#even when i hold my phone

[stillagoodwitch]

apparently i’ve been playing sims for 6 hours i only noticed it’s 3am because my hand started cramping…

[kaiserouo]

let them use social media

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

A very self indulgent tatted and pierced up Ichimatsu thas it

[lifenconcepts]

hiiiiiii friendly reminder to not go knocking on strangers doors and running away :)) or just doing that at all :) some of us have sheer paranoia that can render us stressed for time long after the action is done :) because you don’t experience consequences doesn’t mean you’re free to go around doing this like a fucking asshole. :). I know most people who’d listen to this don’t go around doing it but I hope that at least one person reconsiders doing this just to look cool in front of their friends. You don’t seem awesome, you just make it clear your an uncaring asshole and nobody will come to you. I hope karma does its thing. :)

[milkweedman]

Made another spindle. It's very small. Also very irregular and lumpy due to the wood (I wanted the raised brown lines to stay and erred on the side of caution in how much I cut away...but that did lead to a very irregular spindle).

It also wanted to crumble as I carved, so pretty much all the fine tuning I just did by sanding it, which helps to compress the fibers down as well as remove material without crumbling or splintering.

It really came to life when I oiled it. Probably will be best after a few good coats and some time. My woodburning kit seems to be totally gone, which is a bummer. So I'm not woodburning anymore.

Spins well. Obviously being so tiny and light it was always going to be a fine spinning spindle, but effortless thread from an unprepped piece of fleece is pretty indicative as well. I seem to find myself carving mostly thread spindles at the moment. They're always so small and light in the hand, they remind me of holding baby birds.

[ryansosilly]

Could the sinner really be redeemed? Can he be saved or just lulled to temporary rest? Is peace of mind an achievable, realistic goal for the truly wicked by heart?

Nikto was by all means a good soldier. An unstoppable force once on the field, the only thing that could possibly stop him from finishing this mission was a bullet in the head, point blank.

As proof that he has yet to be stopped, he was still there, alive. Here and there would be a better thing to say. He couldn't keep himself down by any means of the word. All of Nikto, every one of them had differing views and nobody around him could really guess who they were speaking with. Only you. To your surprise it was not that difficult. The contrast between his different 'selves' was pretty prominent, it only takes actual care and to pay attention to notice. Something nobody else was willing to put. Of course, there were those mandatory therapy sessions Nikto was forced into just to still be deployed but they were nothing but a legality. Even his therapist understood that in how..broken, twisted of a man Nikto is, laid the true strength he had. Frankly? He wouldn't be 'Nobody', 'Nikto', if it weren't for the trauma. He knew it, they knew it, his teammates and therapist..nobody stopped to think further. It made everything simple for him.

But sometimes no matter how simple ones life is, nothing will stay the same. A change here and there, an unexpected switch, break, snap or trigger and everything goes back to shit. Nikto constantly needs to be knocked into his damn place. A wild rabid dog punched and kicked into place by the higher ups just for him to bite them and run away for a day or two. Childish, he knows. Stupid decision, he knows.

But he made him do it. Nikto wasn't at fault for running away.

It was a pretty damn unlucky time for that to happen. Everything piled up in his head, the voices being louder than before during a night at a safehouse. He has actively been going through a manic episode for the past days, he had lost track of it. Gripping his mask as he violently shook his body. He hated feeling like this but oh it felt so good.. his only peace of mind was the possibility of a death, of a redemption or some sort of magic potion to revert everything back to how it was. He couldn't handle this state he was in, so, to prevent himself from being seen like that, he ran away.

A stormy, rainy middle of the night, even the bustling highway had almost fully emptied out, leaving nothing but a foggy semi visible road with bright yellow signs. How did he get all the way out of the forest to the highway? He didn't have a clue but he felt so...good. The rational part of his brain was screaming that was a horrible idea!!! If they catch him out, disregarding orders and doing as he fucking wishes, he'll be in a really damn big trouble he doesn't need right now but the mania had other plans.

He... they? Who? Nobody was still in full gear, believing that anytime now, someone, or something, will come out and try to catch him, so might as well be prepared! A gun prepared in the ready as he stood in the middle of the street, staring at one same point. His body was still shaking even if he could hardly feel it from the cold.

Nobody was coming. There was no-one there, not a single car. That ruined Nikto's mood even more. What did he even want? Why would he want someone to catch him? Is that a game for you, Nikto?

Well, lucky for you..

As Niktos body started to give up from the unexpected rush of adrenaline and the freezing cold started to creep in to under his gear. No amount of gear can keep the cold out when he felt it inside of himself long ago. His legs freezing. To him, all of this had happened in the blink of an eye.

To you? The worried you? It has been almost 2 days. Nobody managed to find the man. Why? They weren't on a search. Only you noticed. So, doing the responsible thing.. you took an umbrella during the very next night of Nikto's disappearance and went out.

Weird, this rain hasn't stopped for days now? If anything, it's only getting stronger..

The umbrella did a surprisingly good job at keeping you dry and resisting the wind but your vision was still ' impaired ' from the neverending fogs taking over the entire street, maybe the whole city. This horrible weather hasn't moved and does not seem to be planning on leaving. Nikto found it fitting, you not so much.

Ah. Could you guess..

By the street, against a tree with an injured leg covered in dry blood lays Nikto. You found him. Slowly stepping closer to him, your grip on the umbrella remaining as tight as possible. If this was some sort of a cheesy movie, you'd say that Nikto might just be the direct source of this heavy rain and strong wind.

Nikto..Nikto?

In front of his eyes..from his very eyes, he could swear that he saw an angel, perhaps an angel of death, coming to claim him already. That umbrella above you, your clothes.. he could swear there were black wings right behind you as you stopped your steps right in front of him.

Eyes barely open, he took a deep breath, letting it out. There was no longer any little amount of warm breath showing from his 'mouth' as his body was colder than the very cold streets under him.

'it matches me' he thought to himself. Matching his heart. The heart that felt..ever so tiny bit warmer now that an angel as beautiful as you came to claim him. For once, he didn't want to fight. The dog did not bite anymore.

You spoke, spoke again and asked questions but weren't met with any reaction or answers. Was there a point in speaking?

Moving your umbrella from protecting you to being above the injured soldier. You weren't the one who needed protection even if Nikto may not view it as such. Maybe you really were an angel and he wasn't just deluded man who had given up to his insanity. Maybe..

Maybe.

Maybe..

The rain 'stopped' . It felt..a little less cold for Nikto. The only thing he could remember before passing out for who knows which time now was..how close you were, how..warm you felt just from getting closer. If he could ever believe his eyes again, he couldn't hope for anything but you in front of him until the end. Maybe it was just the mania speaking for him.

Maybe it was just the need for love, the need to be known, felt and seen that spoke for him. Maybe.

Before he could reawake and be greeted by the heavenly kiss he didn't think of being worthy of, he felt himself being picked up by the arms. After so many years, no matter your state, a soldier must remain awake. Calling him a light sleeper would be an understatement.

"Let's go back."

He could so vaguely hear your voice. Who..were you? [Redacted], are you an angel? A good or a bad omen? Why would you help a man like that? Did nobody teach you to let the weak die?

His eyes, once again, betraying him, falling back short. He couldn't hear your voice anymore. Only the loud loud rain that sounded like gunshots, deafening his already hurting numb ears. All he could hear was...?

?

Breathing..soft breathing. The one of a calm person. A person..not one that lives inside of Nikto's head. But someone else. He was being saved for once. Of course, when in the battlefield, he was brought up to his feet a couple times before, patched up but..never has he been saved.

No strength in him was left to think, to fight, to respond. He was at your mercy and instead of finishing the job, you took him 'home'. If he was awake, able to speak, he would be yelling at you to finish him off. You should've killed him when you had the chance. Were you stupid or just too soft for the army? Was he disgusted or thankful? Answers for which he couldn't think right now.

All he knew for a certain was that he wasn't alone and that everyone within him had involuntarily accepted your help. For which..as much as he hates it, he'll be indebted to you. He'll be nice for a day or two, maybe a week then everything will go back to normal.

That was the plan.

Oh..but the plan.. the plan was ignored, the mission unsuccessful.

He let you help him. Again. Again..again. and never repaid you. Every time he felt like he was losing himself, he'll subconscious limp to your room, his mind going back to that rainy night. When he was saved. He wanted to be saved. He wanted to be saved more than he wanted to be alive, to be alone.

Tonight, being especially tough on him. Everyone and everything was so loud. Earlier a bomb exploded so close to him, his ears were still bleeding but he refused to get himself checked out due to panic. What if he hurt himself badly enough to never be able to hear your voice again? He surely deserves it.

He 'deserves' it. He believes he does. Yet.. he is limping to you after the mission, shaky hands on the walls, leaving bloody prints all across it without a single fuck left in the world to give.

He needs to get to you. To the one who makes it ever so slightly closer to bearable. His saviour.

Stumbling down the halls, ignoring the nasty looks he got from other soldiers and just..focusing on the ground, his feet. Left foot, right foot.. he remembers how you helped him get on his feet so many times. Was it just something you did for everyone? Of course it was. Teamwork was a main thing for everyone here..yet.. you felt gentle to him.

Too gentle for him to consciously want to get close to. But now? That ' consciousness' was no longer there. What remains was only the broken shell of what used to be a man, a walking upcoming suicide, a living Ghost.

Closer to a zombie, a corpse that moves and growls in pain, he made his way down to your office. Once again, it was in the middle of the night. He got lucky that you took a night shift, finishing some paperwork. (Some of which, was meant for Nikto to fill but without telling him, you took most of the loads of work.) That's when you heard the thumping, the stomping and dragging of feet coming up to your door and stopping abruptly.

You spun your chair around to look at the door just in time to see it being kicked out open.

There he stood, once again, a broken mess. There was nothing visible in his eyes. No life, no ideas, no thoughts. Truly, a dead man. Yet, he walked. Walked..stepped right inside your room, walking up to you.

The desk was directly in front of the door with only the chair in between. Perfect set up for him if you ask. A simple room, he quite liked it. (Which was his excuse he used to justify sleeping in the office when you did work because you made his nightmares less worse just be being there.)

The silence was deafening, only the drops of blood hitting the floor along with the heavy sounds of his dirty boots that were muddled by a carpet making a sound. You understood, he understood. Nothing else was needed before he collapsed down on his knees right in front of you. One of his arms grabbed the armrest of your chair and the other one grabbed your ankle, pulling you and the entire chair closer. He was in no means gentle. Nikto didn't even think he was capable of being gentle. Maybe you'll get a bruise on your ankle for that grip but it was completely irrelevant.

His grip lessened immediately when he saw you didn't fight. Both arms releasing what they held as he rested then on your lap instead, his head laying down on his arms. From then, he was completely motionless. He could barely breathe with the mask on and in that position but to him, being close and not alone was far more important than any stupid amounts of air.

Your hand slowly put down the pen on the desk, making sure to not spin the chair around while you were putting the pen back on it's place. No need to wake him up now.

You stayed during his worst times. You stayed during his best. You stayed.

So, he'll stay. For an hour or two, he'll cry unknowingly. Most of his disfigured face could not even feel such sensations anymore. He needed you to look at him and tell him that he is crying. The water droplets were too gentle, too insignificant to feel against his bruised up, mostly skinless face. The face you still caressed so lovingly when you decided to help him. When you were nice enough to suggest him vaseline to make his face less itchy. When you cleaned and put on his mask.. a damn privilege for which you waited literal years to get. You waited for him. You were patient and careful. You understood.

How could he not cry?

A hand softly petting his back in a calm soothing manner. Ever so slowly, you leaned down to fully embrace him in a hug while still letting him let his pent up emotions. His ears felt muffled, his legs sore from running, crawling and hiding. Arms sore from carrying all those heavy weapons around, his face..his face simply just always hurt. Something always hurt. Mentally and physically.

But now? Yes, everything still hurt but..now there was a reason for him to want to make it stop hurting. To get the help he needs. His shaking only increased as you caressed him, eyes shut tightly, his teeth clenching, jaw sore. This feeling of vulnerability was sickening to the very core but his core couldn't be more glad than it was now that he got this. That now..he wasn't alone.

You weren't an angel, a god or a therapist but you were his saviour. His angel and his god. The one god that he could pray to and not feel betrayed by. Someone who heard his cries and helped. He couldn't be more thankful. Spiteful, hateful..so many conflicting emotions. Things he couldn't deal with alone.

He felt like the luckiest person alive. He finally felt like a person.

Nikto was no longer just a nobody, a killing machine. When with you, he was someone. He was someone. Someone with a reason to be. And treated as such.

For now, this someone will enjoy your time together. Worshipping the ground you step on for as long as you allow him.

The poor rabid dog has finally been taken to a shelter. Shown love. Shown care. Even if he still bites sometimes, he still has a home.

[arliganzey]

Some GAR HQ Zey thoughts in no particular order:

In addition to the blue lapis desk and bantha leather chairs, Zey’s office also has a small sofa and table up against the wall. It’s meant to be for less formal, private meetings but Zey doesn’t have many of those (if at all). This is referred to by Maze and Zey as the “nap couch” because it’s where they take 20 minute power naps. Those two can probably count on one hand the number of times they’ve seen their actual beds since the start of the war.

When Maze says Zey “makes caf” it should probably be clear that the tapcaf machine actually makes the caf--it's one of those 'put cup down and push button' machines. But Zey has taken it upon himself to make sure the tapcaf machine is up and running, like actually cleaning the machine when the 'clean' light goes on instead of ignoring it and hoping for the best like everyone else does.

It’s also Zey who gets a mini conservator put in and stocked with milk/cream/etc and actual mugs in addition to the to go cups. He gets good caf instead of GAR issue, but he keeps it on the down low because he feels bad he can’t distribute the good caf more widely in the field. GAR HQ just has “the mysteriously good caf.”

Zey’s love language is serving caf. It's always been his thing, making sure there's caf out for visitors, and now that there's a war on, he still makes a point of it.

[cosmogyros]

ich lenke mich gerade von der Hölle der Arbeitsagentur-Webseite mit tröstlichen Gedanken von Adam & Leo ab :')

[cranberrymoons]

.

[tearfest]

sorry to log on n rant but i need to rant

[forcebookish]

i need a new strategy for like, cleaning my room and doing yoga and reading and leaving the house. the adhd has reached mythic levels of bad. i have the thought, "i should do X," and then i won't move. i make a to-do list and i won't do anything on it. i queue up a yoga practice and i won't do it. i stare at my room and get stressed out about how cluttered it is. i write 3000 words of notes for a fic i don't even know if i'm going to write. i think and i think and i think about my OCs and they won't let me write them. i spend hours looking at stuff i can't buy. i take like an hour to write this.

[menaceborn]

I got a second hand telescope 🪐

[pathetic-gamer]

iiiiiiit's...

Felix! :D

(ignore the little cyril in the corner.) pencil and pigma micron, shaded with india ink. the color difference shows up more clearly irl than in the pic

[fallingtheseus]

“oh, drunken gods of slaughter

you know i have always been your

favourite daughter”

[yamikawaii]

something something kill myself

[kirby-the-gorb]