#°dear-diary-of-disaster.

[vergeltvng]

Contains Strong Language, Blood

Tatsächlich schlief der alte Mann den Schlaf der Gerechten um diese unchristliche Uhrzeit, immerhin wurde er ja auch nicht mehr jünger. Seine nächtliche, spontane Besucherin hatte wie damals ihr Gespür für schlechtes Timing nicht eingebüßt. Es ist wie es ist, er würde niemals offen zugeben, nichtmal wenn man drohte ihm was abzuschneiden, dass das Verschwinden eines gewissen Jemands bei ihm durchaus ein paar Spuren hinterlassen hatte. In typischer Manier hatte er die Ereignisse verdrängt und sich anderen Dingen zugewandt. Die BOYS wiederum legten derzeit eine Pause von ihren Tätigkeiten ein und befanden sich im Standby, jeder war halbwegs in sein normales Leben zurückgekehrt und ging persönlichen Angelegenheiten nach. War viel passiert. Vielleicht hatte sie die Nachrichten verfolgt aber selbst wenn nicht, er ließ es jedenfalls ruhig angehen im Moment, erledigte hin und wieder einen Job für Mallory und beließ es dabei. Keine Rachepläne, die er unermüdlich schmiedete und verfolgte, er ließ die Seele baumeln und genoss ein ruhiges Leben? Was war bei ihm verkehrt gelaufen, war er krank oder so? Gar nicht so weit gefehlt aber selbstverständlich nicht der Rede wert wenn es nach ihm ging. Man sah es ihm äußerlich nicht an, dass er etwas nachgelassen hatte im Verlaufe der letzten Monate. Lediglich im Moment fühlte er sich verdammt im Arsch nachdem er geweckt worden war, stand hundemüde in karierten PJs in der offenen Tür und warf einen breiten Schatten auf den Flur. Vor Verschlafenheit erkannte er nicht wer da stand. "Falsche Tür, Liebes." Brummte er die Fremde an, er hielt sie für eine Nachbarin oder sonstwen. Erst dieses leise 'Hey' ließ ihn innehalten und davon absehen, der jungen Frau die Tür vor der Nase zuzumachen, um weiterzuschlafen. Er blinzelte angestrengt und das dunkle Haar irritierte ihn offensichtlich. War das die Kleine, die er kürzlich öfters getroffen hatte? Wenigstens nannte er gerade niemanden beim Namen, das bewahrte ihn wohl vor einem saftigen Tritt in die Eier. Die 'Brünette' schob sich frech durch seine Tür an ihm vorbei und allmählich dämmerte ihm was. Er knurrte ein paar Worte undeutlich in seinen Bart, drehte sich um und ließ die Tür hinter sich zufallen. Sie fühlte sich offenbar ganz wie Zuhause, warf sich auf sein Bett als wäre nie was gewesen. Natürlich erkannte er sie jetzt, stand entgeistert ein paar Meter von ihr entfernt, verschränkte die Arme und musterte sie grimmig. "Und dann denkst du es ist eine gute Idee bei mir aufzutauchen, nachdem du soviel Mist gebaut hast?" Er bezog ihre Aussage ohne Umschweife auf sich. Sein Tonfall fiel sehr kühl aus, nichtmal wütend klang er, nur wie jemand der nicht sehr versöhnlich gestimmt war. "Du lebst, immerhin. Weißt du, ich hab einen Flashback gerade. Ist mir schonmal passiert, dass jemand spurlos verschwand…" Jetzt klang er allerdings deutlich verärgerter als eben, förmlich getriggert von ihrer Unverschämtheit, einfach hier aufzutauchen. Natürlich wusste sie genau wovon er redete. Unfassbar, dass ihm das nochmal jemand antat. Nein, er war absolut nicht in der Stimmung für ein tränenreiches und emotionales Wiedersehen. "Siehst scheiße aus." Charmant wie eh und je. Und die Wahrheit, sie sah elend aus. Der einzige Grund, der ihn davon zurückhielt sie direkt wieder hochkant rauszuwerfen. {...}

Das tat sie mit voller Absicht, nicht wahr? Ihn triggern, mit ihrer plötzlich zuckersüßen Art? Dachte sie seine angestaute Wut würde ihm vom Bauch in den Sack rutschen, wenn sie ihn provozierte? Dummerweise funktionierte das bei ihm meistens, auch wenn er keine Miene verzog als sie nacheinander ein Teil nach dem anderen vor ihm ablegte. Hatte er alles schon mal gesehen und angefasst, was erwartete sie für eine Reaktion von ihm? "Kein Gesprächsbedarf." Kam es ihm übertrieben kühl von den Lippen. "Ich fick dich nicht in der Dusche, ich brech mir doch nicht den Hals um drei Uhr morgens." Setzte er nach aber man musste bei ihm wie gewohnt zwischen den Zeilen lesen, er sagte nur 'nicht in der Dusche'. Sollte sie machen was sie wollte, sie war dann wohl sein Gast für heute Nacht, sonst hätte er sie längst rausgeschmissen. Er verzog die Stirn und schnaufte angestrengt, danach wich ihm fast restlos jegliche Regung aus der Miene, er drehte sich weg und entzog sich ihrer Berührung, es fühlte sich nämlich immer noch gut an wenn sie das tat und sie glaubte doch nicht ernsthaft, dass er jetzt nur eine Sekunde daran verschwenden würde ihr Ego zu streicheln? Statt ihr Aufmerksamkeit zu schenken, bewegte er wortlos seinen Arsch zur Küchenzeile, um den Wasserkessel in Gang zu bringen. Abwarten und Tee trinken erschien ihm wie eine gute Idee, wer weiß wie er auf sie zu sprechen war nachdem er sich in Stille über ihr Auftauchen abreagiert hatte. Kam auch darauf an, welcher Nin er begegnete sobald sie aus der Dusche wieder rauskam, vielleicht war er dann zum reden aufgelegt oder für den Hatefuck des Jahres. {…}

War gut, dass sie sich für ein paar Minuten verpisste, denn ihre flapsige Antwort machte ihn noch wütender. Er würde sie niemals schlagen, das wusste sie, aber er konnte unglaublich herzlos oder verbal grob werden wenn man seine Wutknöpfe drückte mit so aufgesetzter Arglosigkeit. Außerdem könnte er sie immer noch jederzeit vor die Tür setzen, war ihm völlig egal ob sie nackt war oder sonst nirgends hinkonnte. "Hoffe der scheiß Nachbar geht aufs Klo und verpasst dir 'ne Eisdusche." Bellte er ihr hinterher. Klang amüsanter als es gemeint war aber irgendwohin musste er mit dem akuten Zorn und für einen dämlichen Spruch war er sich NIE zu schade. Der Tee half ein paar Minuten später mit dem Vorhaben sich zu beruhigen, zumindest bis sie wieder rauskam. Sie war ein wandelndes, rotes Tuch für ihn und konnte nichts sagen oder tun was ihn schwach machen würde, zumindest auf Gefühlsebene, dort machte er dicht. Es reichte, dass sie seine Aufmerksamkeit zurückgewann als sie sich wie in so einem schlechten Softporno auf seiner Küchenzeile niederließ und ihm damit sogar ein schiefes, unterdrücktes Grinsen halbwegs entlockte. "Die Platte hatte nen Sprung, hab ich verbrannt. Ich hör lieber die Grillen zirpen." Sarkasmus sprach er immer noch fließend, manches änderte sich nie. "Außerdem schmolle ich nicht." Das kam dagegen so überzeugend ernst rüber, dass man ihm fast glauben könnte. Als sie ihn mit dem Fuß anstupste verstand er das als Versuch ihrerseits ihn versöhnlich zu stimmen? Wenn er nicht so verdammt stolz wäre und zu recht angepisst mit ihr bis zum Sanktnimmerleinstag. "Wie kommst du überhaupt auf die Idee, ich könnte mir vor dir die Blöße geben?" Soweit kam er ihr entgegen, kein Stück weiter. Sie hatte ihn vermisst, wollte Nähe, alte Wunden aufreißen, um der guten, alten Zeiten willen? "Wenn du einen Nostalgiefick wünschst, sorg dafür. Als ob ich dir den Gefallen tue wie ein treudoofer Hund zwischen deine Beine zu kriechen, nur weil du mit den Fingern schnippst." {…}

"Ich sagte nicht, dass du einfach gehen kannst." Goss er nun Öl ins Feuer, zudem ließ er sich von niemandem auf der Nase herumtanzen, auch nicht von ihr. Gleichzeitig einer seiner wenigen Knackpunkte, er war nunmal der geborene Kontrollfreak und auf diese Weise erzielte man auch Wirkung bei ihm. Verflucht sei sie dafür bis in alle Ewigkeit, dass sie seine Schwäche so schamlos gegen ihn ausspielte. "Wenn du jetzt abhaust, brauchst du dich nie wieder bei mir blicken lassen." Da klang kein Sarkamus im Unterton durch, er hatte selten etwas so ernst gemeint. Er knallte die Tasse heftig auf die Küchenzeile zurück, brach dabei den Griff ab und verpasste ihr einen Crack. Er schnitt sich tief in die Handfläche als er das Porzellan zerquetschte als wäre es ein lächerlicher Pappbecher. Der dunkle Tee sickerte durch den Schlitz und bildete zusammen mit seinem Blut eine Pfütze um den Tassenboden, bevor alles im dünnen Strahl zu Boden lief. Wenn er sein feines, englisches Teegeschirr zerbrach und der Sache nichtmal groß Beachtung schenkte, war definitiv die Kacke am dampfen. "Ich war royally fucked off als du verschwunden bist letztes Jahr. Hätte nicht gedacht, dass mir jemand ein zweites Mal mit derselben Scheiße wehtut." So, er hats gesagt. "Erst recht nicht du. Zufrieden!? Holst du dir jetzt mental einen runter weil du mich so ficken konntest damit?" Sie hörte ihm besser genau zu, denn das wäre das einzige und letzte Mal, dass sie ungefiltert etwas über seine Gefühle erfuhr, deren Existenz er sowieso danach wieder abstreiten würde bis er eines Tages ins Gras biss.

[littlesweetgoose]

New year new drawing and new exciting adventures ✨️

Just a small drawing with background and resolution this year is practice draw monsters! Hehe

[talesoffairies]

[diedandwenttobobevans]

8/14/2024 - 5:49 AM

oof

hello

long time no journal? Its been a few weeks. Lets see

I've been meaning to get back into it. I really want to make this a habit. (Daily? Weekly?) I actually started googling some diffrent journaling formats that might make it easier? I'll continue to do research. I feel like "stream of concious" writing for journaling is still good. Its good to get all this shit out of me brains. I think sitting down and concentrating on my thoughts is also good self reflection. Maybe. I don't know.

So still need a new therapist, tbh haven't really looked into it as I've been focusing on streaming. Had a really good birthday stream that genuinly revitalized my drive to stream. It was so touching to have a card signed by chat and tons of birthday wishes and presents. I just took 5 minutes to stop what I was doing because I realized I say "Like" too much and went down a short rabbithole of the word.

So one of the issues probbably for me with journaling is it should be something I do in them morning but these past few times I leave it for the evening to empty out my head and then find myself getting sleepy.

So before I head to bed to get a few hours of rest, lets catch up. I haven't heard back from the girl I hung out with, and I sent her a link text message but I tihnk I'll send a regular message later today. I'm really hesitant cause she didnt respond to the first message. But also maybe she didnt see it? Maybe it was too stupid, it was a webcomic about bisexuality. I was a little wine drunk. She did mention going to hang outs so maybe thats my in? oooff girls pretty and intimidating uuuuughhhh

Still feeling all over the place when it come to sleep. I desire to sleep at a reasonable time and be productive during the day and not sleep in weird shifts.

Why does doing any task what so ever make me so fucking tired wtf

UUUUhhhhh before i go crash, I want to try to do maybe a morning jounral dn evening journal, evening for what I did and morning for some affiramations and trying to fix my headspace to be more positive. Still have major self esteem issues. Also I need to start worning out, found my sports bras so I can atleast start running. I feel like I have fat phobia and body issues and I worry I have been binge eating recently, especially when high. Excercise will prob help with the sleep and moodswing stuff.

OK Im tapped out, theres so much more I want to word vomit but I got to crash.

SO personal upcoming goals then:

Morning Affirmations - Optimism training

Evening thought dump journals

collage art still want to do but not tonight. this morning? not this time

Listening: JAZZ CABBAGE - GURT

Reading: Yuria's Red String (God this is such a sad but good read. About a japanese woman in her 50's whose husband has a terrible accident that leaves him unconcious and she discovers about the secrets lives hes been leading this entire time. Reminds me of the tiktoks about women who regret their marriages cause of all the expecancies of being a wife and takeing care of the household while men continue to be shit)

[rainbow-flavoured-skittles]

I am going to start writing the next 100 followers fic today hopefully. it's going to be the pjo one where Jason doesn't die

[shjayd]

recap; Ch. 3&4 of 635

jan. 3rd & 4th, 2023 was yesterday & the day before. it’s currently 4:14AM on jan. 5th - told you ‘4’ was mine. 🙋🏼‍♀️

~anywho*

jan. 5th… WHY does time fly the way it does anymore? istg it never did like this before.

think a/b it 💭 we’d have school from approx. 8AM - around 3PM, cheering practice until 4, barely ably to squeeze in my brother’s baseball games with my mom, then my strict, “let me see your homework and planner” everyday mom. God bless ✨her✨ - a living saint.

->BACK TO THE SUBJECT. MY ADHD IS SHOWING 😕

✨phone dies & i forget a/b you until after irrelevant activities occurred in the hours and darkness of the night 🙃🤓😇✨

“today” was a good day. got to see family & get a break from my little quack 😮‍💨 got to spend some quality time with my bestie, my moms. didn’t argue once, and if you know anything a/b our relationship, you’d be proud, too.

SRY. i started watching this new docuseries on netflix called ‘Kaleidoscope’

1.5.23/4:14

*thanks be to God that you give me the chance to restore my drafts, b/c He knows i’ma ✨need✨ that 🫠

we’re now living ch. 5/365. this is old now.

stay tuned, babies 🖤🫡

[dollfat]

how do people like, do things? is life not incredibly hard for everyone?

[a-mel0n]

Okay, so I know we joke about the whole “Invisible String theory” thing a lot for Bucktommy, but this idea just hit me like a fucking train and I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t write it down. So, hear me out:

A Bucktommy “Your Name” AU.

If you don’t know about Your Name (go watch it it’s a good movie), the basic synopsis is that two people keep switching bodies when they fall asleep. The switches are fairly common, but they’re random and not on a set schedule. When they “wake up,” they only have faint impressions of their time in the other person’s body— like it was a dream. To keep track of what the other person does in their body, the pair write small “diary entries” at the end of the day to inform the original owner of the body what happened, and to just talk to the other.

Throughout the film, the two people slowly fall in love with each other before the switches suddenly stop, and all memory of the experience fades, including the memos they wrote each other. All that’s left is the faint impression that they’re searching for something, for someone.

So. Here’s my idea. The switches can start at really any point in their lives, but my idea is that they start switching sometime in Season 6, at least from Buck’s perspective. For Tommy, the switches start when he’s still at the 118.

A crucial part of the swaps is that they’re not only switching places, they’re also switching through time, which prevents the pair from actually meeting, because any attempt to meet someplace would just get fucked over due to the time difference.

They write each other small reminders of things they set up while in the other’s body on the other’s phone or on their body; a small set of rules of things to NOT do while they’re swapped; the occasional back-and-forth; the whole nine yards. Maybe you could have a fun scene of Chimney showing up at the 118 for the first time while Buck is in Tommy’s body and he has to slam his mouth shut everytime he goes to instinctively call him “Chimney” instead of “Howard” or “Howie.”

(Maybe that’s how Chim got his nickname in this universe, a whole bootstrap paradox situation.)

The swaps continue all the way up until Buck gets struck by lightning while in his own body, and that three-minute-eleven-second period where he’s dead is enough to prevent the swaps from ever happening again. Once he wakes up from his coma dream, he’s lost all memory of the swaps, and all the little notes that Tommy wrote on his phone are gone.

Despite that, he can’t help but feel like he’s missing something, or… someone. Someone dear to him, someone he couldn’t have possibly forgotten. And yet, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t remember anything about them.

(Actually… maybe there is a moment where they can talk to each other. While Tommy is passed out due to the gas leak in that mall, Buck is still in his coma dream, and they actually speak face-to-face for the first time. Maybe they promise each other to meet up after they wake up. But, once they do— they’ve forgotten all about the other.)

Tommy continues to live his own life, with this faint feeling that he’s waiting for something. He transfers out of the 118 and over to Harbor in order to satisfy that feeling, and while it does provide some relief, that feeling doesn’t go away. When Howie calls him to help the 118 out with that residential fire, that feeling of “waiting waiting waiting searching” blazes to life again, pulling him towards the ground and the people running around beneath him. It recedes fairly quickly, though, in fact— as he’s flying away from that neighborhood after preforming the water drop.

Buck, on the other hand, is in that post-lightning-strike state. He’s got his super math powers and the newfound appreciation for life, yet the feeling that he’s looking for something (a feeling he’s had all his life, independent of the swaps), has gotten a whole lot stronger and he can’t pinpoint why.

Then the cruise disaster happens, and he has to push those thoughts out of his mind, for Bobby and Athena’s sake. And then… Chimney calls in an old friend for a favor.

(“You and I… haven’t we… haven’t I met you somewhere before?”)

[vergeltvng]

Sep. 21, 2022 contains Violence, Strong Language

Sie fuhren an einem lauen Sommerabend zur Dämmerung über den verlassenen Highway, im rötlichen Licht des Sonnenuntergangs. Im Radio liefen alte Songs, er sah zur Seite und lachte über einen Witz, den sie riss. "Der war sowas von cheesy, außerdem kannte ich den schon." 'Na und? Wer lacht denn gerade darüber, hm? Hast du dir inzwischen überlegt mit mir zu dem Konzert zu fahren?' Beccas Augen schauten ihn mit großer Erwartung an. "Sogar wenn du mir den Witz des Jahres erzählst: Nah. Fahr mit deiner Schwester hin, ich besorge euch VIP-Karten. Wenn ich mitkäme müsste ich mir beide Ohren abschneiden, das gäbe nur ne furchtbare Sauerei." Eigentlich wollte sie ihn tadeln aber konnte sich nicht verkneifen zu lachen über sein dämliches Gerede. 'Du bist so ein elender Mistkerl.' "Darauf stehst du doch?" 'Tja, wahrscheinlich.' Die Laune verderben ließ sie sich jedenfalls nicht von dem ihr angetrauten Mistkerl neben sich. Sie drehte lächelnd das Radio lauter und lehnte sich bequem in den Sitz, während in der Ferne die Skyline von New York sich vor ihnen auftat. Ein unklares, leicht verschwommenes Bild, verursacht durch Hitzeflimmern am Horizont. Ein lauter Knall aus der Luft störte die friedliche Idylle. Ein Düsenjet durchbrach unmittelbar über ihnen die Schallmauer und ebenso schlagartig änderte sich die Atmosphäre, die warmen Rottöne wichen einem kühlen, violetten Licht. Das letzte Überbleibsel vom Tag, die letzte Stunde vor der Dunkelheit. Das war kein Düsenjet, sondern ein anderes, übermenschlich schnell fliegendes Objekt, er bezeichnete sich selbst als 'only man in the sky'. Umso gemächlicher, als hätte er alle Zeit der Welt, senkte er sich nun schwebend vor der Motorhaube nieder und brachte den Wagen zum stehen, indem er nur die Hand ausstreckte. Er absorbierte die gesamte Wucht des Aufpralls durch seine Handfläche, was das Auto und seine Insassen gänzlich unbeschadet ließ, Naturgesetze traten außer Kraft in Gegenwart des stärksten Supes dieses Planeten. -Sieh an, William Butcher und seine hinreißende Frau.- Sein selbstgefälliges Grinsen war so widerlich, dass einem vom bloßen Anblick schlecht wurde. 'Butcher.' MM rüttelte leicht an ihm, das Arschloch war unterwegs komplett weggeklappt und schuldete ihnen noch eine verdammte Erklärung. -Vorsichtig, seine Schulter ist ausgerenkt, ich habe sie ihm gerade geschient.- Mahnte Frenchie, der aus dem Bad zurückkam mit einem Paket Wundpflastern, Nadel und Faden, einer Pinzette, Wattepads und Desinfektionsmittel. MM ließ sichtlich angestrengt, genervt, von Butcher ab und ließ sich schwerfällig auf einem Sessel nieder. 'Der Penner. Als hätten wir nicht schon genug Scheiße an den Hacken, der öffnet die Schleusen und jetzt schwimmen wir bis zum Hals drin. Wer war das Mädchen bei ihm? Hast du gesehen wie viel Ambulanz da war? Feuerwehr und Cops im Anmarsch? Wären wir nicht zufällig vorbeigekommen..' -Beruhig dich, ruf lieber Mallory an statt rumzumotzen. Wir müssen den Wagen zurückholen, und eine landesweite Fahndung stoppen.- Frenchie bewahrte halbwegs die Fassung, obwohl er selber ziemlich gestresst war. Butcher hatte zuletzt sogar seinen eigenen Leuten oft übel mitgespielt, ihre Nerven und Geduld bis zum Anschlag strapaziert durch eigenmächtige Aktionen, die er im Alleingang verzapfte aber deren Konsequenzen die ganze Gruppe ausbadete. Nur Hughie hatte er noch wirklich auf seiner Seite und ausgerechnet der war nicht da, hatte anderweitig zu tun. Um diese Uhrzeit schlief er wahrscheinlich friedlich in Starlights Armen oder sie fickten gerade miteinander, so genau wusste niemand bescheid über ihre Schlaf- und Bettgewohnheiten. -Lass mich nur machen, ich nähe ihn zusammen und du rufst die richtigen Leute an.- Homelanders Hände steckten in roten Lederhandschuhen und er trug seinen blauen Heldenanzug, mit der amerikanischen Flagge als Cape. Dieses Grinsen wollte ihm ums Verrecken nicht vergehen als er um die Motorhaube herumschritt, zur Beifahrerseite. "Ich warne dich, wage es bloß nicht.." Homelander kicherte fast wie ein kleiner Junge. Wie niedlich dieser William reagierte als er in die Nähe seiner Frau kam. Er riss mit einer einzigen Bewegung die Beifahrertür ab, warf sie im hohen Bogen von sich und zerrte Becca an den Haaren aus dem Wagen. -Was willst du denn dagegen tun, Menschlein? Ich gebe keine two fucks darüber was du willst oder nicht willst. Eigentlich könnte ich das euch zuliebe schnell über die Bühne bringen. Weißt du, ist nichts persönliches. Ich tue es weil ich es kann, weil ich der verfickte Homelander bin. Deine Frau stirbt, weil ich es so bestimme. Es gibt dort oben niemanden, der es verhindern könnte, ich bin der einzige Mann im Himmel. Und auf Erden gibt es niemanden, der über meinem Befehl steht. Verstehst du das, William Butcher, oder bist du womöglich schwer von Begriff?- Während er seinen Monolog führte kam Butcher um den Wagen herumgestürmt, seine Brechstange in der Hand, und schlug mit ganzer Kraft von hinten gegen die Schulter und den Rücken des Supes. Das stählerne Brecheisen verbog sich unter den Schlägen und Homelander bemerkte es so gut wie gar nicht, dass jemand auf ihn einprügelte, es kitzelte ihn nicht einmal. Schulterzuckend rammte er Beccas Kopf gegen die A-Säule, sie blutete in Strömen aus Mund und Nase, wehrte sich verzweifelt aber vergeblich und wandte sich mit einer Bitte an ihren Mann, nachdem sie ihre ausweglose Situation erkannte. 'Billy, bitte verschwinde so schnell du kannst. Ich will nicht, dass du das siehst.' -Billy, bitte bitte rette mich.- Verspottete Homelander sie auf gehässigste Weise und brach ihr nacheinander die Beine. Aber Butcher konnte nichts von beidem, weder verschwinden noch seine Becca retten. Alles was ihm blieb war hilflos dabei zuzuschauen wie Homelander seine Frau lebendig in Stücke riss und sie am Ende mit seinen roten Laserstrahlen zu Asche verbrannte. Sein Zorn fraß ihn auf, er stand buchstäblich in Flammen vor Hass und schlug brüllend mit der inzwischen abgebrochenen Eisenstange unaufhörlich auf den Bastard ein, bis der keine Lust mehr hatte und vom Boden abhob, um davonzufliegen. Butcher blieb allein zurück und brach über dem Haufen Asche zusammen. Er fuhr ruckartig hoch und spürte ein fieses Stechen in der Schulter, das ihn zurück auf den Rücken beförderte. Schweißgebadet, völlig neben sich, und das einzige was sich noch schlimmer anfühlte als die Schulter war der Schmerz in der Brust. Keine Folge des Unfalls, sondern seines Alptraums. Über ihm baumelte so eine alte, kitschige Schirmlampe, er kannte das Ding, das hier war MMs zweites Apartment und provisorischer Unterschlupf. Hierher kamen sie eigentlich nur, wenn die Scheiße in den Ventilator flog. Seine Erinnerung war lückenhaft, es benötigte zehn Minuten, bis sein Kopf den Abend rekonstruierte. Nachdem ihm alles wieder eingefallen war, hatte er es plötzlich sehr eilig. Sein Versuch von der Couch aufzustehen, ließ ihn mit dem Gesicht voran auf dem Boden landen. Er fluchte so laut, dass er Frenchie aufweckte, der auf dem Sessel pennte, auf dem vorhin MM noch gesessen hatte. Dieser war frustriert ins Bett gegangen vor einer Weile, und nachdem er ein paar Telefonate geführt hatte. -Mon Dieu, shh, du weckst MM, und der ist nicht gut auf dich zu sprechen.- "Frenchie, fahr mich ins Krankenhaus." -Bist du auf den Kopf gefallen??- Offensichtlich war er gerade eben hart auf den Kopf gefallen, ja. "Ich erkläre dir das auf dem Weg. Keine Diskussion jetzt, fahr mich ins Krankenhaus, sofort." Als sie dort nach einer knappen Stunde ankamen, war es bereits kurz vor Sonnenaufgang. Butcher hatte wie versprochen Frenchie während der Fahrt ein stückweit darüber aufgeklärt was passiert war und dass das Mädchen aus dem Wagen ihm wichtig war. Er kassierte Unverständnis und die berechtigte Frage, ob er sich das gut überlegt hat, noch jemandes Leben zu ruinieren. Butcher versicherte Frenchie, dass er ihn verstehen würde, wenn er sie erst kennenlernte. Das sorgte im Grunde für mehr statt weniger Zweifel bei seinem guten Freund, wenn für Butcher irgendwas unter 'persönliche Angelegenheit' fiel, wurde die Sache für gewöhnlich hässlich und ging auf ganzer Linie schief. Es war wie ein Fluch, was er berührte wurde zu Scheiße, selbst wenn er von guter Absicht dabei angetrieben wurde. Am Empfang der Klinik ließen sie sich was einfallen, damit sie auf die Intensivstation gelassen wurden, zumindest hatten sie für den Moment keinen Verdacht erregt und Butchers Gesicht war nirgends in den News zu sehen als flüchtiger Unfallfahrer. Wahrscheinlich hatte Mallory schon ihren Einfluss spielen lassen was das anging. Frenchie wartete auf dem Flur und Butcher betrat das Zimmer, wo das unbekannte, weibliche Unfallopfer lag. Die Schuld nagte gewaltig an ihm als er sie dort so liegen sah. Er rechnete nicht damit, dass sie schon aufgewacht war, ihre Kopfbewegung hatte er nicht vernommen und ihre Augen waren geschlossen, deswegen stand er anfangs schweigsam neben ihrem Bett und konnte nicht umhin den Blick über ihre Akte schweifen zu lassen, die offen neben ihr lag. "I'm so sorry. Es tut mir leid, Liebes."

[indigovigilance]

Every single minisode is Aziraphale's memory, and why that's [not?] important

There is extensive meta-analysis, my own included, that Before the Beginning is a doctored memory resulting from erasure of Angel!Crowley, and that the trace of him that is left in Aziraphale's memory is the Starmaker, so that this is what we see at the opening of S2. With this foundation of "some scenes are altered memories," we can critically examine the minisodes and see that, in fact, they are ALL Aziraphale's memories that are potentially subject to doctoring.

Evidence (and exploration) below the cut:

A Companion to Owls

The largest part (S2E2 22:10 to 44:00) Book of Job flashback is book-ended by Aziraphale leaning over the physical Book of Job in his bookshop. We enter the memory when Aziraphale enters it, we leave it when he leaves it. Pretty straightforward.

The Ressurrectionists

Similarly, in S2E3, we begin the first flashback to 1827 with Aziraphale's "dear diary" entry. We flash out each time to Aziraphale: in the car to Edinburgh, getting out of the car at the Ressurrectionist Pub, and with Aziraphale staring up at the statue of Gabriel while standing in the graveyard in Edinburgh, respectively for each of the three flashbacks. This all strongly indicates that we've been in his memory.

Nazi Zombie Flesheaters

I didn't even notice until I was doing research for this that basically the entire episode takes place in 1941. From the end of the main title at 5:00 to 37:50, we never come out of the 1941 story. But what is interesting is what bookends this minisode.

Before the main title, Shax has tricked her way into Aziraphale's car and alludes to a time when a rumor started about our ineffable husbands:

Sometime in the last 80 or 90 years I remember hearing that you and Crowley were an item. I didn't believe it then. Not really. Poor old Furfur.

And when we flash back to modern day, we first go to Hell with Shax proposing a full frontal assault on the bookshop, and then we get:

Aziraphale has arrived back in SOHO, and has spent the 8 hour drive reminiscing about what Shax alluded to.

But this part gets even weirder. Because the final line of the episode is:

You're really hosting the meeting? Absolutely! And I can guarantee you: it will be a night to remember!

What this means in context of the 3 memory sequence

This line has been taken by a lot of analysts as a reference to A Night to Remember by Walter Lord, a collection of first person accounts of passengers of the Titanic. Most notably, the thematic ties of this work to the cinematographic design of Good Omens are captured by this quote:

A key to Lord's method is his technique of adopting an unconventional approach to the chronology of the event, "[taking] an imaginative approach to time and space in which hours and minutes prove extremely malleable, the ship itself seems almost infinitely complex, and the disaster assumes order and unity from far away."

Which is an amazing connection, and probably true, in that it was a deliberate reference by the writers. "Malleability of time and space" describes well how this show is put together for us the viewer. But it also illustrates how Aziraphale experiences his relationship with Crowley; skipping over centuries at a time, while dwelling on and protracting intimate moments spent together, create a cohesive whole when viewed from a distance. That whole is their relationship. [Which is about to go down like an unsinkable ship.]

But absent the literary reference, we could even take this line for its literal meaning. Aziraphale is talking about forming new memories, after we have spent the last three episodes living in his memories of times with Crowley that were key to shaping their relationship. This isn't a S1E3-style series of allusions to a furtive, flirtatious, and organically blossoming intimacy; these are rough events where the two are shoved into moral quandaries and forced to make some really difficult decisions that bring them closer together and define "their side." These are core memories, and incredibly precious to Aziraphale. And now, after a few short days in which he has spent a lot of time ruminating on these intense memories, he is embarking upon the task of making another important memory, that is, dancing with Crowley.

Why We Care

Because memories can be altered, all of the information we get from these episodes is subject to a reliable narrator problem. As of the Gabriel trial, we know that memories can be doctored even when the person in question isn't present. Crowley knows that his memories have been removed or altered, and has put painful effort into retrieving them. Aziraphale may not realize that he has suffered the same fate. These memories that he holds so dear might not even be true.

Memory, Identity, and the Relevance of Fidelity

We would probably expect to get some "corrections" to these memories in S3, to see exactly what kind of manipulations our heroes suffered and what that reveals about the motivations of the perpetrators. That's how a paranormal mystery story with a memory manipulation element would normally proceed.

But it will be even more significant if we don't; it would speak to a philosophy-of-self that you are not the product of your objective past, but of what you remember, and so we don't get to know what actually happened because it doesn't matter to informing us about who Aziraphale is.

Aziraphale's love for Crowley springs from what he remembers about their shared past; it doesn't necessarily matter that the memories aren't true, because the love is.

~~~

I realize that I kinda buried the lead, so if you reblog, please tag appropriately? I'm taking suggestions.

If you want to read more on this topic, this meta by @ineffable-suffering is a good place to go.

[melonbear51]

VTM Character Concepts I am Compelled to Share: Malkavian Edition

HAPPY HOLIDAYS! Sorry I kinda disappeared off the face of the earth (work has been wild because tis the season I guess), but a bouquet of Mlakavian ideas have bloomed from my brain and I am eager to share them with you all. As always, feel free to use any of these ideas in your campaigns, art, etc. and please do message me about what your characters are up to! Also, PLEASE be mindful that VTM is a dark game so I'd advise against engaging with some of the concepts if you are aren't in a good headspace. VTM is a game, but your mental health isn't. Please take care of yourselves ❤️ With that said, let's get into some concepts for a clan I hold very near and dear to my heart! 1. A Malkavian with severe agoraphobia, but not for the reasons you might think. You see, they are keeping themselves isolated and sticking to one place because every time they go outside, it seems like disaster strikes. Others may say its a coincidence, but this Malkavian is convinced they are a walking herald of disaster, and wants to protect those they love. 2. A Malkavian computer scientist and programmer who scoffs at those who believe in a higher power. Why? Because they are building a God via AI who will shepherd humanity and kindred into a new era . 3. A Malkavian who wakes up every night with no memory of the previous one. To combat this, they obsessively journal, take notes and photographs, and record audio diaries. So far the rest of the coterie hasn't caught on yet, but with every night things become more difficult. 4. A Malkavian who developed an incredibly intense fear of silence after encountering a complete absence of sound during their embrace. To avoid it, they always have headphones to play music on their person, and tend to do things like drum their fingers against tables to produce noise. Though this helps, it can be irritating to other kindred, and a big hindrance during espionage and infiltration missions. 5. A Malkavian who, desperate to cure their derangement, has begun hunting down and diablerizing Salubri, believing the clan of healers’s blood is the solution to all their problems.

6. A Malkavian who is nonverbal due to a fear that some of their Dominate abilities, which have been erratic and uncontrollable in the past, act up. In life they felt helpless over the fact that many things were out of their control and wished they could have things their way, but now they regret their wish with all their heart.

7. A photographer Malkavian who strongly believes in the idea that when you take someone’s picture, you capture a piece of their soul. Fascinated by the fact that the Lasombra don’t show up on cameras correctly, they are obsessed with the idea of getting a proper snapshot of one and analyzing it.

Hope you all enjoy!

[thetourturedwritersclub]

Finis vitae sed non amoris-its the end of life but not of love

Chapter six: February

February 4th 1977

Dear diary

Today was a fun day. I met with the book club and we discussed Pride and Prejudice. It was a great book overall. I depicts topics of importance when it comes regarding our society. Very well written. I have started talking to Lily more often. She is really kind and really nice. Very intelligent and very argumentative. We all have debates regarding our opinions for certain topics

Goodbye for now

R. A. B

February 8th 1977

Dear diary

I have been invited to one of Professor Slughorn club meetings. I don't think I will be attending.

Goodbye for now

R. A. B

February 10th 1977

Dear diary,

Well. I ended up attending thanks to Panda. She accompanied me since I refused to go anyway else. I didn't want to be stuck with idiots. But you know who else I happened to see there? James Potter himself. Why was he there? I don't know. In the middle Panda left me to go see Lily and James spotted me. When he saw me he smiled so brightly. A smile I would give anything in the world to be seen by me only.

In that moment I realised the sings I was giving. I have a crush on James Potter. This is definitely going to end in a disaster.

Goodbye for now

R. A. B

February 12th 1977

Dear diary,

Since realising I have a crush on James Potter my mind hasn't let me think about anything else at all. It's driving me crazy

Goodbye for now

R. A. B

February 14th 1977

Dear diary,

St Valentines. The day of love. When will it be my turn to feel that type of love. Every couple celebrates their love and they organise surprises for significant other. It's sweet but sometimes its annoying.

Goodbye for now

R. A. B

February 18th 1977

Dear diary,

Well me and James haven't been scheduling more tutoring session so that does give me an excuse to avoid him untill these feelings fade away.

Goodbye for now

R. A. B

February 25th 1977

Dear diary,

What a tiring week. So much homework. So many subjects. So many lessons to attend. Tomorrow is our last Quidditch match for the season. Griffidoor versus Slytherin it's going to be fun. I will also have no excuse to avoid seeing James's face.

Goodbye for now

R. A. B

February 28th 1977

Dear diary,

Well. They won the match and the Quidditch Cup. I am upset about it because all of our efforts and training went down the drain. I hoped we would win. But there is two years left to have the cup. One if I want to beat Potter.

Nonetheless I did attend the party in the Gryffindor common room. After all, Gryffindors are known for throwing the best parties at Hogwarts. And not for bad reason. So there I was, in the party 3 cups of fire whiskey in and 2 cups of rose lemonade. I was staying in a corner taking in the atmosphere.

Barty and Evan were singing Karaoke, singing their hearts out. Sirius and Remus were dancing. Remus looked like he was going to die of embarrassment while Sirius was having the time of his life. Peter came next to me and we got to chatting since the silence was a bit awkward. Turns out he's great to chat with. Intelligent and funny. Spontaneous and chaotic. We talked about the match, the party school. Then he left finding his girlfriend Emmeline.

James approached me then and we talked. Just a short conversation. The pleasantries, a little about the match and then before he had to leave he gave an envelope. After he left I opened it and it said:

Meet me tomorrow in the Room of Requirements, at 4'o clock.

J. F. P

Goodbye for now

R. A. B

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

.... Hello!! I'm back! I'm sorry for the small disappearance but now I'm back!

So this chapter features angst, starchaser, rose killer, Pandora and a cliffhanger. (Teehe)

The list of amazing people who wanted to be tagged :

@raine-ray

@ivy-is-chaos

@permetutotheworld

@reddamselette

@blurstardust

@that-stressed-out-chic

[diedandwenttobobevans]

First Journal Entry 7/21/24

Hi. Hello. I'm so fucking bad at journals. I've been wanting to do this for a bit tho. It's going to be a big dumb thought dump. Don't really care about coherence, this is just a habit I really wanted to get into. Theres a part of me thats like, anxious? I'm dealing with some really bad self image issues right now. Lots of stuff going on in my life. I've been insanely insecure and self concious recently and so even just the idea of airing my greivances out publicly with the protection of anonymity is nerve wracking to me. Everything in life feels overwhleming and. just. AAAAAAAAAA

Here's the thing. I'm a sorry excuse for an adult. I'm 35, just got out of a mediocre and toxic 13+ year relationship with my ex back in April. It was a long, dragged out death to a unfulfilling existence that I held onto too long. Dear Jesus I just realized I'll be 36 in 3 weeks. Fuck. Ready to get off Mr. Bones ride already. I am she/her/they (oh hey, that they is new but dont want to dwell on it too much) bi- lesbian leaning mess of a human being. I don't have spawn thank god. That's not to say I dislike kids or anything, I just don't find I am a patient and responsibile enough person to care for one. I barely can take care of myself.

So mental disorders. I haven't been properly diagnosed. Gotta love the American Health Care system. But it's more so I don't do anything. I don't take care of myself in the very obvious ways and I am always prcrastinating and straight up avoiding difficult and stressing tasks that every other normal ass person can do. So I haven't bothered with getting health insurance. I don't have a traditional job that provides benefits. God, I sleep so much but everthing tires me. Even just writing this out is mentally exhausting. I don't know whats wrong with me. I think its ADHD, Depression, Anxiety, maybe something else. Autism? BPD? Maybe I'm just a hypochondriac. I don't know how people can function if they feel like I do. I barely want to get out of bed.

My brain is starting to fry and I'm struggling to sit and type these feelings out. Again, so overwhelmed. It feels like I have so much to dump here. But at the same time I don't know what I want to talk about? If its not obvious, I'm not a self actualized person. I'm struggling defineing myself and my goals and what I want out of life. I'm hoping journaling practices will help with that.

I hung out with my brother and two of his friends on Saturday. One is renting out his basement, hes a long time friend of my bro's wife. Great guy, but I kinda want him to move out so I can take over the basement. Hes been house hunting recently so it seems possible. The other friend is a woman I just met this year, not sure how long of a friend shes been with Bro but shes openly Pan, outgoing, smart, adorably nerdy. Fine as hell. An amazingly caring person. I, the absolute garbage bag I am, went to a party at the beguinning of the year and not knowing anyone there, drank fast and furious and went a little loud and first met Adorable Nerd (not knowing the extent of her nerdiness) while plastered, trauma dumped about my failing relationship. Claimed to "like her vibe" THEN GAVE HER ASS A SQUEEZE according to other party goers. I'm so ashamed. and cowardly to boot so the next 2 parties I seen her at I avoided her out of embaressment. The fact she still wants to talk and even has invited me out to future hangouts is insane. She loves DnD and wants to play so bad. Maybe she would want to go to Gen Con? Trying to enjoy roleplaying games and board games is kind of weird when theres a lot of history of my ex and those activities, but damn it, I like that stuff. I may of learned a lot from him about the subjects but that doesn't make me not interested anymore.

Anyway, AdoraNerd seems intent on trying to "help" me. Trying to get me out and about, talk about my feelings. It's been 3 months now since the break up. I guess I should leave the house. Is she into me, is this weird to ask. Why would she care. I told her she would do amazing in psychology

God this a jumbled mess of thoughts. I would love to get better at writing and organzing my brainworms. For now though I think I'll end it here and try to make this a daily practice.

I want to add what I'm listening to here as well. Remember on myspace and xanga and most people ended their blogs with "currently lsitening to/currently watching/ currently playings/currently eating ect" stuff? I want to continue the tradition. What would all the important stuff be? I also kind of want to get into a collages for my mood so I have some kind of creative outlet outside of work.

Listening: SUPERHEAVEN - I'VE BEEN BORED / LITHONIA - CHILDISH GAMBINO

Watching: THE TICK (1994)

[forever1kay]

IF YOU LET ME - A Kei Tsukishima SMAU

a kei tsukishima x black!fem!reader smau

after pining over a certain middle blocker over the phone for a month or so, y/n y/l/n meets kei tsukishima in a way that has him hating her mere existence. weeks later, she’s given the opportunity to redeem herself… will she take her chances?

genre & tropes smau, grumpy x sunshine, (seemingly) unrequited love, not-so meet cute, forced proximity, ambw, fluff, crack, slow burn, etc;

warnings profanity, mentions of nsfw, angst, misunderstandings, remaining friends with an ex, periods, minor secondary character death, breakups, a few shitty characters, etc;

notes so i’m going through yet another haikyuu phase and i’m having mad tsukishima brainrot. so, i took this opportunity to write about him while i don’t have writers block. also, please keep in mind that this is a fic that does involve music. with that being said, please be prepared for a song to be linked in parts of this story. this may not get any likes or reblogs, but i hope that anyone who reads it enjoys!

series tag

# ⤹˚˖♬୭ if you let me

PROFILES:

y/n carried

crazy, sexy, cool (& tsukki)

CHAPTERS:

00. prologue - dear diary, i met a boy today

01. chapter one - a party for some girl who wants to kiss tsukki

02. chapter two - don’t worry, everything will be fine

03. that’s fine, i’ll just die tomorrow

04. avoiding him, avoiding her

05. tickets to my downfall

06.for the sake of work and work only

07. chest pains

08. loverboy

09. this does not mean i like you

10. i don’t hate it when you’re around

11. shut the fuck your mouth

12. i’ve decided to tolerate you

13. DENY DENY DENY

14. back to life, back to reality

15. i have awoken, i have arisen

16. maybe later

17. come outside for a second

18. a little busy

19. medicine

20. just a fling

21. disaster

22. something we should know

23. in the wrong

24. i bet

25. it’s him

26. as it was

27. we don’t see eye to eye

28. i made you a playlist

29. perhaps

30. epilogue - our future

BONUS CHAPTERS:

TBD

current status ongoing (slow updates)

© forever1kay 2023 - please don’t translate, convert, copy, paraphrase, repost, or alter any of my works without my permission.

[citylighten]

Storytelling Secret Saturday

I was tagged by @havenroyals 😘

Secret One! Let's Talk About Relationships In my first half-formed draft for Sink or Swim, Pietro was an absolute mess, but as I planned things out more thoroughly, he gradually became better and my angle around him shifted. Pietro was originally very devious, cunning, and a tad extroverted. He was actively plotting to kill Raphael, which, yeah, he is now, but the plotting wasn't really justified. Rosaria was going to end up working for Pietro due to Franco's situation with Raphael and be manipulated by him into thinking he was a good guy. They still would have had their sexual relationship. Eventually Sal would've found out, took issue with it, and Pietro set Sal up to be arrested. But then, I decided to dial it back some 'cause that would have been A LOT of drama and confusion. I remember thinking, okay what if he DID have a heart? What if he DID grow to love Rosaria? Then, I rambled out some thoughts at @ladygangsters and she was a sucker for an office romance, and that prompted my heart to soften towards Pietro and Rosaria more. I started to think of how there would be a significant sexual relationship between them, how Pietro would lead to changes in Rosaria and accordingly, Raphael became the antagonist. In regards to Rosaria, she and Ben were never meant to be a lasting couple. It was always meant to be something brief that led her to someone else. Originally, I swore I was going to have Adriano and Rosaria be end-game, but no matter how cute I felt they were, I couldn't visualize a story for those two. Neither of them changed. Similarly, before simblr, Rosie's old college friend Tariq and she were a thing. But, they also felt like a directionless pair. Pietro, even when he was at his worst character-wise, was the first person I could see her having a 'story' with.

Secret 2! The hit on Ben was suppose to be muuuuch different. So, what was going to happen was originally this: Ben was the one who harassed Rosaria on instagram. However, instead of Ben and Bethany being at the bar when Sal was on stage? It was Ben and McNeely. Sal would still follow the men outside the bar, but instead of Ben (who was passive as always) he would have instead fought McNeely and been arrested for that. Rosaria would have been pissed and told Pietro, but the punishment would have been different. Pietro would have contacted Iris from @digital-deluxe's Public Enemies who would have placed a virus on Ben and McNeely's computers. And that was it. This was my plan for awhile. But then I thought. I need to go harder than that. I thought Ben's harassment would have been more meaningful if it was shown that he was dating someone new and still had Rosaria on his brain. I thought, for Sal to directly call out Ben on stage and fight Ben would have been meaningful 'cause he's hated Ben since Dear Diary, and this action didn't sideline Ben, who is the issue and has been a core character since the beginning. I did want Ben to be written out appropriately, not in a, "well, he and Rosie broke up and they never crossed paths again and it's all good." As said above: I needed to go harder than that. I decided that Rosaria would give Ben's name to Pietro after this whole fiasco. HOWEVER, she was going to be more conscious in what she did. She was going to tell Pietro, "don't hurt him" and Pietro would agree to it. Then I thought, "nah, I need her to be totally blinded by her rage and speak through the lens of seeing nothing but red, only to be stunned when disaster happens." Why? Because she needed the character development for this chapter! She needs a little arc! Pietro has told her a bit about his world, sure, but she's only seen the glitzy and calm side of organized crime. She needed to see how brutal things could get and work through it in order to become the woman she is in the future. Secret 3!

The scene I'm depicting in my next update? It was always envisioned for Sink or Swim. But, it was actually meant to be a turning point for Pietro and Rosaria's relationship - the beginning of the end of the first half of the story, if you will. But if I squeeze out this update tonight or tomorrow? I'll be elaborating on this more lmao

Tagging @sirianasims @digital-deluxe @swiftviolets @rebouks

[weirdgirlswinning]

the fact that there is so little content for dear dumb diary is a tragedy. where is all the appreciation for weird girls and disaster lesbians. you all make me sick