#this one hurted :(

[jellysmudge]

Yall know that tiktok thing where people put quotes and match them with characters. I like to be sad.

[sailoreuterpe]

Louigan Week 2024 Day 3: Unspoken

[thickness-protection-program]

You want hate mail? You look like you're rude to wait staff. I bet you leave tips consisting of those fake dollar bills telling people to go to church

😲 The disrespect! I would defend food service workers with my life!

[prompts-by-anjali]

"Why did you bother coming here if you were just going to give me the silent treatment?" A asked, eyes alight with anger before simmering down. "We can't be together if you keep punishing me instead of talking it out."

B didn't answer them. Just glared at the wall behind A's head.

"Fine, then," A breathed out, staring at the ground. "I think we're over, B. I hope… I hope you find whoever can make you happy. Because that clearly isn't me."

When A looked up, feeling light for the first time in months, they found B staring at them, open-mouthed.

"What?"

"I don't want to do this anymore, B. I'm," A scrubbed their hands through their hair. "exhausted, I think."

"We just had a fight. These are how fights go," B spat, desperation lining their still-bitter voice.

A shook their head. "Not the type of fights I want. I don't -- I can't do the quiet thing. I like talking. But clearly that's not what you like. So… it's best to just move on, now."

B opened their mouth, ready to make another argument, but nothing came out. And A took the opportunity to do what they should have long ago.

They left.

[is-on-its-way]

[latibvles]

like a movie i've seen before.

once again i dont know how this happened but i am left... very fragile. the one in which ron is a ghost from the 40s haunting daisy's grandmother's house, and at one point was believed to be an imaginary friend known affectionately as Sparky. this is sad. i am administering so many apologies. there will also likely be multiple parts to this because I am not normal. also we got the title from this so have fun with that. its part soulmate au, part ghost au, and 100% left me laid out on my bed in shambles.

Either this is a real thing, or she needs to talk to her doctor about switching her anxiety meds. She has half a mind to check to see if she’s taken the wrong amount and that this is the start of a very bad trip.

Nana’s house was… special, in its own way. A small thing built in 18-thirty-something for a batch of Clarkes fresh off a ship Daisy couldn’t remember the name of. As ancient as the engagement ring that sat untouched on her dresser at home in her apartment.

From mother to daughter as most things went, or in this case, grandmother to granddaughter.

It was more pragmatic to sell the old house anyway, once they were done packing the boxes of personal relics — the photo albums and the one-of-a-kind cutlery, salvaging the hand sewn blankets before the moths could get to them.

It’s what she came here to do, it’s what she’s been doing all of yesterday, before the chill creeped in that night and she found herself sleeping in her old bedroom — because sleeping in Nana’s bed didn’t feel right.

She reaches up to touch her head, and the shimmering apparition across from her smiles.

“You got big,” He observes, looking her up and down. “Taller.”

She shifts in her spot. He’s still the same, Sparky, in that same well-pressed dress uniform, his hair neatly combed, stern brows but kind eyes, pins up to the collar signifying a bunch of achievements she didn’t understand at the time.

“You…” Daisy feels like she’s scrambling for words, questions, but coming up empty. “Sparky, right? Is that still…”

“That’s what you picked, yeah,” He nods, taking a step forward, and it’s like his body seems to shimmer from the light streaming in from the windows. “Ron works too. Ronald.”

“…Ron…” Daisy tests out, slowly. Her heart still pounds in her chest, and part of her thinks this is still a part of a bad trip or a concussion suffered without her knowledge. “I thought you were imaginary.”

The sun makes him more… transparent. But she can make out the way his lip curls in amusement and her cheeks burn with newfound embarrassment.

“It was a little funny.”

She’d burst into tears once, when she was five, because her dad sat in Sparky’s seat at breakfast one Easter Sunday. And she remembers his hand on her shoulder, as real as the stack of waffles in front of her. He couldn’t wipe her tears back then, though.

And there’d been the times where he’d flick James’ ears when they were kids — when her brother would tease her to the point of distress. Or he’d move her toys around, the dolls and the plastic tea cups. She’d talk her mother’s ear off about all the things she and “Sparky” got up to during her weekends at Nana’s.

And then she told him to go away, one summer, and she never saw him again.

“I think you scarred James for life.” He chuckles, rolls his eyes.

“Kids have active imaginations.”

“Not me, apparently,” Daisy wants to reach out, to try and run her hand down his jacket, but the thought of her hand going through is too much for her to take. “I see dead people.”

“Still pretty active, Princess Cordelia.” Daisy laughs, partially out of surprise — most of her childhood games are a blur of colors and sound now.

She figures for someone who's lived as long as him — the whole thing must be a 4K movie. What else is there to do, but remember?

She takes her lip between her teeth for a moment.

“So… when I told you to leave, did you leave leave or just…” She’s pretty sure he’s frowning, the strange shadows on his face indicating as much, how the light bends as it shines through him.

“I was still there. You just couldn’t see me anymore.” He explains, and Daisy begins to pick at her nails.

She didn’t have a good grasp of breakups or lost friends when she was that young, but it had to feel something like that. You gotta go away, Sparky. I’m too big for you now. He’d smiled, fond, a chilled hand caressing her hair. There was no goodbye. No proper one.

She watched him fizzle away in her bedroom and was upset over the whole thing for three days. Her school counselor said that was normal, apparently — that weird imaginary friend grief.

“Christ, don’t beat yourself up over something you said when you were nine.” Snapped from her thoughts, she notices that he’s stepped closer, out of the sunlight, the chill’s gotten a bit more prominent. She can make out some actual lines of his face beyond the mouth and the eyes and hints of a nose.

“Don’t tell me ghosts can read minds now too.” She states with a huff. He arches a brow, then shakes his head.

“No, not that. You two just make the same faces. It’s not hard to put two-and-two together.” He keeps it blunt, accompanied with a look over her face that makes her feel especially exposed. Which is a little ironic since she can see through him in the most literal sense, but that’s neither here nor there in the grand scheme of things.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that,” She watches, as he makes a motion with his hand and one of the cardboard boxes slides forward, the flaps popping open. She narrows her eyes. “Okay, no mind reading powers but you can move shit around? Where were you when I was packing all that up?”

His lips press into a line, brows furrowing — like he’s having some sort of internal debate, before coming to some kind of agreement with himself.

“Deciding whether or not to show up again,” he states, and as she opens her mouth to press forward, he quickly goes “Blue album, gold piping. Fifth page.” He jerks his head towards the box again. Something in her tells her that this isn’t the time to press, so she gets on her knees, rummaging through the box, until she finds the aforementioned album.

Opening it up, it’s a lot of old, grainy photos. Not nearly as old as the house itself, but definitely up there — seeing as it’s all grayscale with no dates in the corners to indicate when they were taken. Boys with hairstyles similar to the one Ron wears now, girls in skirts and Mary-Janes with those short bouncy curls. His hand comes into sight, pointing to one photo.

The woman, she vaguely recognizes, from time spent skimming the old albums as a kid. Nana’s aunt, in a lacy white gown and a veil with a big bouquet in her hands. She’s smiling up at the man next to her — the groom, Nana’s uncle.

It takes her a moment, but she recognizes that man on her opposing side. Looking at her, rather than at the camera. Ron’s smile is… wider than hers, eyes crinkling at the corners. Daisy looks up at him and although his face is impassive, the room feels a little more dreary, like the air around them shifts with his disposition.

“You’re a lot alike. Same name too,” That she knew about. It was cute at the time, naming the kids after her great grandfather and greataunt — but she’s pretty sure that after the divorce it’s one of her mother’s biggest regrets (one of many, it isn’t hard to imagine Irene spitting the words out like venom). He reaches out, as though he can touch the photo. “Walked her down the aisle. Gave her away. We sort of… fell out of contact after that.” He doesn’t smile, necessarily, but she watches as he almost zoned out — like he’s in a different time.

“I didn’t know you knew her.” Is all she can surmise. Then, he cracks a bit, with a sort of distant smile she watched her Nana get in her old age, as she reminisced on the past. It ages his face in a way — no longer a twenty-something year old, more like the hundred year old apparition that he is.

“She was my best friend,” There’s an almost uncharacteristic softness to the way he says it. She looks down at the woman in the photograph, how the smile isn’t exactly reaching her eyes, but Ron’s is. “She loved this house. I was right across the street.”

“Then how’d you fall out?” She watches as he sits opposite her, criss-cross they used to sit in her room during tea parties.

“I was career military. I moved around a lot for work. Makes it hard to stay in contact with anyone, really.” He says it simply, like he’s resigned himself to that fact, but it leaves a foul taste in her mouth. She bites the inside of her cheek for a moment.

“You must’ve missed her a lot then. If you’re… here and not there.” She doesn’t know who lives there, she’s never met them. She’s got no clue how they would take to ghosts hanging around, either.

“That’s probably it,” his gaze lingers on the photo a moment longer, before clearing his throat, and were it not for the solemn resignation that flashed on his face she would’ve laughed at the thought of ghosts actually having phlegm. “Anyway you’re… a lot like her. You wear things on your face. That’s how I knew. No mind reading.” Ron rises to his feet again, averting his gaze.

Whatever wall that started to crumble as they stared at this old photo is being promptly rebuilt. Scrambling, she lets the album drop to the floor with less care than she should’ve given it.

“Wait, Ron, did you…” He looks at her, the last part of the sentence caught in her throat. Deep in her gut, she knows the answer to the question, because people don’t look at people like that without something behind it. And if anyone should be hanging around this place, missing her, it should’ve logically been her husband.

But her husband isn’t here, and Ron is, and has been for as long as Daisy could remember.

“You have lunch with Ginny today, right? Have fun with that.” She doesn’t know if pushing further will send him away. And Daisy doesn’t want him to go away, so she lets the question fizzle out before she can finish it, nodding as she packs the album away.

“Yeah just… be here when I get back.” Is what she settles on, and that gets the smallest of smiles out of him.

“Always am.”

[soulsxng]

ALSO i wanna know Ber’s current feelings of Seth after *grimaces and gestures* eeeverything that happened between them,

@fatestouch | Relationships | Accepting!

"Ugh, I don't want to talk about that..."

Ber crosses his arms across his chest and fixes his features into an expression of decided displeasure.

His feelings toward Seth were still...a mess, to say the least. He still didn't think he had been wrong for attacking Sivel like that. For threatening the Vasyrus king. He had helped to steal Innaius away-- Ber's grandmother, and Lerato's mother. Seth's own grandmother was so important to Seth, and yet the Seer hadn't stopped his mate from taking Ber's.

...At the same time though, it had been under the order of Creation, at the time. Ber understood that. He understood that neither Sivel nor Seth had much choice in the matter, and yet...

But he hadn't been thinking about that when he and Seth had gotten into their fight, afterwards. He had only thought about how it had effected him. Expected Sivel to just...let Creation punish him (or worse) for refusing to go through with their orders. Expected Seth to have agreed.

Both he and Seth had said so many things to each other in their fight. They renounced their relationship as siblings, and it had been so long before they even saw each other again, after that. They had only made up with each other enough to be on amicable terms for Lerato, Hayden, and Kiara about a year ago.

And yet...maybe it was the pregnancy making him feel this way, but...

"...I miss him, okay?" Ber mumbled under his breath, brows furrowing stubbornly in response to the tears that began to sting his eyes. "He's still an asshole, and I still don't think I was completely in the wrong, but like! I guess...maybe...I might have...been an ass to him, too."

"I really messed up, saying a lot of that stuff to him. I didn't even actually mean it, but it just came out, and..."

"I'm just saying that, like, I'm still upset about all of that, but I still want him to be my brother! I still want him to be around to meet this baby, and hang around, and do stupid stuff together again!"

"We already apologized to each other though, and it didn't even really get us that far...I don't know how to fix it..."

[imtheiliad]

Do you really want to know where I was April 29th? Well I can tell you where I wasn’t, I wasn’t in Atlanta when Taylor sang GORGEOUS on PIANO

[not-poignant]

🤯, 🤭 & 💔 for the kinkmeme

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

The ones I'm not writing, lmao.

Okay but in all seriousness, I would say I struggle with mysteries, because I don't enjoy them in general. (I'm that person who always looks up the answer so I don't have to deal with the 'mystery' part which I generally find incredibly boring, so no, I can't really write the genre either). Ditto westerns.

I actually don't think I really struggle with romance, contemporary, action, fantasy, adventure, science fiction, erotica etc. I don't even struggle with hard science fiction. I don't think I'd struggle that much with horror or psychological or even supernatural thriller. Every time I've written elements of horror or thriller genres into my works, it's been pretty well-received actually. I'm just not really drawn to it. Genres are pretty easy to 'get' frankly (I did a media degree, I have done tertiary study of genre, so...formulas I understand). I struggle less with genre and more with base conceptuals that can be found in any genre - for example, I struggle with plot-based over character-based storylines. And that's true in any genre.

Oh! Actually I think maybe I struggle with procedurals and 'case of the week' style writing. That's what Eversion was supposed to be, and I profoundly did not like doing it, so basically removed Connor from the case and told a different story, lol, so I think that's one too!

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

It's two and they go hand in hand: Angst and hurt/comfort. I think they're on just about every single one of my works. And they're usually among the first two I add.

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

Hmmm.

Strange Sights because it represents a time in my life that was extremely damaging for me, to the point where I nearly have deleted it several times (I won't though, it doesn't hurt in the same way anymore - time heals some wounds and all that).

All of The Ice Plague because it just did so badly re: engagement (Underline the Black is about to eclipse TIP 3 for kudos in almost a quarter of the time and far less words, lol, sigh), and it became the death knell of the Fae Tales canon, which was supposed to continue. I grieved that for years, on and off, until I finally accepted reality. In TIP 1, we could say it was just...teething issues. In TIP 2 (which did worse than TIP 1) we could be like 'oh well, these things happen.' In TIP 3, which has done the worst of any long fic I've ever written, across two separate accounts, I just put my head in my hands and never felt further away from trying to draw in readers and keeping my career going. I can't tell you how many times I nearly quit.

(I had some great times writing it, but I also had a lot of 'why am I even still doing this to myself' times while writing it too, and then I'd remember the readers that were engaging with it and commenting on it, and I'd remember like... I need to make a living, and I'd also remember that the characters deserved their happy ending, and I'd keep going).

Honestly, nothing else really comes close to TIP, especially TIP 3. I actually felt relieved when it ended. Everything I've written since has been more popular and drawn in more people. It speaks for itself. It just makes me sad as well, that proportionately, less than 1/7 of the readers of Game Theory ever got to read Augus and Gwyn's true happy ending and epilogue, in All that We Were, All That We Will Ever Be. It's just a massive drop off overall, and makes me feel like I let folks down.

-

From the fandom meme

[kai-rbsreadsrecs]

When I tell you I cried reading this on my lunch break 😭😭😭😭

𝐻𝐴𝑈𝑁𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑂𝑉𝐸

—a/n: hii i am pasi and i like to make people cry and suffer.

He didn't mean it. right?

"You are so fucking insufferable. My wife was so much better than you. You can never be like her."

It stung you. your heart raced faster as fear, panic and pain seeped in your blood. You and toji had gotten into a petty arguement earlier. It was only a matter of time before it turned into a full fledged fight the way none of you were backing down. usually, you both would've just been mad for a few hours before apologizing to each other—although your apologies were in the form of long hugs and favorite food—but this one took the worst turn.

The room was silent for thirty seconds after the words left his mouth. Tears threatened your eyes. To be honest, you did not even have the energy to put a fight with them. So you just let them fall.

"I know." You finally spoke but it was a broken whimper. "I know, dammit." You bit your lips, holding in your loud cries. You wanted to sob till the neighbors knew something was wrong, but you suppressed them. "I can never be like her. She was perfect. She was beautiful. She—she would never get on your nerves like me." You stammered between sentences. "I get it. I respect her." Toji looked at you with raging eyes, his adrenaline still hadn't calmed down but you could spot regret when his brow softened a little.

"But, honestly toji...I don't give a fuck about being like her. I never tried to be. All I tried was to— to love you more that her so you could know your worth after you lost her." Every cell in your body tried to gather as much courage as it could to just stand there and being able to say this.

All the anger in his suddenly had vanished, replaced with regret and hatred for himself. He never wanted to make you feel like this. He never wnated to fuck this up, and make you cry. But now he had. He let his hand reached you, only to notice your leg stepping backward.

"I am never going to be enough, right? Fuck. I can't do this."

"No. Don't say it—"

"I think it's time I leave." Feet rushing towards you, his steps heavier.

"Don't say that. Fuck I am so sorry. I didn't mean it, baby. I..." Broken sobs left your lips. He wanted to kiss them away, but he didn't know if he could right now. Big thumb brushed away your thick tears, palm resting against your cheek. He picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. Placing your body on the grey mattress, he climbed on the bed, laying next to you with your head on his arms. There were no words exchanged for the rest of the night. When your sobs stopped, he kissed your forehead as you passed out from exhaustion. The sight bought him both peace and pain. He promised himself that he will make it up to you tomorrow.

The sun was brighter the next morning, or at least that is what Toji felt when the sun rays coming from the window fell directly on his body. Usually, he'd wake up to the shade of your body. His eyes widened as he hastily sat up, finding you nowhere on the bed.

"No. No. No. Please."

He rushed to the bathroom, but it was empty. Kitchen? Empty. Hall? Empty. Wait. He moved closer to the coffee table when he caught a glimpse of what seemed like a note.

"Thank you for everything and I am sorry I wasn't enough. Goodbye Toji."

A loud thud emerged as Toji's kness met the floor, clueless eyes scanning the room. It qas more silent than usual. The kind of silence that was killing him. Has it always been this quiet?

[hoofpeet]

14 year old artists listen to me right now (gripping you by the shoulders) STOP caring about your "internet presence" right naow. Draw slower and stop trying to boil your art down to an acceptable marketable brand

[aphel1on]

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

[stil-lindigo]

lead balloon (the tumblr post that saved me)

if this comic resonated with you, it would mean the world to me if you donated to this palestinian family's escape fund.

--

no creative notes because this isn't that kind of comic.

I know I don’t owe any of you anything but I still felt compelled to write about my long term absence. And I feel far enough away from the dangerous spot I was in to be able to make this comic. I have a therapist now, and she agreed that making this could be a very cathartic gesture, and the start of properly leaving these thoughts behind me. I am still, at seemingly random times, blindsided by fleeting desires to kill myself. They’re always passing urges, but it’s disarming, and uncomfortable. I worry sometimes that my brain’s spent so long thinking only about suicide that it’s forgotten how to think about anything else. Like, now that I've opened that door for myself, I'll never be able to fully shut it again. But I’m trying my best to encourage my mind in other directions. We'll see how that goes.

I am still donating all proceeds from my store to Palestinian causes. So far, I've donated over $15K, not including donations coming from my own pocket or the fundraising streams which jointly raised around $10K. In the time since I made my initial post about where this money would be going, the focus has shifted from aid organisations to directly donating to escape funds.

If you'd like to do the same, you can look at Operation Olive Branch, which hosts hundreds of Palestinian escape funds or donate to Safebow, which has helped facilitate the safe crossing and securing of important medical procedures for over 150 at-risk palestinians since the beginning of the genocide.

[techorgana]

I gotta do everything myself in this house ):< 

(pls rb)

[myhiddenquerencia]

Look at you, Wiping your own tears With the same hands That long to be held

Ayesha Zahra

[hinamie]

to moving forward