severelytemporalwasteland

[severelytemporalwasteland]

That post-camp depression hits hard

[severelytemporalwasteland]

fuckk i just realized i have to actually do shit now if i want stuff to get better later on. i...i don't need improvement that much, do i?

[severelytemporalwasteland]

Fae: Hello, I'm Dan. May I have your name?

Human (trans dude who is used to homophobia because there's a lotta toxic bitches out there): Uh...which one?

Fae: ...Your true name?

Human: *long dramatic sigh* look dude. I've had a really shitty day and I can't do this right now.

Fae: hey what

Human: *goes into a long rant about homophobia and dead names and how he doesn't even know which one is "true" anymore*

Fae (talking to other fae): ...that's it, I'm keeping it

Human: what about my name? don't you need that??

Fae: I want whatever name you choose

Human: *almost in tears* I want you

[severelytemporalwasteland]

Slingshot Theory Part One

I think the best thing a parent can do is parent somewhat irresponsibly. A child raised in structure learns how to organize themselves; a child raised in organization has no structure. All children will eventually "slingshot" back from their parents. Like the straight As kid raised in a strict family that, once out of the house, goes absolutely wild. Or the kid who had no true adult in their house, who will be the "mom friend," or "mature for their age."

[severelytemporalwasteland]

Dark summers are flames that burn without pain. Flickering, dancing, desperately stretching higher before they crash down in a burst of sparks. Forever seeking what has been lost, what will be found, and that which may not be. Dark summers are red, mahogany red. They look like sunrise from a rooftop surrounded by friends after a late night. They sound the way conversation trails off on a road trip when you let the music take over and reality goes blurry. They feel like the energy in the air before a storm. Electric, dangerous, wild, and free. They taste smoky and nostalgic; full of yearning and passion. They smell like walking down a city street after it rains, or a run through corn fields at night. Dark summers are finding where you belong, and getting lost all over agin. They are confidence and doubt; freedom and safety.

[severelytemporalwasteland]

I'm not sure I know how to be not okay. Sure, sometimes I cry in my room. Sure, sometimes I'm quiet and mentally spiraling around my friends. But do they ever notice? No. And is that their fault? Of course not. I love my friends, and as a result, I'd rather hold the fire in my hands, my fingers interlocked tightly to keep it from flickering towards them. And even as my flesh roasts, I am happy knowing no one else will be burnt. Because you never know the difference between water and who holds gasoline until it's too late.