#so i will not be forcing myself to write

[soaps-mohawk]

Heyyyy ik ur are tired ,just wanted to ask if you will post a chapter this week ,get well soon

Honey, I am not "tired", I am sick.

Congestion, sinus pain, headache, fatigue, sure my sore throat went away last night but now I have a cough. I can't sleep because I don't want to use my cpap while sick, so I wake every hour either from not breathing or because I'm choking on sinus drainage. (And yes, I sleep at an angle and it still doesn't help any.)

I wrote 600 words of chapter 16 on Saturday when I was getting sick, and I have not touched it since then, nor have I even thought about touching it because I am now fully sick.

I gave y'all two chapters last week. Two. You have no idea how badly I was stressing about Chapter 15 and how close I was to giving up writing and I still got the chapter up for everyone on Sunday WHILE I HAD A FEVER.

Regardless of the extra bonus chapter everyone got, I still would say it's not likely you'll get a chapter this week because I AM SICK. I want to rest and sleep and try to get better because I have things in my real life that I need to do too that I haven't been able to because I've been sick. I'm not even thinking about this fic and updating it right now.

I am begging y'all to remember I am a real person with a real life behind this blog. I get busy, I get tired, I get sick. I do this as a hobby. I post here on tumblr for free. I pump out 7k word chapters every week, and in the case of last week, multiple times a week. It's hard. It takes a lot of work and dedication just to do this alone while I feel healthy and normal, much less everything else I do during the week.

On top of that, Friday is my birthday and I'd like to take that day to do what I want to do and celebrate the crisis of getting yet another year older.

So no, chances are, there's probably not going to be a chapter out this week. I want to rest and recover and even if I did try to pump out 7k words in the next two days, I'm not going to be happy with it. I'm not going to like it. It's not going to be up to par with the standard I've set with the rest of the chapters quality-wise and I'm going to be tearing myself up because I'll have felt like I cheated y'all trying to write while sick just for the sake of getting a chapter out this week.

Now that I've got myself all worked up, I'm going to go lay down and rest and maybe have some soup because I'm hungry and for the first time in days, it does not hurt to eat. So take one of the chapters from last week and consider that the update for this week.

[saiintofawe]

nona the ninth will always be one of the most beautiful and most painful books in the world to me because. it is about love in its every possible form. it's about the love you have for someone who takes care of you and the love you have for those you care for. it's about loving someone after seeing all their rough edges and ugly sides and choosing to love someone even if it hurts and even if you know it might doom you. it's about not choosing to love someone, but loving them anyway because sometimes it's not up to you to choose. it's about loving the dogs on the street and the stranger you met at the park and the child that never speaks to anyone in class. it's about loving the creases in someone's face when they laugh and the way their hips sway and how they can't stand still. it's about your love for the sea and the pang of grief at the tought that it is being poisoned. it's about the immense pain that comes with the loss of someone you loved. it's about bearing that loss, it's about letting that cut burn because its presence means that there was love. and that cannot be taken away. you have loved, you have been loved, and you always will. and the fact that it hurts and it ends doesn't erase the fact that at the end of the day, it's always love at the core of it all. in its every form and expression, by turning into rage, or kindness, or utterly destructive force, it all starts and ends in love. you can't remove that. you can't take loved away.

[kyoukorpse]

finished another thing this morning. hehuhey.

[frownyalfred]

you know what one of my favorite tropes is? forced identity reveal. and not just scenes where the villain will throw some poor civilian off a building if the Justice League doesn't stand up. I mean the kind where they're forced, through magic or powers or some sort of force, to reveal themselves.

Kryptonians are immediately identified in the crowd with kryptonite. Every Lantern hisses as their rings start to flare at the same time, glowing wildly on their hands. Glamours are forcibly dropped. Like that.

[nex-kyit]

Finished reading Dungeon Crawler Carl. Man.....

Bonus Donut sketch below + some rambling that I don't think is worth its own post.

Finally, after all this time my years and years of drawing warrior cats is finally coming into use. Hm, I'm still not sure how I feel about Donut in the first piece, was looking at the wiki and it turns out shes black, orange AND white. Ah well, not used to drawing Persians, but I'm statisfied with this as my first attempt. Hardest part is getting the expression. When making WC art, I tend to anthropomorphise the face for expressions, but I tried to go a bit more realistic here. Not sure if it worked well here or not. As for Carl... yes I know he's missing a tatoo or two. I'm on Donut's side here, he has way too many.

[awearywritersworld]

tags: hurt/comfort. undefined relationship. reader is sad and overwhelmed. mentions of astarion's past, but no spoilers. gn!reader.

for the last 200 years, astarion has witnessed countless people shed tears, most often a result of his own actions. at some point, he took pains to push down the feeling it elicited in his chest, an unhappy method of self preservation.

two turns of the moon after your first encounter, he happens upon you in the forest one night, a few hundred yards outside of camp. the tears streaming down your face are strangely enchanting, reflecting the moonlight in an ethereal sort of way. wordlessly, he takes the spot beside you.

you hold one another's gaze silently, and he's struck by how divine you look, even in this state. or perhaps, especially in this state.

for you to show him your vulnerability willingly and without reserve— he wonders briefly if the gods intend it as a lesson.

his heart wills him to speak, but the ways of comfort are lost on him. his hand moves to your face hesitantly, thumb wiping away the wetness below your eye.

"are you alright, darling?"

"no," you murmur.

"do you wish to speak of it?"

"no," you repeat weakly.

there's no need to. you're both keenly aware of the pressure on your party... of what's at stake should you all fail.

your head falls against his shoulder and you let out a long, shaky sigh. there's a ruthless tug in the center of his chest when he realizes he's all but powerless to stop the anguish you're feeling.

looking up toward the sky, a long forgotten sensation pricks at the corner of his eye. as your tears continue to fall, they seep through the fabric of his shirt, leaving a warm sensation against his skin.

and for the first time in nearly two centuries, sitting with you among the trees and the dirt, astarion allows that feeling in his chest to consume him.

bg3 masterlist

[hedwig221b]

[pearynice]

When Steve is 10, he wins his very first basketball championship.

He’s ecstatic, practically vibrating with joy as his teammates storm the court, screaming and cheering and throwing their arms around one another. He doesn’t think about the sweat stains on his jersey, or his limp hair, or his reddened knees from falling on the court earlier in the game. They won, and the simple joy of that fact balloons within him, buoyed further by his teammates' cries and slaps on the back. 

They’d just decided where to have their post-game celebration, players finally breaking off to find their parents, when his mother pulls him aside.

“Hi honey,” and she looks beautiful in her crisp white dress, “let's get you cleaned up.”

And before Steve’s allowed to go to Benny’s with the rest of the team, his mother fixes his hair and wipes down his sweat and makes him presentable. 

She does not mention the game.

——

When Eddie is 10, he’s in his very first play.

He’d auditioned for Peter Pan, but Michael McDonald got the role instead. His drama teacher told him that while talented, Eddie just doesn’t fit as Peter Pan.

Eddie doesn’t understand those words until opening night, when Michael’s on stage next to Mary-as-Wendy, and Eddie realizes that Michael sucks. His lines are flat, he keeps making awkward eye contact with the audience, and he can never find the spot on stage he needs to be. 

Eddie knows he would’ve been better. But, as he waits on the sidelines for his cue, he watches how the audience is hooked on Michael, anyways. Michael, with his golden hair and bright blue eyes and easy smile and the everything Eddie doesn’t have. 

Eddie will never be Peter Pan because he doesn’t look like a Peter Pan.

——

When Steve is 17, Nancy Wheeler calls him bullshit. 

It shouldn’t be such a surprise because of course, of course she wasn’t with him for him. Of course, she thinks it’s bullshit, because Steve is only worth it skin deep, and anything that shallow is, certainly, bullshit. 

——

When Eddie is 17, their band has their first performance at The Hideout. They’d lied about their age to get the gig, but no one had even checked their IDs, so Eddie doesn’t feel that bad about it.

It’s a Tuesday night, so the place is far from packed, but it doesn’t matter. They give it everything they have, Gareth only 14 and tearing up the drums, and Eddie thinks it might be the best night of his life.

After, sweaty and exhausted and exhilarated, they each order a beer and giggle like middle schoolers when they’re actually served. 

Eddie notices her, then, tall and lean with bright red hair- and Eddie normally doesn’t swing that way but this girl is stunning. And he’s still riding that post-concert high, so he approaches her like he’s invincible and tries to chat her up.

It’s a firm rejection. She smiles at him, almost pitying, until her friend rolls up and tells him how awesome they were, on stage.

And it’s like a switch flips. Because the no turns into buy me a drink and suddenly the stunning redhead is interested and has her hand on his arm and her eyes are on his and he should be happy but all he has is a cold pit in the center of his gut. 

Because of course she would only be interested after learning he’s in a band, because no one would want to go home with him, not until they realize he has something to make up for it with.

——

When Steve is 20 and Eddie is 21 they go on their first date. And then several more, after that. And then, one night, naked in bed, they make it official.

Steve is falling. He wants to catch himself but he also doesn’t, wants to stay in the beautiful free fall of falling for Eddie Munson. 

Eddie’s falling, too. He doesn’t have the words for it, yet, that Steve does, but they will come. For now, he knows that he’d do anything to see Steve smile, and if he could crawl inside Steve’s chest and live there for the rest of his life, he probably would. 

It takes a while for it to begin to bother him, but Eddie’s constant compliments are always on his looks. He runs his hands down Steve’s arms and over his back and trails his fingers through his hair because he wants to make it perfectly known to Steve that he’s gorgeous, that he’s breathtaking and mouth watering and how fucking lucky Eddie is. 

(Because Eddie never wants Steve to feel like he did.)

Steve, however, doesn’t want to believe it, but the lingering memories of bullshit is all he can think about when Eddie kisses his cheek and calls him beautiful. Eddie is different, he reminds himself. Eddie loves me, completely. But Nancy had said the same thing, and that had been a lie.

It bubbles up eventually, of course. Hurt festering until it becomes bigger than it really is, deep-seated insecurities creating fault lines only visible to Steve, who wonders, in turn, how it’s possible Eddie doesn’t.

——

“You were so cute!” Eddie croons, pointing delightedly at the young-Steve staring back at them, “look at you, in your little jersey!”

He doesn’t know how the photo album made it to his and Robin’s new place, but here it is, in Eddie’s lap and his boyfriend is pouring over the old photographs.

Eddie turns the page, another delighted giggle escaping his lips as he does. Steve remembers the photo, remembers his mom forcing the starched collar close to his neck and tying the tie too tight. 

Eddie coos again, “look at your little suit!”

He turns the page, oohing and aahing at each photograph, while Steve’s memories resurface of his mother’s fussing hands, combing his hair and fixing his shirt collar and plucking lint from his sleeves until Steve was hyper aware of it all. Until he couldn’t go out without freshly laundered clothes and perfectly styled hair, until he tied his worth to his looks in a knot that Steve feels tightening the more Eddie speaks.

“O-kay,” Steve tries, grabbing for the album, “we don’t need to go any further down memory lane.”

Eddie dodges, leaping off the couch and away from Steve, “oh, we absolutely do, pretty boy, because this is a gold mine.”

He flips the page again, beaming, and turns it so Steve can see.

He’s older in this one, maybe eleven, and it’s certainly at Christmas time. He hadn’t been allowed to open presents in his pajamas because his mother wanted to be able to take photos, so he’s sat in front of the Christmas tree in khakis, his hair combed and parted and it makes Steve’s skin itch just looking at it.

“Look at your little outfit! Your hair!” Eddie says, eyes bright as he flips the album back over to look at it. 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says, trying very hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice, “we can drop it, Eds.”

Eddie pouts, his bottom lip jutting out, “but Steve,” he whines, and turns the album again, “I can’t say no to this face.”

He points at another photo, Steve doesn’t even look at it. Hurt and anger and annoyance are burning within him, because all the things Eddie’s pointing out is everything Steve hates- and how could that be what Eddie loves?

Eddie goes on, tapping on the photo, his bottom lip still jutted out, “I love this face.”

“Is that all you can ever say?” Steve challenges, voice bordering on a shout, his face already flaming at the outburst. He doesn’t know what does it, this time, out of all the other times Eddie’s tread on similar ground.

Eddie’s face freezes, the ghost of his previous smile still on his face like he’s not quite sure what Steve just said. “What’s that?” He asks, voice still light, an air of uncertainty in his tone.

The fracture in Steve’s resolve splinters further, the fault lines cracking through completely. “That’s all you ever say, Eddie!” And he stands, anxiety and uncertainty catapulting him from the couch, “you love my face and my hair and all of the bullshit things that don’t fucking matter. Because what happens when what I look like isn’t enough for you, anymore? Are you sure you actually fucking love me?”

His chest heaves at the final words. It feels good to get it out, like a thorn’s been finally wrenched from his side.

But Eddie’s face splits. His humor falls away to reveal the shocked and horrified expression underneath, his mouth dropped open and his eyebrows knitted together in concern, tears already shining in his big brown eyes. 

“I-” Eddie gasps out, like the very breath hurts. He tosses the photo album to the side and takes a step closer to Steve.

“Of course, of course I love you, Steve- how- why-” Eddie stutters, shaking his head, “I love you, all of you, if I ever-” he breaks off again, gaze falling upwards as he worries at his bottom lip. 

Steve’s breathing heavily, his outburst of anger now quickly melting into sadness, his shoulders dropping as Eddie continues to stand there.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” Eddie whispers, voice thick, “I thought I was doing this right- the fact that I made you feel like that…” he trails off, his hands flexing at his sides. “I love you for everything you are.”

And now that it’s all spilled out of him, now that it's hanging in the air around them and Steve can see Eddie’s response- he feels ridiculous.

Of course, Eddie loves him. Steve’s overreacted, let the hurt from his past influence this- them- the best thing that could’ve possibly happened from spring break. 

He should’ve kept his mouth shut. Soaked in Eddie’s words for what they really are and not let his insecurities get in the way. Because now his boyfriend- ever the crier- has tears silently falling down his face as he glances back down to meet Steve’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, and takes another step towards Steve, reaching for his hand.

Steve meets him halfway, gripping Eddie's hand tightly when they meet. 

Steve shakes his head. “No, Eddie, I’m-”

“If you’re about to apologize,” Eddie interrupts, “don’t, please.”

Steve quiets, and Eddie still has tears falling down his face.

“I love you because of who you are, Steve. You are kind and funny and so fucking smart, you’re the best friend any of us could ever ask for and you’re so selfless it hurts me, sometimes, watching you do more for those kids than half their parents have ever done. You’re loyal and brave and endlessly hardworking, you’re the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met, and you do it all with such ease sweetheart- like you’re not even trying, you’re just so good- through to the very heart of you.” Eddie places a hand over Steve’s chest. “I’m sorry I haven’t said it enough,” he whispers, “but everything you’ve got in here, Stevie, is why I love you.”

Eddie’s eyes are shining, tears caught in those long lashes, clumping them together, and he’s so earnest, because Eddie is nothing if not wholly earnest. 

It makes Steve feel irrational all over again. 

But it feels good to hear. The words settle in his bones until the weight of them find their place, settling his nerves and calming his breaths. 

Eddie loves him. Loves him for all of the things Steve tries so hard to be. Eddie can see it, even if it got the effortless part of it wrong. 

Eddie gives the lightest tug to Steve’s hand and he follows willingly, collapsing into his boyfriend’s embrace without preamble. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Eddie whispers into his skin again, arms right around his middle, “I love you so much, sweetheart, and now I’m never going to shut up on all the different ways okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, suddenly exhausted.

Eddie pulls them onto the couch. He settles Steve in his lap so his side is pressed to Eddie's chest and he can bury his face in Eddie’s neck.

His boyfriend’s long hair tickles his face, but his skin smells clean and soapy and presses warmly against Steve’s cheek.

Eddie’s hand rubs soothingly up and down his back and Steve melts further, the insecurities that he’d been forcing down for so long finally freed.

“I’m so glad you told me, Stevie,” Eddie whispers. “Please always tell me stuff like that.”

His breaths even now, Steve nods. “Okay.”

——

Eddie keeps his promise.  His hands are still everywhere, all the time. He’ll place a hand on the small of Steve’s back or thrust a leg over his on the couch, but his honeyed words drip praises of you’re my favorite person to spend time with and I love the sound of your voice, until those words sink deeper than bullshit ever did, until the ghosts of starched collars and perfectly combed hair don’t feel so haunting. Until the supportive weight of Eddie’s hand in his goes far past skin deep.

Somewhat of a part 2 here ✨

[hplonesomeart]

Depiction of local T.V getting assaulted by rambunctious children

People say he’s good with handling kids…but I’d like to challenge that notion a little bit >:3

[jay72664]

Pillow talk

TW: implied sex.

“You’re feeling alright? Not too sore?” Chuuya asked as he held his husband, one hand trancing alone his spine, the other threading through his hair.

“A little,” Dazai admitted, nuzzling into the ginger’s neck. “But I’m fine.”

A fond smile comes to Chuuya face at the show of affection, and he lets a hum.

A comfortable silence falls over the two, and if they weren’t both akin to the others stared at all time, they would have assumed the other asleep.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” Dazai whisper softly against the smaller man’s skin.

“Yeah?” Chuuya can’t but find his husband adorable.

“Yeah, I just feel so… happy, like this,” he quietly admits, tightening his hold around Chuuya’s waist, if only slightly.

The ginger’s throat feels suddenly tight, so he presses a kiss to Dazai’s head in reply.

They fall back into silence again, the brunette’s head tucked under Chuuya’s chin.

“I love you,” Chuuya murmurs.

“I love you too.”

[saikiflm]

how the fandom, especially jayvik fandom, treats mel + her relationship with jayce genuinely does a disservice to her character and her struggles which sucks but there needs to be an important distinction between what happens in canon and what happens in fanon. Jayce is written into a crossroad where he had to choose between mel and viktor, this wouldn't be a problem if they writers had written the end of meljayce a bit better than whatever that shit show of a reunion was but u really can't have everything. With that being said meljayce, in my humble opinion, weren't built to last but that doesn't derail the fact that both meljayce cared and love for each other but again, im tired of pretending that meljayce had potential when I really think they their relationship didn't show any signs of longevity and I wish people understood that more.

[guesswhoisofftheirmedsagain]

The Batkids celebrate Father’s Day. They wouldn’t go all out, Dick would come down from Bludhaven for the weekend, Jason might insist on making breakfast for everyone, so Alfred can take a break for once. It’s met with protest from Alfred, but in the end the man can’t really say no to Jason like that. If Tim’s father is still in his coma by this point, he would go and spend a few hours in the hospital with him, before coming back to the manor. He would end up getting Bruce a card he gives him in private. Damian is still getting use to the fact that he gets to truly participate in celebrating Father’s Day, and would go to Dick for advice on what to do. He makes something for Bruce, whether that ends up being some form of art, Bat-tech, or anything in between is up to you. Even thought Steph wholeheartedly says that Bruce is not her dad, and never will see him as one, she gives him a quick hug. No words are exchanged, just silence, but Bruce is still happy with it. Babs is off celebrating Father’s Day with her own dad, so we don’t see here to much here, but she still shoots Bruce a quick text. Cass spends the day following Bruce around, and goes on patrol with him that night. She just talks with him, quality time. Duke, still being the newest to the family, feels awkward about it, and while a solid pat on the shoulder from Bruce doesn’t exactly fix things, it makes it a bit better.

Bruce might not have even called Alfred his father aloud, but he has without fail done something for him each year ever since his late teens.

[breadandblankets]

there's a lot of Jason as a fanfic writer headcanons (which I love) but we're sleeping on the bat that is canonically not just a huge nerd but also a great writer: duke

where's he's at now he doesn't do hobbies he barely does humaning, he's The Signal practically full time, all his fics are on permanent hiatus

theres a better future where he learns to take breaks and has a note on his mega fic like "life ya know?" like No duke we Don't know

[k0nanharv3y]

Robin Hood Au Part 8

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

///

"See? He's just silly" Steph said, making sure she could only be heard by the people at the table

"I was convinced that the suspect would be someone of interest, not to mention that he is surprisingly mediocre" Damian pressed himself back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking around the cafeteria with some interest under the contempt

"I agreed with Blondie this time, it may had just been a coincidence"

Bruce's eyes swept over all of his children, stopping at Dick and Cass, both of them staring at different places

Dick stared intently at the corkboard, and Cass followed the barista's every move, with a soft, almost unnoticeable frown

"What are you looking at Richard?" Damian stepped forward, following the blue gaze of the second oldest Wayne

"The pictures, are gone, I swear I saw them yesterday's night, it isn't- I can't belive that's a coincidence, they were right there!" He leaned forward a little further and pointed at the blackboard "I-..."

"Stephanie, order ready, Damian, order ready, Cassandra, order ready!" The boy's voice interrupted him, loud enough to be heard over the people's conversations

"That was fast" Duke was surprised

The three called stood up from their seats, walking towards the bar, thanking and carefully taking the trays with food

Cass never took her eyes off Timothy and Damian returned with a frown

"I consider it disrespectful that he doesn't dare to look me in the eyes" Damian slid the tray onto the table and looked at the food before looking back at the boy, finishing arranging a few things on someone else's tray

"Thomas, order ready!" Duke got up and went for it

"But I have to admit that his food looks decent"

"I thought you liked people being afraid of you" Jason glanced at the food and smelled the aroma it had "It almost... smells like Alfred's" Jason turned to look at Cass's food and she offered him a cookie, now only glancing surreptitiously at the boy "Nah, thanks kiddo" he declined

Duke slid across the table, setting down his tray carefully and smiling. "I think I've never had something that smells this good"

"Don't insult Pennyworth's food like that, Thomas"

"I was referring to something bought in a cafeteria, I would never insult Alfred's food"

"Kids, don't fight in here"

"Richard, order ready!" Dick quickly stood up and walked with a (practiced) smile to the bar

"Back to my point, he has spoken to me disparagingly since I came in and has not dared to look me in the eyes, it's path-"

"Damian" Bruce interrupted him, glancing at him

"Bruce, order ready!" The boy's voice cracked almost comically, and Jason smiled because this was a teenage rooster, and he remembered that Tim was, in fact, still 17 years old

Bruce stood up and walked to the bar, while Dick returned

"Maybe he just... doesn't like kids...?" Duke tried to justify, not taking his eyes off the food, wanting to start nibbling on everything

"Or maybe he's just racist" Steph joked and Jason smiled "I mean, It's not that far-fetched, he was a rich kid, he's white as fuck, although I don't think that's it, but, it could be possible"

Damian frowned and growled in his sister's direction

"Hey, don't look at me like that, brat, you were racist with me for being blonde!"

"And I was not wrong"

Jason let out a giggle and began to laugh along with Dick and Cass's soft cackle. Bruce came back and put his tray down as he sat

"Jason, order ready!"

Jason stood up and started walking to the bar, still laughing a little

And the table fell into a comfortable silence, everyone waiting for Jason to arrive so they could start eating. It wasn't a tradition they had at the manor, but it was in public places thanks to the fact that, even though they had been ignoring it, they could hear the murmurs of "Wayne" from the tables that were watching them out of the corner of their eyes

And when he came back he seemed to be trying to juggle between two trays, the one with his food and a smaller, curved one with cookies in plastic bags

Bruce quickly took the smaller one away so Jason could sit down

And once everyone was at the table, they looked at their food, and noticed the napkins on each plate

Oh god, Steph was right

They were pre-written, but they were all, more than anything, disconcerting

"I would like to eat first" Steph took her drink and took a big sip and thought 'Tim, help me help you' as she watched him out of the corner of her eye leaning on the bar and looking at his phone as he had nothing to do, but still with a frown

///

Hey, if someone wants me to tag u in comments when i make a new post, lemme know cuz I always forget who is who

[milk-is-stable]

You should totally do number 21 with Ditch!

Dialogue Prompts - send me an ask and I'll write a drabble

21: "You're ears turn red when you lie."

— — —

"You miss him, don't you?"

"What? No, don't be silly Derek. He's living his dream, doing what he always wanted. I'm happy for him, and I- why are you looking at me like that?"

"Your ears turn red when you lie, you know."

"I- no they don't."

"They do, and now they're even redder. It's okay, you know? He's your brother, you're allowed to miss him."

"....am I though?"

"Titch-"

"He's finally happy. He was so unhappy here and I didn't see it because I was so wrapped up in myself, in trying to prove that I was worthy of staying here, as if having a good harvest somehow meant that I was a good son. And now he's gone, and he's happy, and I should be happy for him. That's that."

"...now love, don't you think you're being a bit overdramatic again?"

"What?"

"You're allowed to be happy that James is living his dreams and miss him when he's not here, you know. They're not like, mutually exclusive emotions. He's your brother. Of course you miss him."

"...so you don't think I'm being stupid?"

"Oh, you're being stupid love, but that's a separate thing."

"Hey!"

[erinwantstowrite]

just finished the Hounds of Baskerville and by god some light came back into my eyes. the more i read the more inspired i get to write again