#after that

[macbethz]

martha jones apology tour when

[crazysodomite]

my job wants me to do 2 24 hour shifts basically in a row. i feel sick just thinking about it. i will refuse. if i get fired i get fired

[borderlinereminders]

I told my friend it must be nice that she was seen right away by the emergency vet and I got stuck waiting for five hours last weekend. I was frustrated because I had to take time from my work day and others kept coming in after my dog and getting seen first. My friend ended up telling me she needs space from me. Sorry just needed to vent

Hi anon,

I’m really sorry if this comes off harsh. This is a really sensitive subject for me, but telling your friend “it must be nice” probably felt really dismissive to them. Probably even insensitive. I understand that’s likely not how you intended it to come off, but that’s how it would have felt to me.

Having been someone on both sides of this. Someone who had to wait for awhile to get my dog seen, but also someone whose dog was rushed in ahead of all the others… I can tell you while all vet trips suck, it was so much worse being the one whose dog got rushed in because when that happens, there’s a reason. It’s not first come, first seen. It’s based on severity. I can’t even put into words the terror I felt. I’m not trying to invalidate how you feel. It’s valid to feel frustrated by missing work, and waiting and all that. But I do think that your comment probably really upset your friend when they were likely scared for their pet. I’m not saying you weren’t scared. You’d be valid to be scared and want your pet seen. But I just think some perspective from the other side might be helpful to you understanding.

Your friend wants space right now, so I’d give that to them. But when they’re done needing space, I think it might be good to apologize. Even something like “I’m sorry about what I said. I was feeling frustrated by my own experience but I understand that they weren’t the same and in hindsight, I wouldn’t have said what I did.”

[sttoru]

when i finish studying for this last exam… im gonna release some trueform!sukuna angst 😝

[amoremagnificentbastard]

WIP Whenever

Second time in a row someone tags me in one of these and I actually have something to share day of? Who am I?

Thank you, @busy-baker.

Tagging @slothquisitor, @1waywardbirdlane, @kittenintheden, and @mutualcombat, if y'all would like to share!

[emyn-arnens]

No need to do this because I already got one, but if it inspires, any character(s) + Angband (and area) + 'shadows of madness and despair'. (You did say darker ones...)

An age later, here this is! An AU with Finrod and Sauron in Angband, ~700 words | AO3.

Finrod stood in the dark of his cell, searching. A hushed song fell from his cracked lips. Its notes buried themselves deep within the stones and mortar of his cell, probing for fissures and points of weakness.

In whispered words, he sang of loosening, of breaking, of splitting, of falling free, of light piercing the shadows. The stones trembled at his voice, and his chains shivered against his skin. Dust trickled over his fingertips, pressed against the stone wall behind him. He scratched at a line of mortar with his fingernail as he sang, and a spray of dust fell upon his hands.

He sang of the lashing rain throwing down great rocks in mountain passes, of the flash of lightning cleaving mighty trees in two, of the thunder of cavalry rattling the mountainsides, of the howling of wind splitting strong walls asunder. The stones of his cell danced and quivered in response, and dust and shards of stone fell like rain, biting into his bare skin.

Finrod sang louder, until the stones shook with both the power of his song and the ringing of his voice.

And then, in an instant, the stones fell silent and still, and his voice died in his throat.

Shadows, darker than those he already stood in, gathered in a corner of his cell, and from them came a voice: “Thou hast great power in thy voice, but it will not avail thee.” The shadows twisted and coiled, and from them stepped his captor.

Finrod bore Sauron’s mocking appraisal in silence. 

Sauron circled him, the shadows following him like the swish of a cloak. He tipped a clawed finger beneath Finrod’s chin and looked deep into his eyes, searching. His own eyes burned like the hearts of embers.

Shadows and whispers pressed upon Finrod’s mind, probing, prying. He held his mind silent and still.

Sauron tilted his head. He lifted his hand to Finrod’s face, studying it with appreciation, and the slow stroke of his fingers down the side of Finrod’s face was like a caress, even as the tips of his claws drew beads of blood from Finrod’s skin. “Wast thou a king? Thou hast a kingly bearing.”

Finrod did not speak.

Sauron gripped his chin and leaned closer until his breath stirred Finrod’s hair, lying lank against his neck and shoulders. “Thy tongue is better suited to song than silence,” he murmured. His words skittered over Finrod’s skin like the grazing of claws. He released Finrod and stepped back, a smile playing upon his lips. “Sing for me, little king.”

Finrod did not speak.

Sauron’s smile spread. “If thou dost not wish to sing of thy own doing, I can aid thee in loosening thy tongue.” 

The shadows that clung to him peeled away, and in an instant, they seized Finrod’s throat and forced open his jaw, and a cry tore from his lips.

“Sing.” The command filled the cell until the stones trembled.

Finrod’s voice tore from his throat despite himself, and he sang. He sang until his tongue was thick with dust, until his lips cracked and bled, and until his voice was no more. He sang until his limbs shook and trembled, and he sagged in his chains, utterly spent.

Only then did the shadows about his throat relent and slink back to their master.

Sauron cupped Finrod’s face in his hand, and his eyes burned into Finrod’s. “I will learn thy true name in time, and thou wilt come to do my bidding of thine own will.”

Finrod’s tongue was too heavy to respond.

Sauron brushed his fingers over Finrod’s lips and then smiled, sudden and sharp. “Dost thou thirst?” The sound of falling water filled the cell, and a rivulet of water trickled from a crack in the wall mere feet away from Finrod.

Sauron vanished as quickly as he had appeared, and Finrod stood alone in his cell once more. He strained at his chains, but though he strained until his limbs burned, the trickle of water evaded his reach, and he collapsed against the wall more weary and parched than he had been.

The rivulet of water disappeared. Lilting laughter echoed about the stone walls of his cell. How foolish thou art, little king.

And all through the night came the sound of gently falling rain, though not a single drop fell upon Finrod's skin.

[eidolons-stuff]

Yoko: "Thing, I don't think Wednesday is ok"

Thing: *pissed* "WEDNESDAY SNAP OUT OF IT! WE NEED TO SAVE ENID BEFORE SHE KISSES AJAX!"

Wednesday: "What?!"

[cherry-burst]

LADS is the only otome where I've genuinely loved ALL the love interests 100%. This game is perfection

[firestormmaidenanddragon]

Temporary Notice:

Due to my laptop's keyboard playing up further, all activity is going to go on hold for the time being until I can get it seen at the computer repair store near me.

After all, I can't reply proper without being able to add spaces, Bs, Ns, or ?s, and the only reason this looks right the way it does is because of a USB keyboard I had spare, but it's either that or use the on-screen keyboard which also slows things down to where it stops the laptop from going into sleep mode.

Neither option is ideal given the lack of space I have to use with the USB keyboard, so my hope is that the laptop can be fixed, since the worst thing to hear would be that it's not possible and I should consider replacing, not a comfortable idea for me, whether just a possibility or eventual reality.

[thehours2002]

I love Bebe so much but it’s gotten to the point that you could not pay me to see Cabaret unless I had ringside seats or seats in the first six-ish rows of the orchestra that allowed me to clearly make out her facial expressions

[voidbeau]

Okay but actually...

The account termination got me feeling some frustrated way.

I was all content feeling like I was building all my work back up, feeling all satisfied, compiling a little pile of all my art accomplishments in one place

And then suddenly it's all gone again.

Entirely out of my control.

All my shit was here and then it was gone.

I think I'm gonna take a short break probably and see how I feel.

I'll probably be around for Halloween stuffs tho.

[jamespottersmixtape]

apologies that I haven't been rosekiller-ing as much as I usually rosekiller. I took the plunge of watching a show for the first time in a while and cried for about two days straight

[lux-scriptum]

,,,,,,,,,,,,,the outline. is done.

[these-godforsaken-halls]

the limit

tags: major character death, waffle duo, desert duo, grief/mourning, hurt no comfort

you can also read on ao3 !!

Some things don’t get fixes or answers or do-overs or cheat sheets or any other thing that might make it all easier. Some loads don’t lighten, even with time. Some loads aren’t supposed to lighten; some loads he’d — he’d kick and scream if anyone tried to lighten them, if even time itself tried to lighten them. He thinks he could forget, if he really wanted to, he could forget on purpose — that would take time. He’s not going to do that.

“You fill your life with other good things,” says Scar, every part of him gentle, his voice most especially. “That takes time. That’s what that means, Grian.”

“Time doesn’t — heal, I don’t know who came up with that, they must’ve — they didn’t love him,” Grian repeats, bitter and red-eyed, staring at a patch of empty wall. Scar sighs and repeats himself, too, somehow even gentler this time.

But that doesn’t sound like healing it sounds like forgetting and people keep telling him that’s not true, because they don’t understand what he’s saying. He can’t find the words for it. He is working on it.

“You miss him because you loved him,” says Pearl three days later, sitting beside him and rubbing his back, and this brings him closer to the right words, but he still can’t find them. He can hardly find any words at all. He tries, and they stop in his throat and clog it up and he just starts crying. “We all loved him, Grian, it’s — of course it still hurts. God.” She sounds like she’ll cry, too. But she does other things besides crying. That’s the difference. That’s the difference between Grian and everybody else. She picked up her life and lived it again, in small pieces first and then larger ones, and he never did that. He doesn’t think he’ll ever do that again.

The thing is, it’s been months. So many months. Ten or eleven of them now. The loss didn’t hurt when it was one day old or two or three — it just didn’t. It was an emptiness, an absence, not a feeling at all — not a pain. It hurt the first time he opened a chest and saw some extra redstone he’d put aside for later. It hurt worse than anything’s ever hurt before, it cleaved him right open for days and then weeks and then months, and soon it’ll be counted in years, and it’s not letting up; if anything it’s getting worse. How, Grian wants to know — he says this viciously, he snaps at anybody who tries to pull him out of the fucking mental pit he’s dug himself — how is he meant to plan a project that Mumbo will never see? Why is he building things anymore, why is he teaching himself two-by-two piston doors if not to show Mumbo? Why do they think there’s any little part of him that can do that? Everything Grian does is another thing Mumbo’s not a part of and he doesn’t want any more of those. Time is only for remembering or forgetting, now — the new axis his days are measured on, because it was all measured on Mumbo before, is the thing, and it still will be forever and ever; he’s dead — great. Awesome. Remembering or forgetting. They say healing — they mean forgetting. He knows they do. They are lying to Grian because they didn’t love him so they don’t know.

Grian will stay here, on the floor of the starter base that his world’s shrunken down to encompass, staring at an empty patch of wall and remembering.

At least he’s found his right words, now.

One day Mumbo will be dead longer than he ever was alive. One day Grian’s life-after-Mumbo-died will be longer than all the time he spent with Mumbo in his life and every day gets him closer to that. Every day it hurts worse. And Grian hates everyone who even begins to imply anything else. There’s a limit no one told him about, in those early days — when he was still here, on this floor and staring at this wall, but no one was coming to bother him or try and dig him out of his mental pit, yet (they came to bring him food or offer comfort, or they told stories about Mumbo, but they never, ever tried to make him forget, those first few months) — there’s a limit people put on how long you can live on that axis.

“You want me to do something without Mumbo in it,” Grian says, the next time Scar comes around. He lets his voice do something ugly, something angry and mean and malicious. He wants these words to hurt. “You want me to — but there’s nothing. Anymore. It always had him in it, Scar, everything did. Well, stop asking. I’m not coming with you on your stupid — mining trip, or whatever it is, your stupid fucking builds — you’re not Mumbo. You’re never going to be Mumbo so I don’t care. ”

Scar must not know what to say to that; Grian hears him take a breath, a shaky breath that sounds like crying, almost, maybe, and then the floorboards creak and door falls shut.

He thinks he’ll have to snap again but when he finally summons the energy to roll over and look, Scar’s not… there.

He must have just… left. Instead of staying to argue and wheedle and whine. He always stays. He never wants to let Grian just lie here. Was Scar crying?

Grian rolls back over and stares, again, at the patch of empty wall.

[sbnkalny]

Nice work, Partner! Let's hurry back to the research base! I'm starving!