#i’ve never driven that far all by myself in my life

[plumbobgothica]

Moss has some shit to say.

CW: Stalking, harassment, bullying, PTSD, mental health.

**This is a long post**

Hello everyone!

First, I want to express how incredibly grateful I am for this community. It brings me so much joy to see all the diverse playstyles, aesthetics, stories, and endless creativity that fill this amazing space.

However, not all my experiences here have been entirely positive. In fact, I have both witnessed and experienced harm from this community, and it has made me feel hesitant about being here at all.

I want to address it:

Stalking, harassing, and bullying someone simply because you don’t like the content they post is not okay. In fact, it's really weird.

Everyone deserves to have a positive and safe experience here. It’s essential to set and protect your personal boundaries online, especially if there are topics that are particularly sensitive or triggering for you.

Here are some ways to take care of yourself in this online space that DON'T include bullying, shaming, or punishing someone for their storytelling decisions:

Unfollow the person

If disengaging from someone who’s causing you distress is what you need, do it! You don’t owe anyone an explanation when it comes to prioritizing your own well-being.

Block the person

If blocking someone feels like a safer option for you, go ahead. You can do this quietly and respectfully, without resorting to cruelty, harassment, or public shaming.

It’s also important to remember that if certain content triggers past trauma for you, it’s not the fault of the person posting it (especially if they have clear content warnings). Your trauma is valid, and your need for safety is valid. But bullying someone who’s not responsible for your trauma is not okay, not healthy, and not productive. I know that this type of thing is often fear-driven, so I say this as delicately as possible. 🖤 We do not always behave rationally when something triggers our PTSD.

Filter out specific tags/post content.

If there are tags you’d rather not see, you can use the “Filtered Tags” section in your settings to filter them out. You can also add someone’s username to the “Filtered Post Content” section in your settings.

Use browser extensions to help you manage your feed.

I don’t personally have experience with this, but as far as I am aware, there are browser extensions available that can further help you customize what kind of content you are exposed to on Tumblr. If you suffer from PTSD, this might useful in general when online, not just for this platform.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:

Storytelling is a powerful tool for addressing difficult subject matter, and it always has been. Telling stories is a fundamental part of being human, and it’s important to remember that just because someone includes something problematic in their story doesn’t mean they endorse it in real life. In fact, we need stories that tackle problematic issues specifically so that we can portray them as harmful. Fiction has always been an essential tool for reinforcing & shaping societal understanding of right and wrong (mythology exists for a reason).

It’s completely okay if there are certain things you don’t want to read about or be exposed to on Tumblr! Here in the Sims community, storytellers can and should label their posts with clear content warnings, both in their tags and at the beginning of their posts.

Readers who are concerned about triggering content can take steps to protect themselves, while also understanding that those who post content related to difficult topics are not responsible for the trauma you may have experienced in your past.

If someone is actively advocating for real-life harm or prejudice through their stories, that’s a completely different issue and should not be tolerated or supported.

However, it’s important to understand the difference. (I.e., I've never seen anyone accuse Stephen King of being a real-life axe-murderer).

I have PTSD myself, and I appreciate clear content warnings on story posts. They give me the ability to decide whether I feel able to engage with certain topics on any given day, because my tolerance fluctuates, as is normal for someone with PTSD.

However, I would never attack or harass someone for writing content that touches on themes related to my trauma, as I am mature enough to recognize that the person sharing their story has absolutely nothing to do with the harm I may have experienced in my past.

Your emotional well-being is important, and your trauma is valid. But fixating on, stalking, and harassing someone because of something they’ve posted in their story is not okay at all.

Also please understand that someone writing darker material could in fact be subconsciously processing their own personal trauma, whether they realize it or not. You don't have to read it, but you also don't have to be cruel about it.

Ultimately, if someone’s content is upsetting for you, the best thing to do is disengage and move on.

Obsessing over the person and attempting to harm them or jeapordize their ability to be in this community is wrong (and it certainly won't help you heal, either). There is a big difference between causing real-world harm to an actual person (such as harrassing inviduals in the simblr community) vs someone causing fake harm to fake pixel people for ficticious reasons.

I'm begging people to understand that distinction.

This does NOT mean you are obligated to tolerate things that make you uncomfortable by any means, and this post is NOT a defense of any kind of violence, harm, or prejudice.

There are ways for us to make this a safe space for ourselves and others without resorting to harrassment, public humiliation, or mob-mentality, etc.

Sometimes people make mistakes and unintentionally cause harm, and the resulting pain is real and valid on both sides. For those who are committed to fostering a culture of accountability & healing—rather than focusing on punishment, shame, and canceling—I highly recommend reading On Cancel Culture, Accountability, and Transformative Justice (a brief excerpt from adrienne maree brown's We Will Not Cancel Us). This excerpt is a must-read for anyone who chooses to spend a lot of time in online spaces!

Luckily, most people here seem really wonderful and my experience thus far in this community has definitely been far more positive than not. I hope to stick around.

Anyways, I will probably panic and delete this later. 😅

Thanks for reading my rant. I promise I'll get back to posting silly sims stuff now, but I felt that I needed to get this out there.

Edited to add: if anyone feels like they want to block or unfollow me for whatever reason after reading this, I respect your decision. 😊Do what's right for you, I don't get offended by that sort of thing.

-Moss

[goldensunset]

aarraRRFHGHGGHHRAAAAAGHHGGGGGG

[artofmaquenda]

I began creating my "moonpaintings" in 2020, back when I often felt intense physical pain each month. I’ve always felt compelled to make art, though it’s rarely easy to explain why. Often, it feels like I’m driven by pure curiosity—or maybe even a touch of madness. When I started, I didn’t fully understand what this process meant to me. Sometimes we think we know why we’re drawn to something, only to realize it reflects something deeper or unexpected within us. Painting with my own blood became a raw way to explore emotions I couldn’t easily put into words.

Looking back, I realize this art was also a response to emotions I didn’t know how to handle. I carried a quiet sadness, though I never wanted to be defined or judged for it. People often think depression means you don’t enjoy life, but that’s not the case for me. I feel deeply connected to life—I laugh, I feel moved by beauty, I’m grateful. But I also carry grief and a kind of sorrow I can’t always explain. Maybe it’s about the world, personal losses, or just the heaviness that comes without reason. I’ve even had people assume my interests—like vulture culture and themes around mortality—stem solely from depression or past traumas. While my experiences have certainly influenced my art, my curiosity reaches far beyond them. I’m fascinated by life in its many forms, by the mysteries of nature, by cycles of renewal and decay, by everything that exists beneath the surface of what we think we know.

I’ve often felt like I had to control my emotions to be accepted, but not only for others’ comfort. Growing up in a home where emotions sometimes felt unstable and the atmosphere unpredictable, I learned to keep myself in check, to be “small” and steady even when I felt anything but. That need for control became a habit, a way to feel safe—but as I kept it up, it also became stifling. The more I tried to manage or conceal my intensity, the more isolated and disconnected I felt, and the heavier my emotions became.

I’ve sometimes worried that sharing these parts of myself might lead people to feel sorry for me, to try to “analyze” or “fix” me, even while I feel they may hide similar parts of themselves. It’s complicated, wanting to be open without being seen as fragile, and hoping others would feel safe to be open too.

Over time, though, I’m beginning to accept these parts of myself, and my moonpaintings have been a big part of that. Through them, I’m learning to embrace everything I am—light and dark, joy and sorrow. I’m still working on releasing the shame around my sadness and intensity, allowing myself to see these emotions as valid and worthy. I’m not fully there yet, but with each piece, I feel closer to showing up as my whole self, without needing to hide or “fix” anything.

This journey isn’t about being completely healed or “done”—it’s about letting all parts of me exist without judgment, about finding a kind of peace in the messiness. And maybe that’s the real beauty of this work: it gives me a place to honor where I am right now, embracing all the parts of me that are still growing, still struggling, still becoming.

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 5

guys I got confused and apparently I’ve had chapter five done for a while and the chapter I’ve been stressing over is actually chapter six??? I’m so terribly sorry! But here it is lol, I’m still a bit concerned I’ve written myself into a corner but I’ll post chapter six on Monday if not sooner.

table of contents

at least I’m trying

Jamie’s the one driving the car, but he’s actually worried that he’s about to be a murder victim. He’s never been a big fan of true crime, so he’s not entirely fucking thrilled that he’s going to be come one but he supposes he probably deserves it and anyway, maybe death isn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things.

Except he wants to actually hold Clare and buy her things and tell her he loves her and never leave her ever.

So maybe death-by-Madeline is actually so bad in the grand scheme of things.

“What the HELL is your problem?” she asks, and she’s actually expecting an answer so Jamie has to think fast. What the hell is his problem? No- what has he done in the present for Madeline to come straight from Milan to chew him out?

“What exactly do you mean?” he asks carefully. He needs to make sure Madeline knows he isn’t fucking hostile or some shit, and that maybe if he handles this right she can put a good word in with you.

He knows he’s reaching, but hey. He’s made it this far in life.

Madeline glares at him. “I mean, where the fuck do you get off showing up like this? Are you trying to take Bean? Because let me tell you, only one of us was at the birth and that shit was fucking gross. But the ones who showed up are the ones who get to take care of her, not some deadbeat father who’s too busy kicking a ball and fucking models to actually care about anything.”

That offends Jamie, but it terrifies him more than anything else. Because yes, he wasn’t around, but he didn’t know. And now he does fucking know and he has to actually see if he’s a good father or if being a piece of shit truly is genetic. 

But he can’t imagine treating Clare even a fraction of the way his father treated him, so he’s hopeful.

He says, “I just want them to be taken care of,” and Madeline sighs.

“You can’t keep dragging her around, Tartt,” she reminds him as if he didn’t remind himself a year ago before thinking fuck it and calling you. It was supposed to go different. He was supposed to tell you he loved you and wanted you back and was done being a fucking idiot, except he got freaked out so he clammed up and left. And maybe that’s the strongest evidence as to why he should just leave the whole thing alone.

Jamie says, “I’m not,” but it feels like he’s trying to convince himself at this point.

“Being a parent is a lot of responsibility,” Madeline says.

He says, “I know,” then realizes he’s driven them to your street. He parks where he knows you can’t see him and waits for whatever Madeline has to say next.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “She still loves you a little bit, you know. That’s why this whole thing is such shit. I truly think she’d take you back if she could trust the fact that you wouldn’t leave her, and I actually fucking think it would be good for her. But you’re the fucking worst so it isn’t going to happen, obviously.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jamie says. “I wouldn’t do that to Clare.”

Madeline says, “You’ve met her twice,” and Jamie gets her point. Because yeah, he’s met her twice and he loves her but that’s not really a reason to try to patch things up with you, and that’s what Madeline’s really saying, so Jamie says, “It’s not because she has our baby.” 

“Oh, is it not?” Madeline asks in her most sarcastic posh voice. “Then by all means, enlighten me as to what you think you’re doing with my best friend other than re-fucking her up.”

She’s got bags under her eyes, partially from Milan and partially because she’s just tired too. It’s her firmly-held opinion that you deserve the whole entire world and nothing less, but there isn’t much she can do to give it to you. She can try to protect you, she can threaten Jamie and torment him and bring you coffee and help put Bean down for naps but she can’t take the entire weight of it off of you. 

And she was being completely fucking honest when she said she thought Jamie would be good for you. He was the best when you were together, always taking care of you when no one else would, and Madeline worries sometimes that you’ll never let that happen again. 

“You don’t NEED a man,” she’d said more than once, “but if you wanted one just to take your mind off things or to buy your dinner I have a whole list.”

“I’m pregnant, Madeline,” you’d reminded her to which she’d just grinned and said, “Babe, there are real men out that who love that shit.”

You’d never taken her up on her offer because she knew, down in her core, that you were waiting for Jamie. She never, ever brought it up because she also knew you would be mortified to admit it. And that even though you wished for it deep in your soul, you also knew it would never happen.

“I’m not going to re-fuck her up,” Jamie says firmly, and if this were less serious of a situation he sees at least three ways he could turn that sentence into something dirty. “I have a plan.”

Madeline raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe,” she says. She reaches for the door and shoulders her away bag. Jamie watches her walk up the street and to your house without looking back once.

—

The first thing Jamie does is call Georgie because he actually does not have a plan. He has a vague idea of sweeping you in his arms and kissing you and that’s about it. He just can’t for the life of him figure out how to get there.

But his mum’s been on the other end of this, so she’s got to have some wisdom for him which is why Jamie calls her before he’s even out of your neighborhood.

He starts talking before Georgie can even say hello. He tells her the whole thing and about the fact that he’s an entire father out of nowhere and he has no idea what he’s even doing but there’s a part of him that wants to quit football and yes mum, he knows he’s being fuckin’ dramatic but he just wants to get his point across yeah? And by the time he’s done explaining that he just wants to make things right and permanent, he’s back inside his big empty house and wishing he were over at yours instead.

Georgie sighs and says, “I love you darling, but you’ve really fucked it,” and Jamie feels awful.

“I just don’t want to be like Dad,” he says quietly and Georgie says, “Jamie Tartt, you are nothing like that man. You’re my sweet, sexy little baby and you’ve grown up so much since you’ve been away. Don’t you ever think you’re like him.”

She’s right, Jamie knows that, but still. “So what do I do?” he asks.

Georgie’s silent on the other end of the line for a moment. Jamie doesn’t know if she’s hesitating or thinking but she says, “Now Jamie, I can’t promise this will work for you. And you need to make sure you’re listening to what that poor girl wants every step of the way. But I can tell you what I used to wish your father would do for me back in the day.”

Jamie digs around his house for a pen and paper because what’s the good in being England’s best striker if you can’t go for a long shot?

—

You’re not surprised Madeline is at your door, but you are surprised that she hasn’t been back to her flat yet.

“Your flight got back hours ago,” you say, baffled. She just shrugs. “Customs was an absolute nightmare,” she responds and you know she’s lying but you don’t question it. You just wave your hand vaguely to the guest shower that doubles as Mads’ second home and pull out a takeout menu. 

Clare is on the brink of sleeping through the night, but she still isn’t quite there so you just do not have the brain space to cook a real dinner. It’s not like Madeline cares, anyway.

By the time the food arrives, Madeline is out of the shower and laying on the couch with Clare as she recounts her trip, carefully omitting how much time she spent with Keeley fucking Jones. You know you shouldn’t hate her, but god, every time you see or hear her she just says one insensitive thing after another. So you don’t pry when Mads clearly skips over something; you only press when you know it’s about whoever her mystery fling was, which she is less tight-lipped about.

It’s only after you’ve both eaten and Clare is (mostly) asleep for the night that she asks far too casually, “You’re not thinking of getting back together with Jamie, are you?” and you nearly choke.

“I beg your fucking pardon?” you laugh and she lifts a shoulder in a shrug.

“I think he’s going to try something,” she says. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again. Just because he wants you back doesn’t mean he’s going to fucking change. It’s really not the same shit, you know.”

You say, “Yeah, I know,” because you do. But if he’s going to volunteer to be awake late at night so you don’t have to, you might just take him up on it. Especially because you think it would be a much-needed humbling experience for him.

“What if I did?” you ask while Madeline sips her wine. “What if I did take him back?”

Madeline sets down her glass with a clink. “Then I think you’d need a plan,” she says seriously.

—

Madeline’s plan consists of specifically detailed criteria Jamie must meet before he’s redeemed as a trustworthy person. It includes signifiers of emotional intelligence, maturity, and a general sense of stability that has been previously dispelled. She writes everything down and sticks it to the fridge with a magnet, right under Clare’s ultrasound photos. 

“If he can well and truly change, then he’s allowed back,” she says, and you agree. 

And for the first time, you allow your hope to come to the surface.

Meanwhile, Jamie’s finished his own list. Everything his mum would’ve like to see his dad do and everything Simon actually did do to win her over. It’s a wide range, that’s for sure, from flowers to grocery shopping to fucking cooking which he definitely hasn’t done since he was twenty-one but he knows how to fucking read, doesn’t he? Cooking’s just following instructions and he can do that pretty well on the pitch, so it probably is the same thing. 

He’s awake all night. All he can think about is how much he misses you in the bed next to him, and then around four in the morning he gets really fucking worried that all of this is just selfish and he should actually just leave you alone.

So instead of trying to sleep (because apparently it’s useless) he makes a cup of coffee and goes for a walk. 

He walks all the way to the green in the dark and goes to sit on a bench, except it’s already occupied.

“Mornin’ Jamie,” says Ted. “Bit early for a walk, ain’t it?”

Jamie just looks at him. “You’re awake too,” he points out, and Ted shrugs.

“Just a little jet lagged,” he replies.

Jamie knows that’s bullshit, and he says it. “You’ve been here long enough, coach.“

Ted shrugs again. “Guess it never really leaves you.”

He doesn’t say anything else but he doesn’t seem like he’s trying to get rid of Jamie, so Jamie sits down. A few minutes pass before Ted says, “Henry wanted to talk, so I woke up to FaceTime him. Then I couldn’t go back to sleep because I just miss him so dang much.”

Jamie says, “Same coach,” without thinking, and now it’s Ted’s turn to give him a look. Jamie ignores it and says, “I got a kid. Couldn’t fucking sleep thinking about her and her mum, you know? I just want to be fucking… involved but it’s all weird, like.”

“Weird how?” Ted prompts. He has enough questions to fill a black hole but he’s sure it’ll come out sooner or later so for now he’s just going to listen. 

Jamie leans back and stares at the sky as it begins to lighten. “Pretty sure I’m still in love with her. I sort of fucking suspected when I were with Keeley, but it weren’t till I saw her again that I knew for sure. But I don’t want to be fucking selfish and shit, so now I think I should just leave them alone.”

“Is that what she wants?” Ted asks as if he hasn’t had this conversation with himself a million times and moved to stinkin’ London to try to prove that he wasn’t selfish himself.

Jamie lifts a shoulder. “She doesn’t want me to leave again.”

Ted says, “Then don’t.”

next chapter

[twoinoneflesh]

I must be feral. Something about him today just seems more delicious, more tempting than usual. I watch from my usual hiding spot, porthole and all.

The way his jeans hug in all the right places, emphasizing the ass you’d never know he has because he hides it every other day of the week. I just can’t put my finger on it, why he tugs at my feelings and lust in all the right places too, but at all the wrong times.

You’d think by now we’d have kissed— but no. Instead I am wrapped up completely inside of my head, tumbling over my feet, loving and hating every second of the game. A game is all it is. One second they ignore me so hard my head hurts and I hate myself and feel unlovable, ostracized. The next they give me more attention than they’ve ever given me and I still long for more. Greedy. For something that means nothing. The longing will kill me if I let it, and I will. The only thing I want but can’t have, an apparition, compelling but never mine. A trick of my mind, a spell of his to keep me pleased. Docile. So weak, easily driven, wishing I could have more and knowing it’s so close but that he will never give it to me.

I think we fear each other. I think we fear the cliche way mountains seem to part and the room suddenly clears when we connect in that very clear, very close way but we are always far when it happens. I know we fear each other. I think of what might happen when he reads what I think, will he know it’s him? Better yet— will he care? So self righteous in my knowledge of his interest in me, but so insecure when it comes to the delivery. I won’t wait for him forever. In fact, not at all. I’ve waited longer than he deserves, and I am like the unused nightstand, stale 5 week old glass of water, condom and candy wrappers from a past life and all. I’m discarded, forgotten like the toys you never like at the bottom of the drawer, no longer the utilitarian favorite I long to be. I am not in heavy rotation, I’m the last record you want to play. I’m the vhs tape in your storage unit begging to be popped in, played, and rewound in the true nature of my purpose. Molding. Waiting for the precious connection that tape cleaner and my nose have better than tape cleaner and an actual tape.

He teases my need to feel needed, my need to feel noticed. The redirect or the blatant lie to quell my obvious desire to share our worlds with each other. His enthusiasm for me is something I fear, because I fear it is not real. I’m convinced it isn’t.

My effervescent heart. It burbles like a dying man’s last breath, choking on his own blood. It feels that way too, when I feel love. Something I do not think I was meant to feel. A revelation my body and mind are not ready for.

[atomic-thomas]

(Fake ASMR Commission) Yandere Giantess Kidnaps You [REMAKE]

*giant footstep sounds right out the gate until specified stopping point*

“Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum! How much longer are you able to run?”

…

“You know I’m just toying with you, right? I’m walking slowly on purpose. I can end this silly game whenever I want.”

…

“It’s a game to me. I find it quite entertaining to watch you try & flee, futile as it is. By all means… Continue running as fast as your little legs can carry you. It amuses me. Ahaha~”

…

“Aww, what’s the matter? Slowing down already? Tiring out so soon? But I was having so much fun.”

*footstep sounds stop*

“Pity… It appears that you’ve tripped over a tree branch. Such a shame. Now you lay there… Exhausted… And helpless. Now it’s my turn to strike.”

“Here comes my giant hand~ Hehe~”

“Now… To firmly wrap my fingers around you… And clench my fist shut.”

“You’re all mine now. Mine to do whatever I want with. What shall I do? Hmmm… Perhaps I could… Crush you~ Or maybe even… Eat you~ You’d probably taste delicious.”

…

“You really want me to just get it over with already. My, my… I didn’t think you’d be so eager to meet your fate. Very well. If you insist.”

“Mmm~” *kiss sound*

…

“Ahahahahahahahaha~! I wish you could see the look on your face right now! I’ve never seen such a stark expression of shock & confusion on anyone before.”

“Ahhhhh… Well, I suppose the jig is up now. I’ll just go ahead & say it.”

“All of that… Was a jest.”

…

“Hehehe~ You certainly look delighted to hear that. I never had any intention of hurting you. I would never do that to you.”

…

“I did all that because… It’s just fun acting like a storybook fairytale giant. With that poetic catchphrase & the menacing facade. Flaunting my incredible size & awesome strength.”

“But it was all just for show. A bravado. A spectacle. In reality… I’m actually quite the soft-hearted individual.”

…

“Don’t mince words, little one. Being soft-hearted doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m ‘Pure’-hearted. Despite everything… I have a confession to make.”

“There’s another reason why I did this.”

…

“My reason for picking you up is because… I’m kidnapping you now. Not exactly something a pure-hearted person would do.”

*giant footstep sounds continue until specified stopping point*

“I know that sounds alarming seeing that I just spared your life. But I shall explain where I’m taking you & what my plans are. I think it’ll be of great interest to you. So please remain calm & hear me out.”

“I’m very deeply in love with you.”

…

“Do I really have to justify myself? What do you want me to say? ‘Oh, darling~ I love you because X, Y & Z~! I’d go to any length to show you my dedication~! I’ll destroy anyone who does so little as breathe in your direction~!’ Or other such ridiculous Yandere stereotypes.”

…

“Yes… I am a Yandere. I’m well aware of that fact. Although… To be honest… I barely qualify. I’m more of a Soft Yandere.”

…

“Tell me, little one. What comes to mind when you think of Yanderes? Crazed obsessive girls who’ve driven themselves insane over their romantic interests & build shrines for them? Blood-stained knives? Black-mailing? Other such criminal activity?”

…

“Yeah, you see… None of those apply to me. I’d much rather not bring harm to others. It’s wrong. And it would also make me a huge target. I know better.”

“I’m surprised that I was willing to go as far as kidnapping you. This hyperfixation I have towards you is hard to resist.”

…

“The reason I chose you instead of anyone else… Let alone a fellow giant… Is for the same reason why I love you.”

“There is no reason. It’s unconditional.”

…

“Do you finally realize the situation you’re in? A beautiful, powerful giantess has decided to dedicate her time & energy to you. And devote her entire life to loving you. Just because.”

…

“Okay, well… Fine. You got me. It’s not JUST because. I admittedly don’t like being lonely. I was just torn for so long as to whether or not I was willing to kidnap a human for my cause. And well… Here we are.”

…

“Yes… It IS selfish. I won’t defend my imperfect behavior. But then again… I wasn’t trying to be perfect anyway. And I don’t think you’d do that either. Most people probably wouldn’t.”

“So tell me… How do you feel about getting kidnapped now that you know all of this information?”

…

“Still unsure. Well… Since you are to be my partner for life… It’s out of love & respect that I should listen to your concerns. What are you worried about?”

…

“No… You’re not going to be my ‘Pet’. That would be so degrading. Imagine… Locking you in a cage… Feeding you unfulfilling crumbs of my food… And watching as you wallow in a prison of boredom for the rest of your life. You’d surely go mad. You deserve better.”

“I don’t want you to feel restricted or restrained in our relationship. I want you to feel free. To feel as if you were never kidnapped in the first place.”

“I want this relationship to feel normal… And equal.”

“You want that to… Don’t you? Do you understand now? We’ll be so much better off together. It’s mutually beneficial.”

“Just say that you love me… Please…”

…

“Haaaaahhhhhhh~ My heart feels like it’s fluttering! Thank You so much, darling.”

“Mmm~ *kiss sound*

…

“Oh! Yeah.. Haha… I still haven’t told you where we’re going. It’s just my home. Plain & simple.”

“Well… Maybe it’s not so plain & simple. I actually live in a hollowed out mountain. I didn’t feel like settling for a traditional giant home. They take up so much real estate. So I went for something more natural. And… Bonus… It has a clean waterfall in it. So I have a perpetual shower that’s active all the time. It’s great!”

…

“Well… Yes. I still need giant furniture & other various utilities. Can’t really survive without the essentials, you know?

“Anyway, we’ll be there soon. I know exactly what we should do when we arrive. You’re going to love it. And I know I will to.”

*footstep sounds stop*

……….

*door opening & closing sound*

“Here we are. Quite spacious, isn’t it? This mountain is enormous. Perfect for a giantess such as myself. And the luminous mushrooms make for great natural lighting. It’s so cozy.”

“Speaking of cozy… Would you like to cuddle on the couch? Twas what I had in mind.”

…

“Well, obviously we can’t cuddle in the traditional sense due to our drastic size disparity. But that’s okay. I know just the thing.”

“I’ll lay down… Place you on my bosom… And cover you with my hands. You know what that means, right?”

…

“Indeed. You’re going to be in the softest, warmest & most loving embrace that you’ve ever experienced in your entire life. So let’s do it.”

…

“Alright… Now… To place you on my chest… And rest my hands over you.”

*heartbeat sound for the rest of the audio*

“There we go. Hahhhhh~ This is so nice.”

“You can hear my heartbeat, right? It must be booming for you. Mighty, yet soothing. Good for the mind, body & soul.”

“I’m going to brush your hair with my thumb now, okay? Just want to make sure that you aren’t surprised by it.”

*swedish fish kun or grennifer intensifies for the rest of the audio*

“No matter how small you are compared to me, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a person. I promise to always show you utmost respect.”

…

“Of course you can venture out & do your own thing. I’m not your captor. I’m your partner. If you want to visit your friends & family then that’s perfectly alright. In fact… You should introduce me to them sometime.”

…

“Well… Yeah. They might be afraid & bewildered at the sight of me, but… You’ll put in a good word for me, right?”

…

“Hehe~ I knew you would.”

“I love you, darling~”

_______________________________________________

THE END

[dandelion-jester]

Writblr Intro:

Hello All!!!

I've been meaning to do a proper intro so better late then never!

Who Am I?

You can call me Dandelion. I'm 22 years old, I use they/them pronouns, I'm English and I am a queer, trans, neurodivergent fantasy writer. I've not had anything published yet but it's my aim.

I have a background in theatre and circus so performing arts tend to turn up in my work. I also love making maps and studying conlangs! I do a lot of art and reading as hobbies, but my favourite pass time is playing dnd!

What Do I Write?

I write mainly fantasy, but also scifi and historical fiction. I also dabble in poetry and I would like to learn how to write for games and screen at some point. For now though, it's all novel writing as far as the eye can see.

My favourite trope to write is found family (I blame all the dungeons and dragons I play). I also write a lot of queer characters and try to diversify my casts as much as possible. My work tends to be very character driven although I do love world building a lot, especially building different cultures and places. I'm best st dialogue and really struggle with building plots. I also have a deep love for history, specifically the 1700s and Anglo saxon - medieval Britain, so that's usually finds its way into my work as well.

You can find my work on Patreon here

What Do I Read?

Unsurprisingly, it's mostly fantasy. I used to read over 100 books a year, but university made me hit a massive reading slump which I've been slowly recovering from. So the main thing keeping me going right now is Robin Hobb, although ive only got a few of her books left! I also listen to a lot of audiobooks.

My WIPs:

Information on my current work is under the break!!

Feypocalypse

Feypocalypse is a queer, fantasy horror comic set in medieval England following the events of a Fey Apocalypse in the 1300s. It follows a group of knights trying to survive in a world that has been turned into a Fey hunting ground, whilst protecting the Changeling child they accidentally adopted. The current plan is eight issues, to be published on Patreon and then printed as a complete novel at the end! It will be written by myself and illustrated by my amazing co-creator @withlovefromthecrowss.

The Legend of The Rat Bastards (vols. 1 & 2)

Now available to read on my patreon!

I recently finished playing in a Curse of Strahd campaign that lasted about 2 years and was one of the best dnd experiences of my life. So of course, I decided to write it up in novel form so that I and the other players could always return to it. Our paladin was an extremely detailed note taker so I've been borrowing their notes. It's currently the longest piece of writing I’ve ever done and I add to it every day. It's from the pov of my character, a human necromancer called Sepulcrave who has a pretty crazy character arc and it's my current main WIP, even though its a personal project.

Eye of the Falcon King (working title)

A secondary-world medieval fantasy novel about identity, rebellion, and manipulation. In a world where some few people have the ability to shape-shift into birds, the king seeks out these people to be his personal servants, messengers and spies. Turik is a young boy able to turn into a falcon and becomes a member of the King's circle. But after a tragedy befalls his best friend it begins to become apparent that the king is not as benevolent as he seems and Turik must come to terms with the knowledge that his reality is a lie. This book is about breaking free from manipulative forces, the ways invisible disabilities are ignored and pushed aside, and mostly about how the monarchy is terrible. Also queer people because all my stories have queer characters.

Otherlings (working title)

It's 1875 and Eliza Farthing's twin brother Alexander has just reappeared in her life after seven years. Except he's not her twin, he's her changeling. And Eliza isn't always Eliza, sometimes he's Francis. The world's of the two twins - one fey, one queer - are about to become very intertwined against their wishes. The two have to fight against their family, the police, a morally corrupt scientist, inter-community distrust, and their own dislike for each other, or both of them will never regain the lives they so desperately need and desire. Also there's a circus. The book deals with identity, secrecy, hatred, and community. It's a book about found family, about accepting yourself and others, about not needing to be seen to exist and be worth something. Mostly it's about sticking together despite your differences.

So that's my current WIPs! I'll add more as I get them, but that's all for now! Thank you for taking an interest in my work and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to send me an ask :)

Tags I use

#legend of the rat bastards, #eye of the falcon king, #ask dandelion-jester #feypocalypse #otherlings novel

[wingdingery]

20 questions for writers

Thanks for the tag @wildsofmarch :)

(Answering most of these questions about wingdingery but including some counts from other accounts because I was curious.)

1. how many works do you have on AO3? 24 DC (78 total)

2. what's your total AO3 word count? 283,276 DC (795,332 total)

3. what fandoms do you write for? Dick Grayson (I’m usually tunnel visioned into one fandom for years at a time)

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos? I don’t perceive stats/counts on my works or others’ thanks to a site skin so this is a mystery to me!

5. do you respond to comments? I try to! But I don’t have time consistently so I usually fall into the trap of falling behind → feeling guilty about replying late but also feeling guilty about replying to newer comments when I haven’t gotten through the older ones yet → paralyzed into not replying to anything → force myself to finally clear my inbox months later → run out of time and begin the vicious cycle all over again.

(But I do read all of them as they come in and appreciate them so much! The number of times I am driven to reread old works/write more due to a kind comment cannot be counted.)

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? once upon a time, maybe?

My non-happy endings are usually more ambiguous than overtly angstsy (on main, at least – the darkfic endings are equally angst, I think).

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I’ll pick hospitality for dummies just because I think that’s my lowest-stakes/happiest DC fic so far. But I do tend to write happy endings in general.

8. do you get hate on fics? The standard fare ship hate.

9. do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yep! I’m not really sure what “what kind” means… I’ll write pretty much anything if I’m in the right mood for it and I can make it make sense for the characters.

10. do you write crossovers? I like writing fusions but I’ve only contemplated writing one crossover in my life and never actually did it, so I think the answer is no.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen? Not as far as I know!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? right through my walls has a Spanish translation courtesy of Luck__y!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I’ve done a lot of co-slinging-ideas-at-the-wall but I’ve never actually co-written a fic. I’m interested in trying it but my writing process is so wild that I’m reluctant to ask anyone to get near it. 😂

14. What's your all-time favorite ship? All-time is so hard to say! I shipped BruDick a long time ago and I’m back here now, so BruDick, I guess?

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will? If this question is referring to published WIPs, I will finish all of them. This year, even. You heard it here first.

(If unpublished… way too many to count, lol.)

16. What are your writing strengths? From what people have said, I think my top 3 are dialogue, characterization, and generally having wild/unexpected ideas (otherwise known as crack played so straight it develops angst).

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I think my writing is pretty plain. I have next to zero visual imagery (some people read or write like they’re watching a movie and seeing the scenes go by, but all I think in are words) so consequently my writing isn’t particularly descriptive unless I really try and figurative language is hard for me to come up with.

I used to stress about this a lot, but I’ve heard that this makes my writing feel easy to read, especially for non-native English readers, so I’ve made my peace with not being particularly poetic.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I always write limited third POV so I’ll typically use a phrasing like “…,” they said in [language] or They said something in [language] if the POV character doesn’t understand it. I only ever write it untranslated if something about the exact wording is relevant to the plot (but even then, I only highlight the specific word(s) after).

19. First fandom you wrote for? Nancy Drew… the yellow hardback books Nancy Drew…

20. Favourite fic you've written? Currently, make a mercy out of me. As much as I love writing fics with a lot of plot and action and shenanigans, it was really satisfying to craft a quiet character/relationship study that’s introspective without feeling too heavy.

tag @artenon @faiasakura @chejuu @roipecheur you're it!

[queer-geordie-dyke]

I talk about Mira a lot, and I’m doing so again 🤷🏻‍♀️

She was a beautiful woman, and a powerful and talented actor and writer, no doubt, but much more importantly, I feel, she was also a woman of vast and deep integrity - she fought against injustice and nationalism/racism all of her life and her principled and public stance against the war and ethnic divisions in Yugoslavia cost her dearly and yet, it was a position she never ever moved away from and believed in profoundly. It is very easy to have principles when they are not being tested, and another thing entirely to stake your very life on those principles.

Even when her stance cost her her home, her career, and her friendships, and the enormous amount of threats against her life forced her to leave her country, she never once backed down from her belief in unity and cooperation.

The anti war essay she wrote and published as she fled is still one of the most powerful pieces of writing I’ve ever read and I am going to post it here in its entirety because it is fierce and amazing:

Letter to my co-citizens

I hereby wish to thank my co-citizens who have joined so unreservedly in this small, marginal, and apparently not particularly significant campaign against me. Although marginal, it will change and mark my whole life. Which is, of course, totally irrelevant in the context of the death, destruction, devastation, and blood-chilling crimes within which our life now goes on.

This is happening, however, to the one and only life I have. It seems that I’ve been chosen for some reason to be the filthy rag everyone uses to wipe the mud off their shoes. I am far too desperate to embark on a series of public polemics in the papers. I do, however, feel that I owe myself and my city at least a few words. Like at the end of some clumsy, painful love story, when you keep wanting, wrongly, to explain something more, even though you know at the bottom of your heart that words are wasted; there is no one left to hear them. It is over.

Listening to my answering machine, to the incredible quantities of indescribably disgusting messages from my co-citizens, I longed to hear at least one message from a friend. Or not even a friend, a mere acquaintance, a colleague. But there was none. Not a single familiar voice, not a single friend. Nevertheless, I am grateful to them, to those noble patriots who kindly promise me a “massacre the Serbian way”; and to those colleagues, friends, and acquaintances who, by remaining silent, are letting me know that I cannot count on them any more.

I am grateful also to all my colleagues in the theatre with whom I played Drzic, Moliere, Turgenev, and Shaw, I am grateful to them for their silence, I am grateful to them for not even trying to understand, let alone attempting to vindicate, my statement concerning my appearance at the BITEF Festival in Belgrade, the statement in which I tried to explain that taking part in that production at that moment was for me a defense of our profession which must not and cannot put itself in the service of any political or national ideas, which must not and cannot be bound by political or national limits because it is simply against its nature, which must, even at the worst of times, establish bridges and ties. In its very essence it is a vocation which knows no boundaries.

I know that all this talk about the cosmopolitanism of art seems inappropriate at a moment like this. I know that it may seem out of place to swear to pacifism, to swear to love and to the brotherhood of all peoples while people are dying, while children are dying, while young men are returning home crippled and mangled forever.

How can I say anything which won’t sound like an ill-fitted nonsense at the moment when, for absolutely unfathomable reasons, Dubrovnik is being threatened, the city where I played my favorite role, Gloria?

But I have no other way of thinking. I cannot accept war as the only solution, I cannot force myself to hate, I cannot believe that weapons, killing, revenge, hatred, that such an accumulation of evil will ever solve anything. Each individual who personally accepts the war is in fact an accessory to the crime; must he not then take a part of the guilt for the war, a part of the responsibility?

In any case, I think, I know and I feel that it is my duty, the duty of our profession, to build bridges. To never give up on cooperation and community. Not the national community. The professional community.

The human community. And even when things are at their very worst, as they are now, we must insist to our last breath on building and sustaining bonds between people. This is how we pledge to the future.

And one day it will come. For my part, until recently I was willing to endure all manner of problems in transportation, communication, and finances to trek the 20 hours across Austria and Hungary between Zagreb and Belgrade. I was willing to use risky, even dangerous modes of travel, just to keep holding my performances in the two warring cities, to appear at precisely 7:30 on stage with my Zagreb or Belgrade colleagues and to alternate Corneille and Turgenev for the sake of professional continuity, for the sake of something that would outlive this war and this hatred which is so foreign to me. Time and time again I was willing to make my life a symbol of a pledge to the future which must be waiting for us, until that day when some ardent patriot finally does slaughter me as so many have promised to do.

I was willing and I would still be willing to undertake all and any efforts, if the hatred hadn’t suddenly overwhelmed me with its horrendous ferocity, hatred welling from the city I was born in. I am appalled by the force and magnitude of that hatred, by its perfect unanimity, by the fact that there was absolutely nobody who could see my gesture as my defense of the integrity of the profession, as my attempt to defend at least one excellent theatre performance. I had no intention of acting further in performances outside the BITEF Festival, as I stated in my letter. BITEF as an international theatre event attended by the English, Russians, French, Belgians, and even one Slovene seemed to me worth participating in, especially because any decision not to participate would have meant betraying a performance I had worked on under the most difficult circumstances during the March 9th Belgrade tanks, daily threats of a military coup, etc., etc.

It is terribly sad when one is forced to justification without having done anything wrong. There is nothing but despair, nausea, and horror.

I no longer have any decisions to make. Others have decided for me.

They have decided I must shut up, give up, vanish; they have abolished my right to do my job the way I feel it should be done, they have abolished my right to come home to my own city, they have abolished my right to return to my theatre and act in my performances. Someone decided that I should be fired from my job. Thank you, Croatian National Theatre; thank you, my colleague Dragan Milivojevic, who signed my dismissal slip. I know that lots of people are losing jobs, that I am just one of many, simply part of a surplus work force. I constantly ask myself whether I have any right, at this moment of communal horror, to make any demands of my own. One thing seems certain: I plan for quite some time (how long?) not to perform on any stage in this crumbling, mangled land. Perhaps they needn’t have hurried so in firing me. Perhaps this would have simply taken care of itself. With more decency. And dignity. Not so crudely. Of course, this is not a moment for tenderness. But won’t someone out there have to be ashamed of this? And will this someone necessarily be me, as my fellow actors try to convince me in their orthodox interviews? Can the horror of war be used as a justification for every single nasty bit of filth we commit against our fellow man? Are we allowed to remain silent in the face of injustice done to a friend or a colleague and justify our silence by the importance of the great bright national objective? I ask my friends in Zagreb, who are now silent, while at the same time they condemn Belgrade for its silence.

It is hard to write without bitterness. I would like to be able to do that, because we should “Love Our Enemy.” I wish we all could. Herein perhaps lies the solution for all of us. But I fear that we are very far from the ways of the Lord. His is the way of love. Not hatred.

To whom am I addressing this letter? Who will read it? Who will even care to read it? Everyone is so caught up by the great cause that small personal fates are not important any more. How many friends do you have to betray to keep from committing the only socially acknowledged betrayal, the betrayal of the nation? How many petty treacheries, how many pathetic little dirty tricks must one do to remain “clean in the eyes of the nation?”

I am sorry, my system of values is different. For me there have always existed, and always will exist, only human beings, individual people, and those human beings (God, how few of them there are !) will always be excepted from generalizations of any kind, regardless of events, however catastrophic. I, unfortunately, shall never be able to “hate all Serbs,” nor even understand what that really means. I shall always, perhaps until the moment the kind threats on the phone are finally carried out, hold my hand out to an anonymous person on the “other side,” a person who is as desperate and lost as I am, who is as sad, bewildered, and frightened. There are such people in this city where I write my letter, the city my love took me to, a feeling it seems almost indecent to mention these days. Nothing can provide an excuse any more, everything that does not directly serve the great objective has been trampled upon and appears despicable, and with it what love, what marriage, what friendship, what theatre performances!

I reject, I refuse to accept such a crippling of myself and my own life. I played those last performances in Belgrade for those anguished people who were not “Serbs”; but human beings, human beings like me, human beings who recoil before this monstrous Grand Guignol farce in which dead heads are flying. It is to these people, both here and there, that I am addressing my words. Perhaps someone will hear me.

The punishment meted me by my city, my only city and my theatre, my only theatre, the only theatre I felt was mine, is a punishment I feel I do not deserve. I was working in the way I have always felt I had to work, believing in people and our vocation which is supposed to bring people together, not tear them apart. I will never “give up my Belgrade friends”; as some of my colleagues have, because I do not feel that these friends have in any way brought about this catastrophe which has afflicted us, just as I will not turn my back on my Zagreb friends, not even those who have turned their backs on me. I will try in every way possible to understand their panic, their fear, their bitterness, even their hatred, but I plead for the same dose of understanding for me, that is, for a story which is different than many others, for a life which has deviated, due to the so-called destiny, from the expected and customary. Why must everything be the same, so frighteningly uniform, leveled, standardized? Haven’t we had enough of that? I know this is the time of uniforms and they are all the same, but I am no soldier and cannot be one. I haven’t got it in me to be a soldier, soldiering just isn’t my calling.

Regardless of whether we will be living in one, or five, or fifty states, let us not forget the people, each individual, regardless of which side of this Wall of ours the person happens to be on. We were born here by accident, we are this or that by accident, so there must be more than that, mustn’t there?

I am sending this letter into a void, into darkness, without an inkling of who will read it and how, or in how many different ways it will be misused or abused. Chances are it will serve as food for the eternally hungry propaganda beast. Perhaps someone with a pure heart will read it after all.

I will be grateful to that someone.

Mira Furlan,

From Belgrade and Zagreb, November 1, 1991.

[stillgotme]

Been pretty quiet the past month and I don't know if there's really anyone that's still stuck around to see what I do next, but I'm still here! And the reason I haven't been posting as much is because I've been planning and I’m here to make some quick announcements for how 2024’s gonna go on this blog moving forward.

First things first....Karaoke Secrets is going on hiatus and this was what I was embarrassed to say because this story has barely taken off yet I’ve already had two big gaps in between posts and we still haven’t gotten anywhere. Oof. 

I admit, I kinda went overboard with adding a third story when I haven’t even finished the other two. Not to mention, because this one was more driven by fun and me needing a break from my usual stuff, I’ve faced the realization that this story isn’t as developed. It’s why I unfortunately hit a creative wall with it and along with the struggle of trying to do 3 stories at once, my inspo just isn’t with it at the moment. 

Don’t get me wrong, though, I still very much love this story! But I gotta really sit down and figure out an outline for it. I do prefer some sort of structure and I don’t have the full structure yet, so it’s best to put this thing to halt and see what I really want to do with it. Maybe one day when I’ve gotten the inspiration again and I’ve tightened some rough spots, then I can come back to it. For now, it’s on a break. And don’t worry, you will still see Risa and Akira every once in a while when I do some edits. I hope you understand.

BUT NOW THE GOOD NEWS:

AFTER FOUR LONG YEARS, REDEMPTION IS FINALLY MAKING A RETURN. Now, despite my lack of storytelling since the pandemic, I’m letting you all know that in the background I never actually stopped writing. I was still going over scenes for this story, writing dialogue, even going back to old scenes and writing in depth prose for them to get more in touch with my characters. 

This story is so dear to me and the inspiration has called me for the past few months. And thanks to the lovely people in the writing discord I’ve joined, that storytelling spark has finally come back. What held me back was the worry over Karaoke Secrets, but I needed to stop forcing myself to treat this like a job and follow my inspo. 

So we’re picking up where we left off. To new and old readers, I will do a summary post that tells you the story so far. I understand not everyone has the time to sit down and read and you are in no way obligated to do that so you’ll have the option to get a recap. That way we’re all on the same page by the time the story returns. And if you do wanna read from the beginning, be my guest!

Thank you to everyone that’s taken the time to read this and stick around. I understand I’ve been so messy with storytelling lately because of real life, but it really feels different now. I’m genuinely excited to get back to telling this story that’s been in my head since 2018 and hope you’ll join me in this crazy journey (again). And shoutout to the writing group for giving me the motivation. It may not have seemed like much, but your support has led me to fully get my storytelling back out there. 

I love you all 💖

[storyowls]

Anna Harris: Pre-Embrace drabbles

Some of the drabbles I did for my VtM character Anna!

Warning, these works can include: Mentions of a body, negative feelings towards family, death of a family member, and strong language.

The weird, uneasy feeling that I expect to have in my tiny dorm isn’t there. All media has told me that I’d feel weird being away from my family, so removed yet so close. But I don’t, I don’t feel that at all.

I feel relieved.

The relief fades as I realize what that means. That nagging, aching, buried in my chest and squeezing my throat feeling. My hands cover my face as I try to hold it all inside, like the scared seventeen year old that I am. All my cousins are so much older than me, the youngest was ten when I was born. And uncle Rocco….he was nine, when I came around, but he cared.

He cared so much.

The others didn’t.

I was just there, a constant, annoying, young kid who was too small to do what they wanted to do. I was just annoying to teenagers, young adults. They had moved on so far with life when I was a teenager myself.

The severed feeling I felt from that side of the family when he died is still strangling my soul so hard.

I don’t belong, I never belonged. I’m so sorry Rocco.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

And I hate that I will never belong.

Mom insisted on putting a full body mirror in my tiny dorm (I’m tossing a sheet over it, fuck this) and I don’t want to tell her how I feel. We stand in front of it, and I just stare at myself. Try to ignore how different we look, how Dad’s genes won over hers except for the color of my hair.

I can’t even look like the others, can I?

She makes a comment about how beautiful I am, placing a hand on my shoulder. Am I, Mom? Am I really when I’m so far detached from the family? I can’t tell her about the aching in my chest, the longing for a sense of belonging.

How I’ve wanted to scream at her for making me have a different last name than everybody else.

She seems to be done with her check in on me (please give me space to grieve whom I never was in peace), and starts to walk towards the door. I follow her, we talk for half an hour more as her hand rests on the handle. I watch as she leaves before stepping back in and shutting the door.

And I toss a sheet over that stupid mirror.

The sketchbook is full.

Looking down at the last page, I study the drawings of a dissected tulip. The Darwin Hybrid tulip breed; beautiful, steady, a resilient flower for any discerning gardener. Or the favorite of a somewhat depressed, extremely bored college student. It’s my sophomore year, still stuck doing my general classes. I’ve moved to a somewhat bigger place; a near by apartment complex with my first roommate from the dorms.

And she’s currently out on a date so I have the place to myself.

Letting out a content sigh, I grab my fancy colored pencils and begin to color the pictures. I’m happy with this, feel like a real artist. And a real big dork too, haha. I soon finish up, closing the sketchbook up and going to hide it for now. Maybe I’ll share these one day.

Hell maybe I’ll design my own tattoo sometime.

But for now, I’m just get another sketchbook and fill that up too. Got a lot of plants to draw after all.

And a lot of college ahead of me.

I got the singing from Mom, the guitar skills from Dad. A country singer and a man who, if he so decided, could break the blue grass music industry with a smile and a wave created me. I do not sing country, I do not play blue grass.

I do metal.

I quietly pluck my guitar strings, my roommate out for the night to celebrate her first degree. We’re both very driven, ready for more, and we’ve agreed to move into one of the college apartments once we leave this dorm. More room, more privacy. And the parking doesn’t suck.

As for me, I’ve recently finished my minor in music theory, making Mom prouder than the day she got her first platinum album. Dad voiced his pleasure in a letter, and I can feel the radiating warmth of his joy. This degree has made Mom back off a little, giving me room to go after my true joys.

The sound of my music quietly fills the air as I try not to be a disturbance to our neighbors. Music sheets litter the tiny, shitty desk I have crammed into a corner. I pause, picking up my marker to connect a few more notes, write down another line in the lyrics. This has been my little project for a while, a hidden knowledge and joy. Smiling, I hold the pages up to see what I have.

Mom probably wouldn’t like it, but I don’t care. The words work, the music works. I just need somebody else to be part of this, and the song will be perfect. It’s me, all the way down to the screams and the resentment, it’s me.

I got the singing from Mom, the guitar skills from Dad, and the song from me and me alone.

I’m sitting through a classmate’s dissertation defense. While most people outside us would be bored, I and the others here are fascinated. Out of the corner of my eye I see their family; a bunch of fellow nerds in some degree. They may not fully understand, but they’re clearly interested.

I wonder how mine will look, if they come.

While most of them went to some form of schooling beyond high school (yes, trade school counts and it’s very important), their interests didn’t exactly align with mine. Most went into business, music, trades, and a couple became lawyers.

I once more settle under the very lonely “odd ball” section of the family.

Sitting back in my seat, I let my mind snap back to my classmate. Charles catches my attention briefly, tilting his head as if asking me a question. I nod in reply, knowing what he’s curious about. Giving me that soft, knowing smile, he turns back to the front and I follow his lead.

Damn, he’s good at knowing when I need him.

The defense wraps up, and we all stand around to talk for a little. After about ten or so minutes we disperse, going off in our own merry little ways. My mind thinks about Charles, trying to not think about who I will see at the end of the week. I spot him ahead, clearly waiting for me with a hand out stretched.

I eagerly take it when I catch up to him.

I try not to look too much at them as I give my defense, I don’t need to see. My paternal grandparents clearly are into it...mom and her side are doing their best to be supportive, but it’s all falling a little flat. Of course it is, but I’m trying not to let it get to me.

My classmates are into it, watching and listening intently. They’re my people, and I’m their person. I keep my attention on them, giving little glances once in a while as they watch. Charles is here, of course, and there’s a big smile on his face. It breaks my heart for a moment, knowing that we’re going to be parting ways after graduation.

I’m going to LA, and he’s going to Alaska.

I let my mind go back to the task at hand, finishing with a sense of triumph and confidence. My family come up to talk with me a little before leaving. Mom lingers a little, the smile of a proud mother on her face as she tells me I did great. I know I did, but I don’t say anything. I watch her leave before going to my classmates. We talk, and I let the pain melt away for a little bit.

I try to ignore the fact that I’m part of the painful, lonely “odd ball” section of the family where nobody else resigns.

It’s midnight, and I need a rush of caffeine before I fall asleep on the next job site. I know I’ve joked about wanting a dirt nap during exam season, but I did not mean like that. Pulling into a parking spot at the random gas station between point B and C, I look at the building. Lively enough to hopefully have coffee, but quiet enough that only the single person on shift will be there to judge my piss poor life choices.

Perfect.

Grabbing my purse, I pull my lanyard off and shove it in there so as not to just hand out my name to random people. My van shifts slightly as I open the door and climb out, which doesn’t surprise me anymore. Maybe someday I’ll get something else, something that hasn’t seen Michigan winters. Double check the doors locked before shutting the driver’s side and heading inside.

I don’t even check to see if somebody’s at the counter, I’m technically on break so I can take a moment to just look around. If they’re off doing something, they’ll come back. And since I’m here, might as well get some sort of lunch…late dinner, early as shit breakfast? I consider getting a hot dog, but eh, I’m just going to chip it.

Looks like I haven’t really gotten out of the college mindset yet. Getting a PhD will do that to ya.

After grabbing my chips of choice, I look at the coffee. Oh, oh no. It looks like the last shift made this, and I know stuff happens, but not this. Even I have standards for my coffee, and something I’d do to torture myself during my dissertation period isn’t on the list.

Once was enough, thanks.

This means I’m stuck with energy drinks, fuck me. Turning, I look at my choices, no to the Red Bull, the Monster….shit. I resign myself to my fate of the tiny, weird looking bottle of 5-hour Energy. Picking it up, I decide to stop wasting time and go up to the counter.

The person on shift looks like they don’t wanna be here. Don’t really think I can blame them. As they scan my items I notice the multiple magazines they have laid out to read when nobody’s around. I wonder when the last customer they saw before me was. I count the change out once they’re done, handing it over. The worker quickly glances it over, seeming somewhat grateful for exact change, and puts it in the register.

Once I’m handed my receipt, I pick my things up, say bye, and leave. There’s a strange, lingering sense of emptiness as I step out into the parking lot. I decide to chalk it up to the time of night, and unlock my van before slipping inside. It shifts as I get inside and slam the door closed.

Double checking that the doors are locked, I turn it on just enough for the radio. I put on the lanyard once more, making sure my work ID is facing out so people know who I am. Ripping the energy drink open, I let out a sigh before drinking it the only way I know. Chugging it.

If these people wanted me to sip it like a fine wine, they’re going to have to make the idea seem good.

Once done, I put the bottle and its cap in the little bag I have for trash. Fully starting my engine, and after buckling up, I start to back out of the spot I’ve been holding onto. I can eat in the parking lot of my next destination (damn me for not packing a real lunch), chill out for the rest of my break before pretending to be a whole person for some other botanist.

It’s sometime after midnight, and I’m banking on a rush of caffeine to carry me through the rest of the night.

Well, this certainly wakes me up.

Pulling out my phone, I find the non-emergency line for the police. After giving them the details of where I am, and what I found, I hang up and call my boss. She seems surprised and states that she’s on her way to me.

“How far back are you standing?”

“I backed up like five feet the instant I saw what I dug up.”

“Okay, good. I’ll be there soon, you just wait.” She hangs up and I put my phone away. 

I back up a few feet more, just to make sure. I’m still within sight so I can keep an eye on it, and this way nobody has to try and find me. 

Luckily I already have lights set up so I’m not just sitting in the dark. Sighing, I go and get my book from my purse before sitting down. I leaf through the pages, and wait.

It’s not like the body’s going anywhere anyway.

My boss gets here a few minutes before the police who instantly go to the body. She and I discuss how this will probably slow down the job site for a few days. There’s promises that I’ll still be paid, even though I’m not working. Works for me; I probably just saved her a lot of legal headache by finding it tonight.

I hear a cop remark that the body looks pretty fresh, and my heart sinks.

I try not to think about how it took some willpower to not just stand and stare at what I found for a few minutes before calling. The classes I took in college really piqued my curiosity in this line of work, though I was going to stick with the botany. 

I hope whoever this is gets identified and returned to whoever cares about them.

A cop comes over to talk to me. I pull out the laminated map showing where the dig sites were supposed to be and explain I was to get dirt samples. The workers during the day dug up the exact spots already, I didn’t have to do much that night.

“However,” I pull out a white board marker, circling the spot where the body was, “this was not supposed to be dug up. Naturally this got my attention, and I was very careful during my look over. The soil seemed to be dug up later too. So I carefully dug up some of the dirt and well…”

“You found the victim. What’d you do then?”

“I dropped my tool on the edge of the hole I dug up and then backed up about five feet before calling. I already messed with the scene enough, I didn’t want to do more damage.”

“Well, you didn’t do enough to mess with our work, and thank you for calling right away Miss Harris, we appreciate it. We’ll get our stuff set up so you can get yours and get home. Hopefully this won’t keep you up tonight.”

“Yeah, hopefully, thanks officer.” I watch him walk away before standing back, not wanting to get in the way. I’ve definitely earned the right to spend the rest of the night at a karaoke bar after this. 

And that’s where I’ll be.

I stand in front of the shitty, second hand full sized mirror I got at the thrift store. I’ve shoved it into a corner of my bedroom where I can easily hide it, turn it away. But I’m looking myself over, thinking about how I’ve grown and changed since the last mirror I had.

The one I smashed in college.

I have the stare of a stubborn fool who got a doctorate in something most people don’t wanna hear about. It’s going to be a struggle making friends, I feel like, for many reasons. I can just imagine the awkward silence when I introduce myself now.

The stares that tell me I don’t belong here.

I turn, staring over my shoulder as I check out the backwards reflections of my patches. Most collected over the years, bought myself or gifted. A couple of them…well, if Ridley wanted to keep them he should’ve come the fuck back to Detroit.

The thought that I probably won’t find him ever again catches in my throat and I choke down the tears.

Instead, I just stare at myself, Mom’s words about how beautiful I am ringing in my ears; metaphorically of course. Straightening myself up, I grab the tattered sheet I brought with me and toss it over the mirror. I can bring myself to stare at it some other time.

But for now, I’m going to a quick job to do before I go to church.

I exit the church, disappointed but somehow not surprised. There’s the aching pain in my chest, again, the longing of…something I’d rather not admit. Times like these make me wish I smoked so I’d have something to cut the anxiety.

Coffee doesn’t help and I’m not too keen on having too many college level nights with a punch bowl again.

My mind turns to the one guy I sat down by, the one with the stare of a man who hated nearly everybody he saw in there. It was fucking creepy, but somehow, I related. Maybe he feels just as let down by this whole shitshow like I do, maybe that’s what led me to talk to him. That or the fact that I’m dressed like a metal head dipshit and he was rocking the crusty punk look.

Fucking hell, what good is a PhD if you don’t know how to control your emotions?

I realize that I paused by the door’s side, not blocking the entry way but still close enough to hear any loud praying inside. I wish that stuff worked, gave me any sort of peace. Instead I have to deal with the fact that I’m just an idiot who thought that moving to LA would fix me in some fashion. Sure, being away from Mom helps, but…

Shaking my head, I turn and go towards the parking lot. Maybe I’ll just go drink some shitty coffee at Mic’s, scream the emotions out. Probably going to make some shitty art tonight, that’ll help for sure.

And I just need to ignore the aching in my chest.

Oh fucking hell, is this another body?

Is it going to be a common trend for me to find bodies while on the job? If so I’m going to need more...personal test tubes. I look around, spotting nobody. Fuck it, might as well. I back up to my equipment, grabbing one of the “spare” test tubes I keep on hand. In reality it’s for more, well, opportune moments like this.

I need to back up my college work somehow, right?

I’m quick to grab some of the dirt that’s furthest away from the body. I stare at it for a moment, guessing that it’s been in this spot for at least six months. A guess, of course, I’m no expert. I desperately want to study it more, but I can’t. Pocketing the tube, I back up and make yet another call.

I just hope nobody saw me.

I’m having the dream again.

Rocco sits across from me at one of the many coffee tables my grandparents owned in one of multiple sitting rooms. We’re on the floor, playing cards sprawled out in front of us. Probably UNO, not that the memory would serve me well. He’s got that smile on his face, and I can feel my heart sinking.

“Hey kid, what’s up?”

“Oh, same old…”

“College done?”

“Yeah, moved out to LA.”

“...didn’t wanna be by your mom?”

“….I couldn’t take it anymore. Being there.”

“Come on kiddo, you know she loves you.”

“And she loved you.” My voice breaks a little as I stare at him. His face falters for a second as he glances at me. “I know she blames herself for what happened. Over heard her talking to Dad once.”

“And why does she blame herself?”

“I know she asked you to come pick me up from school, surprise me. I was having one of my days after, after…”

“The diagnosis.”

“Yeah, that. She knew that you getting me would just make my whole day so much better. So she asked you, and you were coming..”

“And the guy side swiped me.” He pauses, looking me over. “You don’t blame her, do you?”

“Never.”

“Then who do you blame?” I don’t want to answer, feeling like I can’t breath despite it being a dream. “Anna, darling, who do you blame?”

“Me, I blame me.” The tears start to roll down my face, “If only I’d been normal, I wouldn’t have had one of those days, you wouldn’t have to come get me!”

“Anna, hey, hey.” He reaches out, drying my face with his hand, “It’s not your fault, that guy would have hit anybody coming his way. The way the universe shook that shit out isn’t your fault, okay?”

He gives me that smile, and all I can do is nod as I feel like a scared nine year old again. Grabbing a tissue from the box on the table, he cleans me up, humming softly. Soft, knowing, loving. Like the piece of my soul that was severed from me that day.

“Love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Roc.”

And with that, I wake up.

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Question (Assasination Classroom)

I get knocked down like this every time/Your scathing, serious voice cuts me/Thousands, tens of thousands of times I’ve given form to my feelings/Driven them in, thrown them in— but all you do is run away/What on earth did I ever know about you anyway?/Why is it that you’re so close and yet so far away?

"Augh firstly the context of this being the 3rd op for assclass. the tone shift compared to the first two openings. even just the instrumentation makes me cry. KOROSENSEI. also secondly, the lyrics touching on feeling so strongly about someone who never seems to acknowledge you. it makes you question why you even felt this way in the first place. why are they so distant? why won’t they acknowledge what you’ve done? what you’ve said? while the phrasing can sorta seem like it leans romantic, it’s really not about that at all, shown by the relationships that flash by during the question questions. irina and karasuma, the gods of death— prodigy and master, asano jr and asano sr. then korosensei standing in the zebra grass field where he tells his past followed by everything replaying and the faces of his students flashing by. all so close and yet so far away, did i ever know anything about you? i like how question, question, is phrased as if a reporter asking a question at a press release, or a student asking a question in class. i’m insane"

Anatomy of a Car Crash (Too Small the Limelight)

In ink, we'll write a tragedy/with players star-crossed and you'll read/about it late at night, and cry yourself to sleep/in fiction, lies push conflict/but in real life all they push are people to the edge/a teeter on the ledge forcing myself to stop there but the bridge of this song makes me insane and then it flows so well into the last chorus and and and

not only is it a song about some nonspecific great tragedy, and it feels like it was tailored exactly to my tastes (seriously everything from the instrumental to the vocals to the lyrics is just PERFECT to me) but also it is SO OBSCURE. NOBODY ELSE KNOWS ABOUT IT. It was made by a (from what i can tell then relatively popular, but now Pretty Obscure) furry musician over a decade ago and im like. this guys most dedicated fan. Its not on any streaming services or even bandcamp i had to go digging through the internet to find a download link to the album its on. The lyrics arent anywhere so i had to try to transcribe them myself. but this song is SO GOOD and i. hrgrhrgr. song that makes me explode. and oc havers take heed because this song is so blorbo-able I guarantee i will be the only person to submit this song (unless one of my friends does or something) but im asking so politely. this song and the guy who made it HIGHLY deserve more recognition

[acacia-may]

From the excerpt ask game, could you answer 15, 16, and 17? 💖

Aww thank you so much, Erika! I'd love to answer your questions and share some excerpts as part of the ask game! 🥰

15. An excerpt from an old piece that I like

After reading your awesome Fairy Tail thoughts (thank you again for sharing those by the way!), I wanted to choose an excerpt from one of my Fairy Tail fics for you. I don't have any Jerza, but I do have some Mystwalker (Edo Jerza) and hope that'll do 😅 This excerpt is from "More Than My Life" which was my very first Fairy Tail fanfiction and is over a year old (so I'd consider it an old piece, especially since I never really talk about it) ^^

"I’ve failed in my duty to protect you, Your Majesty.”  Erza Knightwalker hung her head but could hear King Jellal hum thoughtfully. “I suppose that is one way of looking at it.”  “With all due respect, Your Majesty, what other way is there?” she questioned, glancing up at him again with a slight tilt of her head.  The corners of his mouth twitched just barely with that thoughtful, almost imperceptible smile she had come to recognize after years as his most trusted bodyguard. In many ways it seemed saved only for her and those moments when she was far more frank with him than a servant should be with their king. “That I succeeded in my duty to protect you.”  “Your Majesty, if you are the one protecting me, I have no right to call myself your bodyguard. It is almost nonsensical. When your subjects learn I have allowed you to be injured in my place, they will insist I be stripped of my rank of Captain in your Royal Army and perhaps even imprisoned or banished for treason.”  As something almost affectionate passed over his eyes, King Jellal tilted his head. “I think they will understand.”   “Your Majesty, your people are not as forgiving as you.” Erza sighed. “Though they are good people, they are also reasonable ones. They will never understand why their king would risk his life to protect his bodyguard.”  “Perhaps,” King Jellal admitted quietly; however, his expression softened. “But I can only hope they will understand why their king would risk his life to protect the woman he loves.”  

16. An excerpt from a recent piece i want to brag about

You are too kind to me, Erika! I feel bad I don't have any recent pieces from our shared fandoms, but if you will indulge me, I would love to ramble about "Under The Weather," to you specifically because this relationship is my "finding love again when it didn't seem possible" oc x cc pairing (ala your Nacsele, and you know how I passionately I feel about that kind of love story). Again, I apologize for choosing an excerpt from a fandom you're not in, but I just wrote this story for my birthday back in February and am so proud of it and this scene in particular because I think it means my romance writing is getting better...maybe? (I mean it's still one of those, "wow I can't believe I wrote this" things and they'd both swear they're just friends here...so it's ambiguously romantic(?) (I guess?) but it's an extremely slow burn so I feel like it's appropriate to be subtle). Anyways, I hope you'd have an appreciation for the vibes at least, and I chose from a portion of the story with no specific spoilers for OMORI or anything. ^^

“Lorraine has nothing but nice things to say about you,” he admitted with a slight smile. “She’s always telling me how smart, driven, and beautiful you are. How you’re strong and honest but so kind, so much softer than you want people to know. She says you’d make a great girlfriend.” Hero blushed. That last part had just slipped out—he probably wouldn’t have said it, if he wasn’t so feverish, but Zoey just laughed. “My sister said that to you?” She sighed, rolling her eyes somewhat affectionately but the look in them was genuinely guilty. “Sorry. I’ll talk to her.” As he coughed, Hero shook his head. “No, it’s…it’s okay. She’s right…” His voice trailed, distant and breathy, but he couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth, “You are all of those things, and if you did ever want to date someone, that person would be very lucky…” “Not nearly as lucky as the person who gets your heart, Mr. Prince.” Even though Hero was sure she was only teasing him, his face flushed anyway—burning to the tips of his ears. He pursed his lips together, then stared down at his hands on the duvet. “It’s pretty broken…I’m not sure it’s much of a prize anymore,” he mumbled, trying his best to play along despite the sadness that crept into his words. He bit his lip, but he felt her warm, gentle hand reach out to take his. He couldn’t look at her face, but he felt her squeeze his hand, heard her voice—quiet but sincere. “I don’t think that’s true.” As he took a long, shallow breath, Hero shivered, but he wasn’t sure it was from the fever.

17. An excerpt from an unpublished WIP

This is an excerpt from "Something...Happened..." which is a Black Clover WIP I never finished. Noelle is the POV character, and the story takes place when the Black Bulls are combing through Gordon's observation diaries trying to find any information that might help Asta when he is put on trial after the Elf Arc only for silly shenanigans to ensue. It was fun to write, but I think I got distracted by other projects before I finished it...😅 Here's a snippet though ^^

Noelle began to skim looking for anything interesting but it was just the same old, same old. Shopping. Visiting with the vendors. Nothing new or exciting and certainly nothing that is remotely relevant to Asta. After about 4 more pages at the market, Gordon finally returned back to the Hideout. When I returned from the market with our groceries, Vanessa was busy setting the table. Captain Yami decided that we were going to have a special dinner to celebrate our very first mission where we caused no accidental casualties and didn’t earn a negative star. Noelle paused. So they were earning negative stars even back then, huh? No wonder the squad was in such bad shape when she had joined. Captain Yami bought some nice bottles of wine for the occasion, and he is even going to let Finral have some. Captain Yami said that since Finral recently turned eighteen, he should be responsible enough to drink in moderation. Vanessa is particularly curious since she wasn’t allowed to drink in the Forest of Witches, even though she says Her Majesty the Queen of Witches is very fond of red wine. She says she is very excited to finally get to have some. Noelle snorted. She bet she was—considering how fond she was of drinking these days. It was almost comforting somehow to see that her squad mates hadn’t changed much over the years. She had almost expected them to be a little bit different since she was given such an old observation diary. But no, Gordon was still awkward. Vanessa was still friendly. Finral was still a flirt, and Captain Yami still didn’t put up with anyone’s nonsense. It didn’t make for as interesting reading as one would think though. We all sat down for dinner—was the last sentence on this page, but when Noelle turned to the next her brow furrowed. This couldn’t be right… I managed to trap the goat in the bathroom. Then, I gently tied a rope around its collar and led it down to the basement where Captain Yami keeps his magical beasts. The goat seemed scared but there was another cage down there that would keep her safe. Noelle blinked. What? She flipped back to the previous page. Boring dinner. She flipped forward. Goat drama. It didn’t make sense—at least until she noticed the remnants of some pages that appeared to be ripped out.

[lavoixhumaine]

Before anything else—I don’t know if you will see this but I want to thank everyone who left the kindest and most supportive messages and replies. Thank you sincerely from the bottom of my heart.

To @rainedamodred and @bestbuddybobby — I wouldn’t have made it through without you both.

Now…

I’ve been contemplating what to write here for the last twelve hours.

When I say the past two weeks have been the most difficult in my entire life, that is not an exaggeration. It’s been…hell, honestly.

My husband was diagnosed with an arrhythmia over two years ago. Didn’t sound good but it wasn’t uncommon, but he was a special case, as we were told because on top of being unnaturally tall for our people, he apparently also had an unnaturally large heart…literally. We were presented with options that we were told we could delay due to the pandemic and our concerns regarding safety in authorizing a rather complicated operation during what felt like a perilous time…

The pandemic didn’t really end but it eased. We went in for a checkup. They said it was okay so far as long as he wasn’t feeling any different. He said he was fine. I believed him.

So we thought we had time. We thought this year we could get back on track after the hellacious last couple of years. Get back to what passed for normal, start traveling again, see old friends, revisit our favorite places, hit up our old haunts…

We scheduled him for surgery the beginning of next year…but I suppose fate had other plans.

My husband flatlined twice in the last couple of weeks. He was brought back both times but not without cost. They tried different medications. There were heavy discussions on what options were available. The idea of a heart transplant was offered but waiting for a new heart meant…well, you have some idea, yes? There was no way he could travel for treatment. His heart was going insane…hitting over 200 beats per minute, erratically bouncing from 90 to 145 in a blink…it was a mess.

I coped by not coping…I ended up breaking so many things in our home…a table, a glass wall and whatever I could get my hands on. The floors looked like they were littered with glittering diamonds by the time I was through…so much glass everywhere. It was the only way I could pull myself back together and return to the hospital without falling apart and screaming at someone.

And the goddamn crying…it came and went and I kept waiting to run out of tears but I never did.

I had my mothers and aunts calling from all over in different timezones and at first, I answered but then I would cry more because they cared and they kept offering…kindness and comfort. They wanted to come and be there but I couldn’t imagine keeping up a facade to yet another group of people when I’m busy trying not to fall apart and be The Wife.

And listening to them trying to give me comfort…somehow that was enough to trigger disgusting crying jags that helped nobody and just made a mess out of me. I stopped taking calls. I couldn’t keep my shit together when I kept falling apart at the sound of a caring voice.

For the first time in almost ten years, I was alone. In all the time I’ve been with my husband, I have never been alone…that broke something inside me.

He’s the calm voice, he’s the adult in the room, he makes the decisions, he is the one person that can talk me down from whatever insane cliff I’ve driven myself to…and suddenly, there was just silence.

It reached a point where I was the only one left to make decisions because he couldn’t anymore…his doctors all agreed the best option was to perform a cardiac ablation and implant a device that would be connected to his heart—a defibrillator with a pacemaker backing.

At that point, I was too exhausted mentally, emotionally and psychologically…I said yes to whatever they felt was best. They let me pick and choose off a menu which piece of technology to put next to his heart like I was in an Apple launch event. It was all so…fucking surreal.

Wasn’t it only a few days ago we were celebrating his birthday? He’s only fucking forty-one.

Between the harsh reality that I might lose my husband and the unrelenting conflicts that kept intruding upon an already terrible situation by way of his family…I was barely keeping myself together. I couldn’t even go home anymore and break things…I was that close to breaking things in the hospital but then how would that look if word got out?

I was too scared to go home…too scared I’ll leave and he would slip away.

It’s just the kind of thing he would do…leave without telling because he thinks that would hurt me less. Fuck, sometimes he’s also a dumbass but he is my dumbass, okay?

After I was able to make a decision that would alter his life while hopefully saving it…within twenty-four hours, the device was flown in as well as the specialist that would perform the surgery. Almost two weeks of agony and suddenly, an OR was booked, the doctors were lining up and introducing themselves, discussing their roles in the operation, explaining how it was all going to go down, the technician was making a presentation on how the device would save him on a daily basis while I was too punch drunk to process the information, the anesthesiologist was talking about how they expected things to go, critical care was throwing in his two cents, the cardiologist was trying to reassure me that he would be okay within twenty-four hours after the procedure and he will be able to go home just like that…

It happened so fast, it left my head spinning.

He’s home now. It’s not a fun experience and recovery will take time, but he’s alive and that’s really all that fucking matters.

Right now, I’m dealing with residual bullshit with his family…his sister who is a neurotic passive aggressive piece of work and his mother who seems to have no problem showing him how much she hates him right now…his father continues to be the kindest of them.

I loved and adored these people last month.

One of my aunts said I should not stew in my anger and hold resentment in my heart…that I should give all my negative feelings to God and ask Him to help me continue to love and honor them as I have been doing from the beginning. Ask God to help me keep my love for them so I will not be clouded and remember they are my family…

I told her to call me again next week and try again.

Right now, I just want to get my house back in order and help my husband with his recovery. Get our lives back to where it should be. Find some kind of normal that works for this new us.

I’m trying to channel my rage into more useful outlets outside of that and do something good because that seems like a much better idea than giving in to the urge to commit arson. I am trying so hard not to acknowledge the rage that I am not quite ready to let go of…

I stopped breaking things—I think I’m on the right track.

I keep reminding myself…

He’s alive. He’s not dead. He’s here. He’s breathing. He’s alive. He’s speaking. He’s right here. He’s alive. He’s here. He’s right here.

He’s alive.

And the silence has gone.

[claires-thoughts-onthe-mundane]

Today, Claire’s Thoughts are on…

Kpop (specifically the ridiculousness people making fun of others for liking it)

I admit that before I got into any groups myself, I didn’t see the appeal in listening to K-pop. It’s music that you can’t understand unless you hear the music, so why listen to it unless you’re gonna be reading the lyrical translations every single time?

Granted, I indulged in a little bit of Butter and Dynamite by BTS every now and again, sometimes if I really had nothing else I felt like listening to I might’ve let How You Like That by Blackpink play in the background while I did something else. But I didn’t see why anyone would be a full-blown fan. (Note: I personally never bullied or made fun of people. Just plain didn’t see the point.)

Then one of my best friends and I had a sleepover at her house. At one point we were bored and decided to watch some music videos of bands we liked. She asked me if I liked K-pop and I kinda awkwardly grimaced and said I don’t really listen to it outside of the aforementioned songs. She asked me to just try listening to one song from a different group, and she put on the MV for CASE 143 by Stray Kids. Long story short: I’m now a fan of Stray Kids, Enhypen, P1Harmony, and several other groups that I didn’t even know existed pre-sleepover.

Of course, getting into these groups meant I wanted to consume as much media around them as possible. And with all good, there must be bad.

While scrolling through various edits and funny clips of some of my favorite idols, I repeatedly came across videos of antis* making fun of kpop fans for liking the music. It was usually the same stuff over and over — “you don’t even understand them”, “I can’t even tell them apart”, “they all sound the same”, etc. etc. *(Anti = anti-fan, a hater)

As mentioned before, at one point I, too, didn’t see the point. Still, I kept this opinion mostly to myself and never once did I laugh or mock people who did like it. But these antis were being genuinely hateful. They would insult the way idols looked, sounded, dressed, even going as far to say some shouldn’t be alive or shouldn’t be in the groups they earned their spot in**. (**#riizeis7)

But it wasn’t idols that were the focal point of this straight-up cyberbullying. It was the fans of said idols. Antis would go out of their way to harass and make fun of the fans, many often making entirely new accounts solely dedicated to making fun of the fans. Many victims of the cyberbullying were driven off of social media after being malevolently bullied, harassed, stalked, and even doxxed. I’ve heard rumors of some fans being driven to… worse fates, but I’m unsure if any of those rumors are true as of December 15, 2024.

Whether those rumors are true or not, I find myself asking “what’s the point?” Except this time, instead of asking it about K-pop itself, I’m asking it about bullying others because of liking it. What good does it do? Does them listening to K-pop even affect you? Does bullying the idols and their fans make you feel better about yourself somehow?

Really the answers to these questions are as follows: no good, no, and most likely not.

All this to say I cannot fathom why people see the need to hate others simply for liking a kind of media that they don’t like. It’s childish and will get nobody anywhere in life.

To quote James A. Janisse for the second time on this account, Be Good People.

[leofaulknerarchive]

Limbo Project Name: Dusk Upload date: Jan 28, 2012

Description: “This was quite hastily written and recorded but I hope you enjoy it all the same. If you don’t, that’s fine but please don’t unsubscribe because I really want to hit 200 subscribers, i.e. I am a superficial consumer whore.

Lyrics:So it’s time to believe in a miracle If you’ve got the time left to kill This has to be, the one hundred and twenty first Time that I’ve driven past your house today

I’ve got pictures of places you’ve been to I’ve got plans for the places you’ll go I’m uncharismatic enough to presume that you’re Not interested in me anymore

Someone in limbo wont let me forget you Someone in heaven wont open the gate Something is telling me I should go home And admit to myself that for once I’m too late

You can tell from the clothes that I’m wearing That I’ve been here for days, I’m not sure I hide from the rain in the library reading up How to attain what will never be yours

You’ve left all the flowers I sent you Withering outside your door But I’ll follow you far past the sky or the grave Cause my life’s a waste if I spend it without you

I’ve rung on your doorbell enough times To call down an angel to earth I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done only Please let me in Please let me in Please let me in Cause I’m stuck in Limbo”

Download (Audio)

#2012#description#Dusk#lyrics#original#vocals