#but i wanted to write

[quotidian-oblivion]

How I picture Leon finds out that Merlin has magic:

Merlin was tired.

Not because of the abundance of chores and the fatigue that came from running around after yet another assassin, but because he hadn't used his magic at all for the past month. Yes, even with the presence of the assassin. Gwaine had fortunately been there to knock the guy out and throw him in the dungeons, catching him red-handed.

He had been trying to stay as cautious as possible, which was why he hadn't used magic in such a long time.

But the fact was - Merlin was born with magic. It was as natural as breathing to him. So when he didn't use magic for an extended period of time, he would get tired.

He needed to use magic. Just a small bit.

He would do it in the safety of his room, but he was currently carrying Arthur's armor to his chambers from the training field and it was heavy and he was so so tired and- well, it would only be a small spell.

He put the armor down, checked that no one was around, then held up a palm. His eyes flashed gold and a small fire appeared on top of it.

Just because he had missed his magic, he flashed his eyes gold and made the flame morph into a butterfly. He smiled as it slowly flapped its wings, staying on Merlin's palm.

Then Merlin heard a gasp and he snapped his head to the newcomer.

The thing about knights was that they were trained to be as quiet as possible even in armor. It was required for certain missions as well as hunting. But armor was impossible to be quiet, so Merlin, having spent a significant amount of time with them, had trained himself to automatically hear when they were approaching. And since they were always in their armor anyway, even sleeping in it sometimes, he had relied on that to alert him of anyone crossing the hallway.

After all, anyone else - servants and nobles alike - wouldn't bother quieting their footsteps while walking.

If they did, it would be because of malicious intent so it wouldn't matter if they saw Merlin or not.

But occasionally - very very occassionally - knights walked around without their armor.

That, combined with their light footsteps and silent movements, had caught Merlin unaware.

So when he snapped his head over to look at Leon staring with wide eyes at the butterfly made of flame in his hand, Merlin was surprised. More than that, he was afraid.

The two of them froze, with Leon's gaze on the fire butterfly and Merlin's on Leon, standing rigidly like deers caught in the wild.

Then Leon raised his eyes from the butterfly to Merlin, then back to the butterfly, then back to Merlin again-

Before he spun on his heel and walked the other way whistling jovially like he hadn't seen anything.

Merlin was still frozen like a deer. He didn't move until several minutes later when he did hear armor clinking against each other. That was when he got rid of the butterfly and hefted the armor up, walking back to his room, leaving Arthur's armor in favor of panicking.

~

When Merlin met Leon in the armory that evening, he tried to approach him. Leon, recognizing what Merlin was trying to do, let him, moving into a secluded changing room far from the armory with the other knights and squires and pages.

Leon nodded at Merlin in greeting when Merlin closed the door.

"Leon," Merlin started. "What you saw-"

"That you were shirking Arthur's chores? No worries. I didn't give you away before, I won't do so now."

Merlin blinked. "What?"

Leon sighed. "Look, Merlin. I don't get paid enough, even as a knight. Not with all those missions and calamities that keep getting Arthur into trouble. So I refuse to deal with anything above my paygrade. Even you avoiding chores."

Merlin blinked again.

Leon clapped a hand on his shoulder, and with a smile, left the room.

Merlin looked after the knight, wondering for the first time, exactly how many times the knight had committed or aided or turned a blind eye against treason for him to be this casual about it.

[olivermorningstar]

“Night, night after day black flowers blossom.”

If day time was for working, then night time was for lovers like Oliver and Sariel.

As the day began to wind to a close, the only thing that Oliver could think about was when he could see Sariel again. The towel in his hand brushed over the countertop, removing any traces of chemicals left behind from the day’s work. It wasn’t anything particularly difficult - mash some plants, see what you could separate from them, identify the compounds and what they could be used for. However, it was work that wore him out and left him rather lonesome when it was all said and done.

With a sigh, he walked back over to the washbin and lifted it up, carrying it outside to dispose of it all properly. Tomorrow it would be filled back up and the process would start again, but the purples and blues of the evening night sky told him it was time to head for his lover’s office.

The walk passed by quickly, and before Oliver knew it, he reached up to knock on Sariels’ door. “Come in.” He heard Sariel say on the other side. He had a good idea who would be entering at this time, but he could never be too sure. Yet, as the door opened and he saw Oliver step into view, he should feel his shoulders relax.

He lifted his head from his paperwork and laid his black quill down as he looked to the window behind him with a sigh. “Is it really that time already?” He asked. Sariel turned back to his paperwork and gathered it up. Once it was neat and organized, he slipped them into his desk drawer. There was no arguing with Oliver. When he arrived to collect Sariel, the day was done.

“I’m afraid so.” Oliver said. “Have you seen the gardens as of late?” He asked.

“No. Why?” Sariel asked. Oliver smiled at him. 

“You’re going to like this - I had something special planted out there.” He moved to head back for the door. Sariel wasn’t far behind. 

“Nothing dangerous, correct?” He asked as he raised an eyebrow. 

“Please, I’m not having any poison grown on site if that is what you’re worried about. That’s asking for a tragedy around these parts.” Oliver scoffed. “It’s something nice. Have some faith, dearest.”

As they exited the palace halls, they found themselves in the gardens. The lanterns on the side had been recently lit by the serving staff, providing them a safe path to travel as the last of the light faded from the sky. It was partway down this path that Oliver stopped and turned. “Here they are,” he said, “ah, it looks like they were just starting to bloom as well.”

Sariel followed his gaze down and saw a bundle of flowers low to the ground that were just starting to sprout. “Oh, I see.” Even from where he was standing, he could see the dark buds that were starting to open. While he never claimed to be an expert when it came to plants, he could recognize hollyhocks.

Oliver had to snort at his response. “Is that all?” She asked.

“Well, I am curious. Why these ones? You had them planted for me?” He asked. Oliver nodded before he paused to consider his words.

“This particular kind is called Watchmen.” He began to explain. “The color, of course, matches you very well, but they also have ties with magic, but they also symbolize cycles, rebirth, new beginnings. I was thinking back to what you told me - about how you got here. This garden is primarily for the roses and some other flowers for the people who lived here, but you’re a major part of this place, Sariel. I wanted to make sure you had a spot here too so you could see it.” 

Sariel paused. He didn’t exactly consider himself an outsider to the palace, but to say he was fully accepted would be a bit of a stretch as well. He had a role to fill. He was the Palace Devil, chained and bound to this place to make sure it prospered. It was his home as the people he cared about lived here, but this was not something he expected to get back. To take on a lover, one who decided to try and find a way to integrate him, well… That was something special wasn’t it? He took a deep breath to keep himself in check. “This is very kind of you, Oliver. This wasn’t something you had to do.”

“No, but I wanted to.” Oliver quickly said. “You looked out for me, you defended me, you made sure I was alright. I wanted to return that care, I want you to know I’m serious about us, Sariel.”

He smiled as he shook his head, his eyes back on the flowers. “I accept your gift then.” He then held a gloved hand out to Oliver. “Shall we head back inside then?” He offered. “Let’s.” Oliver placed his hand in Sariel’s and together they headed for the door back inside the palace.

[likeafairytale]

"And if... the only thing I want from you is friendship... How would you react?" - Yasmeen to Malachai, slightly afraid of his reaction but trying her best not to show it

Malachai's heart broke to those words. He tried to not show how her words affected him, and he wasn't sure he truly succeeded. The man toyed with his signet ring, while listening to the fire cracking in the fireplace. His room was so quiet right now that this was the only noise him and Yasmeen could here; the fire cracking, and the noise of the clock in the room who now stroke midnight. Malachai was honest with Yasmeen tonight, he told her that he wanted more than a friendship. He finally, after a few days thinking of it, build the courage to ask her on a proper date, but the answer wasn't what he was expected. To be honest, he didn't truly know what he was expected.

He was a prince. A crown prince who will inherit the throne at his father's death. He wasn't some random young adult, to ask people out. He did not know why he asked her so suddenly. But Yasmeen had this gift of making him do things he wouldn't do usually. She made him go out of his comfort zone, and he liked that about her. There were a blank during one of their conversation, and the words came out by themselves, as if he wasn't thinking anymore, which wasn't like him; Malachai was more the kind to overthink things. But not this time. Never with Yasmeen.

He knew he loved people before. But he also knew he never truly was in love with people, until Yasmeen at least. After a few weeks, and observing his siblings' behaviour, he could confidently say he was in love with her. He thought of her every day, and every night, and was looking forward to their secret meetings. One time, the girl didn't show up in the church for some reason, and Malachai was in a bad mood all day –poor Nathaniel had to endure his brother that day. The point was that the young girl was in his mind constantly, he couldn't get her out of his system. It didn't get better after they kissed a few times.

After a moment, Malachai, who was fixing the fire all this time, finally looked at Yasmeen, who couldn't look him in the eyes, and he realized that, as good as she was at not showing her emotion, she couldn't truly hide to him the fact that she was scared, and he could understand. A maid rejecting the advance of a crown prince was pretty daring. The merman felt bad that he was sad, when it was obvious that Yasmeen would felt worse. He cleared his throat and sat correctly on his chair, before looking at the board game in from of him and moving his pawn.

“I'd be saddened, but I'd respect your choice. And accept it.” He finally said bringing her attention on him. She played her game, before looking at him quite wary.

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

“Many men wouldn't listen to a woman's opinion in the matter. Especially a servant's one...”

“You are not just a servant to me.”

He looked up from the game, and their eyes met. His heart missed a beat, and he felt as if someone punched him, as if he did not have any air in his lungs. It was just a look, but it was enough to unsettle him. Being unsettled, he looked back at the game and play his move.

“And you are not just any man to me.”

“Of course I'm not.” He said with amusement and arrogance which seemed to amuse Yasmeen who played her turned.

“What I mean is, to me, you're not just a prince. You're a person to me.”

He said nothing. He was too taken aback by her response for being able to say anything. They had endless discussion about how Malachai didn't feel like he was someone. How he did not feel like he was something else than a prince, and that it was the only thing that matter about him. This was hard to handle, and something he never said to anybody before, except Yasmeen. So her words meant a lot to him. Still quiet, he looked back at the fire cracking, before sighing a little. He thought it was a silent sigh, but she seemed to have heard him, because she slowly put her hand on his arm, bringing back his attention to her. When he looked at her, he wanted to kiss her, but he wasn't sure he was allowed to do it. So he restrained himself, which was hard. She might have noticed his eyes lingering on her lips because she broke off the physical contact, and Malachai felt bad about what happened. He looked away, blushing a little.

“I'm glad you don't see me like any prince.”

“That's because you're not any prince that we cannot b-”

“I know.” He cut her short quickly, because he did not want to hear those words. “I know too well... Like I said, I will accept your answer. Whatever it is.”

“I have to decline. I'm sorry.”

“It's all right.” He answered with a sad smile, and she smiled the same way. “Friendship sounds perfectly fine to me.”

She seemed relaxed now, and he felt a bit better. Maybe it wasn't what he was hoping, but it was better than nothing, right? At least she still wanted to be around him, she could have rejected him and left right away. Of course, he was saddened, but he realized that Yasmeen wellbeing and her comfort were more important than anything to him right now. The tension in the room was eased, and they even add some laughter to the noises of the clock and the fire.

“Now, as a friend, would you explain to me how you always win at checkers? That's a child's game and I can't even win a single game!”

“That's because you aren't a really good player.”

“Ouch.”

“You asked a friend's explanation.”

“You didn't have to be so rude!” He pouted, and she laughed. “One last game, please.”

[mothprincess]

i had a rough panic attack tonight, after some of my post-period symptoms turned into a nasty migraine and anxiety. i ended up needing some support but it took until now - my late twenties - to know what i needed and how to articulate it

i’ll call my doctor tomorrow and see if i can shift around some dosages. i keep crying, almost reflexively, but my heart rate is manageable and has finally stopped jumping up and down dramatically... i can sleep again soon...

i see a lot of you seeming to feel hopeless but then i’ll see that your bio says 19 or 22 or something. somewhere between 19 and 29, you learn a lot about yourself. some of it is hard to think about and some of it feels like resilience against shit you shouldn’t have to deal with or shouldn’t have had to experience. it will be okay; it does not last forever. nothing lasting forever is sometimes a unique blessing

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 5]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: T Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety and stress, i wrote this without my adhd meds so, good luck you lot :S Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: You officially start your career as a musician, and it’s nothing like you thought it would be; thankfully Viktor is kind, and does what he can to care for you, even though you feel like you don’t really deserve it.

On Monday, you finally find the energy to send an email back to the studio; apologizing for the delay and explaining that you’re a full time student. You thank them for the opportunity, and agree to set up a time to meet - whenever they’re available, of course, and you’ll do your best to work your schedule around it.

The professionalism and anxiety pretty much destroys your mood afterwards. You’re barely able to pay attention in class that day, too full of nervous energy to absorb the lecture.

Thankfully, Viktor texts you later and offers to send you a recording of the lesson.

—

On Tuesday, you’re able to recover a little bit. The only class you have that day is in the afternoon, and you’re thrilled to be able to sleep in for once; not as late as you’d like to, but waking at ten was still better than waking at seven.

You run into Viktor after your class, and the two of you end up grabbing coffee while he’s on his break. You talk for a little while, telling him about the meeting you had coming up on thursday and expressing your worries about everything.

He, as usual, encourages your skill and capability.

But the mood shifts when a couple of your classmates walk into the small cafe, and find seats not far from you. Viktor doesn’t seem to notice them - or if he does, he pays them no mind - and continues telling you about one of the most recent papers he’s read.

You, however, are unable to ignore the dirty looks being shot your way.

—

On Wednesday, you take the first test of the semester. There are seven of them in total - according to the syllabus you’d been given at the start of the course - worth twenty percent of your grade, and not including your final exam. 

Part of you is grateful that most of your grade relies on your ability to absorb information; as opposed to having to write, source, and properly format a multitude of academic papers. Sitting for hours while scouring through books and internet pages wasn’t your favourite way of learning, and more often than not it had you getting sucked down wikipedia rabbit holes that had nothing to do with the subject you were supposed to be researching.

Though you also kind of miss being able to add things to your bank of useless knowledge.

In any case, the test goes well, and you’re pleased with your performance. It had been challenging enough that you really had to think and apply what you’d learned in class, but still straightforward in its wording, and not purposefully convoluted as a means of confusing you.

—

On Thursday, you have your meeting at the studio.

You get lunch with Viktor beforehand, going over the prior days’ test and talking about which concepts you fully understood, and which ones you maybe had a little more difficulty with. He seemed to be fairly confident in your grasp of the course so far, going as far as revealing that you were among the top three students in the class.

“I would not be surprised if you get an invite to one of the winter galas,” Viktor had admitted, much to your surprise.

“I thought those were only for the faculty and university sponsors?”

“Typically, they are,” he’d explained, going on to tell you about the singular event at the end of the year where certain students could be invited to attend and talk about their experiences with the school.

“So it’s basically to get more funding?” you’d asked, and Viktor had nodded with a smile.

You were thankful that he’d been able to take the time to sit with you for a little while before your meeting, his presence temporarily mitigating your ever-present anxiety. You didn’t tell him that, but you weren’t sure you needed to; his hand on your shoulder and a gentle encouragement as you departed suggested he already knew how stressed you were.

Now, you’re waiting in a small lobby. Waiting to be called back into an office to discuss the next five years of your life. You poke idly at your phone, playing some silly, repetitive game that didn’t require any skill or thought, but it had cute cartoon cats in it, so it automatically held your interest.

Kind of.

It keeps you entertained for all of thirty seconds, before your thoughts start wandering. What would it be like to work with an actual studio? Would you have to write your own music, or would you have help? Thus far in your life, you’d gotten on by mostly playing covers - some with lyrics, some not; you’d only ever written a couple pieces, and none of them had words. God, how were you going to do this? You didn’t know how to write! You were a physicist in training, not a songwriter-

You ball your hands into fists, so tightly that your knuckles turn white and your nails bite into your palms, and you force yourself to take a deep breath. Wait a couple seconds, breathe out, says Viktor’s voice, in your mind. Again. That’s it, good girl.

You try not to think about how much the sound of his voice flusters you, instead focusing on the little encouragements and praises he’d give you: kind words, a pat on the shoulder. Maybe even his hand wrapped around yours, thumb smoothing over your skin, like he had done the weekend prior.

Your anxiety eventually recedes, though the fluttering in your chest remains. At least the palpitations aren’t from fear, you think, and slouch back in your chair.

—

Four hours later, you meander through the doorway of your home, dragging your feet and overwhelmed with exhaustion. The toe of your boot catches on the lip of the entrance, causing you to topple forwards. You barely manage to catch yourself on the way down, twisting so most of your weight lands on your knee instead of your face; and you still end up sprawled out on the floor surrounded by loose books, but at least you don’t have a broken nose.

You lay there in the front hallway for a few minutes, unmoving and unmotivated to get up. Even when the cold air starts coming in through the screen door, you remain frozen.

Disappearing into the woods sounded like a really good option.

You know that you’re just being dramatic, and that nothing particularly terrible had happened, but that’s not really the point. The point is that you know you’re going to be stressed in the coming weeks, and you’re not looking forward to it.

You’d gotten through your appointment without much issue - you’d talked through the contract with your new boss, and been honest with him about the fact that you were a full time student. You’d met your mentor, a couple of other people you’d be working with at some point, and gone over what would be expected of you should you sign with the studio.

Everything had been thorough and friendly, and it had been written into your terms that your schedule would be modified to fit your student lifestyle.

In theory, there was no reason to be anxious.

Yet here you were.

On the floor.

Seriously considering running into the woods to become a mushroom.

It would be easier than writing an entire album in six months, you think, finally gaining the willpower to push yourself up into a sitting position. You gather up the books strewn around you, carefully sorting them into little piles before sliding them back into the bags you’d carried them in. 

While the meeting had gone well, and everyone you’d been introduced to had been kind and understanding, you’d still been…criticized, to some extent. Or rather, you’d been told that at least two thirds of your first album needed pieces with lyrics.

“Your instrumentals are fantastic,” your new boss had said, pairing a couple more praises as you went through the CD you’d sent in weeks ago. Then, he skips ahead to one of your more impressive covers. “Your voice, though? That’s a gift not many people have.”

He’d been somewhat disappointed when you’d admitted that you’d never actually written lyrics before, and even moreso when you and your mentor had tried to come up with something on the spot.

It was obvious that they were looking for well-rounded musicians - not necessarily traditionally educated, but with at least some kind of natural talent that could be built upon. And you were certainly what they were looking for in most areas: you just…didn’t have a way with words. You couldn’t take your feelings and turn them into sung poetry.

Which was apparently a detriment only to you.

You’d left the studio with a modified contract - instead of five years, you were cut down to six months. If you could produce a worthwhile album in that amount of time, then the longer deal would be reextended and you’d officially become one of their artists.

And if not?

You didn’t want to think about that.

Your mentor had been kind enough to catch you on the way out of the studio, offering you a list of resources that you could look into to start learning how to write lyrics, as well as a few words of encouragement. You had thanked him, and exchanged numbers in case you had any questions, and he’d disappeared back into the building.

You’d stopped at a couple of bookstores on the way home, picking up as many of the recommended books as you could afford, and…well, now you were on the floor in your front hallway.

One of your cats chirps at your side, pressing up against you and knocking her head on your arm.

“You have no idea what kind of nonsense the world is,” you tell her, trailing your hand over her fur. She - as expected - says nothing, and begins to purr.

—

Your life gets a hell of a lot more hectic after that.

Every moment you’re not studying for class, you’re studying what it takes to write a decent song. Beats and syllables, word shapes and styles that are pleasing to the ear, how to breathe properly, what to avoid; it’s maddening, and not in a good way.

You knew that it would take longer than a week to grasp concepts that were entirely new to you - it had been years since you’d studied a subject that you didn’t already have some base knowledge of - but that didn’t do much to lessen the frustration you feel each time you try to write something, only to scribble it out minutes later because it sounded wrong.

You’d hardly had enough time to keep up with your classes before, but now?

Now you can hardly pay attention.

You’re tired, your sleep schedule is a mess, you’re stressed. Each time you walk into the lecture hall, you feel like the entire room is staring at you with malice, and yet you can’t find the ability to care, because all of your energy is being put towards spongeing up information.

You feel like you’re learning so little about music, that you even start bringing your books to class: you figure you know enough about physics to get by for a couple of days, a fact which proves true when you’re called upon to participate in some discussion taking place around you.

You can tell that Heimerdinger doesn’t quite believe you when you say that you’re ‘just distracted by writing everything down’, but he doesn’t press you on the matter, which you’re grateful for.

Viktor, on the other hand, is less gracious.

He wanders up to your seat once the lecture is finished, and finds a spot beside you. He doesn’t say anything while you pack up your things, but you can feel his gaze boring into you - you worry you’ll find disappointment if you look at him.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask, keeping your tone lighthearted. Viktor sighs.

“Are you alright?” he wonders quietly, making guilt well up in your stomach.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, but you know your resolve is slipping: and Viktor’s hand on your shoulder is the last straw.

“You’ve just started a very demanding job, and you’re still in class full-time,” he says, and then taps a finger against the cover of the book you’d been reading out of. “That, and I don’t think poetry is part of the curriculum.”

You cease gathering your things up, and slouch back in defeat. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” you mumble, “I’m in way over my head. I thought I knew so much about music, but now I- I’m learning entirely new concepts, and I have no idea how to apply them!”

Viktor quietly slides the thin textbook towards himself, glancing over the cover and opening it to take a look at the table of contents.

“I’m sure you didn’t always understand physics, either. Learning takes time, Y/N.”

“I know that,” you cry, “but I don’t have time! I have to make an entire album in six months! Less than that, really, because I’m spending so much time studying and not enough time actually writing, and a good chunk of the time I have is going to be spent recording so the writing needs to be done by then, and-”

A pair of warm hands cupping your jaw draws you out of your anxiety spiral.

“Darling, breathe.”

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks, giving you something to focus on while he helps you monitor your air intake: you’re amazed you don’t start crying, with how tenderly he cares for you.

It takes a couple of minutes, but finally, you sigh.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Viktor’s hands drop from your face, to your shoulders.

“We are going to head to the library, to go over what you missed in class today.”

“But-”

“No buts. We’re going to go over the entire curriculum, and we’re going to see which parts you need to study, and which parts you already understand. Then, we’re going to make a schedule around that.”

You cast your gaze away from him, anxiety beginning to claw its way back into your thoughts. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“No,” he says, with every ounce of warmth and kindness he possesses. “But I could perhaps be convinced to stop for a snack on the way there, should you desire one.”

You perk up slightly. “But the library doesn’t allow food.”

Viktor smiles then, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “We can sit elsewhere while we eat,” he promises. “And maybe you can tell me more about ah…poetry and songwriting, is it? We could work it into your study schedule.”

[andallthatmishigas]

Jennifer has a rough morning full of unexpected turns.

[blueboxbeagle]

By LabradoriteKing on Pinterest

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[pixiemage]

Please, for the love of god, please don’t be this person. No matter how long it’s been since an update, no matter how many unfinished stories are sitting on their account, no matter what - do not be this person.

Not only is it insanely rude, but you also do more damage than you think be being such a self-entitled ass about something someone created for free and for fun. “This author” can see what you say.

RIP decency indeed.

[live-from-flaturn]

"But you already wrote that trope."

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[lazylittledragon]

made a sticker for anyone to slap onto their work if they need to

[redactedrem]

Headcanon where after so many arguments between the batkids and Bruce over his paranoia and complete disregard for his kids privacy, the entire family had compromised with (in the healthiest way possible) downloading life360 on their phones and that's how they all keep track of each other.

Now Bruce knew that this is mostly for his benefit and is supposed to be a healthy alternative for his unhealthy paranoia and helicopter parenting, but what he wasn't expecting was for his kids to start keeping track of him.

He's putting gas in his car and Dick calls him because apparently Dick has been watching him drive around on the app? And Bruce is currently at a gas station thats right around the corner from a Taco Bell and now Dick wants him to get food for everyone since he's already there.

He's driving home from a meeting and Steph calls him because her and Duke were shopping in the area and wants to know if he can pick them up, when he asks how she knew he was on the same street, he gets a "Oh I just like to stalk everyone on the app for funsies." as an answer.

Jason calls him and he can barely get out a hello before Jason cuts him off, "Bruce why the fuck is your phone battery on 5%, charge your damn phone" which completely stuns him because why does he know that. He clears his throat before answering. "Jason, what?"

"Everyone can see each others phone batteries on '360, now charge your phone." Is all he gets before Jason hangs up on him.

[likeafairytale]

"You have lived so many lives, your brain is not made to remember all on its own. Here. This will help you. This is the best I can do." - Mnemosyne to Achilles about the hourglass

❛A hourglass?❜

❛Yes.❜

❛Is that your way to tell me my father is Chronos, the titan of time? Because that would be pretty cool.❜

❛Still funny, I see.❜

Achilles shrugged to his mother's words, to be honest, yes, he thought he was quite funny right now. Taking the hourglass from the Titaness, he looked at the steady seed inside before looking at the chain, which made him understand it was supposed to be a necklace. The demigod was lost at the moment; his mother appeared to him for the first time in years, to offer him a meaningless gift, but hey, weren't all gods that way? He knew Aphrodite did the same with Anastasia years ago with Helen's dagger, it was maybe just a matter of time before his mother did the same. He has to admit, he was disappointed, but also a bit jealous. At least his best friend had a weapon, something useful, what was he supposed to do with an hourglass?

❛Like I said, it's for your memory.❜ Mnemosyne said, as to echo her son's thoughts. ❛You have an extraordinary memory, Achilles, but a human brain isn't supposed to remember so many things.❜

❛Good thing I'm not completely human then.❜

❛You know what I mean.❜ She replied. She was both amused and annoyed by her son's comeback, but he was just like his father, which was why she fell in love in the first place. ❛How many lives did you live already? Three. Three lives is a lot, Achilles.❜

❛I'm perfectly fine.❜

❛That's not what the room is telling me.❜

Achilles opened his mouth, ready to talk, but he had no sassy comeback this time. He looked around and could only agree with his mother; the room was a mess. Books everywhere, curtains ripped off, it was as if a hurricane came into his room when really it was all his doing. His head was hurting, so much he wanted to smash it against the wall to make it stop. Make the noises, the memories, everything stop. But he couldn't make it stop, no matter how many times he tried, everything was swirling into his mind that violence was the only solution. He came to self harm sometimes, when it was too much, like today for example, something Mnemosyne noticed when he tried to hide his left arm with his shirt already covered with blood.

❛Tya seems quite fine with her memory.❜ He noticed. Although his best friend wasn't there, he knew she did not have violent outbursts like him.

❛Anastasia forgets some things of her life. Like everyone is supposed to. I'm sure you can test her, ask her about something specific, she won't find the answer. But you. Your memory is too perfect. You just cannot forget like you should. I blame myself for that.❜

❛Yeah, so do I.❜

The young man sighed and looked twice at the hourglass, trying himself to figure out how this little trinket could help him, –he was really fond of jigsaws and wanted to find by himself– but he was just puzzled by that. When he was about to turn it upside down, his mother stopped him quickly, bringing his attention on her.

❛Before you do that...❜ She started, with such softness that Achilles was suspicious. ❛I need to tell you how it works.❜ She marked another paused, and he noticed she was trying to find her words.

❛Like I said you remember too much... This will erase your memory. All of them.❜

❛What? So your solution of me remembering too much is for me to remember nothing at all? What kind of bullshit is that?!❜

❛That's not... You'll have core memories. Your likes and dislikes will stay the same, you will stay the same, you will remember who you truly are. You will just have to learn again some things. It will wipe your memories so it can make place for more new ones.❜

❛How does it work?❜

❛Once it's upside down, you forget. Until the last seed is down, you will not remember, but once it's over, your memories will come back.❜

❛What's the point if I'll remember eventually?❜

❛I cannot tell you everything. Some things need to be figured out by yourself.❜ Obviously this wasn't the answer Achilles was expected, but he shrugged it off. He was quite ready to turn the hourglass when Mnemosyne stopped him again: ❛Before you do that...❜

❛Oh by the Gods, what again?❜

❛You will also forget people. By that, I mean everyone. Except me and your sisters.❜

❛...Tya...?❜

❛It's to protect you from her that I am doing this. If you cannot remember her, she cannot find you, and you cannot die. The less you remember, the more chance you have to stay alive. But once all your memories back, once you remember her, you're doomed.❜

❛I don't want it, thanks.❜

Mnemosyne couldn't say that she was totally surprised by his answer, she knew about her son's affection for Anastasia. If she had said that sooner, he wouldn't have listened to her, she knew that well. She thought that if he knew more about how the hourglass worked, he won't be against it, at least won't be so quick to refuse, but she didn't know her son and his devotion for Aphrodite's daughter as much as she thought. Achilles handed the hourglass to his mother, who did not take it. For the Gods, a gift was a gift, and you couldn't refuse it, it was insulting. The young man did not care about insulting his mother, because she was insulting him first, by thinking he will be all right with the idea of forgetting his best friend, the only person who stood by him from the very first day.

❛Take that back and sod off.❜

❛You talk just like him.❜ She said with amusement, and she did not have to say anything more, he knew she was talking about his father. ❛You know how gift works for us. That's yours. Do whatever you want with it now. But you know I'm right. You know that the more memories you made along the way, the harder it is for you to focus.❜

❛I don't care.❜

❛It's not permanent, Achilles. You will remember.❜

❛But for that, I need to forget, and I don't want to spend a day without knowing who Tya is to me.❜

❛Your love and devotion to her is admirable. But that won't reduce the outbursts. They will become stronger. More violent. Who knows, maybe you'll kill someone. Perhaps her. And she does not have the same curse as you; if she dies, it's over for her. Do you really want to risk that, son?❜

He did not like the way she talked. Especially about Anastasia. But he had to admit –reluctantly– that she was right. Today he hurt himself, what if next time he is with Anastasia, and he hurt her without wanted to? What if he hurt her so badly that even him can't save her? The idea hurt him more than his migraines. He said nothing. But his silence was enough for Mnemosyne to know she won.

❛Until the last seed is down?❜ He finally asked, and she nodded.

❛You don't have to use it right away. Take your time. Say goodbye. But for your sake, do the right thing.❜

[elodieunderglass]

changes and trends in horror-genre films are linked to the anxieties of the culture in its time and place. Vampires are the manifestation of grappling with sexuality; aliens, of foreign influence. Horror from the Cold War is about apathy and annihilation; classic Japanese horror is characterised by “nature’s revenge”; psychological horror plays with anxieties that absorbed its audience, like pregnancy/abortion, mental illness, femininity. Some horror presses on the bruise of being trapped in a situation with upsetting tasks to complete, especially ones that compromise you as a person - reflecting the horrors and anxieties of capitalism etc etc etc. Cosmic horror is slightly out of fashion because our culture is more comfortable with, even wistful for, “the unknown.” Monster horror now has to be aware of itself, as a contingent of people now live in the freedom and comfort of saying “I would willingly, gladly, even preferentially fuck that monster.” But I don’t know much about films or genres: that ground has been covered by cleverer people.

I don’t actually like horror or movies. What interests me at the moment is how horror of the 2020s has an element of perception and paying attention.

Multiple movies in one year discussed monsters that killed you if you perceived them. There are monsters you can’t look at; monsters that kill you instantly if you get their attention. Monsters where you have to be silent, look down, hold still: pray that they pass over you. M Zombies have changed from a hand-waved virus that covers extras in splashy gore, to insidious spores. A disaster film is called Don’t Look Up, a horror film is called Nope. Even trashy nun horror sets up strange premises of keeping your eyes fixed on something as the devil GETS you.

No idea if this is anything. (I haven’t seen any of these things because, unfortunately, I hate them.) Someone who understands better than me could say something clever here, and I hope they do.

But the thing I’m thinking about is what this will look like to the future, as the Victorian sex vampires and Cold War anxieties look to us. I think they’ll have a little sympathy, but they probably won’t. You poor little prey animals, the kids will say, you were awfully afraid of facing up to things, weren’t you?

[svnflowermoon]

ok so i decided to try this bc everyone else is doing it and i seriously need motivation, so hello

if you get this to 15k (fuck that is a terrifying number, can you tell that I'm trying to make this absolutely impossible for you guys) by new years eve then i will finish the first drafts of:

my wlw christmas friends to lovers slow burn romance (it literally takes them like 8 years to get together)

my gay prince fantasy enemies to lovers mistaken identity forebidden romance

my dystopian queer found family extremely dramatic assassin story

edit: i am going to die. i can't believe you guys got it to 15k what 😭😭 im gonna have to start writing