#and it makes me depressed if i think about it too long

[abbotsanatomy]

hello!! i love ur writing you’re feeding my abbot addiction <33 could you write a fic with a depressed reader, maybe she had a hard case that hit close to home that ended badly and is really lingering for her, and jack noticed because she’s been more withdrawn and distant for the past few days and he tries to get her to talk about it and she says shes fine then blah blah fast forward shes on yhe roof crying after working a double :) sorry im a fiend for hurt comfort

⨳ PROTECTING THE HIVE

pairing: jack abbot x chief resident!reader warnings: (20-ish year) age gap, resident/attending relationship, workplace romance, depictions of depression, mentions of suicidal ideation, kinda medical malpractice (lol), panic attack, allusions to child abuse. author's note: i had no idea what to name this, so here's my attempt at being funny... (also keep the compliments coming, they're feeding my ego <33 mwah)

You used to love your bed. It used to be a huge source of comfort. And sleep. Sleep is a special commodity when you work night shifts at a trauma center.

Now, you hate it. Because whenever you aren't working, you're just lying there. Not even asleep, just staring at the ceiling. Half of the time, you want to get up and be with your hot, older boyfriend.

The other half of the time, your mind is just pulling out the most horrendous memories possible, making you relive them, and wish you were dead. There's a bottle of pills on your nightstand you know would do the trick. You won't let yourself.

People rely on you. Jack relies on you. You save lives every day; you just wish you didn't have to lose so many along the way.

The only place you can escape your own thoughts is the ER. So, you throw yourself into your work. You work twice as hard, for twice as long.

Of course, Jack notices. He can see the most imperceptible changes in your demeanor, so this major shift doesn't exactly fly under his radar.

Be that as it may, you won't tell him any of it. He's a natural worrier. He hovers and he worries. That's just who he is. You're doing him a huge favor, really.

Besides, out of all the things your coping mechanism could be, it's saving lives. Who wouldn't support that?

So, you work yourself to the bone guilt-free. You take on double shifts with a few extra hours sprinkled on top. It's more than tiring, but it also means that when you get home and you're in bed, you pass out. You don't lay there for hours thinking about the kid who died in your ER two weeks ago.

You're careful about it, too. You change your scrubs and chug a cup of that terrible break room coffee before Jack comes in for the night shift.

Tonight's another one of those long, grueling, self-inflicted shifts. You've got a Red Bull in one hand, and a patient's bloodwork in the other. You've assessed labs like this one a million times, but the numbers aren't making any sense right now. Parker passes by you with a quick tap on your shoulder to bring your attention to her.

“Hey, you want me to count you in for the rock climbing thing this Sunday?” she asks, opening up one of the ER computers, “It was fun last time, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say slowly.

You're not too sure you can come up with a viable excuse right now, so you'll just have to cancel later. It was really fun, it just sounds like too much effort right now.

She walks away with a nod, when one of the nurses calls for her. When you start feeling surrounded in the middle of the ER hallway, you make your way to the break room. It feels even more stuffy, somehow.

You grip the papers in your hands tighter. The throbbing in your head that hasn't really left for the past two weeks has become unbearable now.

Noises are too loud. Everyone's too close. You need to get out, now.

Everything in your hand gets abandoned on the break room counter. You make your way as swiftly as possible past the patient’s rooms. A hand gently grips your arm, before you can pull the emergency exit open.

“Are you alright?”

Jack's low cadence coupled with his steady touch on your arm make you want to burst out into tears right then and there.

“I'm fine. I just—” your voice cracks.

“I need a minute,” you tell him, willing your voice to be as firm as you can manage. You can't even pull your gaze up from the floor. It isn't clear if he's buying it or not.

He lets go of your arm, and you can finally run up the hospital's stairs to the rooftop. You're completely out of breath, and still wildly overstimulated by the time you get there.

You pull the roof's metal door open. The moment the cold December air hits your face, it calms your panic down. But it brings with it a wave of sadness that can't be quelled or distracted away. You let yourself feel it.

You're out of control, now. Hands shaking, limbs completely wracked by these huge, full-body sobs. You steady yourself with your arms on one of the roof's AC units, when the memories start flooding your mind.

The kid you killed, he'd come in a week before. He had bruises all over, cuts where he wasn't supposed to. You passed the information onto someone on the day shift, so they can tell the department social worker. The next day you came back, he was gone.

A week later, he was dying in your arms. His blood literally staining your hands is a memory you'll never be able to erase. You spiral, his first and last visit to the ER flashing in your mind with equal consequence.

The footsteps growing closer barely register to your ears over your wailing. The moment Jack pulls you close, a hand on your jaw to bring your eyes to his, you instinctively pull away. He's insistent, though. He was trying to give you space, but look where that's gotten you.

“Hey, hey,” he says firmly, to grab your attention.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. He quickly realizes he can't get you to understand anything he says, not right now. So he does the next best thing.

He holds you. Really tight. So tight you can only smell his cologne and that sterile hospital scent that lingers on him for hours after a shift. It reminds you of home. You see him almost every day, but you miss him. He somehow always knows exactly what you need.

It takes a good ten minutes for you to stop crying in his arms. He's happy to be there, just glad you're slowly calming down. When your breathing evens out, and your eyes have dried out, you look up at him.

Where you think there should be disappointment, maybe even hatred, there's only admiration. If you’d actually picked up a scalpel and killed someone, he wouldn't even flinch, you think.

His gaze alone is making this a lot easier, “Better?”

You nod. Your eyes feel heavy, like you might just sleep here in his arms.

“It's the oxytocin,” he jokes.

“Yeah. I know,” you chuckle.

His scrub top looks incredibly comfortable. For the first time in weeks, you wish you were just in bed. You could lay on his chest and have the best sleep you've had in too many nights to count. The best you can get right now is resting your forehead on the black fabric. That's exactly what you do.

Jack lets a few seconds go back before speaking up.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I...” you take a deep breath.

I killed him. The words die on your tongue. You can't say them.

Jack must notice this is causing you distress, so he runs his fingers through your hair. He kisses the top of your head to calm you down.

“We don't have to, right now,” he whispers, “Not ever, even. But you do need to talk about it to someone.”

You nod in agreement, against his shirt. Your coping mechanisms are so not working.

“When was the last time you ate?”

You blank, “I don't...I don't know.”

“Sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Alright. You're done.”

He pulls your head up with a hand on each cheek, “Clock out. Go home. Have some food, and I'll be there in a few hours.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You both walk to the emergency exit. In the stairwell, you turn to him, your eyes still glistening.

“Hey, um. I'm not fine, Jack,” you admit.

“I know that,” he tells you. “But you will be. I'll make sure of it.”

You believe him.

[nipuni]

Hi Nipuni, I hope you’re doing well. I’m just curious what’s your opinion about the rampant use of AI in art lately especially how it impacts artists and possibly stealing artists work to train it. As a fellow artist I’m curious of what other artists would think of this. I’ve seen many beginners artists losing hope in pursuing art because of AI and it truly breaks my heart. I hope artists wouls stay doing art no matter what because it’s very important and their art will always be valuable no matter what. By the way, you don’t have to reply to this if this particular topic is not something you’re comfortable with. I love your art so much and I wish all the best for you, you are an incredible artist and I love the energy you always put into your art🫶

Hello, I am doing great! I hope you are too! ☺️ I'm so sorry I'm so late to reply. I've been following the generative AI conversation on and off for so long now and I have yet to find a single argument that justifies it's cost. I don't think I have much to add that hasn't been said before. I think it is unethical, unsustainable, irresponsible, dangerous, harmful, theft, I can go on. It is not intelligent and it's not generative, it doesn't think, it can't reason it's guided guessing based on statistics. it's not creating anything new either it's just pulling from a database of stolen human content and mashing it together, it can't be trained on itself either so it needs constant human input too. I just don't see the point? 🫠 It's some kind of gimmicky toy made to appeal to the most annoying people imaginable by the most annoying people imaginable to profit from and at immense cost to everyone else. It's negatively impacting every creative industry in every way and even affecting the way we learn, communicate and engage with media. It's invading everything and making it objectively worse lmao. It's also dangerous in countless ways. An environmental disaster too and for what!! aaaaa It feels like a huge cultural setback and technological dead end and it's so depressing. I wish I had something positive to add after so much ranting but I don't 😔 The impact of this on creative fields among others is undeniable and I fear will make things harder for a while but I'd like to think that it's still early days and there are so many people fighting to regulate this mess and we all can help by advocating and boycotting at the very least.

If anything this whole debacle has made me examine my relationship with art more deeply and I realize I love the process of making art more than I love the result. The space between idea and finished piece that is all me, I'm in there!! and I love it there!! I can't see myself doing anything else or relegating this part. This will change things at a societal and economical level but people will always make art. I don't know where I'm going with this, I don't think the philosophical is a good angle to center the conversation on either, but I guess it's a comfort 😭 'In the dark times Will there also be singing? Yes, there will also be singing. About the dark times.' poem comes to mind

This reply got away from me oh my god sjfkhg I'm focusing on the art side of things here of course but I could go on about the damage to plenty of other fields but I don't feel qualified enough aaaa anyway Thank you so much for the kind words you are very sweet and I hope you don't let all this discourage you 🥺❤️ we will be alright!!

[hannahdalaney-blog]

little bird

Joel miller x plus-size reader

// ive been so depressed recently, I need an old man to take care of me.

Joel was starting to get worried, you'd spent all day curled up in bed. At first he thought it was cute seeing you finally relax but then you didn't eat or move unless you had too. You didn't have any emotion on your face as you laid there staring out the window.

Then you slept, slept for hours, more than he thought possible. He tried to get you to eat but you just looked past him like he wasn't there. You said you got like this sometimes and without the antidepressants you took religiously it would be bad.

He didn't believe you of course thinking that was for weak minded people looking for an excuse. But here you are and he was never more wrong. Watching you disappear and replaced by this shell that does nothing but sleep was so hard.

"Just talk to me sweetheart." he pleads. You finally look at him tears glossing your eyes.

"I don't wanna talk." your rough voice peaks out. Joel sighs and you flinch a little.

"At least eat something." his hand rubbed up and down your back. You cried wetting the pillow under your heavy head.

"It's ok" he stayed still letting you get it all out. Keeping his hand on you for as long as he could.

Once you calmed down and it was all sniffles he kissed your temple before leaving the room. Reappearing a plate in one hand and a glass in the other. You sat up wiping your face, Joel gave you a small smile.

You thought about returning it but just ended up giving him a wobbly one. He liked it just as all your other smiles. Joel watched you eat making sure you drank all the water in the glass. With all this crying he didn't want you to get dehydrated.

"Sorry you've had to take care of me all day." you voice was so small it made his heart ache a little.

"I'll take care of you for the rest of my life." you blushed finally giving Joel a real smile. You turn to look out the window again your eyes tearing up a little.

"What are you looking at?" he smiled a little.

"There's a little bird in the tree, all by itself. It looks so lonely." you sigh looking away from the window.

[memoirofasparklemuff1n]

hoax- r.c. x reader*

synopsis (?): you always thought the worst things in life were the actions of the living, yet the one person you loved and hurt you the most, was not.

warnings: this depression, implied suicide, death, resentment of the dead. i think this is heavy though i tried to tone it down a bit. if it’s too triggering just click out, please. take care of yourself. i didn’t want to post this at first but thought that maybe it could help someone in a way (?) idk maybe it doesn’t or maybe that someone is me. would be nice for a change. anyway, enough trauma dumping lol <3

*one shot

𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼 𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼 𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼

the sand beneath your fingertips bore a peculiar resemblance to the amount of pain you felt. though you suspected that if it were to come between your pain and every grain, the former would leave with the grand prize.

and for every rain drop in your face, the lakes beneath you became more bitter than sweet.

for a moment you could believe that the weather was nothing more than a mirage of your most inner self. the waves only reflecting a smaller portion of the rage, disbelief, and confusion beneath the surface.

when sarah said that rafe was gone, you didn’t believe her. at first you thought it was a joke— a sick one— but a joke nonetheless. but then, she handed you a letter with your name scribbled in his messy handwriting.

because it hadn’t been a tragic accident, or an extreme sport gone wrong. no.

it had been murder, except it was done by the one person you could never, ever question. at least not in this life.

he was gone.

there was no way to accuse him of such a heinous crime, no way to look for evidence to lock him behind bars, and most definitely, no family or lover pleading for justice.

it wasn’t like you could sentence the dead.

the letter was now barely legible from the water stains threaded deep into the ink and the so called remorse they painted. but it didn’t matter, because if there was one thing you would remember until the day that you died, it would be the cruel phrases that only a wretched piece of paper could hold.

it was funny how humans call themselves the most advanced species and only a single spoken word could shatter them into a million pieces, yet a piece of paper that came from a tree that once lived was somehow stronger than the gods themselves. or maybe that was the entire point, the dead cannot feel, not anymore.

the tide kissed your feet seductively in a means to distract you from what it really wanted. to take the final piece of him you still held. maybe the sea wasn’t a part of you after all, maybe it was a part of him.

you held your knees to your chest, with your hands reaching for the paper below holding it tighter each time it was drifting away.

you closed your eyes tightly, locking away the salt water that was threatening to spill against your will.

you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days.

you took deep breaths so as to not drown yourself in sorrow. the rain was doing it effortlessly anyway, she didn’t need your help.

𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼 𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼 𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼

my love,

if there is anything about you that i adore the most, it is the way you love. if you’re reading this, it means i’m gone. we both knew it would happen one day, only we didn’t want to see it.

i guess denial was our worst rival, time our worst enemy. we were foolish to believe that we could make it, but for a moment it was the only thing that pieced and held us together.

your tenacity is one for the books and for that, i am forever grateful. you gave me hope when i otherwise would have held on to my quiet resentment. because of you, i knew and understood what real love is. you made me a better person for however long you were with me. i just wish i had found you sooner, before it was too late. but there is no point in regret, is there? i know i am was not an easy person to love and for that i admire you. you, a stranger, chose to believe in me, to love me. you had no obligation to do so, yet the ones that did only turned their backs on me. or maybe that is where i am wrong. nobody owes us love.

i am sorry for the things that i said. for the things that i did that affected you both directly and indirectly. i never meant to hurt you, not now not ever. just know that this is not your fault, i had long decided before you came along. you just gave me a glimpse of what i could’ve been. if life had been different, i could have been the man you deserve. and for a moment i tried. i really did. yet sometimes good intentions are not enough. what i said that day by the beach was not meant for you, it was meant for me. i simply projected my self hatred onto you and for that i loath myself and will regret for the rest of my short life, possibly for the rest of eternity, long after i am gone.

i do love you. i always have and always will. only now i want you to be free to have happiness without my chains tying you down. i could no longer be selfish. we both know i just did everyone a favor. the entirety of the people around us despised me and with good measure. i could not take you down with me. you deserve a free man, without sins burning through his every breath. you deserve the purest of loves, a family and friends that love you unconditionally.

i was only a barrier to that. you’ll find someone, i am not the one. you might hate me now and possibly forever, but in the end it is for the better. thank you, angel. i love you more than the entirety of the universe, than the deepest of the oceans, than all of the words in all of the books in the world combined. it is useless to try to measure my love for you, even the word ‘love’ pales in comparison to what my cruel heart could hold.

just promise me that you will live a happy life. live for the both of us, for the person i could’ve been, and the person i became with you. trust me when i say i met happiness because of you. you are my happiness.

you’re the love and the loss of my life. i am sure that the devil himself will punish me for the pain i have caused you and others. just know that i would have married you and grown old together had i been different. maybe, just maybe, i will meet you in another life and correct every mistake i have made in this one. especially the wrongs i did to you.

i love you, i’m sorry.

yours forever, rafe

𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼 𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼 𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼

the tide once again caressed you, finally getting what she wanted. you got up to chase it but it only slipped from your fingers, the ocean taking every last remnant of your heart away.

“no! no, please. no.” you fell to your knees, the scream you’d had lodged in your throat finally breaking free. your sobs now finding their way out without restrictions.

you lied on the ground for who knows how long in hopes that maybe the ocean would take you too. only she didn’t. nobody wanted you, you didn’t even want yourself.

the sky began to clear, the waves began to calm, the wind began to slow until everything was still. the storm was now inside you so the rest could continue to live in the paradise on earth.

more like hell on earth.

tragedy was all that lurked here, you doubted that was what constituted paradise.

i should hate you but your faithless love’s the only hoax i believe in.

you knew it still hurts underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart.

but what you did was just as dark.

the sky was no longer grey and you hated it.

don’t want no other shade of blue but you no other sadness in the world would do

“y/n?” you jerked awake at the sound of your name. your heart beating faster in fear or excitement. maybe both but you couldn’t tell.

“rafe?”

𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼 𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼 𓏲 𓆉 .₊‧˚𓇼 possibly my worst story yet lol

can you tell i was listening to taylor and gracie? anyway, the ending is your choice whether she’s dreaming, hallucinating, or dead. or maybe none of the above, idfk.

xx

[kickedin17]

Okay hear me out (other people have basically already said this but hold on this is my post)

We're getting very clear messages that indicate something might be... wrong with Clancy. During the US leg via the FPE letters we heard a lot about how Clancy was inspiring the masses, and now it kind of seems to be the opposite. Torch explicitly saying we destroyed them so we didn't become them.

Plus Tyler now wearing black shirts, with imagery that seems to relate to Blurryface songs. The occasions last tour where his "Clancy" shirt was black text instead of red. The Blurryface account tweeting again this tour. The bishops taking over the Judge that one time, trying to hijack a moment that celebrates the clique (irl banditos). Paladin Strait, which apparently is not supposed to sound like an ending, which concludes with Clancy being named explicitly by Nico, and which shows a version of Tyler in the mv literally sitting above it all & seemingly mirroring people's movements from other shots.

I see your "Clancy becomes a bishop" theories (I love bishop!clancy to be clear I think it's awesome) but I think that might be too esoteric to end up being the explicit canon (I could also be wrong and it will be, but functionally the rest of the point here is the same). The thing is, Clancy is pretty simply intended to be a version of Tyler that extracts and represents certain traits, just like Blurryface. We know Blurryface to be insecurity. Clancy has never been said explicitly afaik but I think it's clear he represents Tyler's drive to create things that inspire people (despite crushing obstacles like mental illness - Dema and the bishops, and especially with the help and inspiration of others - Torchbearers and the banditos (us)). Which we know can be incredible, but can also become self-destructive. We were introduced to Clancy at first cryptically through his personal writings, and only explicitly after a long time (and after being told he'd "died" by the characters that represent Tyler's mental health struggles, which, depressed creatives iykyk) because I think owning your creativity and ability to inspire others is a much more arduous journey than being controlled by your insecurity. But Clancy was never intended to be a different type of character despite all that. He is a version of Tyler.

And just like Blurryface he gets his own namesake album. A lot of people have pointed out how the Clancy and Blurryface tracklists can actually be read to mirror each other. As the lore progressed Blurryface became Nico (and the other 8 bishops) battling against Clancy, but they're all abstractions from Tyler's mind. Both literally, in the sense that he is literally the one coming up with the story, but we're also reminded of this on both Bandito and Overcompensate with the "created this world" bridge. I believe this is also what we're seeing represented in those shots in the Paladin Strait mv. There's also the fact that the Clancy era is extremely extremely red - this in lore represents Clancy's process of reclamation as well as his (violent) uprising, but in tøp's wider context it is kinda just The Blurryface Color along with black.

Blurryface turns 10 immediately after the Clancy tour ends. We know the Clancy tour to be the reflection of "someone's life flashing before their eyes" and that this album was supposedly meant to wrap up the Dema storyline. I do not think this means Clancy dies. Because he is Tyler, and he cannot die, because for that to happen I think Tyler would have to never write or make anything again. And we also know this to be a cycle. I think what's happening is what's always been kind of obvious, and inevitable. I think Clancy is going to become Blurryface. I think he's already been Blurryface this entire time. They're the same person at different parts of the cycle, and I think we're going back to the start of it.

[unma]

Unma, may i ask about the sky was plucked now? Is it one of your stories? What is it about?

Original story that has been in the works for a bit. I posted some snapshots at some point but I'm gonna rewrite it cause I finally have some understanding of what exactly I want to do with the symbolism and stuff.

The title is literal. The Sky Gets Plucked. What exactly does that mean? Well, who knows?

(using the old writing I had for it because despite not working as well anymore it decently conveyed the premise me thinks.)

Anyway I couldn't manage to wrangle together everything I wanted the short story to be, especially the fact that it was supposed to be short because just look at my fic history good god. So I shelved it/forgot about it and worked on other things.

But recently I started thinking about it today and I think I finally understand what I want to do it with.

First of all, meet Myoso. I have no art of her but she's maybe depressed, lesbian and a little too done with everything. So when the sky vanishes she simply doesn't care.

Her name does come from somewhere. Guess where for an imaginary cookie.

Anyway I wanted to use blue flowers to continue the metaphor but it seemed rather confused and wishy-washy until I thought about it more and realized how it being the sky could rather easily fit into the story but it feels like I'll be spoiling it.

But also I wanted to have some wlw in there because. well it's me. But also it felt like I wouldn't have space for it without making it long but I also figured out how to weave that in without losing an momentum or slowing down.

And all of these realizations mean I have to rewrite it now. But also I haven't gotten that far in anyway so I don't really mind.

[needyraincandy-u]

Tsuki-chan? Was that another nickname for her now?

"I don't think I'm in position to pretend I'm an Alpha Vampire. Not even in a videogame." For some reason, that reminded her of a really…bitter memory she would rather forget about. But how was she going to forget about it? That a stronger vampire once ruined her life and took her lover away.

Every time she tried to compare herself with other vampires, she felt she was at the bottom of the food chain even in vampire society. A depressing thought that made her pass a hand by her hair for a moment, now that they were in the bedroom.

She didn't have much, and the place was a mess. At the very least the corpses were left outside on the pile, but stains of blood could be seen here and there, already dry and old.

And the laptop? It looked pretty decent, possibly one of the few things that looked good in the room.

"I feel that you really like me if you're coming up with so many…names." Rubbing her nose after it was booped, the vampire pressed her own lips together and then let both of her hands move up, tracing Harley's figure until she could rest her hands on her shoulders instead.

"I will just call you Hacchan." Which, in all honesty, was already pretty close in comparison to how Ame could treat others. It was probably the sweetest way she could refer to someone, really. But deep inside…she didn't mind the names. She liked it, in fact. Liked that someone would be so attentive and affectionate to give them to her.

"I have a lot of stories to share. You know…being alive for longer than a human and all." That's right. Harley had a LOT of things to learn from Ame, too. She's lived through a portion of history itself, even if it was in one of the most depressing ways possible and she was…kinda sheltered for a part of it.

But surely, it would make for a good story to kill time.

Letting Harley's shoulders go, though, she then turned around to finally rummage through her closet, picking one of her oversized sweaters to give to Harley, but also, picking something more comfortable and easy to wear for herself.

"I don't know why anyone would want this willingly. It's been a torture to walk the Earth for this long…I still don't understand how there are vampires that lived for even longer, so, no…don't turn undead. I will hold my end of the deal."

Was that concern?…perhaps. But that's because really, she wouldn't be able to wish this upon anyone. Unless it was someone she hated a lot.

"Uh-huh. Enjoy your copium while it lasts, Granny." She snorts at Ame's remark, chuckling to herself. "Castlevania, huh? I watched a friend of mine play it, but... kinda funny that it's your favorite. Tsuki-chan likes feeling like she's the Alpha Vampire, doesn't she~?"

Following her to her bedroom, she quickly learns that Ame wasn't lying about not having a single yen to her name. Sure, she had some merchandise and belongings strewn about here and there- which Harley can guess is the result of Ame's powers- but there really wasn't much for her here.

It's... pretty depressing, actually. Imagining Ame spending her days in here, rotting all by herself, waiting for when the next person to jump would be just so she could eat. Does she even go out to hunt?

She can't even imagine living like that, she would've gone mad ages ago, clawing at the walls and ripping the floorboards from sheer ache.

Once Ame's hands come to rest on her hips, she sways back and forth, taking Ame with her as she does. She doesn't miss the way the other girl softens at her attention, as she holds onto her.

"It's a little something I do for all my lovelies. My own personal name for you, to really seal the deal. I come up with a bunch of them on the fly, depending on how much I like you~" She coos, booping Ame on the nose. "I could call you Meemee-chan, Tsuki-chan, moonlight, honey bun, gorgeous, sweet thing... and that's only the stuff I can think off of the top of my head!"

"Besides, the more time we spend together, the more reasons you'll give me to keep coming back, yeah? Not that there aren't any already, but... I wanna know more about you. I haven't had this much fun with someone in ages."

The warmth that fills her chest and glows like fireflies illuminating the night sky, flows through her blood and into her palms. She squeezes Ame's hands, careful not to hurt her, even if the vampire's strength is far greater than her own.

Honestly, aside from the powers and the changes that happened with Ame's form when they were fucking, she could easily see Ame just being a regular girl in her 20s. Maybe a little awkward, unsure of herself, but her more reserved nature was endearing, in its own way.

Or maybe the fire in Harley's heart burns brightest when melting ice.

"I've got no problem treating you well, but you better hold up your end of this, y'know! And if you don't, I'll turn myself undead just to kick your ass."

[mari-lair]

so the anime adapted this

but didn't adapt this...?

ok, sure, let's make the already most shallow friendship in this manga even more of a yuri bait.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[eilarae]

getting super excited every time i find someone irl who also likes stardew vs. inevitably needing to defend my choice of spouse

[softpine]

i can't look at my archive or it makes me want to abandon simblr forever because what do you meannnnnn casper started college 2 entire real life years ago. he hasn't done even a fraction of the things i planned for him to do yet. he's been in like 3 posts. what the hell man

[mamawasatesttube]

do you ever think about kon and tim and them taking care of each other during depressive episodes

BOY DO I EVER!!!! it would be so fun to put them both in a depressive slump at the same time bc like. they'd Both try to hit the "but i need to take care of someone i love" override to push their own feelings down. at the same time.

so then they're both just standing there in the kitchen in their pajamas like. i was gonna make you some hot chocolate. oh… well i was gonna make you some ramen? spiderman pointing meme while they're both in depression pjs holding a hot chocolate powder packet and a cup noodle

[dustylovelyrun]

hi, how've you been! How's been creating and writing going?

The temptation for dramatics. I really, truly wanted to be dramatic. To state something along the lines of how utterly awful writing has been, in how words have become the delusions of a mind newly rendered half mad and trapped within the gnarling, twisted vestiges of a very bittersweet history, but. It never does seem to translate well online, does it? Being dramatic without warning. But it does significantly take away from the joys of dramatics to provide warning, doesn't it? Sad thing, that is.

Without dramatics, I can say that the reason my presence initially is / was so sparse around 2022-onwards is because of the aftermath of long-covid. You know. The brain damage thing. It directly impacted any pre-existing ability that I had to think or say two sentences and to successfully follow the train of thought that was connecting them, let alone to formulate an idea, write it, or have any tolerance as to the feeble shadowed results of what I wanted and previously could have put on a page. It elicited some very helpless and sad feelings, so, as I do, I ran. Nowadays, it has somewhat improved, but I'm still mostly at a point where I can only formulate messy outlines and get a very rare piece that seems to turn out alright. I'm also in a belated educational attempt to reattain, as an adult, everything I missed out when I went and dropped out at fourteen; the writing exercises natural to that and the NZ curriculum have oddly aided in reclaiming some of that, in my paralysing terror of attaining a bad grade, but. It eats up time. I'm still very much warring with what's occurred mentally, and am uncertain if my time as a contributor here just. Ended, frankly, far sooner than I had ever thought to suspect, or if I'll eventually manage to adapt and relearn in an extraordinarily painful length of time.

But frankly, being able to witness the enthralling, indescribable and so utterly memorising shift and development of your own writing has been one of the factors to keeping me here, really. Every second of it has been worth it. You, and a select handful of once-mutuals that I still remember quite fondly from the 2020 and early 2022 era. It has been a truly wonderful experience to watch you grow more confident in your capabilities, honing both your cadence and innate talents into a true passion and skill rendering you destined to become ingrained into the long-term memories, the core, of your audience's mind. You have truly flourished and blossomed as the years have passed, and it carries very well in those pieces which are so hauntingly beautiful, echoing and resounding deeply as they are read.

[lord-squiggletits]

I was at a "making friends" kind of social event just this past week and ended up having two subsequent conversations with different people that gave me an interesting reflection on my own reasons for writing without me even intending to make the conversation about it.

First conversation: The person talked about the feeling of awe from being at a music concert and how incredible it is that so many complete strangers can be united by a singular love of music. I related to it with regards to my own writing and how many people have read my stuff. Ended up telling this guy about some of the AO3 comments I've gotten from people to the effect of helping motivate them to live/just reflect on life in general. Somehow went into a tangent about a suicidal friend of mine who died when we were in high school, and me saying that maybe the reason I write so much about the things I do is because of the influence his death had on me. And the other person ended up asking me, 'So do you think it's like every time you write, you're doing it in his memory in a way?'

Subsequent conversation was with someone who was a psychologist for a day job, and I ended up telling them that I was kind of thinking of getting a degree in psychology/therapy one day because writing about mental health issues had gotten me so interested in the world of helping people heal themselves. But then I was also like, "Well, I don't know, it could be that I don't need to become a psychologist to help people with mental health. Maybe helping people by being a writer and telling stories is enough."

It was just a surprising, but topical realization for me to have talking to a bunch of strangers. For someone like me who's often preoccupied with doing and having knowledge and expertise, I often fall into the idea that you need to be directly involved in helping people to really be making a difference. I've literally had thoughts in my mind along the lines of "I'm so smart, hardworking, and dedicated when it comes to writing, but wouldn't it have been so much more of a net gain to the world if I'd decided to be this passionate about something like being a doctor or activist that actually helps people?" It's not like I truly regret being a writer (or ever will, because there's nothing else that I love so much), but in my bad moments I truly do sometimes think "Why does it make a difference if I entertain people or make them feel nicer for a while if it doesn't actually change anything in the world?" To quote one of my favorite Transformers fics of all time, "There was nothing that would have been more worthwhile, but that didn't rule out the possibility that the whole damn universe was wasting its time."

I guess the answer is that making someone feel better, even in a small way, is changing the world, even if it's just a few people, and even if it's just as simple as making someone's day better.

[mintypsii]

the way he laughs while saying this . brook my sad sad man i would die for him