Laudna is driftwood.
Driftwood provides stability to the sandy beach environment. With winds and waves, beaches are constantly shifting and experiencing natural disturbance. Like the edges you build around a garden, driftwood helps hold the sand in place and allows plants to take root.
Laudna was a tree struck down by lightning, tossed into the water and washed out to sea. Beat about for decades by the stormy seas, alone and adrift, she washed up on shore at imogen's feet. Now Laudna is providing that place for Imogen to grow roots to hold her to the shore in the face of the storms.
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there's a cherry blossom tree in DC that keeps blooming every year even though it shouldn't and the park service keeps thinking it's dead and then it keeps blooming! well they're removing a lot of trees to rehabilitate the area and they've said it's finally time for stumpy to go and they're going to mulch it and use the mulch to enrich all the other trees so it can help everything else keep going. and they're also going to plant spliced little pieces of it all over so that stumpy can live forever and this is genuinely sending me into a spiral
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I feel discouraged lately, but maybe a bit more sober. the emotional wreckage around my family of origin...they cannot be my foundation. no scene or social group will automatically replace that. not even a friend group. nothing can.
while I am glad my family is still here and alive, talking to them feels like suffocating to death. they're not even being particularly /mean/ they just can't level. they cannot have a real talk. they live in a rotting honey bubble of nostalgia.
it makes me want to crawl out of my skin. and yes I'm an adult and no they don't have power over me anymore. yes I ought to build my own life.
and yet the world is not a kind place that parts ways for you. every inch you fight for, lose it again.
I did a lot without guidance. and fucked up. I've been a rager and an ideologue and cruel and inconsiderate and ashamed and controlling and desperate and greedy as often as I've been kind or loving or noble.
now I'm here authoring my own story feeling ill prepared and anxious at how badly and how many times it is possible to fuck up more. at how many directions there are to go. holding onto any relationship with anyone that's longer than a year or two old as proof I'm not evil, not unlovable and disposable or narcissistic, I am normal! I am not marred by irreparable loss!
unfortunately not sure that's true anymore. The way I've lived up til now has me fucked up.
any attempt at making emotional boundaries goes awry. people abruptly give up on me. I'm mean and hard edged to anyone who doesn't have the exact same values, judgmental and suspicious. flighty. I find myself lovable as an abstraction, an idea, not a sweaty meaty lump of confusion and desire as everyone is under all our image polishing.
That's just it. everyone's life fucks them up down here. and there's too much pressure, trying to create some beautiful new future before it's time, give it all away like an already dead seafall whale drifting to the bottom of the ocean, some martyr who can't even say "stop. I'm uncomfortable with that." or "please, I'd like you to stay."
if there's any light in the despair of looking honestly at myself it's in finding acceptance. I'm twenty eight and have done, seen, experienced and known very little yet. I've made a public fool of myself for years to both respectable society and anyone with streetsmarts. I live in a cloud of doubt and confusion and my cognitive clarity has lessened like glasses scratched from wear. I am on edge from sensing constant disrespect, my debt is significant and my health declining. most days I struggle to walk, get out of bed, and eat.
yet in my soul is something beautiful that refuses to give up entirely.
as my dreams did I place their corpses into rotboxes and plant a few new seeds.
Something else will happen no matter how many times you surrender to your own failure. die and rot and grow again.
To be constantly resetting and never feeling a sense of true maturity, longevity, is this grief in a world that kills and kills and kills children again and again. yet in every new child new generation there is a fierce firey little hope, a persistence. An insistence on the future honed against stones of endless numbing oppression. Endurance.
If I've got nothing else I'll build that first. And bet my story will simply be a slow one.
I'm not dead yet. And I'm okay with being dead. I'd rather be most days. But because I'm not dead yet I'll find another way to live every day.
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being uprooted gives me a new perspective on growth… you don’t stay in once place when you grow, but you can’t grow without staying in one place, at least for a little while…
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⇢ ˗ ˏ ˋ ⋆ ✧ ・゚ 𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔
wc— 420 (haha)
cws/tags— virginity loss, gender neutral reader, fluff
virgin!satoru who's trying to play it cool, who's trying to keep impressing you, who's doing his best to keep his nerves under wraps.
virgin!satoru who gets so painfully hard when you both makeout and he just can't help but grind against your thigh, just to have some relief as his body thrums with desire.
virgin!satoru who blushes a fantastic shade of bright, cherry red when you ask him if he's got a condom on him; whose hands, that are usually so skilled, fumble with his wallet, pulling out a considerably battered condom that's got the writing worn off (because he's never had a chance to use it before you).
virgin!satoru who laughs nervously—not his usual loud, boisterous laugh but something shy and sweet—when you start to undress each other and you tell him just how gorgeous his body is.
virgin!satoru who is just so sensitive when your hands touch his skin that he squirms, shuddering when your fingertips trace along the curve of his spine, his adonis lines, his fortified chest and plush muscles.
virgin!satoru who is so eager to please, pining for praise and reassurance as he touches you with gentle, tentative hands and asks, "can I touch you here?" , "does this feel good?" , "am I doing this right?"
virgin!satoru who watches in amazement as his shaking fingers, that had only ever known violence, know you as he touches you and sees how your body responds and leans against him.
virgin!satoru who rests his forehead against yours as he slowly, slowly, slowly slips inside you for the very first time, gasping at just how well you take him as he's utterly convinced he was made for you.
virgin!satoru who kisses you sloppily and moans into your mouth as he gets closer to cumming, whining and mumbling praise about how perfect you feel as he questions how he'd ever managed to live without this.
virgin!satoru who cums too quickly and half sobs into your shoulder, whining and whimpering as he keeps thrusting inside you as he fucks himself into overstimulation because he wants you to cum for him as well.
virgin!satoru who's naїvely convinced that you're the one for him as you moan his name as you orgasm, because how could you not be his when you look, taste, sound, feel like this?
satoru who lies beside you in the tangled bedsheets, all drunken smiles and lazy kisses as he holds your body reverently as you ask him, "how d'you feel now?" and all he can reply with is a smug, self-satisfied, "perfect."
this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.
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