Mal: I’m not going to bed. I’m not tired. I’m fine.
Alejandro: But darling, I’ll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again.
Mal: … are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping habits?
Alejandro: … well, is it working?
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All he wanted.
All he wanted was for someone to care about him. Someone to hold him. Someone to warm him.
Nobody would.
When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn't make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares are still walking. When we hold each other, we feel– not safe, but better. "It's all right," we whisper. "I'm here. I love you." And we lie, "I'll never leave you."
For just a moment or two the darkness doesn't seem so bad. When we hold each other.
-- Neil Gaiman, Neil Gaiman’s Midnight Days
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Dave: lesbian rights? i will say that
Dave: see back in middle school when i didnt actually have a huge ego
Dave: a lesbian referred to me as "Actually pretty funny."
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I may never have a student plagiarize my fanfiction, since I’m not a teacher, but fandom has ruined my top two baby name choices for a girl:
- Edith, after my great-grandmother (who went by Ede, studied cooking at the Sorbonne when women seldom went to university, drank dry martinis every evening until the day she died, and lived almost 100 years)
- Lucinda (nickname Lucy), after a great-great-great-grandmother and a weird coincidence in names on both sides of my family. my mom’s side has a Welsh princess named Lleucu Rhys back in the 15th century, which I’m told roughly anglicizes to Lucy the Lively, and my dad’s side has an 18th-century colonial American woman named...Lucy Lively. So I thought Lucinda “Lucy,” middle name Reese, would be a cool way to honor three family members in one go
but obviously I can’t use either of those now, in case a hypothetical Babby Marzispawn finds Mama’s AO3 someday. it would just. it would be too weird
nobody get me into a fandom with an MC named Arabella, I beg you
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Woe, 1839 German bible uncovered in family attic be upon ye!
included: names/birthdays from 1892-1985, a pressed flower, a printed condolence card (1913)
not included: several locks of hair, a handmade condolence card (march 1842), 5 deitsch marriage certificates (1851-1935) lots of notes written in deitsch, and the chemise it was wrapped in
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The Loon by Mary Oliver
Not quite four a.m., when the rapture of being alive
strikes me from sleep, and I rise
from the comfortable bed and go
to another room, where my books are lined up
in their neat and colorful rows. How
magical they are! I choose one
and open it. Soon
I have wandered in over the waves of the words
to the temple of thought.
And then I hear
outside, over the actual waves, the small,
perfect voice of the loon. He is also awake,
and with his heavy head uplifted he calls out
to the fading moon, to the pink flush
swelling in the east that, soon,
will become the long, reasonable day.
Inside the house
it is still dark, except for the pool of lamplight
in which I am sitting.
I do not close the book.
Neither, for a long while, do I read on.
-
photos taken August 2023. this poem perfectly captured the sound of the loons calling every night when I was in the Adirondacks.
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Let them judge you. Let them misunderstand you. Let them gossip about you. Their opinions are not your problem, you stay kind, committed to love and good hearted. Stay free to your authenticity! Be you and do it without the opinion of others! Art work was found online, not my own.
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