it....

this guy again....

screaming defensive guy when he's upset...

I love the painful impact of this line

Mitsuba not thinking of himself as special, so much as Kou's general heroism means he's concerned ... Mitsuba can't congeal a thought like "I'm special to you" "me going away forever would make you distinctly and uniquely upset".... I like seeing it hit Kou painfully because it's not true, it's not 'like anyone', but, he's not brave enough to just say that.

and now the award for most inappropriate thing anyone's ever called a suicidal person who has no motivation to live,,

GRAND PRIZE WINNER KOU, UNIMAGINABLE RUDENESS FROM A 5 YEAR OLD... ohhh of course Mitsuba's phrasing just sets of Kou's shitty reactive behavior!! Well, I love Mitsuba trying to explain that he wants departing to be special occasion, for someone to be sad and emotional about it .... major Rasphard swag. Love that for you, Mitsuba... such a 'midway' fantasy, you know? As I've said before, there are such 'rungs' of desire, what one can imagine for themselves can be so small and feeble, unable to conceptualize grander things... we are nowhere near a real hopeful dream from Mitsuba. He is trying to be happy with dying in a significant manner.

Mitsuba I wonder the same thing. Like Kou do you really understand the implications, here? Of YOu accusing Mitsuba of like, asking you to help him out with his fetish, wanting to die by your hand being somehow a perverted thing, like, back the hell up, I DON'T THINK YOU THOUGHT THAT THROUGH... I mean of course you didn't, you don't, but seriously, now.....

rauruhg... this is so lurid... this is the most rawly I've liked Mitsuba, I love his vigor and insistence on making Kou do this to him, this thing that would greatly upset Kou to do, and Mitsuba wants to get to see Kou be upset the whole time, wants it to be him because how upset he will be. This is, decadent.. this is incredible. Really good job, Mitsuba... your misery has crystalized in such an interesting fantasy ... you'd love to haunt someone's memory finally.... to be grieved always, in the guilty heart of Kou. Ugh, epic....

UNPRECEDENTED SECOND AWARD FOR WORST THING TO POSSIBLY SAY TO SOMEONE WHO WANTS TO DIE

feeling free and fine physically harming someone because "you wanna end it anyway right?" like omfg, you're really turning this into some kind of masochism in your brain Kou, PLEASE UNDERSTAND IT'S A ROMANTIC KIND OF FANTASY ... you're the equivalent of a vet putting down a sick dog, NOT A SEMI TRUCK SMASHING INTO A GUY, or,, a BDSM dungeon master,, OK..... I can't believe how awful you can be, please, you're so lucky Mitsuba is so desperate that he will have you, you behave so crudely and without any grace or romanticism............ know that like I love what we're doing here, narratively, but if this was my OTP I'd be dying, like please can you let a moment be beautiful, for 3 seconds.... I can't live like this, I'm too sentimental, Kou is such a violently unromantic person.... making hananene and amatsuka look so graceful....

EGREGIOUS.... childish....

a very nice Mitsuba!!! and... what a sentiment. Ahahaha... your standards are... so low Mitsuba... </3 Kou IS better than a big stinky fish, I guess.... congratulations on having some standards....

crazy crazy sentiment... "I sure am dangerous" oh I love it. Mitsuba...! This is such a great and interesting place to be about your status....

I like the reality of this explained out simply... and it guilts Kou in a way I have been waiting for-- I wish he could really understand this, and feel guilty for every time he's just placidly spending lunchtime with his buddies, relaxing with Teru and Tiara, while Mitsuba is all alone... (and then if Mitsuba playfully tries to find a way to join him, Kou might be pissy and annoyed, and has no perception of WHY he acted out for attention... he has never truly understood how miserable Mitsuba is, despite everything--!!!!!!!)

[Mitsuba feeling wanting, lonely, left out...]

[Kou just being a screaming animal about it blasting Mitsuba]

Even if we look at Mitsuba and think, "he has friends!", the reality to Mitsuba himself is different. Nobody asks for him specifically, and none of it is enough to compensate for the pain and guilt and shame he experiences for existing. It's all too small to effect any of that agony. Not a reason to stay clung to the shore... all the effort of it ... its not that he's ungrateful for the little he does have, it's just not nearly a distraction enough, for all the time he spends doing unpleasant and awful things, or languishes alone....

UURHRHGGH THIS IS LIK E YES YES [most excited I've been all chapter] YES YE ES YES SCHOOL FESTIVAL ARC YES YES YES YES WHAT ARE WE GONNA RUN WITH HANAKO!!! PLEASE WHAT DOES HE DO AT FESTIVALS, I BET HE LOVES HAUNTING PLACES!!!! oohghr so much FUN POTENTIAL!!! please god Yugis playing together ... I don't know how old the tradition of cultural festivals are, and a cursory search right now isn't helping, so, I wonder if the Yugi ever attended one when alive (not a high school ran one obviously, since they didn't make it there).... but Hanako at least has existed in the building with them, I wonder if he has fun in some manner.... I wonder what Nene will want to do, she's such a fun and creative and playful girl--!!!!!! And her and Hanako together can be so playful, eeee excited ... ><!!!

I'm excited if Mitsuba and Kou will be together for this, because it also isolates Nene with Hanako >> I loved how Picture Perfect split them off, so, I'd love a reprise of that arrangement >> << >> sorry Kou but like, get out............................. I'm not one of those 'toilet trio' people ................................................... I want HanaNene......... and I want the opportunity for Nene alone with Hanako and Tsukasa-- EEEEVEN just the potential is enough for me, even if it won't happen ...... ! well, the dream would be both the Yugi messing around with people at the festival and secretly colluding with each other, you know....

glad we end with Mitsuba able to be playful about his affliction...

hows about you put those housewife qualities to some good use, eh, Kou? Don't you feed your family all the time.... you'd be better suited to being in charge of feeding Mitsuba, and maybe you'd take your little job more seriously if it was more like a wolf bringing pheasants home for your pup.... lets give Tsukasa a break on playing caretaker.... he's just meant to be the cute little brother Amane protects, you know, he's not really enriched by this caretaking thing, like you....

[francesderwent]

Troy and Gabriella, also reylo

TROY AND GABRIELLA

first of all screaaaaaaming because I adore the crap out of them and firmly believe that they are extraordinarily valid!!!

my FAVORITE moment? has GOT to be "Can I Have This Dance", because it's all about the fact that what they have is a MIRACLE, and it's worth fighting for!! but they're not trying to stay in the same moment forever, they're gonna lead and follow through life, they're gonna keep on getting better.

WHOLESOME, all caps!! more wholesome than anybody else, maybe!!!!!

I'm legit going to fully seriously say "Love Story" because they absolutely epitomize the Fearless kind of pure, sincere teenage love, and they are kind of the Romeo and Juliet of jocks and nerds. and also! I believe in my heart that those crazy kids made it, and they got married and had the white dress and everything!! "Romeo, save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel / this love is difficult, but it's real / don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess / it's a love story, baby, just say yes"

ship: it's crazy how few teenage ships from the gajillion teenage shows I've seen even come close to the sheer perfection of their energy. closest would be Scott and Allison from Teen Wolf, probably! EDIT: I am an idiot and the correct answer was obviously Scott and Kira.

a childhood friends AU! we'll make it so they only see each other in the summers so starting school together DOES change everything, but I love the "just like kindergarten" line so much that I think it would be fun to make it true. that singing together feels like when you met a kid and started playing together and suddenly were best friends, because that's what happened for them! and they're growing all the time but they never leave that behind.

I'm gonna throw them in the honorable mentions because they deserve it!!!!!

REY AND BEN

they are a ship of MOMENTS, aren't they?? I think my favorite, the one that took my breath away in theaters, is when their eyes meet in that last battle in tros and she sees him and she knows it's really him, knows that he's shed every mask he's ever worn and is looking at her with his own eyes!! both younger and older than he's ever been!!!! and he nods at her and that gives her the courage she needs! this connection that has been like a haunting is now a lifeline!!

I have absolutely no idea what to say here because there is a part of my brain that is absolutely refusing to give any ground in the reylo battles of late 2019 by even thinking the phrase fucked up when it comes to them, but also I feel like calling them wholesome might be a stretch? too bad, I'm going to!! because they've both got their issues and they hurt each other in deep ways but in the end they're honest with each other and they save each other!!!!!!! and isn't that what counts?

"Only Love" by Mumford and Sons!! "I didn't fool you but I failed you / in short, made a fool out of you and a younger heart / and I rage and I rage / but perhaps I will come of age and be ready for you / and you saw me low, alone again / didn't they say that only love will win in the end?"

I already connected them with Zutara, so now I'm gonna draw a line between them and Jude and Cardan. I think my reasoning basically boils down to "big snake paradoxically and symbolically healed by violence" but I don't think that means I'm wrong, necessarily

I love the idea of a Ben never goes dark AU in a million different ways, but especially when he's just not especially force-sensitive, not especially good at it, except that he has this deep force connection to this random scavenger out in the middle of nowhere who's really good with the force. despite this, Ben is Leia's favorite child and Rey is Han's favorite not-child.

they did not make the list!

[nathank77]

5/11/24

5:53 p.m edited/added to

Basically what this study is saying is that the feedback loop between my language center and these other brain regions are linked together and are broken and the voice I hear is created by the language center and this broken feedback loop..

How do I fix this? Or is remission all I've ever experience?

What if my ptsd is now apart of my auditory hallucination? I worry that it could be permanent I know that I have ptsd. I know that I still have psychosis bc of my mental pictures... and my sloppy thoughts that occur a lot less...sexual but degrading thoughts about my genitalia.

The voice is saying a lot less at this point..but it still talks constantly.. it says like 5 things now:

1) I've got a birthday present

2) Happy birthday

3) deadname

4) Nathan

5) the bussy cunt feels bad for deadname last name..

And it repeats what I think. Sometimes it says something random...but like only once. Sometimes I'm not sure if it's my thought or the voice. So maybe I thought tube sock. Idk.

It's sentences are getting shorter and easier to cut off. It can't chant like it used to. That's Def improvement.

But it's still constant. And my ptsd from this and microsleep are killing me.

Even if it does stop I'll still imagine hearing the voice it haunts me. Even if it does stop I'll never stop having flashbacks to it and microsleep.

I won't even begin to fuck with 5-HT. I won't take antidepressants... I won't take antipsychotics I don't need to deplete dopamine everywhere. I won't take any antidepressants even ones that leave 5-HT alone.

The only thing I'm willing to do is take cbd and White mulberries while trying to find a supplement that is safe to make gaba levels higher.. and slow down glutamate.... or a supplement that is an antagonist on glutamate.

How am I supposed to live my life like this forever? Even if the voice stops, the voice flashbacks and the microsleep flashbacks are going to kill me.

I don't actually expect the voice to ever stop. And I try to game as much as I can tolerate so that I don't develop depression and get a MDD voice...it's hard though. No one watches my gameplay and I hallucinate so much more but I feel my brain melting from shows like American dad... sometimes it's nice cause I don't think and I don't hallucinate much.... but otherwise it's like how can I do this for hours. Hours and hours just to cope with my shitty existence.

I notice the voice only can clearly say, happy birthday, I've got a birthday present, deadname, and the bussycunt feels bad for deadname, Nathan.... my deadname sounds off it sounds likes "100% percent" sometimes. Sometimes it sounds like another name that is off by a letter...

I can tell that if I listen for it, I can make it say different things bc it's my thoughts. I can't hear anything else clearly but those phrases. Although bc I learned all its phrases I think the older phrases it stopped saying and sometimes i give it a voice persay...unfortunately when you hear the same phrases over and over again you learn them. If your mother calls you a fat ass all your life it plays in your head. That kind of thing. And psychosis puts thoughts in your head you'd never think and then it eventually becomes your thought. It's a bully that lives within you and you can't get rid of.

I just feel like my life isn't worth living. I'm never going to be a dad or leave my mom's house. I'm never going to recover and I don't want to know what other mental illness I will end up obtaining due to this.

I don't think this brain damage is repairable. The microsleep trauma and flashbacks I get are enough to kill me.

[shinybluething]

Licking the cream cheese out of the hole in my bagel (so it doesn't fall down my front when I bite into it like a Normal Person) feels more than faintly obscene.

Also: I did not need the phrase "tonguing the bagel hole" to appear, spontaneously, in my partially caffeinated brain. It will haunt me forever now.

[witch-hazels-musings]

sleep my love

Warning -> angst/comfort, nightmares and worries (reader comforts character)

Character X GN reader | Anthology 

Includes: Dainsleif, Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao

Dainsleif

He didn’t dream only remembered. If he found himself in the throws of sleep, the only visions he ever witnessed were memories from his past. Some forgotten and some he wished would be; eternity is forever doomed by those who must live to remember every terrible detail of the past. They say, ‘time will tell …’ what a terrible phrase 500 years passed by him and no matter how many questions he asked, time never once answered him

He stirred, head lifting from his chest as he squinted at the strain of his neck. His crossed arms did well at keeping him together as he slept against the bark of a grand tree. Its roots stretched out across the ground before dipping and weaving into the earth. He had forgotten for a moment what could have brought him to slumber under its branches until he found you passing beneath them. 

Like a spirit, you drifted through the edge of his sight before finally appearing in front of the gentle fire. Your arms were full of sticks and twigs and with a solid thud, they tumbled from your hold only to be neatly arranged in the pit. Like scaffolding, you designed it so the flames could climb their way toward a sky they’d never reach. 

“You’re supposed to be asleep.” You spoke, poking at the fire you knelt in front of. The light began to swell and he watched how the warm oranges, yellows, and golds highlighted your features. 

“It seems I’ve been awakened.” 

“It surely wasn’t me. I was extra quiet.” You glanced at him and he wondered if the wink you gave him wasn’t just a trick of the light. 

“It’s unlike me to sleep for long periods anyway. How long until sunrise?” He adjusted and stretched, though it would have been hard to notice from how little his arms and legs moved. 

“I’d say several more hours, are you looking to get an early start on the day?” 

“It’s best if we don’t stay in one place for long.” 

“Yes, yes.” You let the prodding stick rest against the rocks, your hands moving to feel the warmth of the growing fire before you dusted them off and stood. He watched how you reached toward the sky but averted his gaze when the shirt you had loosened rode up your stomach. “Why don’t you try to sleep some more?” Hesitantly, he glanced at you only to find you resting on a thick section of root, knee bent and supporting your arms that crossed over it. 

“I am well rested enough.” 

“I’m pretty sure you’ve slept for ...” You counted on your fingers before twisting your shoulders and showing him the count. “Two hours, you need more.” 

“I’m perfect -” 

“Nope, I’m in charge tonight, remember.” Again, was it a wink, or was it the light from the fire. “Sleep more.” The bend in your wrist was prominent as you pointed for him to stay seated. “You don’t need to worry.” 

“Ah, why is that.” His arms crossed as he settled back against the tree. There was no need to argue with you when you were this adamant. 

“Simple, I’ll keep the nightmares away.” He understood now, you had to have been a spirit all along for nothing in this world could sound as mystical as your laugh, nothing as devious as your ability to make him submit, nothing as powerful as your determination. 

“I shall leave it to you then.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the bark of the grand tree which protected the both of you. The smell of burning wood, rich nigh air, and the sound of distant singing drew him to slumber, and in the richness of his often haunting dreams, he found soft energy lead him to colors he hadn’t seen in hundreds of years. 

Diluc

Nightmares were common things for him, a constant plague that rattled his brain and shook the nerves he worked hard to bind. If it wasn’t uncertainties that kept him awake, it was the failure of his past mistakes - the regret that lingered, that slipped in when least expected and dragged his disposition down into the darkness of his worries. Was he doing enough to make up for it all, was he really trying to push forward or was he still stuck holding onto emotions that would eat him up inside

It was a feeling that woke you. Something whispered in your heart and when you turned to examine the room only to find the once warm bedside was now cold to the touch, you knew what it was that spoke so strongly to the muscle in your chest.

“Diluc?” You called out into the darkness, hand moving to turn on the lamp near you when a voice stalled your action.

“I’m here.” He answered so quietly, almost like a child who didn’t want to interrupt something important but desperately needed aid. You twisted your body toward the sound and saw him sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, his feet and legs partially illuminated by the light of the moon. Carefully, you slipped from the bed and made your way to him, which he protested against. “It’s alright, stay in bed.”

“How could I do that when you aren’t with me?” You asked, stopping just before him, eyes adjusting in the low levels of blue and white light. He didn’t answer you, instead, he moved his hand to cover his face and you kneeled to get a better look. The warmth of his legs surrounded you, your hands found his thighs while your eyes stayed locked onto his face. “Was it a bad dream?” You watched him tug on his bangs and knew by the action you were right.

Warm fingers passed over his, beckoning them to let you in and when he dropped his hand back toward his hips you took up space around him. Lifting off of your knees, you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers pushing into his loose hair, face finding his shoulder as your chest rested against his. He didn’t move for a moment but you didn’t pressure him, you simply stayed quiet and embraced him until he returned the gesture.

“Whatever you saw can’t break you, I know how strong you are.” You hummed against him and felt the tightness of his arms bring you closer to his body. “And,” You pulled back, just enough to let your head rest against his forehead, “whatever strength you’re lacking, I’ll lend you my own.” Diluc’s hands slid to your face as he pulled you into a kiss that tasted like salt. When he let you go, you stood and let your hand find his. “Come back to bed, I’ll keep the nightmares away.”

The two of you settled back into the plush mattress, the soft sheets covering your body as you eased him into your arms. His head found your chest and after a moment of adjustment, he settled comfortably there. Your fingers ran across his exposed back, every once in a while they trailed over a prominent scar before moving onto the smooth skin beside it. You pushed his hair out of the way and smiled at the weight of him on you, he was so comforting to you, you only hoped he shared that sentiment.

As the minutes passed by, the intensity of his hold began to ease and soon you felt the noticeable signs of sleep find him. Your hand moved to stroke his face, pushing his hair behind his ear and sliding across his arm until it came to rest in the fingers that draped over you. It was like magic the way he pulled you along after him because as soon as your fingers found their home in his, you remembered nothing else but the sound of birds chirping their morning hellos.

Kaeya

The mind likes to play tricks on us - comforting memories of times before woven into flashes of bitter truths and unspoken secrets. Would he be brave enough to do what was asked of him or will he fail those who believe in him - you are the last hope - hope for what, last will of who - this was a battle, a war, a fight that didn’t have anything to do with him. At least, that’s what he wished. Did the shackles of his duty really need to be fulfilled in order to fall from his limbs, or was there something, someone out there that could ease the weight they carried?

The hallway was cold in the darkness of the evening but you pressed on because at the end of it was sure to be the one thing that could warm you back up. “Kaeya?” You whispered, peeking around the corner as you headed to the kitchen. Even though there were no lights on, you found him easily in the light of the moon as a glint reflected off the glass he settled back onto the countertop. His hand was sprawled out over the surface, back bent toward it, and hair falling over his exposed shoulders. Perhaps he didn’t hear you call out to him, because he hardly noticed your presence even when you stood but a few inches from him. “Kaeya…” Your hands found his arm and he tensed before turning toward you.

“Hah, what are you doing up so late?” He asked as if you didn’t have the same question to ask him.

“You weren’t in bed, I got worried.”

“Oh, did my absence make you lonely?” He joked, arms crossing over his chest and hip pushing against the counter. He was showing you how okay he was but you knew it was a lie, there wasn’t the normal flash of energy behind his eyes. Perhaps he was hoping the darkness wouldn’t give him away but you knew him too well to fall for the practiced tone he was using; his honesty couldn’t hide from your love.

You moved closer to him, hand resting over his and taking in the way he reacted to the touch - tense. “Was it another one of those dreams?” You asked, gazing up at him. He avoided your gaze and tried to play it off.

“Nothing like that just came out here for some water.” He may have answered your question, but it seemed more of a pacifying answer than a real one, a placation to your curiosity. 

“Alright, well ...” You ran your thumb over the back of his hand, the softness of his skin and ripples of his veins prominent, “I’ll leave you to it then.” Turning, you began to make your way back down the hall when a hand found your arm. 

“Do you have to go?” Kaeya’s question was softer, quieter and forced you to pay attention to the pleadings of it. 

“I can stay.” 

The once cool couch began to warm from the contact both you and Kaeya gave to it, the cushions supported you better than the bed, it seemed and made it easy to settle the entangled limbs that held you both so close. You pressed into the back while Kaeya shielded your front, if you weren’t mistaken it was like he put you in this position on purpose as if he were guarding you. 

“Are you sure you didn’t have a bad dream?” You asked again, fingers running across his jaw. 

“What makes you say that, hmm?” His eyes were closed and his words all evening had been defensive, deflective but he couldn’t hide his body language. Not with the way he curled his legs through and around yours, the way his arm slid under your head and fingers dangled over your hair, or the constant movement of his body as he positioned himself closer and closer to you. Whatever lie he was willing to tell himself, you knew its face. 

“Just know, that you can tell me anything.” Your eyes fell on him, the darkness making him so hard to see but the flash of color in his eyes always illuminated themselves to you. “I’ll listen.” 

“Trying to wiggle your way into my heart huh?” The playfulness of his tone was gone and replaced with an honest one. 

“Trying? I think I’ve done that already.” You retorted, giving him a quick kiss on the nose before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. “Try to get some sleep oh devious captain, I’ll keep the nightmares away.” Kaeya hummed against you and the two of you listened to the sound of shared breaths, of beating hearts, and to the ticking of the clock until it all slipped into the background and kept you from sleep no more.

Xiao

Does he sleep? At times, yes. You may find him resting in a treetop, though don’t trust his closed eyes for peaceful slumber, they are lying to you. You might pass by and see him sitting in the corner on the balcony of the inn, arms crossed, back pressed into the sturdy wall but remember he could vanish in the beat of a butterflies wing. You might notice his slow breath, the steady rise, and fall of his chest though it’s merely a way for him to store his energy. What is the cause of these strange and determined avoidances of sleep? Nightmares

How long had it been since he let himself succumb to the necessities of sleep? Days? Weeks? He wasn’t quite sure since time around him moved so differently than others and since he didn’t have to sleep as often as humans, he rarely noticed the days that went by without it. Though lately he had found even attempting to rest far more difficult than normal. 

Each time he closed his eyes for more than a few seconds, he found himself surrounded by the torment and darkness that seeped through the veins of the world. It didn’t matter how much he purged, how many supplements he took, how frequently he bathed in the purifying waters of the mountain springs - it all just didn’t matter. 

This damned karma, these useless memories. If they would only just leave him alone and let him be but there was no way for him to escape when he found himself constantly fighting the darkness and easing the hellish mindscapes of those who called so painfully for his name. When his duty called, he answered no matter the suffering seeping into his psyche. 

The only place that he found any reprieve was by your side, but you were equally busy and had little time to visit him. The invitation was always open for him to come to him, but he found it a weakness to rely on others, until he couldn’t handle the burden any longer. 

It was a rainy day when he practically barged his way into your home. The window was open and he road the current of the wind until it stopped in your living room. You weren’t startled, you weren’t afraid. When you saw him appear as if the wind spoke your name, you turned to it with open arms and he fell into them without hesitation. 

Thousands of years went by that he wandered from place to place on his own, endless visions of bloodshed and suffering permeated his mind like a sickness he’s never be rid of, the smile that he once knew was so hard to find and the innocence of the light he longed to touch continue to flutter just out of reach - but you were different than all of that. You were his refuge, you were the one thing that no matter where you drifted he could follow. 

“Close your eyes.” You whispered, fingers dancing around his eyes before resting over them to block out the sun. The breeze ruffled the curtains so softly, their sound a beat in the moment of this safety he found in your embrace. “Sleep my love, I’ll keep the nightmares away.” 

The comfort of your voice, the knowledge of your arms around him, fingers trailing over his back and through his hair acted like a ritual to cleanse his weary spirit and for the first time in so many days, the act of closing his eyes was welcomed rather than torturous.  

[inkdemonapologist]

Reporter Peter Sunstram was included in Joey’s rescue shenanigans this past session and he spent... a lot of it being SORT OF FLABBERGASTED by Joey’s..... Joey-ness. YOU SEE WHAT WE HAVE TO DEAL WITH, PETE??? THIS IS OUR BOSS Other notes: - TIL when u slick down Henry’s hair and make him shave he becomes COMPLETELY UNRECOGNISABLE - once they were safe Jack tried to do some first aid on Sammy’s contaminated claw wound and Definitely Didn’t Botch That First Aid Check While Under The Influence Of Low Sanity and anyway on an unrelated note Sammy lost a lil more HP

[BatIM Call of Cthulhu Masterpost]

For more nonsense, have some out-of-context quotes under the jump!!

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Henry] Did you just say they’re in a FRIDGE?

[GM] And somebody is there asking if you’re composers! [Sammy] That’s a… weird… thing to, uh, kidnap somebody for, [Jack] It’s a really weird way of asking to hire someone, and that’s coming from– [Sammy] Yeah, coming from us, and we work for Joey Drew!

[GM] He wonders if you guys would like to play music… forever? [Sammy] UHHHHHHH, [Joey] *muttering* (I’m pretty sure you already got that deal by working for Joey Drew, but whatever,)

[Sammy] I love the idea of these mobsters being like “do you need anything else to write music?” and Jack being like “Y’know, fifty dollars wouldn’t hurt,” [Jack] Oh boy, fifty dollars really WOULDN’T hurt….. [Jack] (I just have the inflation calculator bookmarked at this point)

[Joey] I’m already stuck waiting on this; I don’t want you waiting as well, and letting things get more behind schedule because of it. [Sammy] (Love the idea of Joey actually using the phrase “behind schedule” for this.) [Sammy] (“We’re really running behind schedule on this apocalypse-ending mission, and we better pick it up if we want to finish this on time!”)

[Joey] I know, I know, but we’re running out of options; I am running out of people–! [GM] He’s down half his boys!

[Jack] When does Joey get a cane that he can hide wepon in? [Joey] Joey has a cane, he’s just… averse to using it outside still, [Jack] But does he have a gun-cane? [GM] Sword cane! [Joey] …I don’t know. Not yet. [Sammy] I don’t think Joey can use a sword. I don’t, in any part of my body or brain, believe, that Joey – Joey Drew – can wield a sword. [Joey] I think it would have to be more of a poison spike deal, where he just has to get it into someone. [Jack] Oh, I was imagining the spike different, just like, pointy at the bottom and he just stabs it into people’s feet. That’ll slow ‘em down enough for Joey’s slowness–! [Sammy] They’re ALMOST as slow as Joey now! [GM] I mean, he basically did do that to Moonlight, [Jack] Yeah! He’s optimised the process.

[Joey] *describing a convoluted escape route* So that’s the main thing he’s going to set up. And he’ll also inform Pete not to go to the place that’s a block down and to the left? Because he really likes the desserts there. So we do not want to lead any gangsters there!

[GM] Peter seems fairly sure he could do it again today. [Jack] ….how often, has Pete been astral projecting to help with his work, that he’s so sure of this? [Sammy] Yeah yeah, he’s like “uh, yeah, three times? I think I could do that!” He’s just been using this for reporting, getting really good scoops! [Jack] I LOVE PETE,

[Joey] I mean, does Pete have descriptions… of the waiter outfits...? [Jack] Oh my goodness… [Joey] Henry and Peter have both snuck in as waiters before!! They have experience!! [Jack] They managed to get in because ALLISON… did ALLISON THINGS,,,

[Jack] I love that “what were the waiters wearing” is such a Joey train of thought… [GM] He cares what everyone is wearing! [Jack] but ALSO, the idea of looking at this situation, and one of Joey’s first ideas is, “what if we disguise ourselves as waiters” – I feel like that’s quite a jump to make? [Joey] No, no! He would disguise Henry and Peter as waiters!

[Jack] The D in ADHD stands for Drew

[Joey] While Joey’s going over this at his desk, he is going to open one of the drawers and pull out one of his spare cans of like, hair wax– [GM] I thought you were gonna say “bacon soup” [Henry] I was fully expecting you to say “soup” [Jack] I thought you were gonna say “his spare waiter costume” [GM] hiS CANNED WAITER COSTUME,

[Jack] So it’s a cult with, like, entry requirements.

[GM] I mean, the loudest thing is his piano, so he can always lower it a little- [Sammy] It’s right there in the name.

[Joey talks his way into a reservation at the restaurant] [GM] Pete is wondering to Henry how the hell he does that? [Henry] I don’t know. [Sammy] All of us would like to know this, Peter. [Sammy] Allison does this and she’s fishy; Joey does this and we’re all just like, I don’t, I don’t know,, he just can do it, don’t worry about it,,,

[Joey] *conspiratorial* Okay. I have… a Joey Drew plan. [Jack] Oh boy. [Sammy] Oh no. Oh dear.

[Joey] He wants Peter to try to run to the back and start doing whatever they can do, to get Jack and Sammy moving, and he will join him shortly, once Peter is back there. [Jack] (I can’t believe Pete’s gonna get shot…) [Joey] …Don’t get shot. [Peter] Oh good, I was worried about that part, I’m glad that’s in the plan.

[GM] A waiter comes in the back and lets the band know that there’s a bunch of people dancing, and trying to get into the instruments, and maybe they better get out there,,, [Jack] Jack just notices this happening and is like….. I know who this is. [Jack] This is a Joey plan if anything is.

[GM] There is nobody left in this building that has any, um, sense, at this point.

[Sammy] You could ask, “Hey, who’s that guy, Saxophone?” [Sammy] Or, “Hey, who’s that guy, [I probably know your name because I’m more polite than Sammy]?”

[GM] I can’t believe Joey Drew turned the dining room into a Disney musical. [Jack] I can’t believe, but I really should have believed. [Sammy] I can’t believe Joey Drew is Giselle from Enchanted

[Sammy] Yeah, if I had to be where Pete was, I would die. [Jack] Rest in Petes...

[Sammy] Or, additional option: Stand there, and stare, and completely freeze up, and do nothing! That’s also an option! [Jack] Call that the Jack Method™!

[Joey] *reading abilities off his sheet* I have no drawing for this, because I just chose to do this now, but the description is, I can now “transform into a Cooler, Faster Ink Demon”! [Sammy] I’m concerned, but uh, [GM] Everyone roll a sanity for this! Joey’s helping!

[Henry] Joey’s faster like this, right? [Joey] He’s faster like this, but also, he can’t be seen; it is later in the night, but like, [GM] It’s like 10pm, there’s still people around. [Joey] How… possible… is it for Joey to get on the roofs? [Sammy] And just like, freakin SCAMPER? [Joey] YES! [GM] Bendy’s all for scampering on the roofs! Not that he’s, snuck out and done anything like that, perse,,,

[GM] You stay conscious! And in pain! [Sammy] You’re horribly awake! [GM] There’s probably occasional commentary from Bendy to the tune of, “Hey are you dying? Let me know if you are!” [Joey] I don’t think Joey can answer that… he doesn’t trust anything that will come out of his mouth right now. [Jack] Ohhhhhhhh this isn’t a fun thing to teach and show your boy!!! [GM] He’s probably badgering Jack to make sure Joey isn’t dying.

[GM] Peter might be wondering if we should be going to the hospital… [Joey] Joey can’t go to a hospital right now, he’s fused with Bendy. [Sammy] Yeah, Sammy will immediately refute this; most of us are too magical for that. [Jack] Magical’s one way to put it,

[Henry] This is no longer the Henry Has A Nice Time campaign.

[GM] Yeah, you got this! [Sammy] …we do not got this… [Jack] We got This. (“This” is “insanities”)

[Sammy] Everyone just keep chatting. I know this is not what Sammy would normally express to you, but uh….. eVERYONE KEEP MAKING NOISE, PLEASE.

[Jack] Jack is going to thank Pete, for helping, for coming and finding them... [GM] Peter is glad they’re okay but he’s also scoffing a bit, like, Of course! He wasn’t just going to go home, have dinner!! He’s glad they’re okay. [Sammy] Sammy is not going to thank Pete. [GM] I think at this point he’d be weirded out if he did.

[GM] This makes sense! People splat when they are killed!

[GM] Joey did a great plan, and there were no consequences whatsoever. [Joey] Nope! [Joey] Went perfectly.

[lockley-spktr]

Progress

Summary: Bucky is still struggling with his nightmares even though he completed his list of amends. The two of you have a serious talk.

Word count: 2,055

Warnings: Mentions of therapy, trauma, and Bucky’s nightmares. Otherwise I can’t think of any others. Yes, I included fluff in here. Bucky has suffered enough in canon. 

Author’s note: I started writing this after I watched the TFATWS finale when it was first released. For the most part, I enjoyed the finale, but some things in regards to Bucky fell flat for me. I got the impression that we’re supposed to believe he’s fine now just because he finished his list of amends when we didn’t even get to see a montage or anything. And his talk with Yori was anti-climatic to say the least. that just didn’t sit right with me so here’s my spin on what I think Bucky still struggles with after the events of the TFATWS finale. A lot of the therapy talk was personal for me so it hit hard as I was writing it. As always, feedback is appreciated!

You catch a glimpse of the digital clock on your nightstand as you roll onto your side. 

Since when was it 2:00 AM and where had Bucky gone off to?

Usually, when woke up in the middle of the night if you were alone, you'd readjust and fall back asleep. If Bucky was with you, you’d snuggle up against him and fall back asleep. 

Since you weren't alone and Bucky had disappeared on you neither one of those two things was an option for you. 

Rubbing your eyes, you get up from your bed and stretch. You grab a blanket and make your way into the living room. 

The soft glow of the TV screen catches your attention. Your eyes wander to Bucky who's sat on the couch and playing with his hands. 

“Bucky?” You say softly, trying not to startle him.

Bucky turns his head to face you, “What are you doing up?”

You shrug, “I just woke up. I went to snuggle up to you, but you weren't there. I was worried.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows, “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to worry you.”

You shake your head, “It’s alright. What's wrong?” 

Bucky looks away from you, focusing his attention on the TV, “Nothings wrong.” 

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“You're a terrible liar.” 

“I’m not lying.”

“Then look me in the eyes and tell me nothings wrong.”

Bucky sighs as he leans back against the couch cushions. Still avoiding eye contact with you he speaks softly, “I can’t.”

“That's what I thought.”

You sit down on the couch next to him and lay the blanket on both of you. 

“Is this alright?” You ask. 

Bucky nods, “You know, I used to be a good liar.” 

You chuckle, “Used to being the key phrase.”

Bucky takes your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, “You think you're funny, don't you?”

“I don't think I’m funny, I know I’m funny. Even if you were a good liar I’d still be able to tell when you're lying.”

“Why is that?”

“Because we’ve been dating for ten months, I know you, baby,” you soften your voice, your playful tone disappearing, “And that also means I know when somethings wrong, please talk to me.” 

Bucky sighs, “I had a nightmare.”

“What was it about?”

“Yori’s son,” Bucky pauses, and when he continues you can hear the frustration in his voice, “And I don't know why. I spoke to Yori, months ago, I told him what happened. I don't understand why it's still haunting me.” 

“Bucky, just because you spoke to him, doesn't mean that what he did is just going to be erased from your memories.” 

“But I told him. I did what Dr. Raynor told me to do, what Sam told me to do.”

“That doesn't just mean the guilt you feel because of it disappears.“

Bucky huffs, “Well it should.”

“I know you want it to disappear, but you know that's not how trauma works for anybody.“

Bucky looks down at you, “What do I do?”

“You keep trying, that's all you can do,” you move your free hand to his face, wiping away his tears, “My love, that's all any of us can do.” 

“Just trying doesn't feel like enough.” 

“It is enough, Bucky.”

“I was making progress. I thought I was getting better.”

“You are making progress. You are getting better. The progress you've made doesn't just disappear because you had a bad nightmare.”

Bucky let's go of your hand and turns away from you. 

“Please don't do that.” You say, readjusting on the couch so your body is facing his. 

“Don't do what?” 

“Don't close yourself off from me.”

Bucky runs his hand through his hair. He lets out a sigh as he turns to face you. 

You smile putting your hand on his knee, “Thank you.” Your voice is soft and your touch is gentle. 

That makes Bucky relax a bit knowing you're not mad at him. You're just worried because you care about him. 

Even after all this time he still isn't used to someone caring for him. There are moments where he accepts it and believes it. Then there are moments where he can't accept it and listens to the lies his brain tells him.

The look on Bucky’s face makes your heartbreak. It's a combination of fear and frustration.

You take his hands in yours and rub your thumbs along his knuckles just like he did with you earlier.

“Bucky, progress isn't linear. It's messy and filled with so many ups and downs. You may think you're over something, and then something like a bad nightmare happens and you feel like you're right back where you started, right?”

Bucky nods.

“The thing is you're not back where you started. The progress you made is still there. It doesn't just disappear because of one bad moment,” you move one of your hands to his cheek, softly stroking under his eyes with your thumb, “You'll bounce back from this and continue to heal, you always do. You don't give yourself enough credit for how strong you are.” 

Bucky leans against your hand and presses a kiss to your palm.

“You've been to hell and back multiple times yet you never let that change you. You easily could've turned your back on the world, but you didn't,” you move closer to him, “Every day you choose to be kind and if the opportunity presents itself you choose to help others. You’re a good man.”

Bucky knows you’re right. He knows that you aren't lying to him and you believe everything you said to him. You were always truthful, you never lied, not to him.

You were kind, but his mind and his thoughts weren't. And he knew that you could tell he was battling his thoughts right now. 

You put your hands on his face, softly stroking underneath his eyes with your thumbs. “Bucky, you are good. You are a hero. And you deserve all the good things the world has to offer.”

Tears well up in Bucky’s eyes and as they fall you wipe them away. 

“Do you believe me, Buck?”

Bucky nods, “I do.” 

You can tell he's being truthful and that makes you smile, he's come so far, “I love you, baby.”

Bucky presses his forehead against yours and smiles, “I love you too, doll.” His hands move to your face, he leans in and kisses you. 

The two of you stay on the couch a while after that, you're straddling his hips, and your head is against Bucky’s chest. He has his chin on your head and his arms wrapped around you. 

For a while, it was peaceful. Bucky had fallen back asleep and you were happy that he was getting some much-needed rest. 

Just as you were about to fall asleep you felt Bucky jolt awake.

His grip around you is tight, but you don't mind, he isn't hurting you. He could never hurt you. 

Bucky looks down at you with wide eyes and your heart breaks, you hate seeing him like this, he looks so scared. 

You readjust yourself on his lap, still straddling his hips, you put your hands on his shoulders. “You’re alright, baby. You're with me. What happened?” 

Bucky shakes his head, “Nothing.”

“Did you have a bad dream again?”

“No, I just,” he sighs, “I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

“You need to sleep. Why are you fighting it?” 

Bucky shrugs, but you know there's a reason. Something he isn't telling you. 

“Buck, please.” You push gently you don't want to upset him, but you know he’ll feel better if he says it out loud, gets it out of his head, and he knows that too.

“I don't want to have any more bad dreams or nightmares.” 

“You can't stay awake forever,” you rest your hands on his chest and play with his dog tags, “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course.”

“Why'd you stop going to therapy?”

“The goal was to finish my list of amends. I finished it so I stopped going.” 

“Finishing your list of amends wasn't the goal, it was one goal. The goal is to heal and learn how to cope,” you sigh, “My love, the goal isn't achieved by just finishing one goal. Even then healing is a constant process and it's hard, but once you start feeling better it's all worth it.” 

“Doll, I know you're right, but I’m scared.” 

It feels strange for Bucky to say it out loud, but he can't ignore the instant relief he feels once the words leave his mouth. 

“Oh, baby,” you place your hand on his cheek, and he leans into your hand, ��It’s okay to be scared. What are you scared about?”

“I’m scared that I can't do it, that I’m not strong enough.”

“Not strong enough? What did I say earlier? James, You are the strongest person I know,” you kiss his forehead, “You've endured things that no person should ever have to experience. And you survived.”

Bucky smiles, “James? You must be serious.”

You giggle softly, “You bet I am.”

“I don't want to go back to Dr. Raynor.”

“You don't have to.“

“Who will I see?”

“Whoever you want to. It's your decision to make, Bucky. Not the governments, not mine, yours.”

Bucky’s eyes light up, “Yeah?”

You smile, “Yeah. It might take some time to find the right person, but you'll find them, I know it.” 

“Are you sure?”

You nod, “I believe in you,” you kiss his forehead and continue, “If you want I can come to your appointments with you, I can just sit in the waiting room for moral support, or I could come in with you if there's something you want to talk about, but you're not sure if you can do it alone.” 

“I can't ask you to do that, Y/N.”

“You aren't asking me to do anything, Buck. I’m offering. Whatever you need I’m here for you.”

Bucky’s voice is quiet as he asks, “Why?”

“Remember how last week you came to therapy with me, just to sit in the waiting room in case I needed you during or immediately after the session?”

Bucky nods, moving his hand to your face, “I do.”

“Why’d you do that?” 

“I knew you had a rough week. I didn't want you to be alone.”

“Why didn't you want me to be alone?”

“Because I love you.” 

You smile, “Those reasons are exactly why I want to do this for you. I know this is going to be hard for you, I don't want you to be alone, and I love you too.” 

You rest your forehead against his “I’m so lucky to have you,” Bucky mumbles in between kisses, “you're so good to me.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” you hold his face in your hands, “Why don't we go back to bed? We can talk more about all of this tomorrow,” you kiss his nose, “You need to sleep.”

“So do you, doll.”

“That’s why I said why don't we go back to bed. We as in both of us, Barnes.”

“You’re last naming me now?” 

You nod, “I might start middle naming you soon.”

“Please don't.” 

“Buch–”

Bucky cuts you off by covering your mouth with his hand, “That's enough of that. You win. We’ll go to bed.”

You burst into a fit of laughter the moment he picks you up. Bucky can’t hide the smile that appears on his face when he hears your laugh, it’s one of his favorite sounds. And knowing that he’s the reason for it makes him incredibly happy.

Once you’re both settled under the covers, Bucky turns to face you. When he speaks you almost miss it. His voice is soft, you can tell just how exhausted he is. 

“Doll?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you hold me?

You don’t say anything. You just hold open your arms and Bucky takes the hint. He rests his head on your chest and you wrap your arms around him.

You kiss his head, “Are you comfortable?” 

“Very.”

“I’m glad. Now, get some rest,” you rest your chin on his head, “I’m right here if you need me. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

“Love you so much,” Bucky mumbles as he falls asleep.

“I love you too.”

[novelconcepts]

Prompt: Jamie is the one who finds Dani locked in the closet. Dani is still having a panic attack and Jamie helps her.

Time slips away when you're out of your head, Dani has found. It moves so much faster--so much slower--so much less correctly with blood pumping at a dizzying rate. With black spots marring her vision. With her breath caught, tangled in a fisherman's net of sharp inhale, hold, hold, bare exhale, she can't think. There are tears dewed on her eyelashes, and fingers folded into shaking fists, and she is little more than the repetition of her own weight meeting the door--again--again--again--

It's open, she realizes, and wonders how long it has been open. Not long, certainly. Not with how forcefully she's been hurling herself against unyielding lumber. Certainly, she would have--

Well. Tumbled out as she is now, a horrible muddling of limbs and purple sweater and mascara scraped down her cheeks. The breath she has been clawing for still won't quite come, not even with the door hanging open and the soft light of Flora's bedroom pouring inside.

Not even with strong hands catching her by the shoulders, a voice speaking low and smooth into the silence left in the wake of her screams.

"Hey. Hey, now. Hey, you're out, you're all good."

She blinks once. Twice. The world as painted by hysteria is neatly bisected, right down the middle. On one side: the mirror, his solemn face, the horror of being locked in with him. On the other: butterflies on the walls, a dollhouse in the corner, cool air rushing against her flushed skin.

Dark curls. Bright eyes. The gardener from lunch, the one with whom Dani still hasn't held a real conversation.

Jamie.

"What," she tries to say--what are you doing here, you left hours ago, you shouldn't be here--and can't get any further. What, echoing between them, strangled on the end of a sharp inhalation that refuses to fill her up. Her throat is closing. There is a boulder lodged against her windpipe, another sinking down against her chest. She is, she realizes, folding her hands together so hard, her knuckles stand stark against the front of Jamie's overalls.

"Kids," Jamie says--a one-word question. The panic swells higher as Dani realizes she does not know. They were there, turning the key. They were shouting through the door. And then...then...

"Don't know," she wheezes. "Don't know--I--"

Jamie grits her teeth. Her eyes dart back toward the door, her body still tilted entirely toward Dani. "You all right if I...?"

Dani nods, a rapid bird-flutter of a gesture that sends her sour stomach heaving. She gropes backward for Flora's bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. Jamie watches her with an expression she can't quite read, her jaw lifted, her shoulders set.

"Back in a sec. Promise."

Dani shuts her eyes, scrounging for breath, listening to the steady thud of boots striding out of the room. Her fingers sink into Flora’s bedspread, her elbows pressed to her knees as she struggles to keep from folding completely in half. Who will that help? She's out. She’s out, and there’s plenty of air out here, and she’s--

Hands, gently brushing her arms. She peels her eyes open, hating how swollen they already feel, hating that faint whistle at the back of her throat that says her lungs still aren’t quite doing their job. Jamie is kneeling on the floor, looking at her with absolutely none of the tight unease from lunch. Her expression is surprisingly warm, though creased with concern, and her hands do not fall away from Dani’s arms. 

“Found ‘em,” she says. “They’re fine. What happened?”

Dani draws as deep a breath as she can manage, unseeing eyes rooted to the front of Jamie’s shirt beneath her scuffed overalls. The neat rectangle of navy cotton swells out--in--out with Jamie’s entirely-stable breaths. She finds herself blankly trying to mimic the beats, relieved and embarrassed in equal measure when Jamie seems to realize what’s happening and begins breathing with intent. In. Hold. Out. Hold. Again, again, until Dani’s heart finally catches up with her brain. 

“Better?” Jamie asks. Dani, uncertain how much time has slipped away with this woman holding her by the elbows, setting a pace for slow, even breaths, nods. “Right. Good. Now: what happened?”

A flash of movement tugs at her attention, pulling her eyes to a point over Jamie’s shoulder. Miles and Flora, leaning against the doorframe, their faces ashen. She swallows hard. 

“We’re sorry,” Flora says quickly.

“It got stuck,” Miles adds. There is a furtive look to his eyes that says even he does not expect her to believe this. Dani swallows again.

“Bed.”

There are more words in her--big, angry, panic-throttled words--but she wouldn’t let them fly even if Jamie weren’t here. That isn’t how you deal with kids. That isn't how you deal with traumatized orphans. 

Not even when they pull stunts like this. 

“Honest,” Miles starts to say. She closes her eyes, scrubs her hands over her face. Her palms are hot, her newly-caught breath stuffy. She wants to stay in the cupped enclosure of her own hands forever. 

Flora makes a tiny hiccuping noise, the precursor to tears. Jamie’s hand flexes around her arm. Dani bites her tongue until the throb of pain cuts through the memory of his glasses, his glasses in the mirror, I was in there with him alone.

“We,” she says in as level a voice she can muster, “will talk about this in the morning.”

Jamie is looking at her, she realizes. Jamie, leaning back into a crouch, is watching her with the wary concern of one waiting to see if a rabbit will escape a snare unscathed. Dani gives her a very small nod--I’m okay--and she pushes to her feet, claps her hands, turns on her heel.

“Right. You heard her. Bed.”

Dani removes herself from Flora’s bed, still shaking even as she tucks the tiny girl under the covers. Jamie stands back, almost to the door, watching the proceedings as if half-believing she’ll have to take over at some point. 

No, thinks Dani with hot embarrassment. This is her job, not Jamie’s. Jamie even being here is more than her job description. Even still floundering at the end of a panic attack, Dani can do this much.

“I really am sorry,” Miles mumbles, blankets pulled up to his chin. Dani searches his face. Not a single beat of a lie there now; he looks perfectly miserable, his cheeks bright with shame. She exhales, hoping her voice will hold. 

It does. Barely. “Get some sleep. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

He rolls over, face mashed against the pillow. Dani drags in an unsteady breath, holds it as she closes in on the door, the light switch, the hallway. 

“All right?” Jamie asks again when the doors have been closed and the children tucked away. Dani presses her face to her hands, groaning. 

“Yeah. Yes. I’m sorry, that was--”

“Sorry?” Jamie repeats blankly. “What’ve you got to be sorry about? Didn’t lock yourself in there, I’d wager.”

No. No, she hadn’t. And tomorrow, she’ll have to pull herself together better than this--locate the mask of the Polished Au Pair, who is good with even the most difficult of children, who doesn’t scream herself hoarse and bruise up her shoulder trying to get away from memories held behind glass--

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Her voice is brittle, the words edged. Jamie only looks at her steadily, hands in her pockets, not taking so much as a step back. 

“Left my flat key. Ring broke this afternoon--must’ve skidded under something out in the greenhouse. I was going to check when I heard the, ah. The...” She trails off, looking almost embarrassed for the first time--embarrassed not for herself, but for Dani, who had indeed been scraping her throat raw with shrieks. Dani grits her teeth. 

“I have a--”

She’s not sure what she’s going to say next; a condition? A phobia? The absolutely horrific poor fortune to be haunted by her ex-fiance in every reflective surface? Jamie holds up a hand. 

“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “Not unless you want to talk it over. Do you?”

Dani shakes her head. Truth be told, she’s wrung out--her head is pounding, her hands numb from being squeezed into such uncompromising fists. Jamie looks unsurprised. 

“Then it’s your own,” she says easily. “You share it on your time. Christ, Poppins, think it’s the first time kids have reduced a grown woman to tears?”

There’s plenty to unpack here--Jamie’s kindness, in letting it slide; Jamie’s careless phrasing, as though she expects minor doses of aggression from perfectly well-mannered children every day; Jamie’s expression, even, holding firm on Dani as though she’s the only real thing in this house. Dani finds herself landing on something else entirely.

“Is that...mud?”

There are, she sees now, footprints. Wrapping down the hall, leading down the staircase, all the way to the front door. She frowns, following them at a slow clip, her legs still trembling. Jamie follows. 

“Wasn’t me,” she says, as if Dani holds accusations on her tongue. “Hannah says this happens sometimes. Maybe one of the beasts taking the piss?”

“Maybe.” The prints are larger than either child could make on their own, Dani thinks with a plummeting sense of alarm. Large, and staggered, and odd. Still. Kids. Jamie’s probably right--it’s likely just a prank. A silly trick to test the new au pair’s mettle. 

She turns her head, surprised to find Jamie still looking at her. “I’m sorry. Did you need help finding your key?”

Jamie shrugs. “Nah. I know the way. And if it’s not where I figure, I’ll just post up on the couch for the night. Hannah won’t mind.”

Dani smiles faintly. “There are so many bedrooms, I’m sure you could--”

Jamie flaps a hand. “Don’t like sleeping in beds that don’t belong to me. Couch’ll suit me fine. Anyway, maybe I won’t need it. Night might have a little good luck left in it yet.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to...” God, she’s so tired. What is this impulse to play hostess, even with her bones twisted to exhaustion and a thunderstorm ringing in her head? “I mean, you could...stay. I could get you a drink?”

Jamie smiles. It’s the first true smile Dani’s seen on her lips since flicking water on the kids at lunch, and it doesn’t just light up her face--it revolutionizes her entire body. All at once, Dani remembers how she’d felt watching this woman stroll into the kitchen this afternoon: like a song she’s been humming under her breath for a lifetime. 

Heat twists up her neck. She clears her throat. 

“I think,” Jamie says gently, “I should let you get to bed. Tomorrow, maybe. If you’re up to it.”

She leaves the rest of the offer unspoken--tomorrow, maybe you can tell me what really happened--and Dani understands, somehow, that if it never comes up again, Jamie won’t mind. Jamie doesn’t seem the sort of woman who is rocked by much.

“Thank you,” she says, walking to the front door, leaning awkwardly against the enormous slab of wood as Jamie steps outside. “For--anyway. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Jamie says, and though this woman had frowned at her this afternoon, wariness cutting grooves through her dirt-smudged face, she is nothing but warm now. Warm and more than a little bit beautiful, with moonlight scudding off her hair. 

It’s been too long a night for that, Dani warns herself. Too long a life for that, probably. Certainly nothing she’s prepared to deal with right now. 

“One more thing,” she adds, unable to help herself, even as Jamie crunches over gravel with hands swinging loosely at her sides. Jamie doesn’t quite stop, only turns at the waist with an inquisitive eyebrow raised. Dani smiles weakly.

“Poppins?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, and Dani is so tired. So tired, she must be imagining the light tinge of pink around the woman’s cheeks. “You know. Julie Andrews.”

“Sure,” says Dani, who can’t think of a single actress she less embodies in this moment. “Right. Of course.”

She can’t help grinning a little, falling into bed a few minutes later--still in sweat-damp clothes, her boots barely kicked to the floor--with the scorching awareness that the surly gardener has just given her a nickname. Possibly because she doesn’t actually know Dani’s real name, sure--but a nickname, all the same. A nickname, and a warm smile, and the impression of long fingers wrapped gently around her arm. 

Tomorrow, she’ll handle the kids. Put her foot down. They need to know, right off the bat, that she won’t stand for this sort of thing. She needs to know it, to prove to herself she can still do this, just as she’d insisted to Henry Wingrave. Tomorrow, she’ll talk to them the right way--steady, calm, no accusation in her tone--and give them a suitable punishment. 

Tomorrow. 

Tonight, Jamie’s shining eyes, slouched shoulders, accent curled around Poppins almost let her forget the horror of being locked in with a ghost.

[septembersghost]

do you ever absorb something into your mind and as an extension of things you hold onto/remember/keep close in your pocket for safekeeping that you eventually forget where it came from? and it doesn't really matter because it's locked into some part of your identity, so you simply carry it around. it doesn't happen to me a lot because I tend to record exactly where and why I've found something, but it does happen.

on my last blog, when I posted...a lot of gentle content and more aesthetic oriented things, there were tags I leaned on and repeated a lot. some of them have carried over here (anthony rapp's quote about grief simply changing temperature is a big one), some haven't as much. "be soft" came up more there, not for lack of it being important here but more because the reason for the sentiment has come up a bit less since this blog is, you know, less sweetly rustling garden and more ramshackle creaking haunted house. "be soft" had a friend who accompanied her a lot, and the provenance of that friend was, until today, totally lost to the recesses of my mind. it was "have a liquid heart and soul." I absorbed that turn of phrase so deeply that where it originated faded from the photograph.

as has been evident, I'm rewatching a show I haven't seen most of in ten years that, in the most superficial of descriptions, is about a serial killer. obviously it's a lot deeper and more textured than that, but that's the part that gets put on the tagline. the hook. the show lost its way and sort of lost me even though I stuck around to the end, the end permanently put it in my rearview until they decided to resurrect it.

I was telling a friend the other day that there's a line of dialogue I still have forever etched into my brain, though, from an episode that aired those ten years ago. "I wonder if darkness is defined by light. if so, darkness can't exist on its own. there must, by definition, be light somewhere. waiting to be found." I probably wrote it down at the time or typed it into a text post like I'm doing now, committed it to memory. it's not surprising, it's my exact brand of favorite imagery, favorite thread of hope - the golden invisible string - like why my favorite sentence in LOTR is, "like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach," why I can recite that passage from ROTS: "the dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins - but in the heart of its strength lies its weakness. one lone candle is enough to hold it back. love is more than a candle. love can ignite the stars." light representing the smallest kindling of hope, of enduring humanity.

maybe it's my favorite metaphor because I grew up on the story of oil burning for eight days instead of one, a miracle happened there. or it's because my favorite song was twinkle twinkle little star and I'd hum it to myself even before I could talk (according to my parents), it's hard to say. maybe it's because if you give me a show about monsters, I'll find a way to make it a love story.

anyway, that one piece of a quote is snipped off the page and pasted into my memory scrapbook, and eventually I took it for granted because it simply exists there.

it was michael c. hall who said it. if it weren't for the aforementioned happens-to-be-a serial-killer character, these words I've repeated and let echo for a significant period of time are something I wouldn't even have. he was asked what advice he'd give to aspiring actors, and this poetry flowed out like it wasn't even a big deal. he said, "you've got to be wearing a suit of armor, but have a liquid heart and soul. if you can manage to cultivate both, then maybe you can survive." the context didn't matter for what I took from it, just the meaning. protect and guard what you need to, but never lose the flow of compassion and openness of love underneath that armor. don't harden too much. be soft. so the sentiments connected.

I would never have remembered this if I weren't watching the show again (and ironically hit one of the most devastating episodes this morning, which I was dreading, and dawdling around, and looking at ancient posts that brought this vividly back to the surface). it's all interwoven.

why am I writing this? (why do I write anything, really?) it's because moments like this, when you realize something has impacted you so deeply that your heart has enfolded it without missing a beat, that is why art is beautiful. even if it's flawed (as it all is) or silly or strange or seemingly grim - if there's an effect you take from it and that you keep with you, that's reason for it to exist. another one: "the consolation of imaginary things is not imaginary consolation." that's the meaning you make, since I've said that a lot in the past. you cut out little stars and paste them into your unique night sky and they guide you quietly. "the beauty of it smote his heart." that's why we tell stories, fall in love with characters, even unexpected ones, return to narratives to explore again, sing songs on repeat. there must, by definition, be light somewhere. when it's still and you look for it just right, it glistens off the water of your liquid heart and soul.

[elytrafemme]

Semi-spoilers for chapter 30 of CS!

Hello there Mx. Mare! How’s it going? Hope everything is going alright, and if not, remember that things always get better :D

Now with that out of the way,

who gave you the permission to just shake my feelings around like that as if it’s a damn maraca. /lh

I hope you thought of how you’re going to pay the rent for the mountains of chapter 30 related brainrot that not sit in my brain rent free.

Like. There was my life! 😄😁😌😊 <- observe how happy and promising it is

And then my life after chapt 30 😳😵‍💫😥😩😭 <- observe how it is none of the above things

Did this ask come of as aggressive? Good. Because I am now aggressively thinking about happy endings & happy cs!Beeduo & happy recovery >:|

Also, this chapter was fantastic and I totally want to try to make art about it tomorrow. So. Hopefully see you then :)

-🍃 anon

hiya!!! thanks so much :D

i put everyone's emotions in a little jar and i shake it around for good luck. hope this helps! ^_^

FJDHJKDSFS NOT THE RENT 😭 to be fair we're struggling together because chapter 30 ALSO lives in my brain rent free. fucking. put pen to paper but you are still forever haunted and for WHAT

note to say you are so fucking funny i cannot stop laughing over "observe how happy and promising this is" LIKE THE WAY THAT IS PHRASED IS SO FUNNY TO ME

:D happy you liked the chapter!!! and mhm mhm keep thinking about those happy endings! we will get to them... someday!