everytime i think of harry and sirius i want to bash my head into a wall. like what do you mean they never got their happy ending together? that they didn’t end up living in the country where they can see the sky? because sirius would’ve liked that after all those years in azkaban?
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i wonder, father mine, with large hands and larger laughter, if it had been different, had I shared your face. if, when I was born, you could see your father's nose and the turn of your own eyes looking back at you as a mirror. might you have held me, then, long after my sibling was born, bleeding purple sound over your chest?
when i was a child, i would wish for bigger lungs so they might carry me to a mountain's peak. so i might expand my chest and fit within it enough strength to outrun my sibling, who was, even then, all muscle. all teeth.
(this is not a poem about my sibling and the shard-sharpness of them that you have whetted with your own tongue. this is not a poem where i want to take from you a pound of flesh for every one of their tears. this is not a poem for your favour.)
sometimes, when i try to remember the shape and feel of your hugs, all that stays in my mind, thick syrup, are your hands on my arms. the bruises in my skin. how my mind and my mouth and my body raced with rage so hot i could taste it. so sharp it dripped from my eyes into my throat and from my nose into my lips.
all that stays, some days, is how you would not let me go.
didn't i beg? didn't i claw and bite and scream, didn't i leave my nails deep enough within you that you're still scarred, today?
i don't look like you, or your father. or his, before him. my nose is too small, my mouth doesn't open wide enough. my face is too soft. my legs were not made for your kind of wanting.
that's alright. it is. i have, after all, never been my father's daughter.
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All Souls, Lost Girls, and Grief
Mulder thought Scully's vision in All Souls was a reflection of her fracturing grief, as Samantha was for his haunted dreams.
"...But I can hear her.... She's calling out my name, over and over again. She's crying out for help, but I can't help her.... I want to believe."
"I saw Emily. She came to me in a vision."
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Current WIP Update
This painful fic is almost 6k. I have no interactions between Eliot and any Quentin yet. Why am I doing this to myself?
How dare the rest of this fic add plot to this idea? How dare the rest of the magical scooby gang have needs to interact with one another??? 😭😭😭🫠🫠🫠
I did not ask for this! (Yes, yes I did. I allowed the muse to give me inspiration through a sobbing place. My sadomasochism has reared its ugly head once again and no one can save me.)
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Jo Gar, West of Guam: The Complete Cases of Jo Gar
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Relationships: Jo Gar & Juan Arragon
Characters: Jo Gar - Character, Juan Arragon
Additional Tags: Crimes & Criminals, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Death, Guilt, Rainbow Murders, Rainbow Diamonds, von Loffler Diamonds, exploration of pain and loss, Kind of an introspection, Character Death, Jo Gar needs a hug, even if he thinks he doesn't, poor bby, other dead characters mentioned in the story, no beta we die like every murder victim of every Jo Gar story ever
Summary:
"No one, not the steward, nor the captain, nor any soul who'd met him in the ship, would suspect the veil of anguish that cloaked him before stepping on the decks of the ship. It was anguish he had kept under lock and key so he could keep himself focused on his mission.
That didn't mean he wasn't hurting."
On his way home post-"Diamonds of Death", Jo Gar deals with loss and grief caused by the diamond heist that cost him a friend's life--and others.
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I'd be ducking lying if I said I wasn't crying the entirety of ep 4 for the latest season of The Crown.
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Tiny preview of my fic "Scattered memories of friendship", written for the Seteth zine ! Which features both a surprise guest, unless you know me well, and some Flayn shenanigans
More previews are available on twitter, and the pre-orders are open 'til the 20th of August !
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Don't get me wrong, here: I wanted Dean and Cas to live happily ever after at the lake house, staying cosy in slippers and flannel PJs, drinking hot toddies, and playing footsie in front of Netflix in a world without monsters, but as, well... ME, I also enjoyed the representation of unrequited, selfless love that is avowed and given voice without expectation, and of the grief that comes of only getting over your bullshit when it's too late. That shit is real.
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I've never felt so depressed that I don't even consider getting out of bed. Usually it's the fun little voice that says, "hey, you know what would be fun? Slicing yourself up or killing yourself!"
Even that voice is like, "yeah, good luck bud."
I miss you, Dazz.
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Be me
Have at least twenty books in a TBR pile
Have three newly downloaded audio books
Have three tabs of new fanfics waiting
Reread “A Dalliance With The Duke” and “Do Not Go Gentle” instead of anything else
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