#one thing about me is that i genuinely think poetry can save your life a little

[karlkapri]

do you ever read a poem and just go. everyone in the world deserves to read this. because i just read a poem and like. everyone in the world should read this.

[blood-teeth]

05.19.23

howdy everyone! it's been a long time since i've done one of these. also this is going to be a long post, so if you're like "i'm not reading allthat but stay safe tho" im sorry in advance.

i was going to wait until the two year anniversary of TMITAWH to post this, but i've been getting more and more asks about the status of this game, why it's on lockdown, when it's coming back, etc. largely, i've been dodging these questions or answering them with a vague "oh, i'm working on it!" which is very much the truth. just, not the entirety of it.

the truth is this: the story is done.

the real truth is this:

actually, before i get into that, i wanted to mention something else. i know i've waxed poetry over and over again and maybe it's getting annoying to hear it - so i'm very sorry - but it really is important to me to mention this because it's the motivation and the life-force behind everything that i do on this blog. i wanted to say thank you. i remember typing up the intro post to TMITAWH after getting the second COVID shot, delirious, but bolstered by a fever that had rendered me brave. i've been writing this story since 2019, i had the vision, the characters, the aesthetics and the understanding and i wanted to desperately to share. i never expected the level of support and love from so many of you. i've never had people genuinely vested in my worlds or characters. i remember getting the first comment about the prologue and slamming my computer shut and freaking out. i cried when i got my first ask telling me how much they'd love it, despite the small amount of content. the fever may have given me the courage to post it, but y'all gave me the courage to continue. and that means more to me than anything means to me in this world. for two whole years!! you've dealt with my wildly out of pocket thoughts, long absences, and have continued to show your willingness to continue the exercise in patience. i dont have people in real life that would do that for me. so thank you, thank you for being here, thank you for caring, thank you for the sweet comments. i wasn't lying when i said that i keep most asks unanswered because i go back and read them, hold the words close to my chest, and convince myself that i can do what i want to do when it comes to storytelling. thank you. forever and always. i know this feels maybe so much like im baring my soul, but i think it's important. TMITAWH saved my life. I mean that in every understanding, with the breadths and depths of my soul. I mean that with all the fibers and cells and atoms that make up me. This story saved my life. it's important to me that you know that in so many ways you all did, too.

so much of the reason i've been sitting on this is honestly mostly fear. it's choking me now as i write this. i'm scared of y'alls reaction, i'm scared of potentially disappointing anyone, and i'm scared of people just being overall pissed off. which i would get! this is not why the majority of you are following me. i'm asking for grace, for understanding, for mercy.

so, the real truth is this:

Tell Me If There's A Way Home is complete. there's a beginning, of sort, a middle, an end. but, it is not complete in the way you might expect an IF to be complete.

this is, simply, because Tell Me If There's A Way Home has been re-written and re-formatted into a novel.

over this past year, i was struggling with the story. things had along the way stopped making sense. this WAS the story i wanted to tell, i knew what had to happen in order to get the whole point of it across. is it better to get back what you've lost, what does it look like when you do get it back? but there was something that wasn't working. i could force the scenes, have The Traveler spend time with Cain in his little house talking about his past, or provide the option to explore the peaks of a mountain looking for a legend of old. i could do all this. but it was all wrong. the story had become corrupted along the way and the vision of it that i held onto so desperately was fading into obscurity.

so i opened a new word document and just wrote. i wrote for a whole year, and the story unveiled itself to be in the way i believe it was always supposed to. i understand so much more of this story than i did two years ago. sitting at 90k words, book 1 is officially done. it's essentially the same story you all had read, but different somehow. more than it ever could have been in an IF format. there are the characters you love. there's cain. there's silas. alice of course. there's the traveler as *her* own character. and there's the reverie. but the reverie is no longer Ezio/Elena. it's just elena now. its beautiful, gorgeous elena with her quick smile and hemlock eyes and her memories.

what happens now?

i'll be spending the next few months making the book as perfect as i can make it. i've been working through the rough draft - or alpha draft- and then i will ask some people to see if they want to read draft 2, draft 3 , draft 4. however many drafts it takes until i feel as though i can do no more. after this, i'll query agents and pray to god that in the hellscape publishing is in right now that im offered representation. after this, i'll pray to god that an editor likes the book enough to want to work with me on it. after this, i'll pray to god that a publishing house likes the book enough to buy it, put in on shelves. there's going to be a lot of praying to god. a lot of luck. so i think it'll be a while before anybody gets to hold the book in their hands, but god i hope y'all get to. i really hope you get to. more than that. i hope you want to.

after all of this, i'll be working on book 2. i already have the title. i already have the first chapter. i know exactly what happens and how.

i know there's maybe some confusion, so please feel free to send me asks about it. i will happily and gladly answer what i can and discuss it.

i'm so so sorry for the long post. this all felt important to mention and it felt important to be transparent with y'all. this was becoming a secret too hard to keep and i'm glad that i dont have to anymore. i hope you're not mad, disappointed, etc. that would really suck ass. i hope you're excited, maybe. i hope you're curious.

anyway. thank you for getting this far, if you did. thank you. i love you. i'll talk to you soon <3

[thebisexualwreckoning]

Mind analysing your poem a little? 👀

Incredibly long post alert to anyone who plans on reading this

Obligatory transphobes and terfs dni. The following poem is about and written by ‘them gotdamn trannys and queers’ and is about beautiful beautiful t4t sex

i am kissing you. on the mouth.

thank you so much for sending this in i genuinely love talking about my poetry so much muah muah muah!!!

Original poem if anyone wants to read it:

Anyway.

Welcome to Prof A. 's line by line analysis of his poem*. So buckle your seatbelts because this is gonna be loooong ride. Let's get started!

*Disclaimer: you might interpret some of these lines differently then i do and that is perfectly alright. poetry depends on everyone's own lived experience and that does not make any one interpretation less valid. i might have written the poem, but your interpretations are still just as true.

I'm going to start with inspirations and the title first because i love providing backstory and talking about other poets. Very specifically one poet that inspired me to write this actually. You can skip this part if you just want to know about the technical structures and literary devices and specific meanings behind the poem

The title was originally part of a completely different short story/prose poetry  (i hadn't made up my mind yet) thing i was going to write but then never got around to finishing. but i just so happened to be going through my old writing (always keep a handy little notebook on hand. it has saved my life so many times) and find the little snippet i wrote and go, 'wait i actually like this very much' and decide to reuse it for something else.

but anyway, couple hours later im doing a voice of country thing for my literature class and analysing poetry by indigenous and aboriginal Australian poets. and i come across this little poem called 'a portrait of a genderkweer on fire'  by a certain Ellen van Neerven (who belongs to the Mununjali Yugambeh people of south east Queensland btw) (go check out their poetry it is genuinely life changing) and it sticks with me you know. it really does. poc trans people writing about their lived experiences as poetry? why didn't I, a poc trans person, think about that!

(no seriously, in all my years of writing poetry it for some reason never occured to me to write about my people. so genuinely thank you Ellen for that!)

now i've already got a first line ive been wanting to use, i am feeling extremely queer and angry because of unrelated transphobia a friend faced and i have a mechanical pencil and notebook in hand.

So i start writing.

(Apologies for my awful handwriting. i was writing while pacing and waiting for the bus)

Alright, kiddies. As you can see, most of the poem was taken verbatim with very few changes to the actual word choices behind the poem. (I will be doing a deep dive into the language as well, dont you worry)

The biggest change made actually is the switch from prose poetry to a more traditional stanza poem. i made the decision to do this actually because originally the poem was meant to be much longer and incorporate the original piece i decided to rework this into.

The quote 'sometimes i imagine what heaven is like' was meant to be repeated at the start of different stanzas which would be written in prose form, each detailing a different phase of queer love in secret, from secret night time affairs (this specific poem) to escape and loving loudly (the original thing i wrote). however, it didn't really work the way i wanted it too and i decided this was fine as it was and started to edit and play around with it a bit.

i changed 'sometime i imagine what heaven is like' to 'Do you imagine what heaven looks like?' and made it the title of the poem instead of the first sentence. the poem itself now becomes the narrator's idealised image of what heaven would be like for them. i go a bit more on depth about this in point 3 of Changes to the structure

Changes to the structure

As mentioned, the first change was from prose to stanzas. I'm about to get full on literature student about this so bear with me

Each stanza has one (1) extra line from the previous one in the poem. For ex: stanza 1 has 4 lines, stanza 2 has 5 lines, and stanza 3 has 6 lines. this was a deliberate choice i made. not to be too english teacher about this but it shows the narrator is coming to some sort of a revelation soon. (i wont spoil too much about this tho. for reasons)

ENJAMBMENTS!!! if you don't know what an enjambment is, it refers to a line break that interrupts the flow of a sentence: usually the line usually doesn’t end with punctuation, and the thought continues on the next line. now, i heavily fuck with enjambments in poetry. which is why i was so eager to use them over here. they represent a kind of stream of consciences here rather than structured thought. enjamments also help in rising tension and drawing the reader in deeper, making them want to continue reading to find out what happens next.

syntax: now the poem is actually meant to be wish fulfilment of sorts for the narrator, where they imagine all the things they wish they could do with their lover. that's why its not written in present tense using sentences like 'the moon shines' or 'the bedsheet are sweaty...'. The narrator is basically telling the moon to shine through his windows and the bedsheets to be stained and his lover to run a finger down his spine. we don't actually have anything written in present tense till 'She holds me close...'

the random spaced out/missing words a.k.a SYNTAX 2.0! because yes. there are certain words missing. ive intentionally left a space between 'left' and 'tramp' and between 'Boy' and 'fuchsia'. there is also a missing word before 'count'. now, if you read my original version of the poem, you can find out what words are actually supposed to be there, but when i put it into verse form, i found that many of the words id written in prose didnt actually fit. but without them the sentence kind of fell apart. so i decided to leave blank space where those words were supposed to go to signal to the reader that something is missing while not actually needing to mention that

4.5. just like the stanzas growing by a single line in each verse, the missing words also increase in a frequency of one (1), zero of them in stanza 1, a single missing word in stanza 2 and 2 of them in stanza 3.

5. capitalisations and Punctuations to immerse the reader more and help with the stream of consciousness style of the poem, most of the poem is written in lowercase with no punctuation being used throughout the only things capitalised are 'Factory Made Cunt', '... Boy' and 'She holds me...' you may have noticed a common string between these words is they are all related to gender. 'Factory Made Cunt' especially was written to put emphasis on the inherent transness of the character while '... Boy' was capitalised for this and to have more of a visual distinction from the black space that follow. 'She hold me...' however was written to directly contrast the lowercase 'god' and how to the narrator their lover is the divine being instead of any so called god (which is weird because i personally am a religious person).

Language choices and line by line analysis:

'moon shine through the' - moon shine over here is meant to show how queer people often can only exist in the freedom on night time and their love is often only seen within the secrecy of moonlight and not under the brightness of the sun. (also all moon deities are queer icons).

A friend of mine also provided the connection to 'moon shine' being a reference to illegal moonshine (home brewed extremely strong alcohol) and how that itself was a reference to illegally transtioning without the goverment knowing/able to get medical stuff

'window illuminating short bristles of': the narrators lover being a trans girl with a buzz cut was an intentional choice to show that gender expression does not equal actual gender. buzz cuts are traditonally associated with men, but also many butches in the community rock a buzz cut as well and its too show that there's no right way of being trans and presenting as a woman.

'her hair tickling' and 'the underside of my nose': im going at these two together since i don't really have much to say about them separately. it's more meant to be visual imagery, reinforcing the two are intimate in some manner but not really expanding whether it's platonic or romantic yet. its also meant to evoke the image of the narrators lover lying on their chest and but the narrator not caring about the fact that they might be slightly uncomfortable but loves their girl too much to push them away

'bedsheet sweaty and cum': confirming the fact that they are in a sexually intimate relationship and are lying post-coital (i cannot believe i just used the term coital. this has become an academic essay)

'stained entangle around the curve of' - some sensual imagery and tactile imagery

'her thigh where my' - more imagery

'lipstick left        tramps stamps on her' - tramp stamp is a reference to how trans women are often oversexualised and is meant to be a reclamation of their own bodies and sexualities

'Factory Made Cunt' - emphasis is placed on these words by being the first capitalised words in the entire poem as of yet. its meant to kind of condemn the never ending discussion about trans women's bodies and especially their genitals and the hyper sexualization of girlcock by fetishisers (not that there is anything wrong with girlcock. this user loves girlcock and boypussy). its kinda like the narrator is saying 'so what if her pussy is surgically made. how does that make it any lesser)

'           count down the' - once again, not really much to say

'knobs of my spine leaving behind a shivering' - more more sensual imagery

'mess of a Boy    fuchsia bright silicone' - just like how 'Factory Made Cunt' condemned speculation on trans women's bodies, this condemns speculations on those of trans men. it also challenges the assumption that just because you are a man or that you top, you immediately have to be the dominant one in the relationship. 'fuchsia bright' was also a deliberate syntax choice. the silicone is the bright thing here not the fuchsia giving the narrator the chance to have a dick which is bright/illuminated moment for them as a trans boy.

'dick still hard whispering lover' - the 'dick still hard' part was meant to be an ironic comment on how cishetero patriarchal society is always going about people in sapphic relationships using dildos and saying that they should just fuck a real man instead of a fake approximation of one (not that they are that eloquent) but the joke is that while those criticising sapphics who use dildos actually need to wait for a dick to get hard again before they can have sex while the sapphics don't have to worry about that since dildos are always hard. also the 'whispering lover' thing was written completely out of spite to prove the friend with the moonshine interpretation wrong when she said that lover cannot be an appropriate term of endearment and to her credit she has since changed her mind and has been very gracious about it and glad to be immortalised in a poem in this form

'in my ear She holds me close' - more more more sensuous imagery along with auditory imagery of whispering in ears.

'leaving behind no space for god' - a play on the popular phrase 'leave some space for Jesus'

Anyway, this turned out way to big and way to detailed for a simple little analysis but once again, i am a student of literature and this is quite literally my life's passion, made even easier since i have direct access to the writer's brain instead of having to make my own assumptions and spend hours researching.

I hope you enjoy if you or anyone else even bothers to read through considering just how much i actually wrote. but yeah, here's my final literary analysis of my poem Do you imagine what heaven looks like?

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

Hey! This is for the ship thing. My pronouns are she/her and I am a bi demiromantic and demisexual. I am 5'4 and have kind of a chubby body. My hair just goes past my chin and I have brown hair and brown almond shaped eyes. I also have an oval shaped face and wear glasses. I am an ambivert who is very passionate about what she does. I am also very ambitious and cunning to get what I want. I also bottle up many of my feelings. I want leadership positions because I want to help people. With people I don't know, I can be formal and friendly but with people I know and don't like, I can be very cold and formal. As a friend I can be very childish and make many dirty jokes and. I also am the mom friend and I am pretty loyal to the people I love and care about. I am also very argumentative and firm in my actions and beliefs (but am open to change). I can be pretty lazy and am usually a night owl and can stay up pretty late without coffee. I also am bit of a nerd for things that I like (Greek Mythology for example). My hobbies include: writing poetry, writing stories, reading, knitting and drawing mandalas. A few fun facts about me are: I know taekwondo (green one belt) and my moto in life is, 'What is the worst thing that can happen?'

I would prefer to get characters from PJO, Cruel Prince and Batman.

Thank you!

Ah, a slytherin I see. Well I am too! But fr why are you literally so much like me and I do aikido!!!!

Your Fandom Ship: Cardan Greenbriar (TFOTA, The Cruel Prince)

Explanation: starting off with physical appearance, I think he would find you very attractive from your brown hair to your brown eyes and I think that your glasses wouldn’t intrigue him and he would ask a lot of questions about them at first because they don’t really have things like that and he’s genuinely curious about what they do and they make you look very cute (hot) He kind of likes how short you are and I think he would just find your entire existence to just be very adorable not in a condescending way (well at least later on into the relationship, he might be a bit condescending and think that you’re a cute little mortal at first, but then you quickly managed to flip that) he gets bottling up his feelings and I feel like that is something that you guys would kind of need to break down together and help each other communicate in a much clear way because he’s also so used to hiding his feelings for saving face and not letting anyone hurt him as much as life has. He admires your ambition and while he’s not as ambitious as you, he will help you to achieve his goals in anyway that he can and he thinks that you’re coming this is a quite attractive feature of your personality. he’s not always been the type of person to immediately help people so he very much admires your leadership skills and the fact that you want to take a step up just out of the kindness of your heart. He doesn’t necessarily get it at first, but he thinks it’s a truly admirable trait that’s rare to find in these days. after you guys get past the cold stage where you’re both kind of enemies and because y’all do have enemies to lovers tension I will say that once you guys kind of get past that stage, and you guys get to the more friendly versions of yourself or you guys can goof off and joke around a lot. I think that he would love that and you guys a sense of humor is surprisingly similar so I think that to make very flirty or dirty and would definitely goof off with you while still maintaining a serious relationship whenever you guys rule over Elfhame. He’s never had any particularly strong beliefs because I think a lot of being a royal child is being told what you shouldn’t shouldn’t believe and he’s kind of a rebellious so I feel like he’s a bit wishy and it blends well with your strong beliefs because you can kind of help him advocate for his self and his own things. He thinks your interests are fascinating and I feel like you guys would spend long hours discussing them with each other and he would love just seeing you rant about your passions and thinks it’s one of the most attractive things ever he just loves the way that you get so into detail and he can see the sparkle that lights in your eyes as you talk about whatever you’re currently interested in and he would engage in the conversation with you as well and say productive things too. You guys could just be putting in a room talk about your interests and you would never ever get bored. Incredibly hot martial arts and if you ever did anything like beating his ass or demonstrating a move on him or some shit like that, he would love it. He would think it’s so hot like I will tell you this man loves dominant people like I just feel like he loves people who can fight dominant people that that is that is his type right there and I feel like that is you with martial arts and he would find it so hot whenever you did demonstrated on him or anyone else. He also likes writing and reading so I feel like that’s something fun you guys can do together just like sit down and a beautiful location and read a book together and then talk about it afterwards like your own little mini book club or you guys would totally write stories together poetry I feel like that’s one of the ways that you guys would learn how to express your emotions to each other is through your poems so if you can’t quite say clearly, you guys can make poems and trade and that that’s one of your coping mechanisms and you guys can maintain a healthy relationship when you both struggle with expressing your emotions. Anyway yall cute 💚

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

*slams debit card on your desk* MORE HIGHSCHOOL AU *slams repeatedly* I NEED MORE HIGHSCHOOL BABIES *grabby hands* - Bestie xox

I- OKAY I GUESS, anything for you the light of my life

Between Classes And The Bell: For One Night Only - Tolya Yul Bataar.

Content Warnings: High School Premise. I Don't Know What To Put For This One Honestly, Just High School Drama Club Fluffy Shit. Not Proof/Beta Read. Possibly Explicit Language, I Do Not Remember.

So I have been under the weather to say the least, but I am feeling a little better so this one is only a short one but enjoy xx

Highschool AU Masterlist

"Is this the part where you say I cannot believe you dragged me into this?" You ask.

"You did not drag me into this," Tolya reassures you. "I want to be here."

"You sure?" You check. He nudges your shoulder.

"I need to see this finale Wylan was talking about," Tolya says, "I think there is going to be regret for allowing him to do it."

"I'm not convinced he is allowed, I think he might just be doing it anyway," you laugh.

You can see Wylan to the side, hanging in the wings, Jesper is pacing around making sure everyone is where they need to be. Jesper spots his boyfriend and pulls him into a goodluck kiss.

"I think it's going to be fantastic," you look away from Jesper and Wylan, giving them some privacy in this moment even though you're sure Jesper wouldn't mind, you've seen him make quite the show of his Wylan. Any opportunity to show him off and he does, the genius, the musician, potential arsonist.

You watch Tolya disappear to grab you both refreshments and you recieve a gentle elbow to the ribs. You whip your head around to be met with Nadia's gleaming smile. "So," she coaxes, gentle but commanding at the same time, "tell me everything."

"Everything?" You punctuate the single word question with confusion in every syllable, genuinely unaware of what she is wanting from you.

"You and Tolya," she continues, "don't spare me the details." Nadia throws a quick look over her shoulder to Tamar who is sipping on her Sprite. "Okay maybe spare me some details for Tamar's sake but spill," she extenuates the last letters with a drone and finishes with that oh so eager grin.

"Babe," Tamar says, moving her ice around her cup with her straw, "there's not going to be any real details to tell. Tolya doesn't really... do that."

Nadia's frown is all confusion and no judgement. "Doesn't do that?" Nadia asks. "Like at all?"

"Intimacy, romance, they're not really his thing," Tamar says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "He prefers books."

Nadia looks to you, like she is expecting some kind of reaction, but you shrug. "Tamar isn't wrong," you don't want to put labels to it, especially with the way Tolya hasn't done that for himself, so you just shrug, "his interests lay more in companionship, good company, debates on if Haiku's are a talent or a mediocrity." You can tell what Nadia wants to ask, but she cannot find the right words to ask it, how can someone ask if that bothers you without sounding like an insensitive prick? So you save her the indignity of trying. "I think that just makes me like him more, knowing he isn't spending time with me for the wrong reasons, knowing that he really just likes my company."

"And you don't... find yourself wanting more?" Nadia asks. Tamar herself leans in a little at this, she doesn't doubt you, and your genuine feelings for her brother, but that little bit of big sister concern has her needing to hear your answer.

You shake your head. "I like what Tolya and I have," you say honestly, "I want nothing more than anything he wants, and I'm just grateful that he sees the same thing in me that I see in him."

"They're an unconventional couple," Tamar shrugs, "but Tolya is an unconventional guy, I thought he wouldn't ever bother dating because of his preference of romance in poetry than in real life. But I am glad he found you," Tamar gives you a smile, "it's nice that he has someone that gets him."

"Its nice that someone gets me," you admit.

"It also keeps the cheerleaders off him which is honestly a win," Tamar says, "if I had to lecture one more flyer about how not every jock wants- Oh did you get me a pretzel," Tamar asks Tolya as he returns.

"Do you think so little of me?" He asks, handing his sister the salted pretzel.

"I wasn't sure if you could get back from the refreshments without eating all my snacks," she teases before throwing an arm around Nadia.

"Sorry for the wait," Tolya slips back into his seat besides you, "the queue was dreadful."

"You don't come to these things," Nina points out leaning on the back of your chair to drop in on the conversation, "you want snacks, you get them earlier or you're queueing until half time Tree."

"Nina," Matthias says, he doesn't give any more of a scolding than the way he says her name but it's enough for her to suck in her cheeks and quieten herself.

"Sorry," she mouths and then quietly adds, "he is missing the cold weather, makes him extra frosty."

"I am not... frosty," Matthias insists. You bite your lip to curb your laugh.

"You look happy," Tolya muses.

"I am happy," you assure him as the show starts.

The show itself was great, Jesper was filled with energy and charisma, soaking up the limelight as always, and the technical and practical effects were at an all time high, right up to the moment they set the sprinklers and the fire alarm off.

You're choking back laughter, stood in the cool evening air as the teachers are checking that nothing really caught fire. You can see Jesper and Wylan having an enthused if not slightly heated conversation about prop placement in relation to fire safety. It's not until you catch Wylan saying "blame Kuwei," that you get the true gist of the conversation.

"Kids like twelve Wylan," Jesper laughs.

"Just blame him," Wylan says, arms crossed, half sulking.

"You always want to blame him," Jesper notes, pulling his boyfriend closer by the collar.

"Because, somehow, it's always his fault," Wylan insists, but all true annoyance is waning with his increased proximity to Jesper.

"Eventful evening," Tolya says, taking his eyes off Tamar as she pulls Nadia into the shadows to spend some of the waiting time in closer quarters.

"I said it would be," you smile. "Have you had fun at least?"

"Yeah," he assures you, eyes almost completely golden in the low light, "I always have fun when I'm with you."

[hermitcraftx]

hm. i guess its hard because everything in my life for like years has been touched by wilbur, even in ways he wasnt directly involved in. i started watching him when i was 15 and he got me through the worst times of my life/the most suicidal years. id gotten fresh out of being groomed and a two year abusive relationship when i stumbled onto the dsmp and almost immediately i latched onto crimeboys. it was a ray of… well i wouldnt say hope or light but god i projected so hard onto both of them. i saw my little brother and myself as my brother and i. his september playing guitar video would be on loop on my phone for hours. i emulated him- both as a system w dozens of wilbur introjects and as a person. i picked up one of my favorite bands (los campesinos!) from him. i put a l’manberg flag up on my wall and i wrote shitty poetry. i have a faded wilbur ylyl shirt and it has weird shit on it and the whales are faded and it smells odd but it was one of my favorite shirts and i would wear it for comfort and. i picked up a british accent from him when i get tired. i bought round pink tinted glasses to look like him. i picked up how i dress from him. i picked up his speech mannerisms and quotes and i made him my transition goal until it was hard to see where i ended and wilbur began. ive been putting off removing all the songs from my playlists and likes because i dont want to look at them but today mine/yours came on shuffle while i was drivingband i genuinely got so nauseous i had to swerve to skip it. ive been doom scrolling and contemplating whether techno knew or not or if he would never know or god forbid. he was okay with it and idk. really sad that the man that saved my life is a piece of shit. especially since last year i was in a really bad relationship with a guy and i noticed some similarities between. the situations and god i feel so awful for making this about myself when he did AWFUL things to shubble. i just hope all the women can get peace but its like 2:30 am and all i can think abt is. god. what a waste of time

[imakemywings]

I would like to discuss something with you. You know how Aragorn warned Bilbo of singing the 'Song Of Eärendil' in front of Elrond and how the fandom immediately flocked to the idea that Elrond held resentment towards Earendil because of that one line. Um, I find that weird and not aligned with Elrond's characterization because the Song of Earendil was said to be a revised version of an earlier nonsensical poem Errantry, which was also composed by Bilbo after his quest for Erebor. And if there is one thing I learned from lotr is that they see Earendil as a significant and symbolic figure of the First Age (Elves' most beloved star dude), and his son is a loremaster so the thought of someone making a lighthearted poem about a First Age figure, especially your dad's dad, without treating it seriously probably didn't sit right with Aragorn (who grew up with Elrond). Plus, Bilbo who was proud of Errantry's, thought he could incongruously make a fictitious poem of a legend of the First Age. Seems to me that Aragorn warned Bilbo not because Elrond would be offended/hate to hear his father's name, but rather because Elrond would be offended by hearing inconsistent facts about his father's life and adventures and what he did during the First Age, because ya know, Elrond is a loremaster.

Alright! Apologies it took me so long to get to this, it's been a busy time @.@

I can honestly say I've been lucky enough to avoid that particular interpretation of that scene, but I believe that it's out there.

I think it probably is more like Aragorn thought it was a bit cheeky of Bilbo to be writing poetry about Elrond's father in his own house. However, he seems mostly good-natured about it; there doesn't seem to be a concern Elrond will be genuinely angry or offended about it. Also, given Elrond's age and concurrent with your last point--he knows a LOT more about the whole thing than Bilbo or Aragorn, so he IS likely to notice any errors or inconsistencies. Aragorn basically warning Bilbo he better have done his research before dropping this poem XD

And to a point in your middle paragraph--yeah, Earendil seems to be held in incredibly high esteem in Middle-earth. He appears almost as a quasi-religious figure by Lord of the Rings, with Galadriel calling him the Elves' "most beloved star" and giving Frodo the phial of his light which saves his and Sam's lives multiple times, only dimming in the heart of Orodruin where Sauron's power is strongest.

Which makes sense, as Earendil had a significant role in saving Middle-earth from the domination of Melkor (a baddie far more powerful and malicious than Sauron), and because he has dedicated his life to sailing Vingilot. Earendil has been a deeply selfless person committed to the welfare of Middle-earth and he receives an appropriate level of deference from its residents in response.

However, Bilbo seems to hold very little in reverence outside tea-time and he seems to enjoy getting cheeky with the Elves, so it doesn't surprise me that he went on with the poem despite Aragorn's comments XD

To me, there is just no proof anywhere in Silm, Hobbit, or LotR that Elrond resents Earendil (for things that happened almost 8,000 years ago by the time Bilbo retires to Rivendell). People can headcanon it for sure, but I don't see any canon proof of it.

[demonstars]

hii im starting to get into poetry and i trust your taste so i was wondering who your favorite authors/poets are ? if you don’t mind :)

oh my god this is so sweet WISHING YOU WELL ON YOUR JOURNEY. i'll list you my top five (english) poets here, they're really excellent so you have something to start from but what i really recommend is that once you find one poet/poem and check out their other works AND if they've worked on anthologies/shared what their favorite poems are. ok ok So

hanif abdurraqib — he has beautiful essays on living and dying and how you make your place in the world and i genuinely think on summer crushing saved my life—and his ways of webbing words together just shows its prime in poetry. heavely recomment it's not like nikola tesla knew all of those people were going to die and, if you can, listen to him read it

ada limon — LOVE HER TO DEATH. one of the first poets I ever read in my life when starting to understand english and it changed my fucking life. it, being what i didn't know before which is just like one of those poems that just hit you like a trunk. one of the most beautiful gifts i've ever received is a copy of her bright dead things (book), so i must recommend state bird. it's not even her best poem (that goes to dead stars and no it's not because i'm obsessed with them) in my opinion it's just representative of everything I love about her writing. also she is currently working on an anthology that i am so excited to read and discover new poets through that!!

richard siken — well. y'know. Like y'know. I JUST NEED EVERYONE TO MOVE ON FROM CRUSH OR GET BETTER AT JUST LOOKING AT HIM FROM DISEMBOWELED QUOTES POSTED FOR CLOUT. read poetry it made me cry. I need more people to get excited with me when he posts a new one pleaseeeeeeeeeee @RICHARDSIKEN I KNOW YOU HAVE PROBLEMATIC THOUGHTS ON AI I STILL WANT YOU.

hera lindsay bird — one of Those poets that will just let you a bit confused and fascinated. I think I've reread the entire catalogue of poems on her blog at least thrice because I really liked them and couldn't articulate exactly why!!! I still struggle!!! Gotta link I AM SO IN LOVE WITH YOU I WANT TO LIE DOWN cause yeah yeah we've all seen major public intersection. i want her self titled collection so bad. also pamper me to hell and back. aka all her published work. speech time changed my life when i was 16. she has a dnf poem. GREAT POET.

June Gehringer — can't even express it with words how much i love her. i get genuine rsd over her work being misinterpreted and flattened specially with fucking twitter reposters Shoutout my priv mutuals last year who supported me annoying one of those 10k fake deep accounts to give her credit. anyway. THANK GOD FOR PEACH MAG. I DO GET SO JEALOUS OF EUTHANIZED GODS. recs is The universe collapses waoo.... she has a very good one on grief and transnesss that i KNOWWWW i posted here but i can't find it should i die. ugh so frustating

and here is Others that I couldn't include because I just realized i need to be my friend's house in two hours and I am not yet ready with my assignment but you should DEFINITELY check out: . Lisel Mueller. Mahmoud Darwish, Anne Sexton. frank o'hara. gabrielle calvocoressi. Matthew Olzmann. chen chen. OKAY HOPE THIS HELPED!!!!!!!

[katyspersonal]

I know it's morning where you are but on tumblr it's always sleepover time so now it's your turn, tell me about YOUR CRUSH (revenge time hehe)

It is also always sleepover time for me as long as I am sick and should stay in bed xd (I say as I have a work shift today :') )

Hoooo boy... The last time I had a crush it evolved into being full on in love (without return), so I am not even sure if that counts? But I was attracted to how deep and complex he was. How he spoke very honest, very direct and sinsere speech, without any manipulation, terminally online terms or American college buzz-words. How he loved books, art, music, poetry, nature, history, science, to learn about various religions across the world and time, and dabbed into spirituality- actually, it is easier to name what smartypants thing he did NOT love than what he loved dfhhdsg He also had very big range of emotions and a lot of painful, intimate experiences to share, and there was something incredibly human about how he'd speak about people, animals, his special interests, life in general. Though in retrospective, he fell for the trope of that misantropic villain / morally grey character that is being abnormally edgy about hating humans, thinking that only art/religion/both could save their souls, but loved and cherished every single animal xD I still think it is incredibly attractive, as frustrating as it can be to deal with it.

In general, life is not a poorly written fanfic, so normally when two broken people find each other, odds are, they'll not heal one another but only hurt each other more. Is this because they're trying to drag each other down into their Hell instead of reaching for the light together, or it is because they have different idea on what "healing" looks like so they try to "fix" each other by their own ruler, not thinking of this person's TRUE 'healed' state? Hell if I know. It is usually the latter. Most humans are just not capable of snapping out of their own idea of what 'healthy and good' is and to selflessly, genuinely invest into nurturing another person's real self. Reminds me of my early, abandoned idea on what the Doll deal was with G3hrman, or, heck, that official note from FMA creator that Tuck3r was unable to summon Nina's soul back all because he wanted the "idea" of that sweet, innocent daughter that once loved him, and not her true self in her entirety (that'd probably hate him for what he did anyways). We were never an exception. Hell, perhaps the guy was completely in the right to hate humans the way he does!

Alright djhdsfgh Listen, things like this sorta feelings is always something deeply tragic, emotional and complex for me, okay?? This is maybe why I always wreck my ships and can't imagine a happy cottagecore AU even at a gunpoint xd You are always in for a trip when you try talking to me about my crushes that aren't fictional! :')

[shortguyswag]

I posted 14,165 times in 2022

271 posts created (2%)

13,894 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@astronomical-bagel

@transiconlink

@count-woe-laf

@dustbringermoash

@crookedpickleoperatormug

I tagged 1,540 of my posts in 2022

#save - 63 posts

#mecore - 13 posts

#orion is writin - 11 posts

#era does art - 9 posts

#unreality - 7 posts

#hyrule library for the supernatural - 7 posts

#goncharov - 6 posts

#as a pun enthusiast i am obligated to rb this - 6 posts

#:d - 5 posts

#sam attempts poetry - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i dunno there's some line about one being deciet two may be conspiracy and there being the number i trust so i think it needs to happen mor

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

[Id: a traditional drawing of gerry keay from the magnus archives from the back. The drawing is done in grayscale except for a pile of books in front of him on fire, which are drawn in bright oranges and reds, and a flame from a lighter he is holding. He is sitting by the fire and looking up at the smoke that rises from it. End id]

Burning books

22 notes - Posted October 25, 2022

#4

I smear paint on something resembling canvas and hope it will mean something eventually (it's the closest I've been to a god)

The paint stains my hands and arms, and it feels messy but true (cleanliness is not godliness)

I paint and I paint and I paint and I can't help but beg for something out there to tell me how I fit into this mess, this canvas painted over with broken warriors and stubborn fools (somehow I don't think anything can hear me)

(hello?)

(is anyone out there?)

(if the void is perceived does it become something else?)

(does that make me a god of this emptiness?)

the sunflowers come together slowly (I don't know if I brought them to life, or if the were always there, just waiting for me to find them)

24 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

#3

Reblog to punch a transphobe

34 notes - Posted February 7, 2022

#2

I'm playing botw and you know what's hilarious? Link having no idea what his and miphas relationship was actually.

basically "okay, I have exactly one memory of her, where it kinda seems like she's asking me out on a date? Ok, that tracks with what sidon's been saying, she was in love with me, but wait, the zora tunic is made for the person the zora princess is going to marry, and she clearly would have had to have some sign that her feelings were reciprocated for her to make them for me, so... Wait. WAS I ENGAGED??? No no that can't be right, if we were actually engaged surely the king at least would know and would tell his advisors in order to get them to chill, wait, WE'RE WE DATING AND WAS SHE PLANNING TO PROPOSE??? no, no, once again, someone would have known. I've known myself all of 2 weeks and I can say I probably would've been so clingy, so someone probably would have noticed. BUT WHAT IF EITHER OF THOSE THINGS WERE THE CASE??? IT WOULD EXPLAIN HOW SHE GOT MY MEASUREMENTS CAUSE THIS THING FITS LIKE A GLOVE!! AAAA I DON'T KNOW!!!"

and then talking to mipha in the divine beast to TRY and figure /something/ out and she is no help whatsoever

71 notes - Posted July 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I genuinely love doing this again! by dirtbag boyband bears in trees because it feels like a song you'd make up to sing to yourself but at the same time it's got some serious moments "every morning I wake up and I drink my silly little oat milk coffee and text my silly texts" silly little lines to sing as you drive. "I hope to be happy I hope to be calm I hope to be somewhat content, every morning I wake up and think to myself 'oh God we're doing this again'" mood, serious statement about repetition of every day and how exhausting it can get.

Also you can sing the chorus to reverberate to the "every sunrise every street sign etc etc" bit and I think that's neat

305 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[ace-of-gay]

Im gonna respond to all of these

I prefer writing oneshots

I get a quick general idea written down like very simple stuff like "bucky and reader go on adventures" and big detail i want make sure are in it but thats it

Mines honestly not that interesting or special, i just take a little while to think and then i word splurge, its the exact same way i write poetry it just happens

All over the place, music, my favorite scenes in books/ movies, things i desire, and most certainly from my weird daydreaming episodes

I love constructive criticism as long as theres no hate included

I do not have it beta'd, i just read it six times and put it into word to make sure i catch as many mishaps as possible

I only write in one type of pov because thats how i brain splurge, other pov's take alot more time

I prefer the middle, it always has the most fill to it

Sometimes i comment but im still utterly shy and anxious when commenting

Number ten is absolute gibberish to me... (im on mobile so its confusing to me)

Of my own? Meh probably happiness greed because its my experience written in partial poetry ... of someone elses? Delicate edges!

I love receiving it but it doesn't bother me if i dont get any feedback, ijust want others to be happy

If you have a word pop up im your mind at any time of the day and you don'tknow what it means, look it up, ive expanded my vocabulary by simply asking my phone to define words

I definitely draw from personal experience and like to put my mind in that state for a moment and figure out how i would act

I dont write nsfw stuff although I do occasionally read it if the writing style is encapsulating to me

Like 20 ideas... mmmm tony x reader, stealing his sunglasses so he makes you your own

I just avoid writing when i struggle with it, why hurt my mind with something i enjoy ya-know?

I title mine afterwards, i honestly just take the general idea and put it into words i xant describe it any other way

I dont read or write on ao3 but if i did it would probably be " gut-wrenching fluff "

I love the idea of fluff and cuddles... i crave attention but hate having it in real life so i write storied that give me the attention i crave and share it with others who crave that attention (:

Absolutely i would, i think i already have with one of my friends kinda, i just dont remember what fic it was

I dont write smut

Splurge!! Thow ideas down and when one won't leave your mind think about it as much as you can

To stop writing, genuinely the only thing i can remember

Back when i wrote on fanfic.net i had one that was around 5000 words and it was so full of emotions, sadly its gone now and i didn't write the way i do now so its not saved to any of my devices but it never got much attention

I honestly don't know but in the idea of my personal experience im gonna say happiness greed

I hate the writing it down part, i love the splurge of ideas and seeing that people enjoyed my writing

Uuuh maybe like a sentence here or there on my off days but on good days around 1000 words or more

Read ove it six times, put it into word fix the grammer mistakes add my warnins and stuff and than its good to go

9.5 /10 times i wait unless i know its not deep enough to complete in full

Uhhh both, honestly it mixes together and i dunno i get the ideas at the same time

Skip... cause i forget everyones names and i love everyones writing so so much!!

I hope to publish my poetry someday so technically yes

Probably still writing poetry, hopefully writing a book

They still think how everyone else does their experiences in life are just skewed, trauma can do some crazy things

I have absolutely no idea

I also have no idea

Isnt that what the asks are? Like free commissions? I already do lol

Uuuh i cant find any currently lol

Probably a hug with any charcter from any of my extra fluffy fics

I reread fics all the time, i have links to my favorites saved in my phone

I dont remember currently

I like reading whump in moderation im not sure my feelings on writing it but im not against it

Just silly spelling errors

Sometimes yes to one Sometimes yes to the other

Fluff with trauma

Six times in my notes app and once in word

No one betas my work

On my agere fics people get upset sometimes but i deleate the occasional hate comment, cant bother me when im in a stable mindset on something but that doesn't mean i wont protect others minds in my comments

Like 3000+ words if its even still on here

I dont use a03

I respond to comments as often as possible so people know ive seen what they've said and that they know i appreciate them

70% reader 30%writer

Thinking to myself, in the show/ movie they would never do said thing, but this is my version so of course they would

I love writing for bucky and loki in a way that feels like theyre healing their trauma

Smilies and new words! I love expanding my vocabulary

Editing small things as i write and anything i missed i fix after

Does posting count? Cause one its done im happy

So technically yes and no, so my family knows i write stories but not fanfictions, my best friend knows lol

Yes!!! And they said they love my writing style and agjfkrek it made me giddy with excitement

I like putting my ideas places

Completed series yessss, incomplete with cluff hangers i fear im gonna forget to come back

Orbs... globes, ... just say eyes

I dunno honestly

I look forward to finishing up on the asks that are sitting in my ask box!

I kinda just dont, with my migraines my schedules are basically unpredictable

I like both but im more consistent with independent works

Read, listen to music, watch movies, daydream

Luckily none of them honestly

Enthusiastic because i have more than just fanfics if they want to see

In my head, things in my head are in filing cabinets, jts strange

It all depends honestly

I have no idea, my writing is generic to me

The poetic parts, my poetry is written i. A very specific way

N/A

Yes, person with oral fixation (desire to chew on things and put non edible items in ones mouth) loki scolds their new puppy for chewing things and person starts to try to not chew on things, i was gonna write it but forgot to finish it now it just sits in my drafts

Any of the self indulgent ones

Get to know your fic writer!

Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Do you like constructive criticism?

Do you have your work beta'd? How important is this to your process?

How do you choose which POV to write from?

Do you prefer the beginning, middle, or end of a story?

Do you comment on stories you read?

Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

Link your three favorite fics right now

how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

How do you write smut scenes? Do you get very visual or detailed? How important is it to be realistic?

How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Would you ever collaborate with another writer for a story?

Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

Best writing advice for other writers?

Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

What’s your revision or editing process like?

Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished?

Do you start with the characters or the plot when writing?

Name three of your favorite fanfic writers.

Do you want to be published some day?

Five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer?

What is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain? 

How do you write kissing scenes?

How do you choose where to end a chapter?

Would you ever write commissions?

Share a snippet from a WIP

If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

Do you take a sadistic joy in whumping your characters, or are you more the "If you hurt them I would kill everyone and then myself" kind of person?

What mistakes do you keep making no matter how many times your beta corrects you?

Do you want to break your readers‘ heart or make them laugh?

How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

What do you look for in a beta?

Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

How long is your longest fic?

What’s your total AO3 word count?

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Do you prefer editing as you write, or waiting until it’s finished? 

What part of the writing process do you enjoy the most? (Brainstorming, outlining, writing, editing, etc) 

Does anyone in your personal life know you write fic? if not, would you tell anyone?

Have you had a writer you admire comment on your fic? What was that like?

Why do you continue writing fics?

Thoughts on cliffhangers?

Something you hate to see in smut.

Something you love to see in smut.

Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

How do you deal with writing pressure (ie. pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc.)?

Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

What, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

What work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

When asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

What order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

What scene in [Fanfic Name] took the longest to write? What was difficult about it? 

Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of [Fanfic Name]? 

Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from [Fanfic Name] story/chapter? 

[yakultii]

I ain't scared, I just thought I might get the most best answer this way..I'm wondering what poet or poem you read (or were read in your childhood) that had you looking for more and aspiring to write your own? If it was a traumatic event, I feel you there. .it can really help to read a complete stranger's words of pain, when they harmonize with our own. I admit, I have only read a couple of your poems but I love your voice, keep on keepin on ☮️ 🕉 💛

HAHA DW I LOVE ANONS <33333 I encourage it.

HONESTLY no poetry inspired me to write poetry (IRONIC) I thought I hated poetry!!!! I’ve written many things since I was a kid but always been more of an essay kinda dude..I attempted to read poetry a few times over my lifetime and mostly it made no sense to me..I thought it was just a bunch of pretentious ppl flexing their advanced vocab (which honestly I lack bc of a whole other story I won’t get into and maybe I was just jealous) - the only time I wrote a poem was back in final yr of highschool lit class when my brain was malnourished af and writing it made me want to kms plus I had major imposter syndrome (and then my lovely grandma went and sent it in to a poetry magazine without me knowing and it got published and still I didn’t think poetry was for me) only in more recent times I no longer have access to a psych who I can send weekly 3000 word emails to and I needed to do something so that I would stop driving myself completely insane bc I also live alone 4hrs from family and no friends so have noone to save me but myself so I started writing every day on wattpad like a digital diary entry(today was day 118 in a row) then I started to see others who had written poetry and combined w the fact that I’ve come very far over the yrs in terms with perfectionism (as in not needing to be) I found myself in a place realising that poetry didn’t have to be “good” and that I could just make it work for me. I could just write for myself. To get things out (even tho it’s only like 5% of my mind). It didn’t need to look impressive for others etc like what I used to think poetry did… so yeah basically poetry is just my budget therapy now and a tool to prevent me from ending things :))))) everything I write about (so far, at time of writing) is from real life experience and I love using it as an outlet to say the things that wouldn’t be taken so well if they were said out loud.. cause everyone has some sort of darker side whether they are exposed to it or not and whilst I do hold onto a lot of hope I love being able to have an outlet to get the rot out of me or at least create something with it so it’s not completely useless and all consuming. ALSO I think it’s cool that poetry allows you to turn your words into art. I’ve always loved art and ppl consider me arty or whatevs but I can’t draw or paint (well - not that it matters) so this is kinda something that comes more naturally to me! (I’ve only been writing poetry for 4 months now so hopefully I can only get better)… AND THANK THE LORD in the meantime as I have come to write my own poetry I am now able to appreciate other people’s poetry, I can understand it more, I can be inspired by it, I can admire it. I get it now. Or at least I think I’m starting to get it…. But to answer ur question l wouldn’t say it was a singular traumatic event which inspired it but rather a combined experience of like 20 genuinely traumatic events combined with being neurodiverse & a lifetime of various mental illnesses which I wouldn’t say are all treated etc. and quite honestly having read NOTHING in the past which resonated with the depth of my own experience so I thought you know what I know I can’t be the only one feeling this, I’m gonna try write my own! If I can’t read it I’ll write it and hope I can be that for someone else I guessss

SOZ FOR RANT IDK HOW TO STFU AND THANK YOU FOR READING A FEW OF MY POEMS AND THANK YOU FOR THIS QUESTION ILY HAVE A LOVELY DAY <33

[coughsyrups]

there are so many thoughts stirring in my head and now that i’ve sat down to start spewing them out i’m overwhelmed by the magnitude and stuck, like i’m trying to squeeze chunks of my emotions through a hole big enough to fit one at a time, but easily blocked by many. i can’t say everything i want to say all at once. i backtrack, and repeat myself, and wander aimlessly around what i want to say like a fool.

i think i’m going crazy.

getting better is never linear. life imitates art imitates life imitates poetry; which is art, which, naturally, imitates life. don’t romanticize your suffering, because pain isn’t necessarily beautiful, and just because you can find beauty in your sorrow doesn’t mean you needed to suffer. just because you put your vase back together with golden glue doesn’t mean it never broke in the first place. being fragile and pretty and traumatized is not cool, actually, and i’m sick of the metaphors, and the narrative, and especially the foreshadowing.

i have always read writings written on walls. and i sit down and i write my little songs about it, and when i get hurt inevitably it’s marginally easier because i knew it was going to happen. and i already wrote some four chord ABAB bullshit that i can sing over and over again until i process it by desensitizing myself to the situation. because i have to make everything funny, i have to make everything palatable, i have to make everything art. and i haven’t been creating art lately. god, haven’t i suffered enough? this isn’t the kind of suffering i know how to write about. not having money to eat isn’t something you just slip into the second verse. i’ve tried and tried, and no one ever sees the part where i try except for him. they see me quitting jobs, they see me calling out sick, they see me spending forty bucks on chinese takeout when i have bills and rent and appointments. what about me holding two jobs with 60 hour work weeks, and STILL struggling to save a fucking a dollar? i overwork myself to the point of burnout, and when i get a pitiful fucking nothing paycheck there’s nothing i can really do to hold out any longer mentally. so i quit. so i chase a dollar’s worth of a promotion and jump from job to job, sitting at the lowest rung, looked over and taken advantage of and talked about and misgendered, misgendered, misgendered. i want to hide!! i don’t want to see myself in windows walking from job one to job two, i hate everything about my body, and i use it as an excuse to not correct people using the wrong pronouns for me, which just makes me hate it even fucking more. oh, i understand why people use she/her, my boobs are just so big teehee!! but i don’t get how nobody even fucking tries. i’m not saying i’m some magical perfect person but i make an effort, a conscious, serious effort, to remember people’s pronouns, to ask their pronouns, to properly gender them. the only people who use my pronouns consistently are max and my mom, who are both cisgender. it hurts so bad when my trans friends don’t use my pronouns. you should know more than anyone! how much it sucks! do i have to take hormones? do i have to “dress nonbinary”? i don’t want to change my voice, i don’t want to change my closet, i don’t want to change anything except my chest, and that’s more a health and comfort and weight thing than dysphoria!

if i don’t get this breast reduction, i genuinely feel like i might give up entirely. on everything. on living well. on waking up. because wouldn’t that just be fucking great? the chance to be comfortable in my body for the first time since i was… 14? 15? if this gets ripped away from me i might just run away, i don’t know! i don’t have a cent to my name but i could do it. go home, work a job for a few months. save up a couple hundred. then go no contact with everyone who’s ever known me. buy a plane ticket. move somewhere far, where the cost of living is low, and just restart. i could steal my documents. i could figure something out. craigslist exists, i’m sure someone needs a roommate. would my loved ones try to find me? i’d leave a note, of course. something to say that i’m gone, and that i might come back, but i don’t know when. would they be willing to wait? i don’t know what i’d want them to do. part of me would want to be found, like some princess in a castle, waiting to be rescued and returned to the kingdom. but if i chose to leave, i would want to stay gone. maybe after a few months, i would send a letter. no return address, of course. i don’t want them to think i got murdered.

i don’t want to make people sad. i don’t want people to hate me. i don’t want people to even dislike me. i want to be loved, and make people happy, and be everybody’s best friend who they can talk to about anything. but i’m lonely, and i’ve always been lonely, and i always will be lonely. in every lifetime, every timeline, every minute, i’ve always been a step removed, like the narrator is possessing my body and observing characters in a story. i can see them, and they can see me, and we can talk and have fun, but i’m here to see this story through. i’m here to tell this story. i’m here to check for plot holes and predict the twists nobody sees coming, and then when everything’s over i move on to the next chapter. moving along like everything is fine. that’s just how the story goes, nothing i can do. i am lonely, and this last year and a half has been nice, because i think max is lonely like i am. i think we deal with it in different ways. i think i’m fighting my loneliness, challenging it, trying to change how i’m written, but he handles it so well. he can be alone, not that he always wants to be, but even when he doesn’t want to be alone, i don’t think it drives him half as insane as it drives me.

i want to rip my hair out, or shave it off, or give myself bangs. i want to scream, but everybody wants to scream. i want to drive my car off a bridge. (i want to fly.) i want to float motionless at the bottom of a bathtub. (my hair makes a halo.) and see? there’s the metaphors. there’s the poetry, and the art, and the symbolism, oh the symbolism, because i can’t just process my feelings like normal people do. but this is good, because the alternative to writing this is laying awake thinking this. or, rather, thinking three sentences at once, because of all these voices in my head talking over each other. i’m at the breaking point. i don’t want anyone to help me right now, i don’t want someone on snapchat messaging me “ily! i hope u feel better soon” which is ironic considering how many of those messages i’ve sent to others.

i’m confused. i don’t think i’m scared. but i’m anxious. and i’m frustrated. i don’t know what to do, going forward? i’m not gonna run away to wyoming. i’m not gonna kill myself. i have to keep living. and keep going. i have to prove to myself that things will get better. it’s sunk cost fallacy, i didn’t kill myself at 19 so why should i now? i could’ve then. maybe i should’ve, the only people i would’ve hurt would have been my family. nobody else was close enough to me where they wouldn’t be able to get over it. it’s funny, getting dumped after a month was the end of the world to me back then. like a kid, falling off their bike and skinning their knee, screaming and wailing so hard at the sight of a few drops of blood and some scraped skin that the neighbors come outside to see what’s wrong. the world is ending! but it’s not. you put on a bandaid and move on.

i’ve had worse injuries since then. and even though they hurt just as bad, i learned to push through the pain, to conquer it mentally. i’ve put on a lot of bandaids. but i’m not trying to minimize how it felt in the moment, because it is the worst thing you have yet experienced. and each time you have a worse experience, you’re better equipped to deal with it. even better, when you experience something of equal or lesser trauma, it’s no big deal! you’ve had worse! wayyyy worse. what i’m saying is, how i felt that night in 2019 was valid, because i had never experienced heartbreak before. i didn’t know how to deal with it. i didn’t know i could hurt like that. now i’ve been hurt like that so many times that i can shut it off, deal with it mentally, think it through, push through the pain. and i hope i come to a day when i feel the same way about right now.

i’ve met the love of my life. i’m scheduled for a life changing surgery. i’m finally been living on my own. i have two sweet little kitties. and i’ve been trying hard not to let the negatives outweigh the positives, but that’s not the full picture. i’m not being negative when i say things are bad right now. i’m being honest. things aren’t perfect between max and i. i have this weird sense of jealousy where i think about how i’m the “first partner he’s actually, genuinely loved” and also, the first partner* he hasn’t actually, genuinely fucked. (*a few outlier relationships have been excused from this statement.) and that’s so stupid, right? it’s so shallow. isn’t this what i wanted, something beyond just a sexual agreement between two people who don’t seem to like each other all that much? yes, it is, and i am grateful, i am beyond grateful to love someone who loves me, and cares for me and about me, who i love to spend time with and talk to, who i fall asleep next to. i just get this hangup. why not me? i know the answer. the answer is i’m not pressuring him to do something he doesn’t want to do, and that will never change. i’m not going to guilt trip him into having sex with me, and the thought of ever doing that makes me sick. but i feel odd thinking that there’s other people who have loved him, just like me, that shared this experience with him, and i haven’t. and i don’t know when i will. if i will? i don’t know!

the surgery has me scared. not because it’s a surgery, i’m not scared about complications. but what about the money, how long will i be paying this off for? what if there’s an issue with healing? an infection? breasts become misshapen? bottom out? uneven? i gain more weight and they grow again? as soon as i’m able to i need to work out. i don’t want to have my stomach be larger than my breasts and that’s probably going to be the case after the surgery. i just hope i like the way i look. i know i’ll be more comfortable but i just… i didn’t think this would happen so soon. this happened incredibly fast and i have barely begun to process it. i’m just basically half dissociative every day at this point.

and august is our last month in the apartment, and then we’re moving home. i won’t live with max anymore. i won’t live with the girls anymore. no more late night hot tub, no more queen sized mattress, no one holding me every night. everything’s going to be over. everything that we built here, we’ll try to get a storage unit but what if we can’t, what if we have to get rid of everything? we don’t have a lot of space in our new living situations. it just doesn’t seem fair.

i wish the money from the tax return had been spent wiser. i wish max hadn’t been unemployed for so long. i wish i could work 60 hour weeks without getting burnt out. i wish i made $100 a minute for playing cookie run. wouldn’t that be nice?

and now… the lawsuit. where do i begin? it’s entirely unreal. i thought i felt insane, now i’m starting to think i actually am. this is some serious psychosis, lilia, you should be admitted asap. i want this to happen for him and his family, they deserve it more than anything, i don’t really know… what i’m supposed to say about it though? i don’t want to say anything. i just want to say, cool, you have money now, my shift starts in ten minutes though so i have to go, i’m already late. what does this change? does this change anything? why would it? it’s just money. but then i think about when i was working runrun and the saint, working til 3 in the morning, crying and panicking over being a hundred short for something or other. is that over now? forever? i don’t know how he’s planning on budgeting/using it, i don’t want to say a word of advice to him on it unless he asks me. he doesn’t need unsolicited advice from me. this has been happening his entire life, and i’ve known for like, two days? there’s nothing i can say or suggest that he hasn’t already thought of.

but it’s strange to think about how this has been here the whole time, in the background, beyond my knowledge. never mentioned. never explained. “well i bet you have it figured out by now” no actually! despite how badly i’ve been wanting to snoop or eavesdrop out of curiosity, i have fully respected your wishes to keep this private! all i thought it was was some sort of settling of affairs. how the fuck would i have ever been able to guess a fraction of this situation?

i guess it’s not the worst thing to be blindsided by. at least you don’t have like, a kid, idk. but i hate to say it… if you were hiding this for so long, what else is there? is there anything else you haven’t told me? you’ve never given me a single ghost of a reason not to whole heartedly trust you and believe you’re giving me the full story. until now! that’s what i feel weird about. that’s why i’m kind of upset. what else do i not know about you? i’m pretty sure you know everything about me.

i love you. that hasn’t changed. i’ll always love you. i just don’t know why you let yourself be unemployed for over a month. i don’t understand how you could keep something as crazy as this under the table for our entire relationship. today is actually a year and a half from our first date. a year and a half without a word, except for, “would you be mad if i pulled a crazy rich asians on you?” i guess i should’ve said, no, i would not be mad at all! if you had worked that month, we might not be moving out. or we might still be, i don’t know. i’ll never know, because that’s not what happened.

i’m tired. see, this is how my writing always goes. all deep and flowery and full of metaphorical rambling that doesn’t make sense and is way too self referential and meta. but then the moment i start talking about my relationships i get more direct. and, idk, sassy. and i start saying fuck.

hey. you say you wish i could’ve met your dad almost every time you talk about him. and i’ve never told you this, because i don’t want to sound crazy, but i probably am crazy, and knowing me i’ll show you this some day, or, knowing you, you’ll just find it, so basically, i don’t mind sounding crazy. you wish i could’ve met him, and i wish so as well, but in a way, i feel like i already have. i see him in you, in how you act, and how you talk about him, and the stories, and the rare pictures and videos. when you’re talking about him, i feel like he’s here, next to us. i think we would’ve been friends. i think he would’ve liked my tattoo. i think he would’ve liked my music. i think he would’ve liked my family. he’s your angel, and that sounds silly, and i don’t mean it super literally, nor do i mean it in a cheap psychic way. i think what we put into the world stays there, our love. you have his love. you carry that with you, and i think you also carry his pain, because no one else was there to pick it up for him after he was gone. i don’t know what else to say, just that i’ve always felt connected to him through you. your love for each other is so strong that i can see it today.

pain isn’t beautiful. neither is suffering. it’s a misconception, because what’s really beautiful is perseverance, and strength, and every little good thing in the world. the scar is beautiful, but that wound isn’t. just because the healing was because of the pain, that doesn’t mean the pain was what created the beauty. we shouldn’t need to hurt.

thanks to sunk cost fallacy, i’m going to get better, because i missed my chance to kill myself four years ago, and now i have no choice but to keep living, to keep loving, and to make new reasons to stay alive. the only way out is through, because you can only go forward, and i missed the suicide exit and now i’m stuck on the bridge of recovery.

at least i have a sunpass.

[still-day]

I have felt called to write since I was in fifth grade. In eighth grade I wrote a third of a book, more than a hundred pages of amateurish fiction, and then somehow my dad's computer basically melted internally and I lost it all. In high school I wrote poetry (being honest, though, who doesn't?) and then some things happened, which maybe I will share at some point if I'm ever brave enough, and I stopped writing anything at all.

In my journey towards living as my authentic self, the call to write came back full force. I signed up for this blog, and I wrote a bunch of posts. Or, well, I wrote a post, and then I thought "I don't know, this doesn't seem right" and I saved it as a draft. It felt like I was writing what I thought that other people would think that I should write, if you know what I mean. It felt silly. There were references to MarioKart.

Then, I spent a week thinking "what is it that I want to share with the world?" I had an idea and I wrote another post. That one was too much, though. Like, a fiction, but it wasn't a fiction. A story about myself, but packaged as though it was fantasy. It made me uncomfortable, like telling a lie, so I saved it as a draft.

Then I spent two weeks thinking, and then a week writing. This time, I told the truth, the real truth, about me and who I am and where I came from. It started with third grade, when I would tell curious adults that I wanted to grow up to be a Saint. It started with the time I watched a video about Saint Bernadette at school, and came to the conclusion that one of the steps toward Sainthood was eating grass. But that's about the time when things got dark, in my life. Or at least the part of the darkness I remember. A sick, sick feeling in my stomach told me "If you tell your story, your real story, and the people who are a part of that story somehow see this blog, well... some of them are going to be very very upset." The idea of that, I guess I won't lie, scares me so much it makes me nauseous. So, I saved it as a draft.

There is a story I've been "writing" in my head for a long time. Whenever I have trouble falling asleep, I write the story. It's about another world, and a boy who will end up saving it, even though he doesn't know that yet. It's about his best friend and the people he meets along the way: Nan and The Mother and Tyrus and Ellie (who, believe it or not, he does not fall in love with). It's about new skills and introspection and the battle of light versus dark, but not exactly the same way that dichotomy is usually portrayed. In summary, it's about the Hero's Journey, which every good book tends to be about in one way or another.

I figured I could write that, instead. No one will get mad at me for the things I will say in a fantasy story, at least I hope not. However, that's not what I want to share. That doesn't feel right in my soul, or my heart, or my spirit, or whatever you want to call it. I enjoy it, and if I'm being honest I'm a bit proud of it, but that's not what I feel pulled to put out into the world. At least, not right now.

I've lived a life, as we all have, of course. A life with a lot of struggles, a lot of hard work, and a lot of lessons. I don't think my life, or my struggles or work, or the lessons that I learned are special, and that's exactly why I want to share them. There are many people with the same struggles, going through the same work, the ups and the downs, the wondering if you'll ever reach a point at which you can genuinely say that you're ok. I don't think what I would share is unique, but maybe I hope that sharing it will add something to the world. For someone. I hope.

Having made that decision, I ran into another big problem. I waited, and waited, and thought, and ruminated, and procrastinated, and wondered, and never wrote. I felt like I have to reach some kind of finish line, some kind of aha! moment, because otherwise why would what I share mean anything to anyone but me? There are more self-help books out there than there are stars in the sky, or so it seems, and all of them (or at least most of them) have an ending. A conclusion. A "I am sharing these things so that you can do these steps and be in the better place that I'm at now" kind of intention.

But when will I get there? What if I never do? Does that mean that I can never write? That I can never share? Do I need some kind of denouement, some kind of epic battle, some kind of resolution? Does this odd sort of feeling, this strange call to write and to share, require an "And they lived happily ever after. The end."?

I guess, what I've finally decided, is that I don't think so. Or, rather, I hope it doesn't. I want to share about the messy middle, as Glennon Doyle would say. I want to share about those days where I think I have it all figured out, where my vision seems clearer, both literally and figuratively. Where I feel that I am moving toward a goal, toward a place of contentment and worthiness. And I want to share about those days where it feels like all this work, all this struggle, all this hope that any of this is worth anything at all, seems meaningless. I want to share about the nights where I wonder "what the fuck am I even doing? Who am I to think I'll ever be worth anything at all? Why can't I just give up? Why can't I just lay down, just quit trying, just die the slow death of capitalistic ritual and dissociation?" I feel called to share the feelings, the thoughts, and the process. Because, whatever anyone wants to say, growth is always a process. It's not linear, it's not a step-by-step, it's not a prescription that you take every day and suddenly everything is better.

I guess I'll have to get over the fear of people seeing this. I don't expect anyone to read it at all, to be honest, but I am very very scared that they will. It's on the internet, after all. And just in case someone does, and just in case someone who is a part of my story reads it, I guess I'll have to get over the fact that they won't always like the way I tell it. It's my story, and I am telling it as honestly as I am able to do so I shouldn't be afraid (I tell myself), but the fear is visceral. And I guess that's part of the process, too. I guess maybe I'll just write, I'll just write the things I feel called to write. And I'll just hope, and I'll just be as strong as I can be, and I'll cross whatever bridge needs crossing if and when I get to it. I guess.

So, here I am. This is me. This is the beginning, which I am beginning in the middle. I hope there is something here someday, for someone, but maybe I'll just be writing for no one, or maybe I'll just be writing for me, and that's ok, too.

This is me, I guess, today. Tomorrow, we'll see what comes. But right now, here I am.

It's nice to meet you.

[headspace-hotel]

Your posts about literary poetry are so strange to me, haha, because I also read a lot a lot of "literary" poetry and... it DOES save my life? A lot? Like that "Pigs" poem, I actually shared it with my bookish friends, because yes, the fleshy meat metaphors are overdone imo, but it was also a really vivid portrait of the way that growing up in a low-income rural area ties into these intrusive, distorted thoughts about self-worth that keep re-occuring throughout the poem. Carter isn't a (1)

favorite poet of mine by any means but also I think it's kind of unfair to reduce him to just disconnected images and cynicism. Some of the most popular poets in literary magazines today, Rupi Kaur aside, which I DO think is objectively bad poetry, are slam poets, and there's an urgency and joy and spokenness to their work that is just completely unseen in English poetry before rap re-infused the poetry scene. Personally I'm so so glad we've moved from the discrete single beautiful (2)

images of 19th century poetry that really do say nothing about social or interpersonal relation, and if you want to hear actual crushing nihilism, that's what the modernists are for. And I promise you both of those genres still exist and get published even on big poetry aggregators like Poetry Daily. It's okay not to like it and I know you've said before that you wish more poetry was rhymed and metered, but that doesn't mean poetry that isn't to your taste is bad? (3/4)

(PS sorry for being on anon I'm on a friend's phone but I don't want you to think this is anon hate where I don't want to own up to my identity, I'm wherewords) (4/4)

We are probably just going to have to agree to disagree on this one but also, I don't dislike individual poems quite as much as I dislike the broad trends

I believe I have read way more literary poems than is recommended, good, normal, or healthy, and there's a post in my poetry tag somewhere that breaks down what I hate most about literary poems in better depth (which I will probably reblog again), but I went through this evolution of my thoughts on it:

When I was taking my "intermediate" poetry class, I was genuinely intrigued and delighted by the range of things you could do with words that I was seeing in all the poems we were reading, and a lot of poems truly felt neat and impactful, and I liked interpreting them and learning to "see" meaning in them.

And then when I was taking my "advanced" poetry class, I started getting more and more critical, and I started to hate what reading these poems was doing to my own writing style.

And then a year later I read like every literary magazine my college library had because...okay long story but I was spending hours every day holed up in the library and that experience turned my existing skepticism into outright disdain

Because listen...there is an initial shimmer to the way unexpected combinations of words and images, like "lemon-lime grieving" or "cumulonimbus cancer" or "ontological algae" plink around in your brain, but after seeing Unexpected Combinations of words thrown together a million times, I started to think most of the meaning I read in literary poems was a kind of pareidolia.

So many poems have no intelligible complete thoughts in them, no consistent entities that are referred to more than once, no narrative, no images that persist longer than the phrases they are in

And it's not bad for art to be open to interpretation, but I had to write detailed journal entries about poems from Poetry Daily for my last class and a lot of this poetry just falls apart like a sandcastle the more you try to analyze it, because there is ultimately nothing there.

Like I said, I've said it all before more articulately. There is a lot more to my dislike of literary poetry. But one thing that really, really put the nail in the coffin for me was finding out that InferKit (a neural network you can feed text for it to complete) could consistently generate "poems" that were indistinguishable from published works by people with PhDs, that could be interpreted and analyzed the same way.

And to an extent I love the role of randomness in art! I think it's cool that humans see patterns in things and assemble narratives! I think it's an unavoidable part of art, and a lot of the "aliveness" of art lies in that indeterminacy!

But it feels like some sort of scam that so many artists with PhDs and MFAs are getting paid to write stuff that barely requires a human writer because the reader is doing so much of the work of interpretation. I'm sick and tired of seeing shapes! I'm not reading tea leaves! Communicate something dammit!

There is also the voyeuristic obsession with the trauma of minorities, the cruelty this is to so many poets that they're expected to constantly write about things that hurt them, the indistinguishable nature of so many writing styles, and the large number of poems that are mostly riding on getting a gross-out reaction from the reader, but I've explained all that in other posts

I don't know what to say. Like, all these poets are being read and circulated in environments where there's a pre-loaded expectation of interpretation and of taking the poet seriously. I'm going to call it crowd-sourced pareidolia because...yeah, I believe that's what it is sometimes. And if a poem has nothing to say to the version of me with no college education, the version of me that is skeptical, or the version of me that wants to hear a real voice that has something compelling them, I don't like it.

[havenoffandoms]

72 for Geralt/Jaskier?

I meant to post this a lot earlier... sorry about the wait, nonnie. I hope you like it anyway. I'm not sure how it came out in the end after I agonised over this for the past couple of days, but it was fun going back to my Geraskier roots.

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Prompt 72: Character A has a secret. Character B does whatever they can to find out what it is. When they find out, they wish they hadn't.

Warnings: brief angsty episode, mention of Geralt's traumatic childhood

Also, I love that art! Holy Shit!? So of course this had to feature before the fic <3

Travelling with Jaskier had its downfalls.

For one, the bard talks a lot. He never stops, not even in his sleep, and that would drive any man insane if you ask Geralt. He listens to Jaskier waffling about poetry all day, every day, he doesn’t have to endure a lecture on the benefits of iambic pentameters when he’s trying to fall asleep, thank you very much. Jaskier also likes to complain about every little thing that causes him discomfort, which when they’re on the path, ranges from fly bites all the way to sore feet. Travelling with a human also means that they travel considerably slower, unless they’re both riding on top of Roach, but Geralt doesn’t like putting his best girl under that kind of strain very often.

For all of Jaskier’s flaws, Geralt would hate to have to separate from his bard. At least, when Jaskier is close by, Geralt can keep an eye on him and make sure Jaskier doesn’t get himself into any unnecessary trouble. Having Jaskier travel with him gives Geralt peace of mind. He appreciates the singing as well, even if he could stand to tell Jaskier this a bit more often. Geralt deems that his bard’s ego is plenty inflated without Geralt making it worse. Not to mention that life always seems a little bit brighter when Jaskier is around, and the nights are a little less lonely as Geralt gets to pull his bard close and fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart. Knowing that Jaskier is safe is the only thing that lets Geralt sleep peacefully at night.

You’d think that after nearly two decades of knowing his bard, Geralt would have figured out Jaskier’s secret by now. Geralt is, of course, referring to Jaskier’s near supernatural ability to always come up with coin when he and Geralt need it most urgently. Geralt has no idea how the bard does it - his songs are popular, granted, and on a good night Jaskier makes enough to buy a nice room for the night and the better pieces of meat from the kitchen. Still, being a bard doesn’t pay that well, not even if you were as famous as Jaskier. Just last week, Geralt’s horse and most of his belonging were stolen by bandits, leaving Geralt travelling on foot and too poor to afford to buy a new horse. Two days later, Jaskier came trotting up to their camp atop a gorgeous mare, looking mighty pleased with himself but refusing to tell Geralt how he managed to afford to pay for the horse.

“Would you believe me if I told you I stole her, Geralt, my dear?”

“Not in a million years,” Geralt admitted deadpan, pulling an offended squawk from his songbird.

“Just because I’m a bard you don’t think I can steal a horse?”

“I don’t think you could ever steal a horse because you’re as stealthy as the proverbial bull in the porcelain shop.”

It’s not just the horse, though. Geralt’s armour needed replacing and good armour doesn’’t come cheaply. Geralt doesn’t hire the services of just any blacksmith or armourer to craft his weapons and protective gear. He has his regular suppliers, the ones he always goes back to because he knows that their work is reliable and of the highest quality. And even though these people know Geralt by now, even offer him a friends and family discount on occasion, their wares still come at a hefty price. Geralt, as it turns out, didn’t have the coin to replace his armour for a few months. He desperately needed new boots, though. A new pair of breeches wouldn’t hurt either, and his silver sword broke in half whilst fighting a particularly vicious griffin a few weeks back.

Geralt didn’t even mention all of this to Jaskier. That didn’t stop the bard from going ahead and commissioning a brand new suit of armour, new silver and steel swords, as well as a few casual clothes for Geralt to wear on the warmer summer days. All of this must have cost an arm, a leg and a fucking lung, and yet Jaskier acted like he didn’t just break the bank all for Geralt’s benefit. He didn’t even get anything for himself and that realisation had Geralt feeling slightly embarrassed about the gesture.

“You don’t have to buy me all this stuff, Jask.”

“I know that, dearest,” Jaskier assured him, eyes soft and an easy smile playing on his lips, “but I wanted to. Only the best for you, my sweet witcher.”

The mystery of where Jaskier managed to find the coin to pay for all this remains unsolved, despite Geralt’s questioning. Well, if Jaskier won’t outright tell him, then Geralt will just have to investigate the matter by himself.

"Where the fuck did you get your hand on all the coin to pay for all this?" Geralt asks one evening, blunt and straight to the point. There was probably a kinder and gentler way to ask this, but after spending weeks mulling over Jaskier's sudden new-found fortune, Geralt has lost the little patience he possessed in the matter. Jaskier, on the other hand, looks perfectly unperturbed.

"From the bank," he offers simply as he sprinkles expensive herbs over the hare Geralt caught earlier that evening, "you know, where people deposit their valuables? I know you witchers don't believe in bank accounts, savings and interests, but-"

"Where does the coin come from?" Geralt interrupts, hissing those words through clenched teeth.

"Why, my inheritance."

Geralt stares for a long while. It takes his brain several seconds to catch up to what Jaskier is telling him, and another few seconds to make sense of the words. Inheritance?

"What inheritance?"

"Well, when my father passed away he left me and my siblings a share of his wealth. That's how inheritance works. Say, pass me my satchel my dear, I think I have some more spices in there."

Geralt wordlessly hands Jaskier his satchel, still trying to process this new discovery. Come to think of it, Geralt knows precious little about Jaskier's family. Sure, that's probably on him for never asking, but Geralt has grown so used to Jaskier oversharing every aspect of his life that he never needed to ask his bard anything. Jaskier just… never talked about his family. Or his childhood, or his upbringing. His life story seems to always begin when he was a student at Oxenfurt.

Geralt is growing curiouser by the minute.

"When did your father pass?"

"Oh? Uh… good question. Maybe a few years after I went to Oxenfurt? I'm not sure. I received a letter from the bank notifying me that a share of my father's wealth was deposited in my account."

Geralt frowns. "You never went back to find out what happened?"

"No."

Well, that's an oddly abrupt response, and Jaskier doesn't seem like he's got anything to say on the matter. Which only makes Geralt feel more curious about the whole thing.

"Why not?"

"Geralt…" Jaskier heaves a sigh before putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, too tense to be genuine. "My father and I didn't get along. I felt no need to go mourn him with the rest of my noble family in Lettenhove when he passed. That's it. That's all there's to it. I was not a good enough man to refuse my share of the inheritance, either, despite my non-existent relationship with him."

That's a lot to unpack. Geralt always assumed that Jaskier had a good childhood. Then again, he would think that, wouldn't he, considering Geralt spent his own childhood being tortured by magnanimous and sadistic mages. Where most children got to spend time outside helping out in the fields or playing with their friends, Geralt was put through drill after drill, after drill… until he was physically unable to walk so much his muscles hurt.

"Wait… did you say your noble family?"

"Hm?"

"In Lettenhove… there's nothing in Lettenhove. Only the Viscount and his family live there on a large esta-" Geralt's mouth clicks shut as realisation dawns on him. "Your father was the Viscount of Lettenhove?"

"Yes. And since I'm the oldest, after he died that title passed onto me. But I much prefer being a bard, so I graciously devolved my duties to my younger brother, who now manages the estate. Are we done with this conversation?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad…"

Geralt watches Jaskier stop dead in his tracks, his shoulders briefly tensing at those words, before exhaling loudly through his nose. Jaskier anxiously rubs the back of his neck as he straightens up and offers Geralt a sheepish smile, that one warmer and softer than the previous one.

"Sorry, dear heart. I didn't mean to be so short with you. It's just… well, there's a reason I don't bring up my family all that much."

"Hm." Geralt gently taps the spot next to him on his bedroll, and Jaskier doesn't have to be told twice. Soon, Geralt has one arm wound tightly around Jaskier's shoulders. Not quite a hug, but the intention is there all the same, and Jaskier eagerly melts in the embrace. "I shouldn't have insisted. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. You did nothing wrong." Jaskier nuzzles the crook of Geralt's neck sweetly before depositing a featherlight kiss just over his pulse point. "Do you want to ask me anything?"

Geralt ponders over that question far too long before whispering an answer in the air pocket between them.

"Did he hurt you?"

Jaskier hesitates.

"Not physically, no. He didn't approve of my aspirations and choices. He didn't support me. I suppose it hurt a little when he didn't see me away to Oxenfurt at the age of 15, but he never raised a hand on me."

"Hm." Good, Geralt thinks. No child should ever have to suffer at the hand of an adult. Geralt earned plenty a beating at Kaer Morhen, some justified and others not so much. Just because he went through this doesn't mean he condones it.

"At least I get to spend his money on someone I love," Jaskier offers softly, eyes as blue as the deepest ocean glancing up at Geralt through dark lashes, “That, at least, the old man can’t take away from me.”

A happy little rumble bubbles up Geralt's chest, despite the blush gracing his cheeks.

"I never thanked you for the gifts." Geralt blushes a deeper shade of red at the realisation. "Sorry. It's been a long year."

"Well, good thing we're heading North soon then, hm?" Jaskier straightens up so he can cradle Geralt's face in his lute-calloused hands. Their eyes meet then, amber seeking out blue, and Geralt thinks that he must be the luckiest son of a bitch in all the Continent.

"Yes," he agrees in a whisper, tilting his face to place a kiss on the inside of Jaskier's wrist, "good thing, indeed."

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