#part that hurts.
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quietwingsinthesky · 5 months ago
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Drabble 193/366 - Doctor Who
She does understand.
She’s lived too long not to. She’s felt Graham’s grief despite her lost wedding ring. She remembers playflirting the way Ryan does when she was a man.
She knows what the look in Yaz’s eyes means when it falls on her.
Too early, too late. She feels like the awkward rut in the road. Trapping Yaz, herself ground down. To escape she’d have to tell the truth, break Yaz’s hope, and offer comfort for her unrepentant hearts’ regeneration: for the love she can’t feel and the friendship she can.
If with anyone. But not her. Not her.
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aphel1on · 2 months ago
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nothinggg better than torturing an emotionally repressed character until every single trauma they've ever refused to process starts spilling uncontrollably out of the cracks. like a matryoshka doll situation of repressed trauma and baby you better believe i'm going in there with a hammer
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kyri45 · 7 months ago
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time-woods · 1 month ago
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watched a friendplay mouthwashing i had only seen the demo when it first cameout so watchingthe full thing sure was an experience !
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inkskinned · 1 year ago
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
#writeblr#warm up#this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru#but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist#ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work#part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just#like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r#ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week#this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism#imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY#''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''
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captainkirkk · 2 years ago
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I want to see characters being taken care of in an explicit and worshipful way. Home-cooked meals. Hair brushed and braided by gentle hands. Little gifts just because.
I want to read about characters who are not used to kindness being bombarded by acts of service. This trope works romantically and platonically. Give me found family and acts of service - all the ways a character is wrapped up in wordless, explicit care after years of cruelty and having no idea how to handle. I need it.
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knightofleo · 2 months ago
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Angela Orosco Silent Hill 2
#in anticipation of the incoming remake#i tried my best to imitate the SH font but#silent hill#silent hill 2#angela#angela orosco#theme of laura (reprise)#i've said it before but in spite of its occasionally clunky diction i think silent hill 2 is an unusually emotionally intelligent game#for any year and still today but especially so for where gaming storytelling was in 2001#and for as many pitfalls a story like hers could've dipped into i think it particularly shines through with how they treated angela#not just choosing to depict victimhood as something that can be ugly and fractious and open quote “difficult” but then this#actively rebuffing james for trying to be a white knight and dressing him down for it too#“i know you mean well and want to help but this isn't a simple problem"#“and it's really hurtful and a bit insulting that you act like you can”#the switching to a first person view turning it into an address to the player as well#maybe even old videogame tropes too#“this isn't some princess in a castle kind of situation dude this is more serious than that”#it felt like a very deliberate statement about the depth and severity of a trauma like this#and in doing so showing it so much respect#there is no quick easy solution to this and you won't get one#then angela just leaves#and you never see her again#i really don't think it was to imply that it consumed her i think it was to underline what was just said#this isn't your problem to fix#this is where your part in this story ends#there's some strength in that
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runraerun · 1 month ago
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Steddie Amnesia Fic: 1/3
-> Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3
cw: lots of head trauma/brain injury/recovery stuff.
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Steve wakes up in the hospital with someone snoring loudly on his leg, mouth open, drool getting soaked up into the scratchy hospital blanket over him.
Steve just stares.
It’s… Freddie? No, that’s not right... Eddie! Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, known delinquent and drug dealer… resting his head on Steve’s lap.
What the hell…?
Steve reaches up with a wobbly, IV-ridden hand to clumsily pat along his head, but instead of meeting messy hair, he meets a thick wad of bandages. He flinches when he hits an especially tender spot.
It’s not much but it’s enough to wake Eddie Munson up with a jolt, and a random jumble of words that sounded something like, “the dice have spoken!”, but Steve can’t be sure. Not with the sharp ringing still going off inside his skull.
“Steve? Steve! Oh thank fuck, Jesus H. Christ, you scared the ever loving shit out of me.” Eddie stood and grabbed at one of Steve’s shoulders, shaking him enough to elicit another wince.
“Oh, damn, sorry. I’m like a fucking bull in a china shop here, man. There’s way too much expensive, breakable shit here. I’m not used to it. I accidentally ripped your IV out the other day... Fuck. The nurses hate my guts.” Eddie chuckles, eyes wide and solely on Steve, talking like they were old friends or something.
But that can’t be right. Steve doesn’t remember saying more than two words to Eddie Munson during the entire time he knew he even existed, and even then it was just to discuss weed prices.
“For real though, talk to me Harrington, how you feelin’, hm? Loopy? Gonna yak again? Apparently they got you on the good stuff,” Eddie flicks a liquid filled bag hanging above Steve and shakes his head, “but they keep cutting you back. Dicks.”
Steve’s eyes try and follow Eddie’s erratic movements but his eyes ache the more he moves them. He blinks against the harsh fluorescents and tries to open his mouth. And thank God, Eddie Munson seems to take this as a sign and shut up.
“What happened?” Steve finally croaks.
One of Eddie’s brows jumps. “You don’t remember?”
Steve gives his head a small shake. Did Eddie hit him with his car or something? Is that why he’s sleeping at his bedside and talking to him like they’re buddies?
“You fell, Stevie.” Eddie makes a whistling noise and mimicks something falling with his hands, then makes a crashing sound when his hand lands on Steve’s bandaged head. “Like a coconut out of a tree. Landed right on that big ol’ melon of yours. There was blood everywhere. It scared the shit out of me and the kids. Especially when you wouldn’t wake up.”
Steve’s throat feels like sandpaper, but he manages to swallow, his throat clicking as he did, and gets out, “The kids?”
Eddie seems to notice, even before Steve can ask, and reaches for a water bottle with a straw already in it, and half chewed. Eddie’s own, no doubt. Against his better judgment, Steve accepts it when Eddie offers it to him. He was just so goddamn thirsty.
“Don’t worry, they’re all fine. They were just shaken up. I’ll radio the little gremlins and give ‘em the good news in a sec.” Eddie’s smile falters a little, seeming lost for words. Like he wants to say something, but can’t quite get it out.
Steve finishes swallowing his few, meager gulps of water before he asks, “What is it?”
“Don’t freak out—“ Eddie begins.
And, okay, that’s exactly the thing you tell someone before they freak the fuck out. Steve’s stomach is subject to a growing, sluggish panic. “What? Dude, tell me—“
“It’s your hair.” Eddie seems genuinely pained at having to deliver this crushing of a blow to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.
Steve can hear the beeping from the monitors he’s hooked up to begin to pick up speed as his heart begins racing. “My hair?”
“It’s okay! It’s okay, it’ll grow back! They just had to take a little bit off where the stitches went, you can hardest notice it—well, that’s a fucking lie, you could spot that landing strip from space—but I think if you part it to the other side it won’t look so… y’know.”
“No, dude, I don’t know.” Steve says, eyes wide, brows pinched.
“Like a drunk toddler took a pair of rusty kitchen shears to your mop.” Eddie says, huffing out a nervous sort of laugh.
Steve groans, half due to the bastardization that’s happened to his favorite feature, and half due to the migraine that’s looming on his horizon.
“You’re still pretty, Stevie, don’t worry.” Eddie grins, eyebrows raised, like he’s trying to be cute or something.
That weirdest part is, it’s kind of working.
Steve must have hit his head really, really hard.
The doctors eventually come in and perform all sorts of tests, and he tries his best to comply with them and jump through whatever hoops they make him jump through. He just wants to get the hell out of this hospital bed.
Unfortunately for him, Steve hadn’t exactly aced any of the tests.
In fact, he had failed most of them pretty fucking dismally. He couldn’t remember the date, who the president was, where he lived, couldn’t say the alphabet backwards… although, who the fuck can do that? He stands by that failing grade.
A couple of CAT scans later and it’s clear that Steve’s brain got smacked around a little more than they had originally thought.
Among a pile of other stuff, the thing that sticks out the most to Steve is his diagnosis of something called short term amnesia. They explain it like the past 2 to 3 years has just been wiped from his brain. The last clear thing he really remembers is getting the shit beat out of him by Billy, and then it all sort of gets jumbled. Fragmented. The doctors explain that this is pretty typical for head trauma patients.
He’s a head trauma patient, now.
It’s normal for memories of trauma to link, creating spiderwebs throughout your brain.
Which, that’s great. So when he gets beat up again, there’s always a chance his brain will try and erase his easy, happy years and revert back to a trauma default. Really helpful brain, thank you.
And the thing that sucks the most is that his years after the Billy beat down sound pretty great. Traumatizing, sure, but great. Once the Upside Down shit was locked up, with every scary nightmare fuel monster inside of it, life in Hawkins didn’t sound all that terrible.
He lived with Robin, who’s his best friend, (his ‘platonic soulmate’ even, as she explains it), he’s working a retail job, (also with Robin), and coaches the high school basketball team during the evenings. He’d even been talking with Hopper about joining the force.
Well, he was. Now he’s more or less useless, working full time at re-learning his life, along with a couple of fine motor skills that got glitchy after the fall.
And then there’s Eddie.
Eddie, who’s apparently also his best friend, only their soulmate link isn’t platonic at all.
The strange and weirdly exciting reality was that Steve Harrington had woken up from his 3-day medically induced coma with not only a full fledged relationship, but a boyfriend.
It’s a lot to digest, and part of him still doesn’t even know how to process it, but hearing the stories being told around him, seeing how Eddie is practically living in his and Robin’s two-bedroom apartment, and just… the way Eddie looks at him?
It’s with love—Steve can see it. Feel it. Eddie’s practically vibrating with it.
What’s even crazier is that when Steve looks at Eddie, he feels the exact same way.
It’s like looking at the stars. Steve’s heart skips a beat when those dark eyes of hit him, and Steve wants nothing more than to make Eddie smile—no, better than that, to make him laugh, just so he can watch Eddie’s adam’s apple bob up and down and hear that manic, unhinged cackle. It’s downright delightful. Steve loves being in relationships like this, where it’s all consuming.
Steve may not have the memories of falling in love with Eddie, but he has all the feelings.
No one talks about it with Steve, of course. Maybe they think it’s going to be too heavy for him to process that he’s into dudes now, but Steve isn’t a big dumb baby. Sure, he’s got a pretty severe brain injury, and yeah, alright, it takes him a minute to remember people’s names sometimes, and he has a harder time controlling his emotions, but he isn’t a complete invalid. Only a little bit of one. He’s working on it, dammit.
And Eddie is so painfully, frustratingly patient with him. He never pushes. He’s clearly letting Steve retrieve his memories before he makes a move, because despite his whole outward appearance, Eddie Munson is a goddamn gentleman. He never so much as reaches for Steve’s hands, but Steve can tell by the way their pinkies graze when they watch movies late at night that he wants to.
Steve can tell by the way Eddie teases him, the way he’s there with him through his recovery, that he doesn’t ever make Steve feel stupid when he asks the same questions over and over again, when he cries at the drop of a hat or when he gets sort of confused about the lay out of his apartment—he doesn’t care about that of that.
Because he’s in love with Steve. It’s so painfully romantic, it brings a painful lump to Steve’s throat every time he thinks too much about it.
The two of them are driving to one of Steve’s therapy sessions, Eddie in the driver's seat, Steve in the passengers, listening to a low racket of some kind of heavy metal music. Eddie always keeps the volume low now, for Steve.
He’s just been so intensely good about everything that Steve needs to try and do something good for Eddie in return. He needs Eddie to know that there’s a light at the end of this tunnel that they’re both currently lost in.
“I’m sorry about this, y’know.” Steve says when they finally pull up the building that has ‘Brain Injury Recover Center’ written on the front. So all the boys and girls with scrambled eggs for brains know where to converge.
“Don’t worry about it, man. I work the evening shifts, remember? My days are free.” Eddie explains, and Steve wonders if he’s had to be told this bit of information a couple of times now. Sometimes it takes a few times before something sticks to his brain now. His short term memory is still majorly flighty. But no, Steve remembers that Eddie bartends at a local bowling alley most evenings. He’s gone a few times. Not to bowl, of course—too much hand eye coordination involved—but just to hang out with Eddie. He’s pretty decent at Ms. Pac-Man though.
Steve shakes his head. He knows his mind must have wandered because there’s been a lull where no one’s spoken. Eddie never seems to care about that though. “I don’t mean about the drive. I was talking about… y’know.”
“Wha’dy’mean?” Eddie mumbles as he backs into his parking space, hand on the back of Steve’s headrest.
Steve sighs and decides to just come out and say it: “I mean having your boyfriend forget everything about you and your relationship. I just… that must be really tough.”
Everything in Eddie Munson comes to a jarring halt, hand frozen over where he’s turned to ignition off.
It’s sort of unnerving—Eddie is always moving, fidgeting. Damn near bouncing off the walls. But now it’s like someone hit the poor guy with a freeze ray gun.
Steve chuckles softly as he reaches out and touches Eddie’s arm, giving him a playful jostle, to loosen him up a little, “it’s okay, Eddie. I know. You don’t have to keep going easy on me. I’m gay! Or, bi-sexual. Whatever.” Steve shrugs, “see? Not falling apart. I can handle being in love with another dude. You don’t need to keep babying me.”
The side of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a downturned smile that he seems to be trying to hide.
“I know, I know. Not just any dude.” Steve rolls his eyes, a smile still firmly on his face. He takes Eddie’s hand from the steering wheel, and Eddie seems to watch it go in a detached sort of awe. Steve wonders if Eddie’s proud of him for being so cool with it all. “In love with you.”
“Steve, I don’t think—
“Wait, just let me finish.” Steve asks, and Eddie blinks and works on closing his mouth. Knows it’s important to let Steve get his thoughts out quickly, lest they be lost to the giant black hole inside of his beat-up brain now. “I know that I don’t remember any of the important stuff with us. Our first date, or our first kiss or, y’know, any of our other first firsts. So maybe it feels like you’re cheating on the old Steve with me? But… Eddie, I know it’s crazy but even though my brain forgot all of the specifics; my heart didn’t. I look at you, and it’s all there. I’m still so into you, dude. I can feel it, even though I don’t remember how I got here. I’m in l—“
“Steve! Stevestevesteve wait, holy shit—!” Eddie’s eyes snap up from his intense stare at the place where their hands are linked. “Steve—”
“Yeah?” Steve prompts when Eddie doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. He runs his thumb gently over Eddie’s knuckles. It feels so nice to finally be able to hold his hand again. They fit together so well, and Steve wonders briefly if it’s some kind of muscle memory.
Eddie opens his mouth a few more times before he remembers how to make the words come out.
“Steve. Buddy. We’re… we’re not dating.”
Steve’s face falls, and he can feel a lump form in his throat, but he keeps a firm hold of Eddie’s warm hand in his own. “Yeah, I know, I know. We haven’t had any time to be a couple. And it’s probably been torture for you, man. You’re so busy taking care of me and making sure I don’t freak out over everything that you’ve clearly been neglecting your own hierarchy of needs.”
Eddie raises a brow.
Steve chuckles, “Shut up. It’s a therapy term.”
Eddie laughs in his throat. “Steve, you gotta slow down and listen to me.”
He turns his shoulders so that he’s fully facing Steve while he reaches his free hand over and tugs at one of his earlobes. “Got your hearing ears on?”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods just the same.
“We… we weren’t dating before your accident,” Eddie speaks slowly, his voice warm, gentle. “Hell, I didn’t even know you were, y’know, into dudes like that. Much less me.”
Something throbs dully behind Steve’s eyes. It’s the start of a migraine—the one that makes it hard to process much of anything. Steve squints, trying to make sense of what Eddie’s saying. “…you’re not my boyfriend?”
Eddie shakes his head very, very slowly. “No.”
Steve snatches his hand back like he’s only just now noticed how burning hot Eddie’s hand is.
He settles back in his seat, staring out the front window. The sounds from the outside world are muffled, and everything feels far away and sort of… Made up. Just like everything he’d imagined was going on between him and Eddie. Not real.
He feels painfully detached from reality. Unmoored. Maybe this was the disassociation thing the doctor mentioned might happen…
“Are you sure?” Steve asks, risking another glance over to Eddie, who hasn’t taken his eyes off him for a second.
“Pretty fuckin’ sure.” Eddie snorts.
“Oh, God. This is… I’m—sorry. I’m so stupid. Fuck, I gotta—“ Steve suddenly attacks the door handle with a clumsy fury that has his hand fumbling with the handle for way too long. Fucking busted up, bruised as fuck fucking brain-!
“Steve, it’s okay, dude,” Eddie says from behind Steve, but that’s easy for him to say; he didn’t just humiliate himself in front of his not-boyfriend, definitely-crush, possibly ex-friend—“Steve, wait!”
Steve flees the van on unsteady feet, not daring to look back.
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cry-ptidd · 4 months ago
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” Am I not right to weep? O my children, cursed children of a hateful mother - ”
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milkywayes · 3 months ago
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memento vivere
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ibahibut · 2 months ago
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💀: Fewer wounds, more kisses from me.
🐦‍⬛: Contract's accepted, mi amor.
Music inspiration: A Little Death by The Neighbourhood
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 4 months ago
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Kiss Kiss Fallen Tree!
[First] Prev <–-> Next
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#wei wuxian#lan wangji#Sorry to everyone who was looking forwards to this comic only to find out I put WWX in the ugliest outfit.#Continuity came first. Plus let's be honest; he did *not* show up in anything fancy. Or in all black as seen in most fanart.#We are at the middle of WWX depression arc. His self-care was 100% because Jin Yanli would be sad if he didn't try to look nice.#Okay okay. Fine I've delayed talking about the kiss long enough.#It is absolutely a core LWJ scene over a WWX scene. Which is made even more fascinating because we don't get his POV.#But we get so many insights! His loss of control and his firmness all contrasted against how he trembles.#And all of that wrapped up in a wonderful self-loathing bow! You go Lan Zhan! You hated yourself so much for this!#WWX is a hilarious narrator for this because he is truly just...baffled by what's going on.#He would push the person away but he doesn't want to hurt their feelings or pride (putting other people first again are we?)#I do understand why this one is divisive for people though. I choose to look at it through a character/humourous lens.#I've seen people defend and admonish this scene as a particularly shitty thing LWJ did and let's be very clear here: It was.#That's why I like it. LWJ did a shitty thing and struggles with it. It's part of what makes him so robust as a character.#It's also fine if you enjoy this scene for it's eroticism. You're not a bad person for that. You are just A Person.#People will have their own experiences with this topic. Be kind to each other alright?
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potato-lord-but-not · 6 months ago
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ep 42 is the first episode I caught as it dropped and like. It never occurred to me how devastating these month long breaks between episodes was until now. actually sobbing crying
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hinamie · 4 months ago
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all i have left
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borderlinereminders · 8 months ago
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I think the child in me healed a little bit today.
My partner knew that I didn’t have a great childhood and had a lot of stuff missing. Memories, experiences, etc.
Knowing how sad I was about it, he set up Easter for me. He came to get me because he’d hidden eggs around the house filled with candies or chocolate.
I felt a little silly at first but then I just let go and let myself enjoy it. It makes me feel emotional, in a good way, just thinking back on it.
So, two reminders from this experience of mine for you.
1) It’s okay to indulge your inner child. In fact, you should! It’s okay to enjoy things others might find silly whether it’s swinging on the swings, watching a children’s movie or any number of things.
2) Amazing people exist in this world. And you deserve to have those people and shouldn’t settle for less. Maybe it isn’t about setting up an egg hunt for you but I hope you find someone, if you don’t have someone, who offers you support and care. And I hope they encourage you to be yourself.
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egophiliac · 7 months ago
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What do you think of Rook's savanaclaw card? <333
I didn't get him (and I need to save my keys for Silver's birthday, sob) so I looked up his groovy, and I'm not over how incredibly dramatic and epic and cool it looks in direct contrast to the absolutely ridiculous context. just look at that dynamic action and his majestic sparkling tears and keep in mind that this is pretty much right after a bunch of characters have been dance battling for his soul.
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and then even the actual moment of the groovy is just like
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this is NOT a negative in the slightest, I love it all, this truly was an incredible update in so many ways
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 8 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 8 spoilers#to be fair it's not COMPLETELY wacky there is actual drama going on#but that's inbetween rook's dream-vil and neige being totally hilarious at each other#'i shan't let you hurt this beautiful child!' 'vil no! if they were to harm your beauty i would be crushed by sorrow!' <- actual dialogue#also neige seeing vil as a mother figure. it's WONDERFUL and i hope real-vil never finds out because this would kill him#just like he killed neige multiple times in his own dream! :)#there was so much wild stuff in this update and not in the least was that the second time vil realized he was in a dream#his reaction was to KILL EVERYONE and cackle maniacally about it#god forbid a queen do anything i guess#anyway i also love the contrast between what i assumed savanarook would be like and what he was actually like#'he looks so wild...what kind of dangerous dream will this mighty hunter have...'#oh no he's actually just an adorable movie geek who is SO EXCITED to share his hyperfixation with us#somehow less intimidating than regular rook#and yet still a delightful little freak. his BEDROOM#the background artist went SO ham on it. truly the magnum opus of twst backgrounds#there are a bunch of little details it is SO worth zooming in on#(including a tiny little picture of che'nya! which...actually i think that implies rook may have stolen an rsa yearbook or something)#(that's our rook! /sitcom laugh track)
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