#mentally i am writing

[quixoticmoth]

Missing Someone

(A small scene for my work Railway Ronin from the perspective of Mikazuki, one of the two main characters.)

Above the lake I watched the green-hued moon; impending as it was and close to the earth, and around my feet I felt warm caresses as it pulled the tides higher to meet me. My shoes were gone, and I hadn’t any idea of when I shed them. I think at some point I shed my gloves; I only realized as my fingers dug into silky, water-loosened sand. And when I took a deep breath of humid air, I found that I shed my mask at some point as well. It was me, here, bare of all identities.

Content at the foot of the celestial throne, I was a mere visitor to the god of the lake who lived here and whispered to me from the distant shore. Not in words she whispered, but in the chimes that hung from her shrine. They played out across the water, riding the ripples in concentric circles that crossed the ones which emanated from me in kind. The geometry was beautiful. I wondered the sound of my own music and hoped she heard this song of mine. 

But as I rested here at water’s edge, the song grew sour. Her chimes responded to mine with an indignant harshness that struck my ears. What had I said? What had I done to upset her? I couldn’t explain myself, not without my face or name… No, not that I couldn’t, but she didn’t listen. The once artistic ripples rose to roaring waves that roped me in. As a wave of anger swelled up inside, I struggled! 

The sky and moon were lost to me, and the fabric of the lake that surrounded me held my arms fast. I couldn’t stand to listen to the music anymore lest I scream and fill my lungs with cotton and feathers and silks! Then, freeing a heavy arm, I reached for the phone on my nightstand, sliding a thumb to hang up the call. The offending music was all at once gone, and the lake along with it.

 All that was left was me, the darkness, and the phone lain next to my shoulder drowning among the sheets.

And the irritating song played again. So I squinted against the irritating light. The caller ID read the name of my most irritating half. And tempting as it was to hang up again, I hadn’t enough mind to question what this early morning call was for.

���Good morning,” I said, and since I was fresh from sleep, my voice sounded softer and higher than I intended. I cleared my throat of day’s-first-words.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” he said. I judged he was loud enough that I could set the phone on the pillow and still hear just fine. I could even close my eyes. “Sounds like you slept well.” 

Not really.

“Mikazuki?” he asked. I had been lulling once more, and never actually said what I meant to aloud.

“Sorry, I was dozing off,” I said. I overcompensated for the lithe voice before and now came across husked. Oh, absolutely not that either. 

Kyle's laugh vibrated close to the microphone. “Have any good dreams?”

I thought of them, but only found myself seeing vague shapes of branches and the feeling of going. I went somewhere; somewhere important to me. There was someone there, but I couldn’t remember who. It was such a grief to only find the shell of a dream. So I hummed and moved past the question. “What time is it?”

“Mmm… half past 3?” Whether that was in my time or his wasn't clear. There was a tint of the anger from my waking moments soaking into the edges of my consciousness. “I just got home,” he continued, ”wanted to see how my favorite person in the world is doing.”

So it was this sort of day, was it? It’s too early to play, but play I did. “Is that me?” I said, not answering the question.

“Of course!"

I hummed again, wishing to fall back to sleep. “You’re home early, aren’t you?” “We wrapped the meeting up early,” he said. “The guest speaker canceled, you know how it is.” 

“I do,” and not wishing to talk about work upon waking, “Have you thought about dinner yet?” “I haven’t even had lunch yet.” “Kyle…”

“I’ll grab something now, don’t worry.” “Thank you,” When I said these things, I imagined myself a busy but beloved wife out of a sweet American soap. Not a romance I think I particularly fit, but a romance nonetheless. With my eyes shut, the scene transformed, colors re-assigned, the static overlay of a TV. Cameras were pointed at us from the periphery of the perfectly arranged kitchen set for a perfectly arranged couple. He went through a few cabinets, rustling packages and pulling boxes of dry snacks onto a counter.

“That’s not a meal,” I said.

“You don’t even know what I grabbed.” He sounded baffled, which uncovered that he was caught.

“I know well enough.”

He put the freeze-dried fruits back. I’ve seen them when I stayed with him; they were his go-to, and I could imagine the specific plums I brought last visit already half empty, but still in the gift packaging.

“Psychic,” he said, getting something from a refrigerator, which then opened with the click and hiss of a vacuum-sealed container.

“You could put them on the salad though.”

“No fucking way.”

I was smiling now, only slightly. He looked around for the studio cameras, but little did he know he was inside the show, and all he could see was me, hovering behind him, watching over his shoulder.

After this, he turned on video call while he ate, dissipating the illusion I had set up in my tired mind. He acted sad when I wouldn’t turn on mine in turn; however, I figured that he just wanted the consolation that I could only see him because he set up a camera himself, rather than wonder what secret way I knew his actions. Which was fine. I didn’t look at the screen the entire time, and when I did, I squinted with one eye at the bright light composed of the white interior of his suite. It had that American city aesthetic of new-age sterility accented with the painted-over carved woodwork of the home’s heritage. It was not my favorite, but I’m sure my home’s style wasn’t his favorite either. 

As I thought about architecture, we spoke longer about the week since we last saw each other. For a moment, it was pleasant; it felt like catching up with a friend. But that wasn’t what it was supposed to feel like; it was supposed to feel like the yearning of a decade-distorted long-distance love affair.

“You never actually told me how you’ve been,” he said. 

“Lonely as usual,” I said quietly as if to hide it from those who share this home with me. There was a sharp rustling against his phone as he moved to another room. I pulled one of my many pillows close for comfort, accidentally bumping my own phone’s speaker in the same way. 

“Yeah?” “Yeah…” It wasn’t a lie, I was lonely. Met with a lapse, my sleep-wracked mind questioned if I should have even admitted that.

When he spoke again it was uncharacteristically gentle. “I miss you…”

“I hate when you say that.” Now that I shouldn’t have admitted, but I already spoke, and so I continued. “I’m right here, you are talking to me now.”

He was thrown off his grove. I threw off the whole grove of the arrangement. Now I was stripping back the layers of this show one by one-  awake enough to know better but bitter enough not to care.

“You aren’t lonely; you have company even when I am not around. And I know you don’t miss spending time with me, as you always find ways to keep apart. You don’t miss my affection. And we talk often; we are talking right now, and still you say you miss me. So what is it in me that you miss?” He wrung his hands, posture deflated on that sterile white couch. The symmetry of the composed shot was broken as he looked off to the side. I knew what he missed. All that was left was for him to say it.

“I…” He hesitated. Inside I was begging him, now cradling the phone in my hands. Please, just say it. There was no one here but us to hear the confession. “I...” Please... “Well, don’t you miss me too?”

I hung up.

The fire-fanning ringtone that had woke me before sounded yet again, and my heart pounded in my throat and ears. “Yuzuki,” I said and was met with a soothing jingle. “Block Kyle, please.” Her voice responded with a mechanical inflection, affirming that Kyle was blocked. The song did not pick up afterward.

It was crushing- the disparity between the silence in the room and the noise from the emotions and thoughts that wracked me. It felt as though that ringtone was still echoing in my head, over again, because I knew that it should be. How was I supposed to go back to sleep like this?

“Yuzuki?”

“How can I help?”

And maybe it was wrong of me to think that the voice of this virtual assistant made me a degree less lonely than the call of my betrothed. “Let’s do a meditation.”

She affirmed my request again. Not long after, I heard her play the calming sounds of water and wind... and the nostalgic music of distant chimes.

[lgbtlunaverse]

Nothing will dispell the "the curtains were just blue" myth faster than writing something yourself, because the amount of pretentious symbolism i am putting in my silly little fanfics is ridiculous. I mean SO much with these words, literally every single one of them. This fic has twenty five typos and zero correct uses of punctuation but if there's curtains you bet your ass I put thought into what colour they were.

[readwritealldayallnight]

The first time it happened, you were doing your best to not freak out

How? How could this have happened? How could you have let it happen?

He was finally just starting to feel comfortable enough around your flat, secure enough in your relationship together, confident in this love you share, to take his mask off around you

It was such a huge stepping stone to overcome in this new partnership the two of you were still finding your solid footing in, after having fallen head over heels quickly, for him to not just lift the mask above his nose to shyly kiss you, but to pull the entire balaclava off and toss it aside the second he stepped foot through your door without a second thought

And so how in the name of anything that is good in this world, did you manage to shrink his beloved mask in the dryer?

You hadn’t even known the damn thing was in your hamper until you had already washed it with the rest of your laundry, tossed in the dryer and had pulled the shrunken item out of the pile it had somehow ended up in during his usual weekend sleepover

You were doing your best to not lose your mind, unable to believe you had gone and basically ruined something that was so important to him, borderline sacred when it came to his identity and privacy, the very thing people knew him for, and you had shrunk it to the point it was unwearable

Knowing how important honesty was to him, and simply out of ideas on how to fix this or avoid it any longer, you had come clean to Simon, presenting him with the almost comically small version of his trademark mask, already prepared with offers of buying him a new one, and stitching anything he wanted onto it for him, you could even hide a little heart on the inside of the mask just for the two of you to know it was there, anything to tug at his heart strings and get him to forgive you

Unbeknownst to you however, Simon had dozens of those plain black balaclavas, and hadn’t blinked twice when he tossed his mask into your laundry basket along with all the other clothes he’d taken off of you and himself that same night-

And so finally, by about the hundredth time you found one of Simon’s mask in your laundry, you’d tell him to either leave his stinky stuff out of your hamper, or risk another mask lost to your flat’s in-unit dryer, a sacrifice he seemed always more than ready and willing to take when it meant that that same shitty dryer was in your shared flat, your home together

[ramblingmindofrayyan]

Sometimes it’s really lonely being me.

[biblically-accurate-dca]

painting test with a limited color palette

here's the moon equivalent!

[fatedroses]

Elidibus informing Emet of a pivot in their plans in the most messed up way he can manage.

[syn4k]

[quinseparable]

I know its not a lot for most writers, but y'all. I wrote the first 2200 words for an original story of mine. I haven't written much of anything (outside of roleplaying) in like 15 years. I could cry. I miss this so damn much.

[major-alenko]

I love Kaidan Alenko a lot, lol. Every single thing about him, I love so much.

He knows exactly who he is and is comfortable with himself; he doesn't "need fixing" and tells Shepard that outright.

He's got a steadfast sense of morality and won't compromise his beliefs for anyone, not even his partner. He apologizes after Horizon but he won't say he was wrong. (And he knows he wasn't.)

He was a skilled and decorated officer even before joining the Normandy. He's hard-working, driven, and intelligent. His promotions feel earned. He outranks Shepard by ME3 because he's a damn good soldier.

His biotics set him apart, and throughout the trilogy, he becomes more assured of himself and confident in his abilities.

He goes from saying stuff like "I may as well get a paycheck for (being biotic)" to mentoring other biotics in the military and running his own special forces squads.

From holding back because he's afraid of hurting someone to learning to reave and bragging about it, embracing his biotics as something good. Something to be proud of— because they are.

Even after everything he’s been through, he’s not bitter. He’s not jaded. Underneath it all, he’s still the kid who read books about the hero going to space to prove himself worthy of the person he loves (or, you know, for justice.) He’s still a romantic.

He left BAaT feeling like he screwed everything up and after taking some time, rejoined the Alliance to serve because he wanted to make a difference. And he does. He has such a positive impact on everyone around him.

I love him. He’s an incredibly strong, kind, honest, and brave character. 💙

[wasabi-gumdrop]

oh

i am. unwell.

[restinsodaroni]

Random drawings from various comics that I have in the works. Thats not all of them tbh (・・;)ゞ

Also been writing for my fics too! ( not to mention I also draw stuff for said fics lol) so yeah I'm going to be pretty darn busy hahaha

[quixoticmoth]

The Oracle and One's seers are relieved to return with their child of prophecy, even if the alien Illuminate is scarred and broken from its time as an intergalactic renegade. The state of being scarred and broken was not of concern the first time they abducted it from its forest planet- not until it exposed its fiery temperament. But they have devised ways of containing (and utilizing) such a strong will since then.

[mumblesplash]

Hi there!!! Thanks for making the tetris poll and a the tetris sexy(wo)men. I'm obsessed. Here's some O/Z for your trouble!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61079983

OH MY GOD??????

[s3rrrpentine]

ghost!ghost wip

[otome-dissection]

Idk man I just think that mizu/ena5 and its progression was really beautiful actually. I just think that the release of the ena5 song was also really beautiful and kind of the nail in the coffin for me and I haven't been able to get the event(s) out of my head all week and that I kind of want to talk about it, actually.

It's about being hurt so deeply and continuously that any kindness that could be offered to you manages to feel like a sin, that it makes you crumble and shatter but for all the wrong reasons, not because of the newfound safety, not out of relief, but something worse and more deeply ingrained in you than kindness ever was. It's about carefully measuring the distance at which you keep others away from yourself, to ensure that it never happens again ("To save yourself the trouble", if that makes it easier).

It's about realizing that the people you've been spending all this time with are drifting closer, that they just might bump up against the unsightly parts of yourself that you've tried to keep locked away, it's about turning around and sprinting at full speed and slamming the door shut and holding onto the handle behind you to stop it from turning, because you're as frightened of the possibility of another wound being inflicted on you as you are of the possibility that kinder, gentler hands will reach out and smooth over the exposed scar. It's about hating eyes that judge and silently condemn you as much as you hate eyes that simply see you and take all of you in without scrutiny, because no matter what they're looking and they're looking at you and they know that your hand's on that door handle and they know that you're hiding something because, as much as you try to keep it shut, they've seen through the crack that you foolishly left open.

(The prominence of eyes in Bake no Hana, specifically eyes looking and searching, and finally landing on you, the viewer, Mizuki, is so fucking. Visceral in my opinion. Every character in the MV stares at the viewer in a deadpan, almost judging way. Even though Mizuki knows deep down that niigo won't really hate them, won't judge them, she just can't stand their kindness either; any gaze directed at her is a loss, another prick in their skin. It screams "don't look at me" while making sure that you know, with horrific certainty, that they're looking for you, that you're being watched. You can't go outside, can't leave your room, because they're searching for you, and while that should be reassuring, to you it's anything but).

It's about not wanting to be dissected, whether it's with hands that want to pull your organs apart or stitch them back together because no matter what they're there, and they're getting frighteningly close to your heart. It's about blinding yourself and covering your eyes to it all because seeing means exposure and exposure means they're taking something from you and you can't do anything about it, much less take it all back, much less have a say in the matter. Everyone's just taking and taking and taking and you wish you could just be alone. You wish everyone would just disappear and you could live in a world all to yourself, for only yourself (but is that really what you want?).

It's about the way that, near the beginning of the Yoka ni Mitoreta MV, Mizuki and her loneliness is represented as a dark, splotchy stain in the shadows. No colors, no patterns, no way to clean it or wash it all away, just raw ugliness marring a blank canvas. It's about the way that Ena reaches out to it anyway, the way she startles when the glass shatters just when she finally starts reaching forward, the way that the rest of the MV/song represents her searching for and reaching only further out to Mizuki, even if the broken shards of glass will only cut her fingers, potentially leaving scars.

It's about how, in every way, subtly, directly, consciously, and subconsciously, Ena shows that she fucking cares.

It's about the way that Ena lets Mizuki have autonomy, despite the situation being so horribly out of their control. And it's such a delicate thing: If she really wants to, Mizuki can take the opportunity to just run away, keep running forever, repeat the cycle over and over, and maybe she'll just destroy herself with it again, but it can't be denied that it's something important to them, something she can't quite live without just yet, their means of survival. Mizuki's autonomy is their identity, it's her tailoring her own clothes and choosing her own ribbons and styling her own hair the way she does. Ena letting them have that is as much about trust as it is about understanding that Mizuki of all people should have this right, when control was something stripped from her throughout so much of her life. She couldn't control how she was born, how people look at her or why, can't control what they think of her; lacking control has only left Mizuki vulnerable to the cruelties of others, has only caused them to suffer, which is why it's so important that it's given to them now.

She had the control to make the choice to see niigo's welcoming love and run away instead of staying, and she has the control to make the choice now whether she wants to keep things the way they are or take a step forward to be at their side again. She has every right to have it, and I think the fact that Ena realizes and respects that, even if it's subconsciously, is really beautiful (there is an entire fucking Verse about this in the new song and just. God Look at this. It's so caring, unconditional, and for fucking What. I think there is something to be said about how much Ena is willing to put aside for Mizuki, and maybe deep down it isn't healthy, but for now I'm just kind of in awe)

It's about how insanely patient Ena has been this whole time. Mizuki says that she basically lied to Ena's face about telling her their secret, even after Ena said with such conviction that she would wait for Mizuki as long as it takes, and Ena is just kept waiting and waiting and worrying like this seemingly indefinitely. It's about how Mizuki danced around it, avoided it, kept the distance, straight up ran when she was finally pushed, but Ena still chased anyway when she saw that she couldn't wait anymore, kept chasing just enough to intervene and get a straight answer out of Mizuki when she really needed to, but still leaving her enough space to leave if that was truly what she wanted. It's about how relieved Ena is the moment that Mizuki finally says outright how much they want to be with her and niigo, how much she wants to try, how much more light Ena's voice sounds when she grabs her hand, relieved, the way that the relief she feels can be felt through the music, throughout the entirety of Yoka ni Mitoreta, the way that warm colors always follow her when she chases after Mizuki, just to hold onto her and stop her from running away completely.

It's about how that careful combination of Ena's directness, Ena's persistence, Ena's warmth, her patience, her bluntness about her feelings, the way she chases and holds on but not too tight and her regard for how unsafe and exposed Mizuki feels actually works and breaks it all down. It's about how she really did reach through to Mizuki, despite the thorns and broken glass shards and nearly-unfulfilled promises, the way that Mizuki did finally let her turn the door handle and step through to see what she'd been hiding all this time, the way that Mizuki's hand, limp, when Ena first grabs onto it, shifts to hold hers back as they cry in the face of Ena's gentleness.

Despite how harsh Mizu/Ena5, and even Ena herself as a character can be (or at least was in the very beginning of pjsk), everything is somehow gentle and warm in the end, blindingly so. And you know what, I think that's beautiful. And what's even more beautiful than that is how Mizuki allows themself to crumble and shatter under that kindness, that warm light, but this time, finally, out of relief.

On a final note, I just want to say that I also appreciate how all that didn't have to solve everything. The scars haven't disappeared, haven't gone away, and Mizuki knows that their desire to run hasn't gone away forever, and maybe it never truly will. But for now they've calmed it, at least a little. She's learning to allow herself to be seen, learning that when someone's fingertips brush over their scars the way Ena's did that it's only out of care, and that maybe taking in that care and allowing herself to feel kindness and safety is okay. They're safe, for now, somehow. They're learning. They're trying. And I think that's cool :)

[andyling]

THEY MIGHT BE DOOMED BY THE NARRATIVE BUT GODDAMMIT THEY FOUND HAPPINESS WITH EACH OTHER AND CHOSE TO ENJOY THEIR TIME TOGETHER DESPITE THE INEVITABLE TRAGEDY AND THAT IS WHY I LOVE THEM