#may the rest of this year be kinder <3

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟitoshi rin had never been in love, but somehow his 6ams spent with you made him realise maybe that’s changed.

♱ warnings — sfw! just rin being alone with his thoughts + sorting through his feelings, v fluffy morning scenario. / note. this may be ooc + very messy but i think he is very worthy of love <3

itoshi rin has never been in love, he’d never even been in a relationship.

he loves things—he loves ochazuke especially with bream, the smell of fresh bed sheets, football (obviously) and horror, winning with that final goal, the serenity in solitude when he’s alone with the world at 6am during his run and how crisp the air feels at that time, but he’s never been in love.

until you, rin realises as his brows furrow at the thought. he turns to look at the clock, and he groans when he realises that he’s up a little too early for a sunday, even for him. so he falls onto his back with a huff.

he blinks away the remaining traces of sleep as he brushes his bangs back out of his face, then he turns onto his side and something in his chests blooms because you’re just as pretty when you’re asleep, he thinks. then he softens before he smiles this time and reaches to wrap his arms around you and pull you into his chest.

it’s almost natural when rin’s lips rest against your forehead and he realises that he’ll never get used to how warm you feel pressed against his chest. he inhales, and instead of the crisp morning air, he smells your shampoo and he smiles because he remembers the way you giggled when he told you he liked how it smelt on your third date.

even though he still cringes at the compliment, he pulls you closer, because you’ve still used it ever since. but now, he thinks it smells a little more like home.

rin still remembers the first time your hand fit through his and squeezed when you knew he was nervous, and now it serves as his reminder to exhale. he remembers how you looked in his football jersey with his name across your back for the first time and the heat in his cheeks.

he remembers the tremble in his fingers when he first asked to kiss you—and even though he fumbled his words, maybe he could’ve been kinder.. warmer, he still remembers the beat in his chest when you actually said yes and how gentle your fingers felt as they tore away his cold exterior.

he smiles and then he thinks again, because he does love things— he loves the warmth of your hand against his when it intertwines with his own, and he loves the feeling of your fingers kneading at his muscles after a long practice. he loves hearing you talk about your day because you glow differently when you talk about what you love, and he loves the smell of your shampoo on his bedsheets, even when he buries his face into it them at 6 AM after they’ve just been cleaned on his day off.

it’s different, he realises — it’s not like the years of declined valentine chocolates because now he knows he gets to spend that holiday with you. you’re the first person on his mind when he scores a goal because he hopes you know it’s for you, and he knows if he looked a little to his left you’ll be there in the stands with a smile that says you do.

he’s become softer, warmer, he realises before he’s snorting and rolling his eyes at his own lovesick thoughts, how lukewarm.

but a gentle sort of realisation clicks into place when rin looks at you this time—and he’s never been so sure of anything in his life when he mutters a quick i love you despite the way he still awkwardly clears his throat after. just as the sun peaks through the crack in the blinds and he pulls you closer so it doesn’t wake you, like he always does.

and he feels the world—his world, settle into place when you nuzzle closer to his chest, because mornings like this—make itoshi rin thankful that the first person he ever fell in love with, was you.

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed #blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #bllk x you #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin x you #rin x reader #rin fluff #rin x you #itoshi rin imagines

[flokali]

Hi, I'm dumping my Scaramouche brain rot here.

Beautiful consort Scaramouche who is blatantly the most favored. You may treat the others, kiss and hug and love them so, but you always come back to him. No matter what, it's also him the one who gets to sit on your lap, while the others merely kneel at the bottom of your throne.

There will most likely be a lot of threesomes, or twosomes with the creator watching.

Hes so insecure and afraid he'll be left, but wants to be hopefully. Give him the privilege of calling you your real name (everyone has that privilege, but none actually use it because blasphemy) let him sleep in your bed, cuddle him, keep him safe and warm.

I named my Wanderer Koibito, which has a triple meaning cause it means sweetheart. 1 - Sweetheart as in pet name. 2 - Sweet as in he's kinder than he pretends to be. 3 - Heart as in the very thing he's looking for.

If you've done well in convincing him you love him and will never leave him, he'll be more eager when it comes to your request. You... want him to wear a dress? "S-Sure... as long as it's not ugly...". Please just hold him close and never let him go.

Warnings: dependency, reader unknowingly manipulating Wanderer, unhealthy mindsets, etc.

Koibito is so pretty T_T, I’m between the names Masumi (beauty, purity) or Kaito (with the kanji for soaring/flying);;

Consort! Wanderer is so… hard to manage because on one hand you want to help him grow and become a more confident person but, on the other hand, if you do you risk having him become overly dependent on you.

It’s horrible because the minute you realize you’ve unknowingly trained him into, what’s essentially, an overly attached cat it’s far too late and he’s grown to need you to function normally.

By then he’s only able to sleep if it’s by your side, he can only be at ease when you’re with him, he barely even interacts with others – he's so terribly afraid you’ll leave him behind he can’t bring himself to function if you’re not there with him.

By that point you’re better off giving in to his whims, let him rest upon your lap, allow him to feed you, respond always with kindness when he calls your name, and assure him he’s not a bother as he lays in bed beside you; it’s better than to see him crumble in despair as he attempts to prove what little use he has left is useful to you.

Eventually he’ll be willing to do almost everything for you, even if it involves outlandish or embarrassing requests.

Years ago he would have recoiled at the thought of wearing a dress for anybody, but now he willingly puts it on and addresses you as his “master”. He can’t bring himself to ever say no to you, even if it makes him feel childish or uncomfortable, the fear of you letting him go is far greater than at dignity he might have left.

#๋࣭ offerings #๋࣭. hidden devotee #yandere wanderer #yandere genshin impact #sagau #yandere genshin #yandere genshin au #genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #๋࣭. ancient scrolls

[fluff-n-cookies]

You may call me crow anon

Idk how any of this worls as i recently joined tumblr

But can i pls ask for platonic dabi who comes looking for sister reader after she moved out years ago from the todorkoi house and only keeps contat with fyumi, natsuo and occasionally rei?

Idl man

HI I don't know Either but WELCOME TO TUMBLR, I hope you enjoy your stay. I will add you to my anon list on my rules for requests page and. I hope to hear from you again, and fun fact you are my first EVER anon so thank you, It's my pleasure.

ANNNNDD for the sake of the story the reader has pink hair.

warnings Dabi tries to commit suicide. and some swearing.

RUN. do nothing but RUN.

RUN to find her. RUN to safety. RUN AWAY from the police.

Dabi's Inner monologue rang loud, louder than any other, louder than the sound of the police and the hero's trying to catch him. so, damn, loud.

Panting, the young 15 year old Dabi, who somehow managed to dye his hair and steal food for 2 years of his life, turned a swift corner into the alley way before jumping up to climb the fire shoot, it was now when it occurred to him.

(y/n) would not be happy to see the man you have become.

he froze for a second, scared, he did his best, he tried so hard to be a hero, a hero for his older sister, for she who believed in him when none else would, but it wasn't until the scorching pain of blood polling at his eye bags that he started to move again.

oh how he admired her, and her dreams of becoming rich, dreams of being someone other than their father daughter.

too bad they were broken down and beaten everyday.

too bad that Touya had to sit there and watch his darling sister, his one and only light, be dimmed and overshadowed.

it was worse he couldn't do anything.

it was worse he just could watch.

it was painful. even more so when at 16 she told him she'll be back soon, hugged their mom good bye, handed him a sheet of paper with the Words "We'll meet again" written in shabby hand writing, took the car and never cam back again, it wasn't for 4 hours at Touya realized something was wrong, it took Rei 1 day to notice something was wrong, it took 6 days for endeavor to notice, and 3 months before he actually started to care... that his car was gone. Fuyumi asked where "big sister" went, Enji never told her, and every time she would ask Rei, Rei would just burst into tears, eventually, Fuyumi stopped asking, Natsuo thought she was still at school, and Shoto simply forgot she existed. that year was the same year he faked his death, that was the year Touya Todoroki died, the day Dabi was born.

eventually he grew tired, the police had lost him, so had the heroes so why run when you're not being chased?

Dabi came to a stop, looking around before lighting a cigarette he stole from a convenience store sighing out the smoke, the hot smoke a huge contrast to the cool summer breeze, like you her kindness was a huge contrast to the rest of the family.

no one really acted right in the Todoroki household, their they were cold and brash, or had mental issues, most had daddy issues, and all should really go to therapy, she on the other hand was softer, kinder, a soul who needed helping but put the needs of other before herself. soft words, soft pink hair (a mix of white and red, odd since no-one else had pink hair.) and the most welcoming smile you ever saw.

she was always like that,

always such an angel.

Dabi leaned on the railing of the short building, smoking, reminiscing on memories of the past.

leaning too hard, and falling.

at this point it was intentional, how one to endure such horrors, who is the deity was cruel enough to taunt him by giving him the soul he adored the most and then ripping it right out of his hands?

it was a short fall, just as it was a short building, but he didn't land on concrete instead he landed on the dumpster.

greeted by the smell of dog shit, and the feel of soggy cardboard and black plastic garbage bags.

"the hell?" he whispered a sort of surprise that came to him as he realized this was not hell, but a smaller, stinkier, hell.

he was even more surprised when he realized he was not alone.

"oh dear! sir are you alright?!" a gentle voice yelled out, she was wearing a soft (favorite color) dress, and had the kindest eyes, that was the only way to describe her.

she helped him out of the dumpster, not even looking at his face.

just like (y/n) would

"hey, stay with me, we'll go to my apartment, just hold on tight."

she didn't even mind the smell of smoke on his T-shirt.

all he remembers after that is fighting, fight to stay awake, fight to thank the angel that is his savior.

then he remembers sinking into the soft cushions of a warm red or orange couch.

like fall, her favorite season. (sorry if you don't like fall)

then the angel came back, now is when she noticed the purple scorches, the piercing blue eyes, and the little white segments near the roots.

he was sure she was going to scream, he was sure she was going to run and flee, and call the police, but instead she carried on, gave him an ice pack, checked his temperature, check for any major wounds gave him some water.

nervously, she asked "I'm sorry to be asking this but are you by any chance a endeavor hater."

Dabi chuckled fighting back the blood from reaching his eyes this was her alright.

"(y/n), big sis," blood threatened to trickle down what was left of his cheeks.

poor girl, choked out a sob, scared to even embrace him scared he'll drift away like she drifted away from him, salty tears prickled the edges of her eyes.

"To-Touya," she gulped "I-"

she pulled him right toward her, holding him tight, just like she would when they were younger and Dabi had a nightmare and was scared, except now, Dabi was truly scared, sacred of both himself and the future, scared you would poof into vapor his arms if he hugged you too tight.

"I"M SORRY" she yelled out, letting her own tears fall.

that night was spent in a shabby apartment, that night was spent together, that bight Dabi promised himself.

I'm never letting you go, ever.

I TRIED MY BEST BUT IT WAS SHITTY ANYWAYS BYYEEEE

#bnha x reader #bnha headcannons #platonic yandere #bnha fluff #dabi todoroki #dabi x sister reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #todoroki toya x reader #dabi touya #mha touya #mha #bnha #todoroki touya #dabi #dabi x reader #touya todoroki

[deadboyfriendd]

3 April, 1894

To the Lady that may find this letter, I hope it finds her well, 

I first would like to send my sincerest regards in reverence to your fianceé, may he rest in peace. 

The air is dry in the lowest desert of Cochise county. We have only had about an inch of rain in the last two years. The ground is brittle, and a layer of dust covers everything here in a fine film. Sometimes I even feel it in my lungs when I breathe. 

Despite this, there is a wildflower superbloom this year. It is the grandest I have ever seen. 

It seems the desert knew you would board the train in New Orleans and set west for us, and wanted to welcome you with its kindest hello. The desert is not kind, but she would make an exception for someone like you, I would suppose. 

Your cousin tells me about your home in Louisiana, the merchant, and Lady May. I know we do not have the same grandeur here, but there is a traveling merchant that sells imported scarves and swatches. He says they are Parisian, but I overheard some ladies talking about how they were Chinese. Nevertheless, I do believe they are still beautiful. 

I hope to hear your voice soon. I want to hear about Louisiana and the train and your father, the merchant, and the Lady May. The water seems foreign to me now. The East feels like an undiscovered land. The train might as well be a ship, carrying you across the seas. If you are half as interesting as Nellie says you are, then I would listen to your stories for a lifetime. 

Your cousin is very kind. I like to think that you are kind like her, though, I also hope that you are tough in the same way that she is. This place is not forgiving, nor is it kind. I hope that your heart is not faint, and I hope that this place is kinder to you than it has been to us. Though, as it seems, The Eastern shores have not been particularly kind to you either. Maybe it is not the place that we search for, but the tomorrow. 

If that is the case, I hope that your tomorrow is kinder. 

With warmest regards, 

Steven Harrington

#stranger things #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #Cowboy!Steve Harrington

[inspirationalucky]

🦁 EPIC: The Musical: Act One, The Circe Saga sentence starters. Because the lines are just That Good. Going by the exact lyrics for the most part unless I'm making it less lyric and more dialogue. Definitely change things to fit your muse's situation<3

Puppeteer

"I have something that I must confess."

"There's only so much left we can endure. Whatever you need to say can wait some more."

"Where's the rest of your crew?"

"By the gods, what happened to you?"

"We came across a palace, and inside we heard a voice."

"Nothing could prepare us for the power that awaited inside."

"We are weak to a power like this!"

"Take a seat, let me bring you all something to eat!"

"I bet you're tired from the years spent on your feet."

"Think of your past and your mistakes."

"They'll be the last mistakes you'll make."

"I don't play, I puppeteer."

"This is the price we pay to live."

"The world does not tend to forgive."

"She turned our men from men to pigs!"

"I've got all the power."

"Look at all we've lost and all we've learned."

"Let's cut our losses, you and I, and let's run."

"I can hardly sleep now knowing everything we've done."

"There's no length I wouldn't go if it was you I had to save. I can only hope you'd do the same."

"What if she can't be killed? Will you choose to leave?"

"It's a game of wits, but you don't have to play!"

Wouldn't You Like

"What a brilliant speech you gave!"

"Who goes there?"

"A foe like Circe is not to be messed with."

"You want to beat her? You'll need the blessing of a certain God."

"Wouldn't you like a taste of the power?"

"Wouldn't you like to have some of the magic?"

"She can turn you into an animal that'll end up on her plate."

"She can conjure up a monster that'll grind you to the bones."

"She has all the ways to haunt you if you take her on alone."

"Wouldn't you like your outcome preferred?"

"Here in the root of this flower lies such a power to take her on."

"Don't thank me, friend! You very well may die. Good luck!"

Done For

"We seldom get a warm welcome so I must ask just to be sure: Did you do something to them?"

"All I did was reveal their true forms."

"I don't know who you are, nor why you're here."

"I've got people to protect, friends I can't neglect, so I'm not taking chances, dear."

"If you make one wrong move, then you're done for."

"I could put a spell on you and you're done for."

"Boy, you better run, or soon you will be done for."

"You will fail at placing any spells on me."

"You and I are now evenly matched."

"Now there is no turning back."

"You've made your one wrong move, now you're done for."

"I'll be the one to prove that you're done for."

"My nymphs are like my daughters, I protect them at all costs."

"The last time we let strangers live we faced a heavy loss."

"You've given me no reason to bestow you with my trust."

"Everyone's true colors are revealed in acts of lust."

"I'm not sure I follow."

There Are Other Ways

"There are other ways of persuasion."

"There are other modes of control."

"There are other means of deceit."

"You have so much left to learn."

"Want to save your men from the fire? Show me that you're willing to burn."

"Who's to say with all the mistakes I've made that they will be the last mistakes I ever make?"

"This is the price we pay for love."

"Back at home my wife awaits for me. She's my everything, my Penelope."

"The God of Tides is out to end my life."

"There might be a way to get home."

"Though this other way's very dangerous it might be your one final hope."

"I know of a brilliant prophet, problem is this prophet is dead."

"I can't get you home, but I'll get you to the Underworld instead."

"Maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road."

"I have been in love once before."

#rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence prompts #roleplay sentence starters #rp starter #rp starter meme #roleplay meme #rp meme #epic the musical

[sallysavestheday]

Writing Year Wrapped (2023)

Thank you for the tag, @eilinelsghost!

3 Favorite Fics You've Written This Year

Beloved, Forsaken, Redeemed, my short Celegorm cycle. I am very pleased with each of the little bites that make up the whole, for imagery, characterization, and narrative arc. You love him, you hate him, you pity him, and you root for him in the end, even having seen him at his worst.

The paired fics In This, No Consolation and What Will Console You, in which Maedhros and Maglor find parenting challenging, first at Formenos in Nerdanel's absence, and then in caring for Elrond and Elros. These hurt, but they also comfort.

Examined Lives, in which Erestor and Pengolodh fall in love after Sailing and have to negotiate their respective understandings of history and truth. It's a very odd ship, but it works. I am quite fond of my Loremasters in Love.

And yes, it's cheating to slide in a fourth, but I have to mention my 2023 Tolkien Drabbles series, in which I fell in love with fixed-length stories and the challenge of fitting a whole world into 100 words. So much fun!!

3 Fics That Stretched You the Most

Tender Morsels. This is the first thing I've shared with a rating above T, but if you're going to do it, you may as well do it in style, right? Written for Silm Smut Week, it features Fingon/Maedhros figuring themselves out via cannibalism and sexy mutilation and carries the tag Is it really monsterfucking if it's Maedhros? It's oddly romantic, for all that. Thanks to @polutrope for convincing me to share it.

When All Other Lights Go Out. 5,336 words!! Let me repeat: 5,336 words! I usually hover between 400 and 1,000, so this was a big stretch. Written for TRSB, to accompany @grundyscribbling's gorgeous Feanorian nightlight, it's an epic (for me) look at love through the generations, in all its varieties and with all its consequences.

By Love Annealed. I don't write very many OCs, and this piece was both largely OC-focused AND about some tricky stuff. But I ended up loving my new friend Sorokendë and her relationship with Celebrimbor, in this remix of ultramarine by @welcomingdisaster.

3 Favorite Lines You've Written (loosely interpreting "lines")

For heartbreak, Maedhros and Maglor in Feanorians in Seventeen Kisses.

Maedhros rests his chin on Maglor’s head, watching the ocean, shivering and burning all at once. He murmurs something incomprehensible – it might be I’m sorry – and sighs. The sea surges, hungrily. Maglor doesn’t turn when the heat at his back changes. If he holds very still, he can almost keep feeling the last brush of his brother’s lips on his hair.

For angst, Fingolfin and Maglor in True North.

The banners ripple in the chill breeze off the lake as they stand toe to toe, second son and second son, frowning. They are anchorless, both of them, flung into the spinning skies with no fixed points to reach for, no greater stars to burn behind.

And for romance, the Glorthelion wedding from In Answering, An Answer Find.

Glorfindel cries out the praise he could not muster in the welter of the healing tent. He hears the fierce, bright music of Ecthelion’s reply. The bond sparks as their palms touch. Then they are burning, singing with it, leaping forward together, diving into the light.

3 Characters You Enjoyed Writing (that surprised you)

Turgon. This was my Year of Being Kinder to Turgon, after last year's portrayal of him as a history-whitewashing, Pengolodh-abusing kinslayer (ouch!). But this year I wrote him lovingly with Fingolfin in From the Heights, Such Light and Air, tenderly with Aredhel in None Shall Mark Thy Going, loving and furious with Fingon in A Bond That Shines and Burns, and being consoled by Elenwe in Mandos in Reckoning. Turgon! Multidimensional! Who knew?

Curufin. He was also an unexpected delight to explore, whether having a hard time letting go of Feanor in Borne Away Like Smoke, or having a hard time coming back to life in A Sea Change. I became very fond of the possibilities of him, actually.

Legolas' Mother. She is my first substantive OC, and I have had SUCH fun building her out. I first wrote her in A Mighty Shot in the Darkness, which is partly her love story with Thranduil and partly the story of Legolas drawing on her teaching to kill the Fell Beast. And she popped up again in These Soft Threads That Bind Us, newly home from Dagorlad and adjusting to life with only one arm and a curious child. She has a guest appearance in one of my seasonal exchange fics, too, which will be up at the end of this month (and which explains why I haven't named her).

3 Unexpected Inspirations

The Canadian government's vivid, lyrical description of the varieties of sea ice, which I used as a framing device for Ice Glossary (12 views of the crossing of the Helcaraxe, each linked to a type of ice).

Lawrence Oates' quietly suicidal farewell to his colleagues on the Scott Antarctic expedition, which I used along with the prompt "desperate valor" to drive I May Be Some Time, in which Maedhros departs to parley with Morgoth.

The poignant last line of Vincent Van Gogh's final, unfinished letter to his brother Theo, which along with @z-h-i-e's gorgeous painting Feanor's Art Therapy inspired Half-Foundered, in which Feanor is therapy-resistant, and expressing his inner struggles through art does not help.

3 WIPs You're Excited About in the Upcoming Year

Untitled Anaire/Fingolfin, full of rage and regret and maybe eventually reconciliation. It's almost done; I'll drop it on some dark day as winter lingers for maximum hurt.

The Sifted Light: Evranin smuggles Elwing and the Silmaril out of Doriath. Tolkien women, yay!

The Blue Line Between Sky and Water: a three-chapter Voronwe piece which is giving me fits but will be out there eventually. Spoiler: he drowns, three times.

3 People Tagged to Share Theirs

Tagging with zero pressure: @melestasflight @cuarthol @tathrin

#fic recs #my fics

[env0writes]

Janus Estuaries Vol. 3, 1.3.24 “Resolute That The World Must Grow Kinder”

Every year I am asked to change To be better But I have been kind for countless years Why must I be the one to make the stars rearrange? It is not my year for resolution The world and those about Are overdue for kindness, they live without There is no grand and violent revolution How silly and little we seem celebrating Once more around the track we revolve Refusing, recycling, and re-using to evolve Happy birthday Gaia, Earth, towards tomorrow accelerating I am not Going to use my time and slipping sand Fueling fire, crooks, and stealing books with guarded hand My deeds may never change the world, as a cosmonaut Why not? Make a change worth counting Loose as it may be in my pocket Kept tight ‘round my nape in a locket Is an obstacle of the self, worth surmounting Why must wishes be for anything other than mundane? There is magic and wonder in the worlds kindness, that will remain Birthday wishes, each year I always give my best It is time for kindness to be learned and earned by all the rest

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist!   Photo by @env0

#writeblrcafe #poeticstories #poetryportal #twc #spilled ink #wutispotlight #writtenconsiderations #alt lit #burningmuse #janus estuaries #janus estuaries vol. 3 #january #new years resolution #poetselixir #poetswhisper #new poets society #env0 writes #rhyming poem #my poem #poetry #poem #original poetry #dark academia #twcpoetry #writerscreed #abstractcommunity #savage words

[pochipop]

＃KAZE TO KI NO UTA !! ♡ — I STEEP YOUR HEART IN MY CHAMOMILE TEA (SERGE X GILBERT).

#. synopsis! — serge will love gilbert until the day he dies .

#. characters! — serge x gilbert .

#. warnings! — angst, explicit mentions of death and canon-typical dark content .

#. word count! — 1.4k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — please accept my humble kazeki spotify playlist <3

It was never that Gilbert didn’t love Serge as much as Serge loved him. No, it wasn’t a matter of choice, or want, or desire, —it was a matter of possibility. By the time they met, it was much too late, although Serge never wanted to believe it. He was a smart young lad, but a child is always a child. And Gilbert was a child too, even if he didn’t seem it at times. They were doomed from the start; by the heavens, by God, by earthly forces and celestial ones alike. They were doomed by every season, by every whisper of wind, by every hand that had ever touched Gilbert’s aching frame, stealing more of him away.

When he met Serge, there was nothing left to give, no matter how badly he’d wanted to. He was a void, some cosmic hole of nothingness that sucked things in and never spat them out. He was broken, and tattered, and torn at every edge, —and he did love Serge for whatever that was worth, but in the end, it wasn’t much. Gilbert was living on Serge’s borrowed time, feeding off his warmth, pulling him under. . .

The sun sets upon another day, one that Gilbert never saw, and Serge sits alone in his room, dressed in clothes that don’t feel like his own. Because they aren’t. He’s always been more tall than he’s ever been proud, and this ruffled collar and gold-buttoned vest may have looked dashing on his father, but they swallow Serge up just like Gilbert used to; trading one prison for another.

At least when it was Gilbert’s doing, Serge felt more like himself.

But here he sits in this stuffy manor, brown eyes flickering across the ornate paintings hung about the room. They’re all trimmed in subtle bronze, carved into filligrous vines, and it’s all so melodramatic that it’s giving him a headache just staring at them. The art itself is expertly done, —mostly flowers and cabins stuffed somewhere off in the woods. For a moment, Serge thinks to himself that he should have run somewhere like that with Gilbert, somewhere they could have hidden themselves away from the world for as long as it took him to get well. Forever, maybe, if that’s what he needed. 

It’s a pipedream now though. Gilbert is gone; has been gone for years, and yet Serge still finds himself thinking of him as if he were soon to walk through the door at any moment’s notice. He can’t eat chestnuts without tasting Gilbert’s burnt flesh on their surface, can’t sleep in any bed without the ghost of Gilbert’s arms encircling him, —and sometimes they’re softer than others, but they never change their size. Sometimes when he closes his eyes, Serge can still smell Gilbert on his sheets; one’s that he never even laid on. He hears his voice when he plays piano, humming along to the melodies he plays, —he feels him when the wind rustles, when the sun shines, and when rain takes over the skies.

If there’s one thing Serge knows for certain, it’s that Gilbert will live inside him for as long as it takes to make things right. He’ll apologize a million times for mistakes he never had the chance to make, and he’ll pour an extra cup of chamomile tea, even though Gilbert probably wouldn’t have liked it anyway.

He’ll sit and think far too often about how Gilbert would have grown in tandem with him, —getting taller, and warmer, and kinder, like Serge was melting ice in his palms. He’ll visit his grave and tell him about his days, even if he’s never really felt Gilbert there where his name is carved into marble and brownstone. He’s the only one who ever visits these days, and it would be a shame to let his resting place become some overgrown mound of weeds. Maybe Gilbert wouldn’t mind, but Serge does.

He’ll try not to cry as much as the days go by. Time hasn’t healed his wounds the way he thought it would, —but he’s not doing himself any favors with the way he digs his fingers around in them every morning, desperate to keep them festering like some metaphorical maw of devotion. It’s what Gilbert always did, picking at his cuts and his bruises to keep them around.

Serge will bleed on every inch of Lacombrade Academy, then on every stone on the streets of Paris, just as Gilbert would have wanted.

He’ll carry this guilt like a cross on his shoulders, —unadulterated and proud, each step heavy with the weight of remorse. Serge will lug this love like a burden and a gift from some forsaken savior, a constant companion, shaping to the contours of his soul, merging down to the muscle. This is where he feels closest to the writhing boy he lost to the rain and the mud and the horrors of his mind. This is where he feels Gilbert so strongly; in the sinews of his being, rotting on the inside but sickeningly sugar-coated.

He puts an extra cube of sugar in Gilbert’s tea and watches it dissolve, then takes a sip of his own.

It’s mild, —floral, and maybe it would be soothing if Serge allowed for it to be. He won’t, of course.

Shadows dance off the walls in the late evening light. The air is thick with melancholy, the kind that permeates the tea in Serge’s delicate porcelain cup. He almost smiles when a whisper of wind from the open window makes the curtains quiver and snuffs out the candlelight on the clothed table. Gilbert never did like romantic gestures. He preferred something raw and much less tangible, clawing at Serge until he came apart, just so he’d put him back together.

And he always did. . . Until he couldn’t. Serge always knew how to fix Gilbert; how to pull him in and soothe the ache, until the echoes got louder, until Gilbert got high enough to block them out, even when it came at the cost of blocking Serge out with them. At least he was delirious at the end. It’s a somber sort of comfort knowing Gilbert wasn’t in the right mind when it all came crashing down, —but more than that, it’s a reminder to Serge that it’s his solemn duty to keep those memories alive until he’s food for the worms to eat.

There wasn’t enough love in the world to save Gilbert from himself, and Serge has yet to reconcile with the bitter truth that he knew that all along. He’d known it from the moment they met in that claustrophobic dorm room when Gilbert came crashing in, teetering on the edge. It was only a matter of time before his sadness caught up to him. He was running from ghosts and the whispers of his mind, from the attention he craved and begged for, and found in the arms of whatever upperclassman or old, nasty man he could sink his teeth into for a night.

And Serge couldn’t kiss that away.

He couldn’t ever hold Gilbert tight enough, so he settled. He settled for the tanned hands brushing golden strands from his face, caressing him gently even when he begged to be hurt. He settled for whispered words against his neck instead of canines on his flesh, for big, brown, innocent eyes that were just so disgustingly kind. Gilbert settled for love when he wanted to be hurt.

Worst of all, he liked it.

He liked how Serge held his cheeks and kissed his tears away and how he always kept the promises he made.

Now, Serge sifts through memories of pale skin and lean muscle, —emerald eyes that never really had a spark. But heaven knows they were so, so pretty when Gilbert wanted them to be. His heart wanes like the humble moon, the ache of loss still ever-present, no matter where he goes. He lives with a chill that follows him wherever he ventures, undeterred by the warmth of his tender memories or the cup of quickly cooling tea in his palms.

Gilbert’s love was never perfect, and it never came without great costs, but Serge would have traveled to every end of the Earth to keep it. He’d have paid every prince imaginable just to pull him from the depths and breathe new life into his fragile lungs.

But it’s too late now. . . So Serge sits alone at this table, holding a cup of chamomile tea the way he once held both their hopes and sorrows. He clings to what he has left, —the reminders of what he lost and what he gained. 

The last sip lingers like Gilbert’s lips always did on his collarbones, and Serge settles the empty cup back onto its saucer.

#gilbert cocteau #gilbert x serge #kaze to ki no uta #the poem of wind and trees #serge battour #gilbert cocteau x serge battour #kaze to ki no uta fanfic #serge x gilbert #serge battour x gilbert cocteau #kaze to ki no uta gilbert #kaze to ki no uta serge #kazeki #kazeki gilbert #kazeki serge #kazeki fanfic #kazeki gilbert x serge #kazeki serge x gilbert

[ao3gobi17]

This question from anon about what if Spider was younger at Custody really interested me. Let's assume that he is 10 years old and the McCoskers have already managed to arouse in him some resentment towards Quaritch, but still it would only be 3 years since his whole life looked like a fairy tale, so I can already feel the internal conflict that would be taking place in him. How would Quaritch catch him after escaping from prison, because I don't think he would let a 10-year-old complete the entire route by himself (assume that the beginning would be like in Custody, i.e. meetings in prison and a protection program). And would Lyle and the rest of them be gentler with him? Would he still try to escape (probably in a slightly different way) And would Quaritch's behavior towards him kinda change?

If he's 10 Delgado might have put pressure on the McCoskers to keep him with them at the labs, rather than separating them. And Quaritch would already have the McCosker-lead to work on since the prison visit so he would be able to identify the labs as a possible hiding spot for the three of them. (Of course, Delgado might have been a bit wary of sending 10 year old Spider in to get the Wedgewick Killer info in the first place, but lets assume he thinks Spider can handle it just about.). Q would like have plotted the opposite version of the prison break to get into the labs and get Spider. Of course the whole Jake and Leo part could have happened instead, just like in Custody and you're right that Q wouldn't have Spider running out in the night if he was 10. But also Q would have more power over Spider to get him to reveal his location - either via 1. intimidation, if Q has Leo and Spider's only 10 he could easily be scared into giving up the Sully holiday home location. Or 2. coaxing - if the original prison visit went well and Spider wanted to see his dad and believed he's innocent even (or had a lot of doubts about his guilt) then Q might be able to sweet talk him into giving up the Sully holiday home location.

Wainfleet and the recoms would definitely be more gentle with him, some would also steer more clear of him because they don't know how to handle kids, but they'd be a bit kinder on the whole. There would be a lot less blindfolds and handcuffs going on - probably not any if it could be avoided.

Spider may or may not have escape in mind - I could see Q winning him over much faster. But if he did try I think he'd be busted very quickly. Q certainly wouldn't let him try escaping so he could learn a lesson like he did with 16 year old Spider.

Aside from scaling some things to Spider's age (like we mentioned above). Quaritch's overall attitude towards him wouldn't change, but Spider would react very differently and Q would likely get a lot more affection and requests for affection a lot more quickly - so in turn he would respond. But he would do the same if 16 year old Spider was treating him that way too - so it's not really him that would change if that makes sense! <3

#gobibside #custody

[ask-cueball]

Hey...been a while, hasn't it?

So this comic has been at a standstill for a while now. I'd like to have a talk about that, and about how we'll be going forward from here, and I need to ask your opinion on something as well. There's a poll under the cut but I'd appreciate if you could read the rest of my ramble before voting.

So, uh...prepare for a word wall, heh. Sorry.

This year has been slow for Ask Cueball for several reasons. First, Arc 1 ended, and there was a long break because of that. Then physical injuries made me unable to draw for a long time. But neither of those really apply anymore. I've healed from my injury (and learning to help what didn't heal) and if you follow my main art blog you'd know that I've been drawing again for a while.

So I've been thinking lately about why it's been so hard for me to work on Ask Cueball, and I think it comes down to two things - one part of it has to do with my art and how it's grown and changed, and the other is my interests and how THOSE have grown and changed.

I do like Ask Cueball's art style, I like how simple and clean and consistent and expressive it is. I think Ask Cueball is really what helped me start to develop my own personal style. But at the same time...at this point, my style has evolved beyond it. Ask Cueball was drawn with a mouse on an old broken laptop. Since then, everything has updated and changed. It feels counterproductive to go back to my old methods of art, like I'm limiting myself, going backwards.

And then when it comes to interests...once again if you follow my art blog, you've probably noticed I haven't drawn anything Sonic or shapebot related in a long time. Things change, I've discovered new things, found myself in fandoms that are...honestly WAY kinder and chiller than the Sonic fandom (because let's be honest, even in our little corner of shapebot hell with a population of like 20 people there's still been some drama).

But, all that said...I still love this place. I love the story, the characters, all of it. I love my fans, especially those who have stuck around even throughout this slow, uneventful year. I love this comic. Which is why I'm refusing to end it here. I want to keep Ask Cueball going, and I've set a hard deadline for myself to release a comic post in November. After that, well...this is where I need your help.

My thought was that maybe it might be quicker for me to update Ask Cueball if I did it in sketches? But I don't want to lower the visual quality...and then that last legitimate option, the one with the comic being cancelled? I will only do that one if it gets above 90% approval. I don't want to end the comic like that, I want to see it through to completion, but if this is what we think we need to do then we will do it.

So basically, this poll is asking what's more important to you, the speed or the quality:

The first option will likely be slowest, but the comic won't lose ANY of it's quality or polish. This is what I'd like to do but I worry about how long it may be between posts.

The second option should be a little quicker, but the comic will be worse, sloppier with little-to-no color, and will no longer have its clean quality.

The third option (again, only happens if it gets above 90%) will be the quickest, as I will just tell you the remaining story over probably 1-3 posts, with little to no art at all, and then it will be done. The comic is over.

Regardless of what wins, the next post will be coming out in November, and it will be in the old style, as it is partially complete and I don't want to switch styles mid-post. I do not guarantee returning to our old weekly posting schedule, REGARDLESS of which option wins the vote.

I felt guilty that I missed the 3rd Anniversary in September, but I also felt like I hadn't done enough this year to really celebrate the 3rd year as though the blog was still going as strong as it had before. I hope that going forward, we won't have to miss the 4th too.

TL;DR - Ask Cueball hasn't been active much this year for several reasons, but it will be coming back.

#ooc #behind the bots #announcement #blog updates #poll #please read #long post

[dalisay17]

12:30am. i received a call from a friend.

we lost another fellow doctor today.

it hit differently because I knew them since undergrad personally. They were bright, wielding a vibrant personality despite the odds. They brought this with them through med school - also through residency, I presumed. And we walked the same paths, but diverged in the detours.

To hear this update about them - someone I distantly knew, but had been rooting for in their chosen field when I heard about them from common friends - is unfair. Someone who was so close to becoming a person equipped to better the lives of others, lost before they even had the chance to do so.

we don't know the full context of why, how it lead to this, but this could have been prevented. we could speculate and speculate, but -

the system must have killed them.

the one who called me had added that a different institution lost 3 trainees to suicide in the span of a year - 2 of which from the same department, within the span of weeks from each other.

I tweeted about this acquaintance. But deleted it out of respect for those closer to them, because I only knew them in passing. I felt it wasn't my place to speak out before those close to them. but my feelings burned.

it is unfair for a system like this to persist. just a few weeks back, a consultant on twitter asked about why the number of those who went into residency continued to dwindle in number.

then this news of a suicide.

this system must be purged and wrought anew. dramatic, but there should be sirens for this demand. no team member should be left behind. and yet there are those who persist to claim it is the way it is to strain those of quality, rather than to build up individuals into stronger versions of themselves. that programs are there because skills are to be taught and learned - not gatekept for petty pride.

a weird segue, but a part of me hoped that there was a modicum of truth to the stories about being transported back in time or into other worlds. a trend in fiction nowadays. it may be useless, but i hope - hope and pray and wish it - that wherever their soul ends up, that their next chances at life would be kinder and more triumphant for them.

we'll miss you! and we'll continue to fight for a better world for those of the same ilk. but for now, i pray you can rest better, even for a while.

#trigger warning: suicide #trigger warning: death #med life #buhay Med #dalisay17's rants #holy shit #haven't written in a while and its about THIS #tag-ranting #WHY WHY WHY #WHY YOU OF ALL PEOPLE

[barakittens517]

PT. X: The End

Summary: In which the lost has, at long last, been found.

Words: 2,237

Warnings: n/a

Pairing: Morpheus x gender neutral reader

Notes: holy shit we finally made it :') massive shoutout to anyone that made it this far! hopefully i'll be posting a *refined* version of this on AO3 soon. mucho mucho love to all of you <3

Tag List: @ponyboys-sunsets @i-am-not-a-raccoon-anymore @memento-mora @freedomsofdream

The way back to the Dreaming is silent. Morpheus heads straight for the library, leaving you in the throne room alone. It’s quiet- too quiet. You wait a moment before sneaking in after him. The dream lord doesn’t notice as you duck behind one of the bookshelves, tiptoe-ing quietly towards Lucienne’s desk. 

This is the second time you’ve eavesdropped on Morpheus. You have a quiet moment of reflection for the fact that you have never overheard good news. 

No matter. Once you figure out how the hell to get back to the waking world, you’ll never have to worry about Morpheus or Lucienne or anyone ever again. 

“Ezra may have been a dead end,” Morpheus admits. “The Corinthian is gone, so what power would he have here?” 

Lucienne tilts her head towards his coat pockets. “My lord, he’s not entirely gone.” 

Morpheus pulls the tiny skull from his pocket, holding it at a distance like some scene from Shakespeare. “You cannot be serious.” 

Lucienne nods. “It is the last of him. If you destroy it, you’ll be destroying everything he had an influence on. Including them.” 

“Not all of them,” Morpheus corrects her. You had been taken from the Dreaming, unfinished. You shudder at the thought of being reduced back to what you were. At this rate, you’d be better off destroyed entirely. 

“I think you should speak with them first, my lord. Whatever choice you make will directly affect them, permanently.” 

“I think…”

You miss the rest of their conversation in favor of putting yourself as far from the dream lord as possible. To exist is one thing, but to make him choose between The Corinthian and you?

The answer is obvious. 

You know the dream lord is proud of his creations, and assume destroying The Corinthian was something akin to an unforgivable act. It had been hard enough, watching him crumble to dust in the auditorium. 

There was at least hope, with The Corinthian, that he could be made again- better, stronger, even kinder perhaps. 

But with you? You, with such a cruel joke of purpose, and you’d spent over a hundred years being quite the opposite of a perfect partner. What use is there in starting now? 

You follow the cobblestone path outside of the castle, walking as far as your feet will take you. You take the time to bargain with your conscience- dying is the best you could wish for. It will hurt, but it will be temporary. 

And Morpheus will be better off with someone new. A completely different blueprint, a brand-new dream that will never have known life as a weapon.  

Gods, what a nightmare. You had to give The Corinthian credit, if only a little. You never imagined your purpose being so world-changing. Say you had destroyed Dream of the Endless? What would have happened then? 

You’re so caught up in thought that you don’t even hear Morpheus calling after you. The city is far behind you, and looking down you find yourself standing in a field dotted with pink carnations. 

Fiddler’s Green. 

“Ellis!” Morpheus calls again, and he’s next to you in an instant. “What are you doing out here?” 

“Getting one last good view in, I guess.” 

Morpheus sighs. “It does not have to be the last.” 

“It does. It does, ‘cause I’ll be damned if I make you pick between me and him,” you snap. “It’s not fair.” 

You sit with a huff down in the carnations, folding your knees to your chest. Another magnificent sun is setting over the hills again. 

Morpheus quietly sits next to you, watching as you pluck the nearest carnations to bits. 

After a few minutes, you stop and sit still. “Can I see the book again?” you ask. 

Morpheus pulls the hardcover book from his coat and hands it over. You leaf through the pages once more, looking for your rough draft.

You had hoped to see what you were meant to become- one last look before the end. And there you are, unfinished. The lilies in the column still make your stomach turn. 

Morpheus watches you carefully, quietly. The sunset has cast a rose-gold hue onto everything, and he’s struck by how beautiful you look. His own creation. 

The moment is ruined by the sound of tearing paper. You’re careful to avoid ripping out the other pages, but it isn’t right to have your failed existence in a book of proud accomplishments. 

“There,” you say, handing the book back to Morpheus. He’s speechless. “Now you can start over, right?” 

You’re overwhelmed by a sense of freedom, and of the end. This is it for you, and you should be allowed such an act of bravery. 

“Ellis, that’s not-”

“Start over,” you interrupt. “I’m serious. Make somebody perfect from the start. And maybe don’t leave ‘em unfinished for too long.” 

It’s a joke, but it still stings. If Morpheus had never left, who's to say you wouldn’t have had the perfect life? 

The skull in Morpheus’ pocket feels like it’s burning a hole through his coat. There is so much he wants to say, and so little a chance that you would even listen. You’ve already made up your mind. 

He pulls the trinket out anyways, watching your jaw drop in recognition. Frustrated, you play it off like another joke. “You could even make him your partner.” 

“I want you.” 

The words hang in the air between you, tinged with an endless yearning. Your heart flutters at the thought of what might have been. 

“I can’t stay like this,” you say quietly. 

“Then don’t,” Morpheus replies. His grip tightens on the skull, and a large crack appears to split above the jaw. 

You reach for his arm, panicking when he squeezes even harder. “Dream, cut it out. You’re scaring me.” 

“I do not mean to scare you. This is not a difficult choice for me, Ellis.”

“And what, I don’t get a say in it?”

“You do not have to stay here. But at least let me do this for you.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, releasing your grip on his arm. You sit in silence for a moment, preparing yourself for the worst. “Will it hurt?” you ask. 

He looks at the last piece of the Corinthian for a moment, and the dozens of pressure cracks spider-webbing around the cranium. Before he can answer, you reach for his hand again. 

“I don’t care.” 

You squeeze as hard as you can, and within moments the little skull is crushed to bits of sand. For a moment, nothing happens. You can hear Morpheus holding his breath, waiting. Hoping. Praying, even. 

A faint tingling sensation, like pins and needles, begins prickling up your arms. You look down to see the bones of your forearm revealed, the skin of your hands wisped away to skeletal fingers. Without a mirror, you can only assume the rest of your visage has been reduced to what it was before Ezra Lillin came into your life. 

Empty eye sockets. Flesh stretched taut over your skull. Your left arm is missing in its entirety. For once, you’re afraid to look at the dream lord- not because of what you can do, but because of what you are. 

“Ellis,” you hear him breathe out, finally. 

“Hi.” You’re embarrassed, shockingly, to return to your previous form. You refuse to look away from your hands, refuse to finally meet the eye of the dream lord. 

Morpheus is speechless. Seeing you now is like a hundred years had never passed. Here you are, his soulmate, exactly as he had left you. The rare view of a second chance.

The silence is deafening, for a moment. Morpheus breaks it with a simple question, one you had never once considered. 

“What would you like to be?” he asks. 

Yours, I want to be yours, please- “What am I supposed to be?” your voice is foreign once again, raspy and new. 

Morpheus motions to the shreds of paper in front of you. “I would not know. I never… never got any farther than that,” he answers. 

“That’s okay.” You’re quick to reassure him. “I… I don’t mind. Will it bother you? If I look the same?” 

You could almost swear you hear him breathe a sigh of relief at the thought. “Not at all.” 

He takes the sand from his coat pocket and carefully pours it into his hands, working quickly to form the missing pieces. A sweet breeze floats through Fiddler’s Green, and the sand blows with it, materializing the flesh that covers your bones. You watch in amazement, and within moments you’re almost complete. 

Just missing the eyes. 

“The most important part,” Morpheus comments, and for a moment you’re drawn back to Ezra’s shop, to the Corinthian. He had said the exact same sentiment, albeit for wildly different reasons. 

The dream lord looks around for a moment before picking two morning glories from the path from the field. Carefully, he holds the flowers out to you.

“What do you think?” he asks. 

“Are they going to be purple?” you ask. 

Morpheus laughs, the sound ringing in your ears. “Would you prefer a different color?” 

You shake your head. Internally, you’re ecstatic. “No, they’re perfect.” 

Morpheus nods. He pinches the rest of the sand into the center of the two blooms, balancing them carefully in one palm. “Alright,” he says, “Tilt your head back.” 

You lean back on both arms, looking up to the sunrise setting over Fiddler’s Green. “Like this?” you ask, looking over slightly. 

Morpheus nods, brushing the loose strands of hair away from your face. “Just like that,” he repeats quietly. 

Gently, he places the flowers on each of your empty eye sockets. You would be irritated by the feeling if you weren’t so focused on the dream lord being so close to you. You’re certain he hears the breath hitch in your throat as he leans over. 

He places a hand over your eyes, and for a moment, the world goes black. You’re briefly struck with the thought of something going wrong. 

“I c-can’t see,” you stutter, panicking, and Morpheus takes his hand away, reaching for yours. He gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Still black. 

“Ellis,” you hear him say with a laugh, “You have to open your eyes.”

You turn to him, eyes closed. “That’s it?” you ask incredulously. 

“That’s it.”

You reach for both of his hands, holding them in front of you. His palms are warm and rough. 

“Are you looking at me?” you ask. 

“Ellis,” he says, “Look at me.”

And you do. 

His irises are whirlpools of inky black, dotted with the same galaxies you’ve seen in the night sky of the Dreaming. You still get lost in them, but for once there are no flashes of sin, of regret, or despair. 

Just the god of dreams, looking back at you so lovingly that without a second thought you lean forward, crashing your lips against his. He reaches gently to cup your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

You’re struck with the overwhelming sensation that this is where you are meant to be. You tug his collar to pull him closer, wishing it never had to end.

After a moment, he pulls away slowly, both of you breathless. The nervous butterflies in your stomach are going absolutely haywire, and you can’t help smiling like an idiot. Morpheus has an almost identical look, and if Fiddler’s Green could speak, he would tell you both how absolutely, dumbfoundingly lovestruck you look.

He settles for cultivating the red and yellow daisies that bloom in a small patch between you and the dream lord.   

“Would you like to see them?” Morpheus asks, fabricating a small pocket mirror out of thin air. 

You nod. He clicks the mirror open and hands it to you, watching as you take a deep breath to steel yourself from visibly reacting. 

The morning glories have transformed into deep violet irises, with flecks of a lighter lavender. The edges are ringed in a pale gray. You watch yourself tear up at the sight, at how beautiful they are. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, closing the mirror as a tear spills down your cheek. Morpheus hesitates for only a moment before brushing it away gently with his thumb. 

“Anything,” he answers, just as quiet, “for you.” 

You’re overcome with a flood of emotion, an outpouring of love and gratitude and fucking relief.

You’re not a weapon anymore. 

You won’t hurt anyone, not even Morpheus. 

Especially Morpheus. 

You wrap your arms around his neck in an embrace, almost falling into his lap when he sits back. You settle in sideways, your head tucked into his chest. He keeps an arm around your waist, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“You are welcome to return to the waking world,” he offers quietly. “Although you will always have a place here, with me.”

You ponder for a moment, what it would be like to have a normal life on the planet. For over a century, it had been the only thing you had wished for, more than anything. 

But you know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, this is where you belong. Where you have always belonged, close enough to hear your soulmate’s heartbeat. 

“What if I want to stay?” you ask. 

Morpheus pulls you even closer, pressing his lips gently to the top of your head.

“Then stay.”

<3

#morpheus #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #dream x gn!reader #the corinthian #netflix sandman

[hexen-cosplay]

Health Problems & Cosplay

I mentioned in a previous post that I am a cosplayer with health conditions, and in this post I’m going to talk about them a little bit! Now, you may have noticed that I said ‘them’, and that’s because I have collected quite a few of them over the years and here they are:

🖤 TYPE 1 DIABETES 🖤

The pancreas stops producing the hormone insulin, and as such to keep blood glucose levels from rising and causing a fatal complication known as Diabetic Ketoacidosis, T1 Diabetics must take insulin every single day to stay alive. 

🖤 GASTROPARESIS 🖤

Gastro = “stomach”. Paresis = “partial paralysis”.

The basics of this disease, is that food does not pass through my stomach at the speed it should. It goes a lot slower, and this causes a multitude of often debilitating symptoms, including: intense bloating, not being able to eat enough food resulting in deficiencies and malnutrition, extreme stomach pain, constant nausea, vomiting a lot (sometimes undigested food), constipation/diarrhoea, reflux, and more. 

🖤 SINUS TACHYCARDIA/POTS 🖤

Sinus tachycardia is a regular cardiac rhythm in which the heart beats faster than normal. The PoTS is suspected due to experiencing black outs (which once resulted in two broken ribs), extreme dizziness, blurred vision, chest pain, shortness of breath and changes in blood pressure. 

🖤 AUTONOMIC NEUROPATHY 🖤

Autonomic neuropathy occurs when there is damage to the nerves that control automatic body functions - the things we don’t think about every day, that happen automatically. It can affect blood pressure, temperature control, digestion, bladder function and even sexual function.

🖤 PROLIFERATIVE DIABETIC RETINOPATHY & MACULAR OEDEMA 🖤

This is the last and most serious stage of Diabetic Retinopathy. In the first two stages, the changes are reversible. In stage 3 new blood vessels and scar tissue have formed on your retina, which can cause significant bleeding (you can see the bleeds in your vision, which is distressing and causes impairment), and lead to retinal detachment, where the retina pulls away from the back of the eye. At this stage, there's a very high risk of blindness.

HEALTH PROBLEMS & COSPLAY

As you may have guessed, this is a lot! It’s a lot to deal with, I’m in pain all the time, and it makes me quite grumpy sometimes too. 

My ongoing health struggles did play a part in the break I took from cosplaying, but that break turned into almost 9 years. It wound up that way because I convinced myself that I had to wait until I felt better to start again so that I could wholly dedicate myself to it. That was not a good mindset for me because I was still dealing with some denial over my health, despite knowing deep down that I would never "get better" in the way that I wanted to. My conditions are chronic. They're never going away.

I've come a long way in the 8 and a bit years since my last cosplay, though, and I'm not in denial anymore about my wellness. I take my medications, and I go to check-ups; I do the things that I need to do to make my life easier and ultimately, keep me alive. I know that sounds like a bare minimum, but it's not always that easy when your head is in a gnarly space, like mine was.

Alongside the.. peronal overhaul, I've employed a lot of new strategies in my day-to-day life that allow me to be myself and do the thing that I love, because I really do love cosplaying! By pacing myself, resting when I need to and not telling myself that needing it is failing, I'm kinder to myself - this kindness in place of self-deprecation for not being fast enough or as quick as another cosplayer has been the biggest turning point. I stopped comparing myself to people that didn't have to face what I do; I took a step back and took time to come to terms with the fact that I am different, and as such, I need to look at and do things differently, to suit my lifestyle and the things I have to content with. That took a lot of courage to do, despite it being a very introspective process, because facing yourself like that is hard. In my own mind, my differences made me lesser for many years, and it took actively challenging that perception within myself to realise that I was making my life harder, and denying myself happiness and fulfilment because of it.

Nowadays, I congratulate myself on progress because I am worth praise and worth happiness; I no longer view asking for help as a weakness or a failure, and I don't compare my progress to that of others. I acknowledge and accept that my conditions and disability exist, do not make me lesser, and require alternative means of doing things. Needing these accommodations and adaptations doesn't make me less as a person, or less worthy of love, happiness, praise and fulfilment than anyone else, not only in cosplay but life in general.

PATREON | TIKTOK | DEVIANTART | INSTAGRAM | REDDIT | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | YOUTUBE | TWITCH

#cosplay #cosplayer #disabled cosplayer #hexen cosplay #diabetes #t1d #type 1 diabetes #t1 diabetes #chronic health problems #chronic health conditions #gastroparesis

[revercntia]

𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑵𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒂

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔.

FULL NAME  :  Naila Sharma TITLE : Princess of the Mughal Empire APPELLATION(S)  :   Nai AGE  :  29 Years Old BIRTHDATE  :  August 28th GENDER  :  Cis Female ETHNICITY  :  Indian

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION  :  Heteroromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION  :  Bisexual RELATIONSHIP STATUS  :  Single

𝑷𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆.

FACE CLAIM  :  Kriti Sanon HEIGHT  :  5′10″ PHYSICAL BUILD  :  Lean, Athletic EYE COLOUR  :  Chocolate Brown HAIR COLOUR  :  Dark brown

𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚.

FATHER  :  TBA Sharma MOTHER  :  TBA Sharma  SIBLINGS  :  Avi Sharma, Priyanka Sharma (deceased) EXTENDED RELATIONS  :  

COUSINS  :  Esha Bedi

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S)  :  

CURRENT  :  None

FORMER  :  TBA

CHILDREN  :  None PET(S)  :  None

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚.

HOBBIES  :  Horseback riding, sword fighting, target practice, reading  MBTI TYPE  :  ENTJ ( The Commander ) ENNEAGRAM TYPE  :  Type 3 ( The Achiever )

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅.

Wildly fierce, and impossibly audacious Naila has always been a contrarian, while she never strayed from her literary, language and culture studies she never had much love or affinity for the arts. From a young age she had an innate fascination with the physical pursuits her brothers were encouraged to. Cemented especially by an incident in the women’s palace when she was very young where a small group of radicals invaded in the dead of night. The panic and terror she felt and saw reflected in the older women around her that deemed themselves completely helpless to do anything for their own protection in that moment solidified in her mind that it was simply ludicrous that she be excluded from the physical pursuits her brother and other young noble men were trained for, as she never wanted to be in that position again, where she was solely reliant on another for her protection. 

She was ten years old when she started to train with swords, and has since honed her skills with not just her favored talwars but other knifes and weapons as well. Given that most instructors would constantly turn her away on account for her gender and position, Naila had always sought out the lower ranking members of court along with some commoners even, and as she grew older this allowed her to have a keen sense for the needs and struggles of the lower class. Always having been more mathematical inclined she began to take interest in the economics and commerce within Delhi fighting for several policy changes that impact the daily life’s of the citizens of their empire.

The death of her younger sister hit Naila just as hard as it did the rest of her family, her sister was everything that she wasn’t but a constant reminder of what she should aspire too, to soften her edges, be kinder with her words, and dampen her temper. Having been fiercely protective of her youngest sister Naila feels a sense of overwhelming guilt, and anger over not being able to save her sister. The mystery surrounding her death had encompassed her entire being, and she was not in favor of traveling to France to escape their grief, she much rather have stayed home to investigate the incident further. However, sending the rest of her family off into the lions den alone was also not an option, so she begrudgingly made the trip to France.

* Details that may be altered after plotting occurs.

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔

Platonic

THE BEST FRIEND  :  Her platonic soulmate, her closest confidant, who knows her better than she knows herself. ( 0 / 1 )

CAN'T LIVE WITH THEM, CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT THEM  :  A childhood friend who is her stark contrast and because of this they tend to always disagree, but their one of her oldest friends and that’s not going to change. So they just have to agree to disagree.      ( 0 / 1 )

Romantic 

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT  :  The person that got a little too close too soon, without her ever realizing it. Pushing them away was as much about protecting them as it was about protecting herself. Perhaps someone not who isn't royalty.  (  0 / 1 )

FATAL ATTRACTION  :  Enemies in the barest sense, though the chemistry is undeniable so they’re walking a fine line. Wanting what you shouldn’t want, the forbidden fruit is always sweeter, etc. ( 0 / 1 )

Antagonistic

A BITTER RIVALRY  :  Newfound or long running, they’ve found themselves at odds many times, and would do anything to one up the other. ( 0 / 1 )

#❛ ･ﾟ× ( ɴᴀɪʟᴀ sʜᴀʀᴍᴀ ) #❛ ･ﾟ× ( development › ɴᴀɪʟᴀ ) #francehq.intro

[candygirly06]

rut or rust?💋

My Dear Upper East Readers,

Welcome or welcome back to Chic Candy Chronicles, I was initially making an entirely different post, but I had woken up late the other day. My entire schedule got a huge whiplash and that had been happening for quite some time now, but now I'm back at it. In this post, I'm gonna tell you all about how to save a half-assed day, and why you do that in the first place.

I have always struggled with trying to find out what my body needs me to do, and I give credit to my nervous system for being in survivor mode for almost my entire life. Now that I've come out of it and understood the needs of my body and mind, I'm gonna tell you exactly how you can fix yourself and stop procrastinating.

2 years ago, my first thought, after I woke up later than usual, would begin with 'Why can't I do just one thing right?' and somehow ended with 'I need to punish myself and put myself through anguish to make myself realize the biggest mistake that I made today that would cost me an entire day.' and then I would just be grumpy the entire day and not do a single thing and actually waste that entire day.

And now, my first thought is always, 'It's okay, it's not my fault, I still have tomorrow and the entire day today and my entire life.' and ended with 'If I worked a bit harder for the next two days then I could easily catch up with my work and everything would still be alright.' Of course, this didn't happen overnight and there are still some days when I just beat myself up over it, but I am gentler with myself, I am kinder and I will always forgive myself because I would never want anyone else to beat themselves up over something as minor as this, why would I let myself go through such misery? Yes, for the moment, it might seem catastrophic to think that you wanted to do something so badly and in the end, it doesn't happen but think of it this way, your body takes rest when it needs to, not when you think that it should. 

If I'm being completely honest here, out of 7 days, I only wake up at the time that I wanted to for maybe 3 days, the rest, I just try my very best. I'm not saying that if I really wanted to, I wouldn't do it, of course I can, but I give myself permission to fail and try again, because no matter how many times it may happen, I still haven't given up, nor will I ever give up on myself. Now about saving a half-assed day, the best thing I can tell you is to take on only how much ever you can, your body is already demanding you to rest but there are some scenarios where you can't just take a break, so tend to yourself as much as possible and do not take on more than what you need to complete that day, you can get back into it the next day and work a bit harder over the next few days. If you can, take the day slowly and just relax, think of it as your mind giving you a day off and just live. 

Now I don't want to make this any longer, but never fret, my Upper East readers, your girl is coming back with so many ideas for so many posts.

Until then,

Stay chic and candy

xoxo

Candygirl 💋

#chiccandychronicles #self love #half-assedday #personal blog

[chloeafrazier]

Why I Felt That The Writers Should Have Given Laura And Caroline A Closer Boned A Lot Sooner.

Hey Everyone How are you all doing Today? so Here is the thing that i try to Convey Through My Blog Posts and all so here we Go

Now I want People to Understand that i do Love The show i just think that there are a few things that they could have Improved on and all

so here is the thing that i wish that they would have done is i wish that once they Got a Little More Money i wish they would have found

a way for Caroline and Laura to Go On a Trip with each other I mean i just wish that we could have seen Caroline and Laura form a bond a

Lot sooner then they really did because to be truthful it seemed as if to me that it took years and years for Caroline to really have that

much to do with Laura what i mean by that a side from the 2 times i saw her stand up for Laura in season 1 Ep 3 Entitled Country Girls and in season 5 Ep 7 Entitled Fagan

to me the rest of the times that we see or hear Caroline really Defined Laura is only in season 6 a side from that it is almost as if Caroline

dose not have the Emotional Capacity To stand up for Laura and i do not think i have Ever understood why that is and once again i am not

saying that Caroline dose not Love Laura Because i know that is not true i Just Never cared for the way they had Caroline speak to and

about Laura sometimes and i also just wish that Caroline could have shown a softer and more Understanding side to Laura more when it

came to Laura and not just a disciplinarian side Because i just felt that when it came to Laura The writers until season 6 that is i felt

that writers Made it kinda of where Caroline acted as if she Just did not have time for Laura Or that she did not have time to deal with

the Problems that Laura was having Because Mary Hit Laura hand way too hard in season 1 Ep 3 Entitled Country Girls and Caroline Nor

Charles really did anything about but i think that could have and would have been a Perfect Time for them to stand up for Laura and

to allow her to feel there Support along with the time in season 5 Ep 7 when Misses Olsen Yells at Laura and says Laura I want You to stop that Crying Now

and once again feel that that was a Perfect Opportunity For Caroline to defend Laura after Misses Olsen yelled at her

and i really wish that the writers would have allowed that to happen i wish they would have given Caroline More times where she was a

Little Kinder to Laura from time to time and i wish they did not always make us wait for Caroline to have more to do with Laura and i

wish that during that Moment that Caroline would have stood up for Laura Against Misses Olsen Because Not only do i think it would have

been nice to see i also think it would have given Laura Comfort in Knowing that her Mother was Not Going to Let anyone talk to her

Daughter anyway they wanted to and i just really think that would have been a Nice thing to see Caroline standing up for Laura and also

another in that Episode that i wish that they would have handled differently was How Caroline Responded to Laura Crying she ran

after her and screamed Laura You stop that Crying Now i just think that she should have tried to approached it with a Little More

Kindness instead of yelling at her to stop crying i just think that was the wrong way to handle the situation i kinda wish that the writers

would have allowed Caroline to show Laura a Little More Compassion when she became upset Like she did with Mary was all well Thanks for reading have a Great day May God Bless You all.

#A Blog Post About Little House On The Prairie.