i started this comic about two years ago, based on something i said to my partner in the midst of that era of my life's worst tragedy. because it seems like every time there is some kind of tragedy, people respond with this same idea of looking for the light at the end of the tunnel - and as someone with an extensive backstory of pain, i feel like i've spent my whole fucking life in tunnels.
i got so tired of hearing it - and i know it was well meant, i do. i don't hold it against anyone. there's nothing good to say in a tragedy, there's no words that unmake pain, but you want them to. and you can only offer what comfort you have. but after so, so many tunnels, the idea that this newest one might have light for a little bit offers me very little comfort.
in the time since starting this comic i have taken on a handful of chronic conditions, that will never go away, and will only ever break my phsyical body down more. i've had to wrestle with the fact i was the healthiest i'll ever be again probably five years ago. i've had to age a lot of years prematurely. i've had to lose a lot of things before i even tried them. i've sustained a lot of new horrific hurts. and i've lost so many people.
i'm beginning to think it'll be dark forever. i think that's just the way the world is these days, and i don't think i'm particularly special for noting that; the world is darker and harsher and scarier than it's ever been, not only for me but for everyone. certainly everyone i know.
but i made the decision when i said this - the idea of waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel felt, after so long, to me like just gritting my teeth in silence and doing nothing to push back against the darkness surrounding me. the light was something that would come to me eventually, for a little while, before it inevitably got swallowed by the tunnel again. and i said fuck it. if it's gonna be dark forever, i am not living in this place. i'm done with the tunnel. if it's dark forever and dark everywhere, i am at least not going to stand in a cave begging for scraps of brightness to come and find me. i'm going out there into that neverending night and i am going to surround myself with every tiny speck of light that i can possibly see, in the hopes that one day that light everyone has told me so much about might be a sunrise that completely engulfs me, not just a little moment of brightness from within my hiding place. i will fill my life of night with stars in the form of people, and places, and experiences, and love. it's never going to get rid of the darkness. i think that's where so many people lost me in their sentiment. i am choosing to hang onto this life and love it despite everything, but i do not live in situation in which the darkness ends. for some people it does. please understand how overwhelmingly glad i am if that is the case for you. but not for all of us. for some of us, for me, the darkness is something that will forever hover over our journey, and i'm not afraid of it, not after so long. it's going to be there. it always has been. but i'm not going to sit blind in it anymore. i'm going to go out there and bask in starlight for as long as i can. the stars don't ever remove the darkness. but aren't they so much nicer to look at?
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top five iconic Damen moments go. If there’s too many give me top ten. This is urgent scientific research.
oh my god you are so lucky i have a long train journey today so here we go, in no particular order because hell if that is possible :
when he threw a mf broadsword. a sword that is meant to be swung with two hands (!!). and he just casually yeeted it from the back of a horse. into a guy who was about to kill his enemy who wasn't even his lover yet
kingsmeet. kingsmeet was the Pinnacle of the man. he broke his country's most sacred rules without even fucking hesitating out of sheer rage and love at what had been done to laurent get this man fucking husband of the year
obviously it has to be "i speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart" no man has ever been so stupid and yet so sexy
every moment in book three where he's like "did i fucking stutter."
"damen rose from the throne, and put his hand to the gold brooch at his shoulder. his garment dropped, and the crowd roared their approval" cock out and thriving. king
when he chose laurent he literally chose laurent over his kingdom he was prepared to sacrifice it all for him this MAN
when he was screaming crying throwing up at having to tell laurent who he was and laurent was just like "i know." sksjsks you dumb fucking bitch OF COURSE HE KNEW everything you now know about this man and you think he doesn't know the man who killed his brother god i love you how can a man be so smart and yet so. so
"i think if i gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly" sobbing. literally sobbing on a train. he's so sweet he's so gentle he loves laurent so much. he's so. so. also that scene where he tells laurent if auguste hadn't died he still would have courted him. once he starts loving laurent he literally cannot conceive of a world where he does not love him i'm crying
he's beefy. it's not an iconic moment it's just his natural state of being but it's iconic to ME. his arms could hold me so good. his tits are as big as his heart. his ass? bouncing. his thighs? could crush me and i'd welcome it
his dimple :')
there we go it started out as a list of iconic damen moments it ended as me rambling about everything i love about him what can i say he lives in my head rent free i'll never find a man like him
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why must i think of prisoners Ranger!Steve and Bard!Eddie so constantly and why must they be so tender and why hhhh
Steve’s whole body is made of pain, and has been for the past few days. His feet are aching and raw from trying to keep up as they were bound to horses and dragged along. His skin is chafed and bleeding where the unforgiving rocks have managed to destroy his clothes after one too many falls, and every smallest of cuts feels like his body is nothing more than a pulsating mess.
Worst of all, though, is the dizziness. He doesn’t know if his head is still bleeding or if the wetness he can feel running down his temple is his body’s testament to the unfamiliar heat, but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.
There’s only pain. And nausea. His eyes are open but he needs a second to understand what he’s seeing — and what he’s seeing is a ceiling made of sand coloured stone. Distantly, he hears a door clanging shut, but that might just as well be a memory.
He’s going to throw up. Tough luck when you don’t even know where up is.
A groan leaves his mouth as he tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably. Instead, he can add two broken ribs to the list of misery.
Gods above — whichever of them are listening — he’s tired. But he fears that if he closes his eyes, he might not open them anymore for the sheer release that would bring. He can’t sleep, can’t rest, not when—
“Easy now,” a gentle voice interrupts his less than coherent thoughts and just moments later, a tender hand is combing through his blood-crusted hair. “You shouldn’t move, my friend. There’s nowhere to move to anymore.”
Steve frowns, his brain trying and failing to provide any information at this point. The hits to his head must have been worse than he thought if his short term memory refuses to work with him anymore.
“We have reached Capital City,” the voice continues and Steve has to blink the fog away to make out its owner. When he does, it must show in his eyes, for the worry in Theodore Munson’s eyes makes way to the briefest of smiles before returning even stronger than before. “Do you not recall?”
Steve just stares up at him. That’s all his wrecked body and mind allow him to do right now. That’s all they want to do when gentle hands comb through his hair and chase away some of the pain.
It is then that reality slowly comes back to him and he realises where he is. Where they are. What is at stake if they fail any more, if they decide to torture information on Elanor and William out of them — out of him. He’s not sure how much he can take. They have been held prisoner for weeks. Steve has been hurting for even longer.
Shame rises in him and he has the urge to apologise to Jim, to explain, but moving his head to the side, he sees that his old master isn’t any better off. He appears to be sleeping, his face bruised, and a teary-eyed Maxine is wiping blood away from his face with a piece of her cloak.
Steve blinks once, twice, and takes in the man who practically raised him, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and listens, beyond the pulsing rush of his own blood, that his lungs are not rattling. Shame makes way to satisfaction when he sees that none of their party has taken as many hits, kicks and punches as himself. His distractions have worked, then.
That’s good. Now if only they didn’t make him so nauseous. So tired. So…
“Don’t fall asleep, Steven,” Eddie demands, and the world tilts slightly, which makes everything worse until… soft. It’s softer now.
Eddie has moved him so his head is resting in his lap now.
“You don’t look too good, Ranger. Sleep is dangerous in your state, no matter how badly you might need it. Give it a few hours, please.”
A beat passes where Steve tries to process the words that are just too many. Since when does Eddie talk with him so much?
“Lies,” he says after a while and with greater effort than should be necessary.
“Lies?”
“I look very good. You just can’t see it under all the blood and the bruises.” He tries to crack a smile, but even the huffed breath jolts his head too much.
Eddie does him the favour of a brief chuckle, and Steve feels better for it. Lighter. Light is good, he finds. Maybe all he has to focus on is Eddie and his hands working out the clumps of dirt and blood from his hair, maybe all he has to to is make him smile and the world will be a bit less painful.
His world narrows down to all the ways Eddie is close to him and it does keep him occupied, but it also gets his mind wandering, the adrenaline of the past days wearing off.
“Keep doing that and I will fall asleep,” he says after another beat of silence. Fall asleep and dream. Dream of what this could mean. Dream of smiles that make me feel lighter.
“Keep doing what?” Eddie asks, and Steve senses a trick to just keep him talking, no matter how slurred his speech is. He needs a moment to remember what he said.
“This,” he says eventually, and Eddie only hums. Finding words is hard. He tries. And tries again. “Being gentle.”
Another smile, and Steve wants to close his eyes to keep it there to hold on to. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my friend.”
“Can’t not be gentle?” He’s losing force on the consonants. The pain is getting stronger, his nerve endings more frayed and his vision blurry. This is familiar. He gives himself another quarter of an hour at most before he will lose his consciousness, no matter how hard he tries to stay here. With Eddie and his wavering smile.
“Not with my friends, no.”
This time it’s Steve who smiles at the word friends. He likes to be Eddie’s friend. The man, as it turns out, is admirable, he’s strong, he’s wise when he wants to be and gentle with young Maxine. He’s kind, he’s quick-witted and patient, and his hands are impossibly soft.
“I know you said not to sleep, and I’m not normally one to deny a well-respected bard’s command, but…” He swallows. Words are hard. He’s not sure they come out as planned, but he perseveres. “I’m afraid I have to prove to you now just how stubborn the Queen’s Rangers can be.”
Another hum from above him and Steve opens his eyes he hadn’t even noticed closing. The world is fading, but still Eddie is at its centre.
“I’ll be here when you wake up, then, stubborn Ranger.”
Will you smile at me still? Steve wonders.
“Always,” Eddie says, but before Steve has time to wonder if someone else has said something, darkness has swallowed him whole.
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