#Anyway I'm sad

[longsightmyth]

People are so stupid about snakes. If there's a little black racer chilling outside just leave it alone, you don't have to kill it, it's probably dealing with all your pests for you, jesus christ

[kcrabb88]

Hot Friday Night Plans: Crying over the Phantom of the Opera closing on Broadway

[rivensbane]

i finished the final heart of thorns quest.. trahearne...

[leschanceux]

Philip and the Christmas that almost wasn't.

"I'm sorry, your highness," Philip's housemaster starts, looking genuinely sympathetic, "your father said he's too busy to take our call right now."

Philip, eleven years old and not really the type to cry these days, curls his fingers into his palms and fights off the tears that burn behind his eyes. Dad's too busy to take a call about him? Logically, he knows there must be something else going on. This has never happened before - Dad always has time for him, for all three of them.

But Philip's all wound up, his nerves shot from the phone call with his grandmother - a personal phone call, not one made through a member of her staff. She'd been stiff and cold, anger in her tone as she told him that he wouldn't be going home for Christmas, would have to sit in his room at school and that there would be no visits, no presents, no trips, no Christmas dinner. Princes, she'd said, did not get into fights at school. Hooligans got into fights, and hooligans went to prison, so Philip should experience the closest thing to prison an eleven year old could --- isolation at school over Christmas break.

His mind is not working through logics, he's filled with sadness and desperation and all he wants is for his dad to show up at the gates because gran had changed her mind.

He'd cried down the phone when she'd passed her sentence, gran, please- please, I'll be good, I promise, I'm sorry, gran. Please let me go home. Nothing had helped; she'd simply told him that he'd ruined Christmas for them all with his selfish, stupid actions, and then she'd hung up. The school nurse had hugged him, let him cry into her shoulder with soothing words and a hand that had rubbed circles into his back, but she wasn't the same as Mum and he'd drawn away after a couple of moments, asking her and his housemaster to call his parents.

"Can I try, please?" he requests, and is immediately granted use of the phone ( he wonders for a second if it's because he's the prince of England, or if they want to send him home as soon as they can so they don't have to stay at school over the Christmas holidays either ) and some privacy to make his call.

Dialling with shaky fingers, it feels like years until Dad picks up the phone with a tense yes, hello? "Daddy?" He hasn't called his father daddy in years - not since his first term at boarding school at eight, because he didn't want to be picked on mercilessly like one of the other boys in his class had been when he'd called one of their teachers mummy accidentally. "Daddy, it's Pip." It's amazing how steady he sounds, even as his eyes swim with more tears. He listens for a moment as Dad says something to someone before he comes back to the phone, his voice so soft as he asks what's going on.

"Gran called me," Philip begins, his voice so small, "she said I can't come home for Christmas." That's as far as he gets before he lets out a hiccuping sob, desolate and feeling like the criminal Gran had likened him to - all because he'd defended his baby brother from another boy who had decided that Henry was weird for clinging to Mum when he was scared by the shouts of a crowd! "Daddy, I'm sorry I ruined Christmas and I was stupid and selfish and I just want to come home," he cries down the line, clutching at the plastic receiver with both hands as he works himself up into hysteria, "please, I want to come home! I won't be stupid and selfish anymore, I promise! I won't even have Christmas, just please, please, please, please tell Gran I'm sorry, I want to come home."

Dad's saying something but Philip can't hear anything over the sounds of his own sobs. There are hands on him all of a sudden, gently tugging the phone from his grasp even as he lets out a strangled whimper, trying to take it back because he needs to know if Dad can forgive him for wrecking Christmas for everybody, but the nurse is holding him and she's pointing to a mug of hot chocolate and his housemaster is talking on the phone now, so Pip allows himself to be pulled into the nurse's lap like he's still as small as Henry is, a blanket around his shoulders and the hot chocolate steaming gently into his face as he coughs and sniffs and spasms with sobs.

It takes an hour - and they only live half an hour away by car from Ludgrove, a fact that made his first term of boarding so hard to start with - but the nurse is suddenly pointing at the window of the office door and Dad is there looking cold and windswept in his long coat and scarf, and Pip is on his feet and launching himself like a cannonball into his father's arms, sobbing again as he shoves his wet face into Arthur's neck and holds on. Dad's hand is steady at his back and he's holding Pip tight, sitting where he'd been sat with the nurse not even a moment ago. The three adults are talking over his head, but Pip is content enough to stay where he is, hidden in Dad's neck, warm and safe and breathing in Dad's Dad smell as he revels in the fact that Dad's here even though Gran said no visitors.

Maybe he can have a Christmas after all?

[bigqueervillain]

TW: Miscarriage, grief

So I had a miscarriage at 5 weeks on Friday. It's ongoing. I feel like a giant, sad sack of blood.

I've had a miscarriage once before when I was pretty deep in addiction and very mentally unwell. Back then though I didn't even know that I was pregnant, and I wasn't trying to get pregnant. So I counted it as a blessing. This time the circumstances couldn't be more different.

I really wanted this pregnancy, this baby. Rachael and I both did. I'm sure that most of it was hormone driven, but even so I was so excited and so happy and so ready. I had Christmas announcements to our families all planned out because I'm a control freak. I was anticipating so much joy coming our way. And instead we got this.

When I called the midwife on Friday, she was very sweet and kind and gentle. But it was just so hard to hear my fears confirmed. "Is this your first baby? Oh you must have been so excited. It's really just a late period at this stage though, so unless you start to feel sick it should pass okay" keeps ringing in my ears. It's trauma. I know it. I've had enough of it over the years that I intimately know the way it winds through and sticks in my brain. There are things that stay with you in trauma and grief, even when they'd normally be so innocuous in any other situation. The things that are said ring in your ears whether you want them to or not.

And it is passing through me. That's the fucked up gothic primal animal horror and beauty of it. When you become pregnant, the only way out is through no matter what stage you're at when it ends. I'm pro choice and I always will be, but all the viscera coming out of me had the potential to be my baby in August. And I feel like I owe that potential the duty of witnessing and grieving every bit that comes out of me. When it started, I reached into the fucking toilet to touch it and make sure. There's really no mistaking pregnancy tissue though. It's hard and looks like string with little baby grapes attached to it. Like a vine from an alien nightmare orchard.

I keep thinking of sad art that's stuck with me over the years. The fucking two headed calf; so short lived but still so cherished while it lasted. Maybe I'll get it tattooed. The Johanna reprise from Sweeney Todd; "and though I'll think of you I guess until the day I die, I think I'll miss you less and less as everyday goes by." Sondheim really knew how to get to the heart of a very specific emotion. Fucking hell.

And maybe all of this is incredibly maudlin and dramatic. I tend towards that in times of extreme emotion, which I worry makes the whole thing tedious for other people to experience along with me. And it was so early and really is just a very late, very heavy period. But this grief is mine goddammit. No one can tell me how to feel or how to navigate through it. I would have protected this kid with my life had they been born, and I feel like I have to follow through with that promise even if it'll never come to fruition.

I'm left with all this blood. My body feels like a fucking graveyard. Going to the bathroom, standing up, sneezing, coughing are all reminders, so I don't even have the courtesy of long periods of distraction from it. I feel like next time we try I won't even be able to be excited when we get a positive test, because I'll be so afraid of losing it again. We had that exciting positive pregnancy test moment already with this one, and now that memory's tainted. Next time I'm going to feel cautious and afraid, instead of happy and hopeful. I know myself enough to know that. I know I have to force myself to process my emotions and heal through this so I can enjoy pregnancy when it happens again. And it will happen again. We're not going to stop trying; Rach and I both want to be parents too much for that. But I hate this part. It's just so fucking unfair.

A close friend of mine is lowkey a very powerful medium/witch. She told me that this is all confusing because she can feel our baby working hard to come through, that they want us as parents and want to come earthside and live. And I believe her. Her partner is our sperm donor so she's attached to it in some way too. And I know that any child of mine is going to be stubborn and strong willed and unstoppable.

And then I think of my (unfortunately) Catholic upbringing and my own spirituality. I believe that creation is a god realm, even if I don't believe all the pro choice bullshit that comes along with it. So I have to believe that this loss has purpose. But I don't know what that purpose is, other than to make me afraid and sad. But then maybe there isn't any purpose in it and that's just part of the awesome swirling chaos that is life on this goddamn bitch of an earth and I have to accept that for what it is.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, etc.

Anyway if you've read this far, thank you. I don't expect anyone to read this. It's mostly rambling nonsense. Writing has long been how I process my emotions. The best way. Sitting alone with headphone and screaming it all out on a keyboard is healthy for me. I'm just...metaphorically licking my wounds and shyly casting my hurt into the internet in the hopes that it'll swirl around and leave me for good.

[loisfreakinglane]

amends hit SO HARD on rewatch. the christmas miracle of it all, angel choosing to fight and live. and i'm me so i can't help but think about him 3 years down the line, when he's spending his first christmas with his newborn baby. god...... i'd have loved to see that one and only truly happy christmas with the whole fang gang alive and intact

[kuuhaiyu]

i really can't emphasize how heartbreaking it is that the recent harassment campaign against @/90-ghost (among others; see: 1, 2, 3) has led to well-meaning people telling others not to listen to him. he is one of the most visible survivors of the genocide here on tumblr. his entire journey of escape is so well documented! and yet, it only took a few people confidently pointing fingers to create an entire witch hunt accusing him and other palestinians of being disreputable scammers and liars.

i can't help but feel like the reason why people were SO eager to believe those accusations, is because it was uncomfortable to see posts from palestinians every day asking for our time, attention, money, and support; so when someone presented the perfect excuse to ignore all those posts and asks while also taking the high ground, people just LEAPED onto it. they wanted to believe it, because it would be more comfortable.

honestly, i understand feeling overwhelmed by bad news, by the number of asks and messages in your inbox, and so on and so forth. i understand needing to set boundaries for yourself so you don't get burned out. i think this is really when you have to have a set of principles to fall back on, even when you're tired, uncomfortable, angry, and/or sad. so here's the one i suggest, which has been working for me best: don't make your discomfort with this situation into someone else's problem, and for god's sake don't make it a public problem.

if you hate seeing fundraiser posts or news about gaza, i can't emphasize this enough, JUST MOVE ON. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND SCROLL PAST! all you have to do is absolutely nothing. which is what you were doing anyway, so it shouldn't be hard. if you don't have the heart to read, or reblog, or share, or donate, or support in other ways, at the very least, don't obstruct the efforts of people who ARE trying to make a difference. this is, quite literally, the least you can do.

[satanicdollx]

they should invent friends that do not live so fucking far

[egophiliac]

still ruminating over Lost In the Book With Spooky Skeletons Part 1, so here's a selection of some of my favorite little bits! (...some more loosely paraphrased than others) (I just feel like Idia has no room to criticize in general, okay)

anyway, I'm sure we're just going to have a fun time celebrating Halloween and nothing bad is going to happen whatsoever! :)

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Liam was a boy, and then a man, who suffered so much trauma and pain. He was bullied as a child and then lived a nightmare that I think none of us can really imagine of having that triggering experience replicated on a literally global public scale. He became a man who inflicted trauma on others. He was an addict who was unable to find a way out of that disease, and now never will, but who was open and vulnerable about his struggles. He was an incredibly talented musician and artist and an absolutely integral part of one of the most important bands of a generation; his voice and songwriting and skill in the studio shaped every aspect of what One Direction became at their best. He loved that band and being a part of that experience with his whole being and would never have stopped celebrating what they meant to us and to the world. He had problems and did bad things; that doesn't mean he was a bad person who didn't deserve to be loved and helped to heal- everyone deserves that- and the fact that that's not something that can ever happen now is devastating. I was very distressed by many of his actions; and I cared deeply about this man I didn't know and wished for better for him than this outcome.

I'm so deeply, deeply SAD tonight. I'm sad for Liam, who will never now have the chance to look back on this hard time and reflect on how far he's come, and for Liam's family, for his parents and his sisters who loved and supported him so much, and for everyone in the 1D band family and circles. And I'm sad for us. It feels like nothing will ever be quite the same, and that's hard and sad and shocking. It's a special kind of doubled grief, to mourn the loss of the person, and also of what he meant to us in this strange world of parasocial fanning, for the real him and also for the version of him that we made up and attached so much meaning to and for the escape that brought us. For him, and also for the easy uncomplicated joy of listening to those beautiful songs from happier times, which might never feel the same again. For the other boys, who we love so much and wish we could shield from suffering and loss and pain. For our fellow fans, who we also worry about the impact of this on. Everything about this is terrible, and I am sending so much love out to all of you. We are not alone, and it's okay to feel complicated emotions and it's okay to mourn and it's okay to care about how it effects you and your life, whatever you're feeling- it's okay. We are here with you. We are 1D family.

[yuukirita]

He's doing hand talk :'D Cute and Sad.

[tarabyte3]

Hey fanfiction writers: If no one's ever told you this before, it's not just fanfiction.

It's something you spent hours, days, maybe even months on, pouring your heart out onto a page because you were so full of passion and thoughts about a story or characters, you felt like you were going to explode if you didn't get it out. Maybe you lost sleep because your mind was racing with ideas or you forgot to eat or drink water because you were so focused. Maybe your back aches from being hunched over for so long, unmoving. Maybe you even felt like you were going a little feral because you were so excited about what you were creating, or were frustrated when you got stuck. Either way, you put your heart, mind, soul, and body into making something.

It's okay to want people to read it, and it's okay if you're disappointed that they don't or it doesn't get as much of a reaction as you were hoping for. Humans are social creatures. Sure, we write for ourselves, but we also share because the joy of doing so is just as powerful as the joy of the process. Of having created something.

We all experience that joy and that disappointment, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

So it's okay. It's not just fanfiction.

[fancyfeasti]

"I guess you have changed."

-Husk, Hazbin Hotel Ep. 8

[nipuni]

Casanova sketches!

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[tagerrkix]

rage.