#but. life is lonely. it's not like i have places to be or anything. i barely talk to people. i guess that's my own fault though

[sixpennydame]

Captain Levi had never planned to fall in love with you, the pregnant widow of a Survey Corps member.

Your husband wasn’t part of his squad, but he’d seen him fall, just seconds too late from being able to save him. He’d found a letter to you in his pocket and delivered it to you in person; it was the least he could do, he thought. You were gracious and thankful to have this last message from your sweetheart but Levi saw the depth of sadness in your eyes, and something else simmering just below the surface.

“I’m pregnant,” you confess. “Three months.”

“Do you have family to go back to?” he asked.

“I have no one.”

And that’s how Levi found himself visiting your house whenever he came into Trost. It was late fall, so the Corps was on hold from any expeditions, and after he picked up his usual cleaning supplies, he’d find himself picking up some things for you and bringing it by.

“There’s some tea there that is supposed to be good for morning sickness,” he says as he hands you a bag of groceries, “and some of my officer’s rations of red meat. I heard that’s good for a growing baby.”

“You’re too kind, Captain. You don’t have to do all this for me.”

You were right, he didn’t, but he couldn’t help worrying about you, a soon-to-be mother, raising a child on her own.

A month turned into two, then three, your belly growing rounder, your features becoming even softer. There was a glow about you he couldn’t describe, almost angelic.

His monthly visits had become weekly; you would cook him dinner and he’d stay until the fire in the hearth was embers, and your eyelids became heavy.

But this time, as he stood up to leave, you took his arm.

“Captain…could you stay? Just for tonight.”

He knows he shouldn’t. You’re still grieving and probably just lonely. But he can’t deny the pull you have on him. You’re beautiful and kind-hearted, witty and spirited. His thoughts drift toward you so naturally now, wondering how you’re feeling, if you need anything.

If you need him.

And so he follows you to the bedroom and lays on the bed beside you, making sure to stay on his side and give you the space you need. You toss from side to side, finally lying on your back.

“The baby’s too active tonight. I feel like I’m a human punching bag,” you sigh out, then you roll over to look at Levi.

“Do you want to feel it?”

You gently take his hand and place it on your belly. For a while, he feels nothing but the pounding of his own heart, touching you in what feels to him to be so intimate.

But then there’s a little bump under his hand. Then another.

Levi’s experienced many things in his life, but never has anything brought him so much awe than those two little movements.

He spent that night with his hand on your stomach as you drifted to sleep, and decided right then and there that he would do whatever it took to keep you and that little one safe, healthy, and happy.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XII)

Chapter 12 : Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again

Hi! Here is new chapter! This one is… interesting… Whiskey is very dangerous, indeed…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2527

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body        love what it loves. Tell me your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

Mary Oliver, Dream work, 1986

You ended up at your place with Andrew. After that awful dinner you both needed some emotional support.

You didn’t talk about the meal though. He didn’t mention how Frank had hurt you, you didn’t talk about how Andrew deserved better than Sam.

That was your final conclusion after the evening. Andrew deserved better than her. You didn’t know all the details that had drawn him away from a professional career in music, but you knew that it had been a tough decision to make for him. The way Sam made it sound, Andrew had simply given up. And yet, his eyes still lit up every time he talked of music.

You sat down on your couch with a bottle of whiskey, getting lost in thought as you replayed the conversation through your head. You had noticed how Sam had stopped listening the second you had started talking about your job, about music… about things Andrew loved. And perhaps you were too busy grieving for him, but was Frank the same with you? Because Andrew deserved someone who listened, someone who actually cared…

What did both Andrew and Frank saw in Sam that you didn’t? The question was relentless, spinning in your head again and again, a fly trapped under a glass trying to escape. What did you lack that she had?

You watched Andrew as he downed his first glass of whiskey. Neat. No ice or anything. He didn’t flinch, merely let out a long exhale as he let his head fall back onto the backrest of the couch.

“God… that felt good. I needed that,” he sighed, pouring himself another glass while you drank yours as well.

You winced slightly at the burn of the liquor, but silently asked for more anyway.

“What’s next on the list of things to ruin?”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“I reckon we haven’t really ruined anything yet… but… I guess not much until the New Year. You’re still coming to their party?”

“Of course,” you sighed. “We need to make a plan for this. We need to ruin something and then save the day.”

“We should ruin the champagne.”

“And replace it with another excellent one? Good idea. That could work for you.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know… Maybe help Sam. That would impress him.”

“Hmm… a knight in shining armour? Ruin her dress and you fix it?”

“Oh…. That’s nice! You’re very good at this Andy, that’s a little scary!” you joked, nudging him. “I could give her my dress, and wear some disgusting clothes instead. The self-sacrifice will make him grow fond of me.”

“I’ll make sure to have the worst change of clothes in my car.”

“Perfect.”

“They said they wanted to organise the party in some sort of club…”

“Hmm… I bet you love the idea.”

“I’m already panicking at the mere thought.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

You thought yourself silly for offering such a useless argument, but Andrew didn’t seem to think of it that way. Instead, he gave you a grateful smile.

“Why are we doing this again?” you asked, question aimed the ceiling as you sighed, Andrew shifted by your side.

“Because we love them.”

His voice sounded like a lie. It was true though. It had to be, somehow…

You drank again, tried to think of something else, let silence settle instead. It was okay. Silence with Andrew felt comfortable, like the world shushed under a blanket of snow. Natural. Slow.

And outside the world kept on turning, as if you weren’t in pain, as if you weren’t grieving. Wasn’t that a strange truth? Frank had left, and the world hadn’t stopped with him. You wished you could feel it spinning again, look at the rest of the world and feel its beating, and be part of it once more. Maybe, if someone listened to you, and understood you, and made you feel safe again… if you could be yourself with them…

“I’m glad you listened to the record,” Andrew spoke after a while and another emptied drink.

“I loved it.”

“It’s one of my favourites. My father listened to it often when I was a child.”

“Is he the one who made you love music so much, your father?”

Andrew nodded.

“He was sick when I was a child. Bad surgery on his spine. He never recovered.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He was a drummer, back in the days. And even after everything changed he just… I don’t know. No matter what we said to each other, how angry we were, how much we argued… we’ve always had music in common. Even when we couldn’t communicate properly, we would put on a record, sit in silence and listen to it, and then we’d discuss it, and things would get better.”

You knew that he was blinking tears away, heard him sniffing. He wasn’t looking at you and you were still staring at the white ceiling. It didn’t matter. Perhaps it even made it easier.

“I just… I didn’t… I made a choice, back in the days, you know? I wasn’t being a coward or something, I just… I didn’t want to tell other people’s words; words that I didn’t care about, I wanted people to listen to me. I wanted to make something that was true and earnest. I wanted… I wanted for someone to listen to me…”

He sniffed. You reached across the couch for his hand, easily found his fingers. He held your hand so easily, like it was obvious, like your hands were meant for that gesture, for holding onto each other. His so large, yours so small in comparison…

“I thought she used to listen, but I don’t know anymore. She wasn’t listening tonight. She hasn’t listened in a while. Do you think…? Do you think she ever listened to me? I had so much to say that I couldn’t express, I didn’t know how, I still don’t know how… I wanted her to listen… God I wanted for someone to listen, just once… just once…”

You tightened your hold on his hand, and you hoped that he would understand what you meant by this simple gesture. That you were listening now. That you listened. That you understood him. That you were there…

“Thank you.”

His voice was a mere whisper, but it was enough.

You struggled with your own tears as you spoke again, your voice shaking.

“I don’t understand why Frank needed to wait for me, and not for her. What… I feel like I’m lacking something…”

“You’re not.”

You felt his stare on you now, but you kept your own gaze set on the ceiling.

“You’re not lacking anything, stop it. Frank is the one who left…”

“Because he saw something in Sam he didn’t see in me. And I don’t know what it is. And I’m scared… I’m scared that I thought he cared about me, and he didn’t. I’m scared to have built my life on that kind of lie. And the worst is… I still want it. I want the life he promised me.”

You were surprised when Andrew let go of your hand. But then you felt his palm cupping your cheek, the brush of his thumb drying your tears.

You finally turned to him, he gave you a sad but soft smile.

“Don’t cry over him. Please, don’t cry.”

You sniffed, let him caress your skin for a moment longer. It felt reassuring, anchoring. Soft and tender. Safe. You felt safe with him…

You shook yourself, moved to the bottle of whiskey again.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t cry,” you nodded, drying your face on your arm. “Let’s get hammered instead, that was the deal!”

Andrew silently agreed by handing you his empty glass for a refill.

“Tell me something silly,” he requested.

“Something silly?”

“Something about… your college days. Those are always worth a good laugh.”

“It’s good craic,” you agreed with a chuckle. “Alright… I’ll tell you a couple of stories. But you’ll have to tell me some as well!”

“Fair enough.”

You exchanged a smile, united your glasses with a cling.

And then you talked about yourself. And he listened.

Your head was spinning, you weren’t sure anymore if it was because of the alcohol or how much you were laughing.

You let yourself fall back into the sofa, holding on your painful stomach, tears in your eyes and on your cheeks. God, you hadn’t laughed so hard in… you were about to think ‘since Frank’ but you couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard with him.

“There was this one time,” Andrew went on. “I was playing with a band… Alex thought it would be hilarious to hide my guitar… I was so fucking panicked, I fell down the stairs leading to the stage and almost broke my neck…”

You doubled over with laughter, and he followed you close.

“How did you pay him back?”

“I told the girl he fancied he couldn’t read music, and she went on to teach him…”

You were hysterical at that point.

“And then…” Andrew choked on his own breath, and it took him a moment to recover and speak again. “Then, he was too afraid that she would push him away if he said anything, so he pretended he didn’t know and let her teach him all over again…”

You were both laughing too hard, the alcohol blurring your senses and making the stupid jokes and silly stories funnier than they ought to be. You looked at the bottle of whisky, admired the empty part of it, felt the burn of its effects on your cheeks.

And you looked at Andrew who was drying his cheeks, his long fingers spread across his stomach. He took off his glasses, they were wet with happy tears. He put them down on your coffee table and leaned into the couch again, slouched and comfortable, with his cheeks flushed with the liquor you had been drinking through the evening. His hair was held back in a messy bun, that had only become messier along the evening.

Damn, you couldn’t help the thought when it crossed your mind, because he was so bloody handsome…

He felt your stare on him, turned his attention fully to you. Focused and expectant, as if he knew you were about to say something incredibly interesting. And this black shirt he had on…

There were butterflies in your stomach and stutters on your tongue while your heart was pounding. You didn’t think. You didn’t think at all, you only felt, and wanted and easily yielded… and perhaps it was just the liquor, you would blame it on the whiskey in a few hours, but for now, you weren’t thinking about tomorrow morning. And for the first time in three months, you weren’t thinking about Frank at all either. Instead, you were thinking of Andrew, of how gentle and warm he looked sitting with you on your couch, how inviting his lips were, how you longed to touch his hair and his beard and him and…

… and then your lips were on his.

You felt him raising his eyebrows, but when you leaned closer and let your fingers find their way to his cheeks, the brush on your cheekbones told you he had closed his eyes too. And there you were, kissing him, and he was kissing you back, your mouths moving in perfect unison somehow, despite a first kiss and too much alcohol. He pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, while his other hand came up to cradle your face. The long fingers soon moved to your hair though, pulling you closer while he deepened the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck in a slow, lazy movement while you kissed, gasping for air every now and then, but your lips always connected again after a mere instant. You weren’t sure for how long you kept on kissing, too long for it to be meaningless, and yet you refused to think for now.

When you at last opened your eyes again, Andrew blinked at you, seeming a little shocked, and you weren’t sure if it was a good sign or not. You felt dizzy… dizzy with his scent, something of wood and a tinge of spices. Dizzy with his taste still on your tongue, a mixture of whiskey and something that was just him. Dizzy with the burn of his beard against your skin, with the heat of his body against yours.

Dizzy with him…

“Y/N?”

The way he whispered your name, his words a little slurred because of alcohol, and yet it sounded so good, tender, like he cradled the vowels and the consonants in his mouth, with tenderness in the way he spoke it out loud…

He cleared his throat, but didn’t let go, his hands on your waist and in your hair still, and you held onto him for a moment longer, admired how your kisses had reddened his lips.

Why did it feel so good to hold him? Why did it feel so good to kiss him…

“Erm… You… you kissed me.”

“Yeah… yeah, I did,” you whispered, refusing to pull away, remaining in his arms and your lips only centimetres away from his.

“You… I mean… We…”

You felt him leaning closer again as he took a deep breath, felt the brush of his lips on yours… but just when you were about to lean in, he pulled fully away, moving further away on the couch.

“Wait… what’s going on?”

You blinked up at him, regretting his brown curls between your fingers and the warmth of his breath against your mouth. But then your brain kicked in again, and your eyes grew round as the realization of your own movements sank in.

You had kissed him. You had kissed Andrew…

Holy…

“God, I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I… I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. God…”

“It’s alright,” he reassured you, but it was obvious that he was shaken.

“That was so out of line, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s okay… I… I think we’ve both had a little too much to drink.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think it went to my head.”

Why was your heart aching when you thought he regretted it. He should have regretted it. And you ought to regret it too…

“Frank and Samantha…” you mumbled under your breath, thinking out loud, but Andrew caught your words and nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, we… they are the ones we want.”

He slowly nodded, ran his hand across his face, as if to clear his head.

“You… you were just drunk. Just drunk…”

He looked at his watch.

“God…it’s almost 2 a.m. We should go to bed…”

You nodded again, but stopped him when he pulled out his phone.

“I have an extra bedroom, you can stay if you want.”

“I can take a uber.”

“It’s late. You can stay, if you want to.”

Slowly, he nodded.

You let him head to the bathroom, and hid inside your bedroom, resting your back against its wooden surface as you closed it.

What the fuck was that?

[thinkingofausername]

Micah Bell headcanons:

He's only ever seen sleeping after he's gotten drunk so I imagine he has nightmares (aside from the fact he has extreme trust issues and can't let his guard down enough to sleep)

He didn't have a relationship with his mother or she died when he was little or she was abused by her husband. He never mentions her, we don't know anything about her. We know what his view on women is like. I imagine he got it from his father. He definitely wasn't born out of love

He took the majority of his father's wrath. We know firstborn Bells are traditionally named the same, so I believe there was a lot of pressure there

He's actually not all that cynical. He wants to be. All that talk of "nothing matters" is him trying to convince himself

He secretly wants companionship. It's been confirmed that he wanted Dutch to be a part of some sort of family of his. I don't think he's as much of a lone wolf as he wishes he was

He has abandonement issues. His brother left him and made another family and it affected Micah. It's seen in the fact he wrote to Amos as well as his behavior after his brother's answer. After Amos cuts ties with him for good he says "I want tomorrow to mean more than today. I want this whole damn shitshow to have some kinda meanin I haven't understood". He secretly resented his brother for doing what he never could - make a connection. He can only talk to people if he's riling them up

His father definitely forced him to perform his first kill. Probably when he was very young, so he would "toughen up"

In theory, I can see him having a somewhat good relationship. If his partner was tough they would have his respect. Trust would definitely take a while, vulnerability even more so, but I think he would show care in his own way - being posessive and protective, letting them handle his guns and horse (peak trust). We know how much he cares for his belongings. There would probably be passionate, adrenaline-filled sex after action, patching up wounds, cleaning guns together. A "partners in crime" sort of thing

He'd probably like bites and scratches during sex. Marking up his partner as well

He gave into the "hardened outlaw" life because he believes those are the cards he was dealt and the only ones he would ever have. He probably never thought he had a chance to be anything else

He definitely has a phobia of dogs or something similar. He very avidly reacted to Cain every time he got close, he even flinched one time

He genuinely laughed with Javier when they were drunk. He even said "I love you fellas". There was definitely a humane side of him, very deep down

His father never held any pride for him, god forbid praise. He craves hostility because it's the only thing he knows. He purposefully riles people up and laughs off every insult he receives

He obviously held genuine respect and admiration for Dutch. He wasn't just using him or manipulating him or buttering him up for betrayal. I genuinely believe he was looking for a place of his own. He never really showed an authoritative side or desire to lead. He said it himself that he's a survivor. It wasn't ambition, it was just searching for shelter and stability. That's why he ratted - the stability was gone

He died miserable. I could go on and on about his death but the main points are - he calmly accepted getting shot, he shrugged and silently fell to his death. That was not a man who saw a future for himself

I left the most biased headcanon for the end. Not to be the "I can fix him" girl but I genuinely believe a softer side of him could've been drawn out. I believe he could've had a "ride or die" person of his own. Two survivors, watching each other's back, suspicious of others but not each other, enjoying the uncertainty and freedom of life, two loose ends but tied together

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒍 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒙 𝒈𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓◞ ₊˚

. ˚◞ ꒰ verse 209 hǎitāo ꒱ demon x reader, resistance rebel x reader, mercenary x reader, cw: reader is dead ⊹ ۪ ࣪

𖹭. in which hǎitāo laments about the second lover he could not save

“Can you come home?” a soft voice whispered, calling a lover home quietly. solemnly.

letting go of the microphone bubble and sending the voice message through. haitao waits for an answer.

the man waits for an answer that he knows there will be no answer from the other end.

how long had it been again?

two years?

four?

no part of the already tethered and traumatised mind could remember exactly when its other part went. like an angel you flew into the night.

the most beautiful soul a reaper could have come across and held in cold hands slipped as quick as it came.

ears still catch onto laughter from the past, from you. happily singing along to music while grabbing him and dancing him around to cheer him up.

though he had not always been the most expressive man. you, you had made winter days felt like those of summer. where flowers bloomed, the sky vibrant and the rain comfortable.

tears no longer felt frozen and melancholic. but brimmed instead with joy, dripping down onto soft skin like droplets of the morning dew into clear river water.

it was all murky now, paradise had been lost long ago.

ironic, so bitterly sweet and ironic. he was the one to reap your soul too and he could not even remember when you died.

he should, he knows. he had been so busy as of late. doing anything and everything to keep you and the past out of his mind. not to run from you, not to lose his memories of you.

never you.

he wanted to forget you were dead.

he sometimes pretended you lived. that when he came home, you’d be there. waiting for him with opened arms. silly shaped cookies and tea, plants all watered and alive, refreshed. but he was only ever met by the dead and dried visage of what once was every time he came home.

“can you can— can you come home? i miss you, i am scared of being alone.” his voice wavers. another voicenote sent through to your old number. the profile picture of you is still there.

you are still here. you are in his gallery folder, you are on pictures in the apartment, hung on the wall with pride. for him to always see that smile of yours, the beauty and light you exuded from within and without.

he loved your smile.

gods. he loved your smile.

the first time you smiled at him is something he will never forget. it had made his entire body melt, and at first he hated it because he was scared of it.

but how could he dismiss it when you had been so caring, you had been there to help patch him up. a member of the resistance. you had punched one of the opponments right in the face when you saw him getting attacked.

he does not remember what he told you after that made you smile and laugh. probably some sarcastic bullshit that had pulled itself out of his bloodstained lips at the time.

but when that sweet laughter had pierced his ears for the first time. he felt something he had not in years. a comfort, a place of solace and rest. he could listen to your laughs like they were symphonies composed so intricately that the world would sigh in relief.

your smile was something he always looked forward to seeing. the way the corners of your lips would curl just before the smile itself came was one of the few pleasures of joy he had ever had in his life.

but the joy was gone. a window left open and never closed, letting in the snow and the frost of the biting winter, and the lone reaper to freeze until his entire body and heart are riddled so cold and frozen that it will no longer feel love again.

you are dead, and it is a fact he can’t accept. no matter how hard or how much he tries, he does not want you to be.

he curses death, despite knowing not to.

death. it all has it’s place in this world, and she only does her work.

yet, to lose you?

to lose you so early?

it felt like he a joke. hands losing grasp of something important and stripped of his permission to love. all of his pent up hurt only bottled more. and there was no rim for the dark water to spill over.

there’s always quiet space for wonder in the bleak apartment, no longer is light lit. nor is food brought to the fridge. a blanket of dust and web covering it.

haitao is barely home anymore. it does not matter being home if you are not there.

he can sleep in his car.

or at the couches at work.

showers can be taken there too, it doesn’t matter.

luu’leriel is just as quiet. only seeking to kill and feed when he comes out.

“you left so early, i never got to give you the ring i bought for you.” he whispers into the microphone.

pinging your phone once again, with a voicemessage to never be received nor heard.

he sometimes wonders if you come by when he doesn’t know it? your soul? do you watch him? should he start trying to lift spells— no, no. you deserve your privacy. he always gave you privacy. that does not get to change now just because you are gone.

“i just uh. . .” he trails off and sits down on one of the kitchen chairs. the one you’d always sit on. one of your old pillows in his hand, held close to a soft breathing chest that sometimes would stutter to hide sobs.

“just- just i’m sorry. it’s all my fault” he chokes, tears streaming down his face. telephone slid onto the table, while an arm comes up to wipe away at swollen dioxazine eyes.

“is my fault.” he sobs and leans back into the chair, clutching tightly onto the pillow.

if he had been able to save you that night during one of the missions to retreat enigma from valence. if he had told you to stay home instead. or stay at the base to help patch up any hurt people.

you could have been alive

you would be with him

he shouldn’t have ever let you go with him.

there laid a certain anger amongst sorrow and grief towards you. so carelessly rushing after him and the other leaders, without his knowledge.

you’d wanted to help on the field. and when he found out he had an argument with you.

that hurt the most. the argument.

“i didn’t even get to say sorry.” the hiccup that made itself present in his throat transitioned into a sharp cry.

“gods i’m sorry, you just wanted to help. i don’t wanna be angry with you, you don’t deserve that.” he splutters. nose sniffling profusely. and drying itself in the pillow, along with the tears that spilled like they never had.

“can you please come home so i can say sorry and we can be okay again.”

the screams are deafened out by the heavy silence of the kitchen. nothing but static noise of the radio in the living room making itself present.

“can you please come home and just tell me this is a bad dream. because i don’t know what’s real anymore? i don’t wanna lose anyone again.”

[kulvas]

Well, you know how it is sometimes, you feel like you are at the lowest point of your life and therefore have an urge to start the blog on Tumblr in most awkward way possible. I have been very lonely lately, and in need of improving my english, so, I decided that, maybe, I could find some pals here? Someone to talk about life and fictional characters and whats not… Why am I posting pictures of this man, of all people? Because he is my literal BFF, he is on my mind every day for the last four years and it seems like this site is the only place where people can understand what kind of relationship I'm even talking about right now, haha. I have plenty of his portraits in store, but I desided to start with those little sketches, just to test the waters… Also, I feel like there is not enough fanart of him and I would do an honoroble thing If I contributed, despite being extremely self-conscious. So, um… Feel free to dm me if you would like to chat about anything TES related or not, and If there is no people willing to talk, I would continue posting anyways, because I feel like doing so. Thank you for reading my chaotic monologue. Have a good day!

[theultracharmingladynoire]

.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[moss-sauce]

life really fucking sucks right now

[snailune]

wiki how do I stop spiraling about my life once every 2 weeks I'm getting sick of it

[thebleedingeffect]

.

[parrrty-poison]

i'm just so tired of never having a say in things pertaining my own life

[machidielontheway]

i am chatty today because i've got ✨The Anxieties✨

i choose to stop two choirs this year cause i didn't have fun like before (a long while, actually) and i had said to friends "i will come back with you to this other choir, the one we met all in, like you already have since a year". and i really thought i would cause it would let me keep community, and a regular occasion to work on what we'd see with my singing teacher.

but in the last two months i felt so relieved and free to not have to go back to the choirs i stopped, i began feeling like going to this other one would be again 'stiffling', even tho it's at a very low level (beginner level, altho a good beginner level). and that it would become a chore again.

i went to the open session yesterday and seeing all my friends and having fun in the warm up was really, really nice. but the choir work in itself, while of good sound quality and with a good chef, was so sloooow to my own needs. and we can't talk for real when in session, or just quick when the voice working is changing, so it's texting or nothing.

and i felt that i would be soon unfulfilled / bored in it, of the pace, and also the songs are nice but not really my taste (it was once 100%, but now it's only 50% to what i heard was planned.)

cons : - lot of people, mask is somehow accepted. i don't want to go back to singing in mask because it's really hard and creates problems which i have already, in terms of Singing. but given how covid moves lately i also don't want to be in 60 people's company in one medium room without a mask. - "slow" pace, potentially boring "what am i doing here" thinking. i could definitively bring something to do, or just read or something, as lot of people do, but i don't want my choir experience to be "you come for 2 hours and, besides warming up, you sing 15 of them". i know a good numbers of good / high level singers are in this choir and don't mind cause the ambiance is really nice, the quality is here, and the community is good, but i don't think i would have liked it. - i already have three weeks a night taken (danse, tv night with friend<3, and instrument soon if i'm not averse to it after the trial class tonight). going to choir would make it four nights a week taken every weeks (unless i double one night which is possible but not ideal especially on the long term). and i want that time to try new things / try to go forward in my life ! - i don't want to double down on my "choir the last years has been more of a duty sometimes than anything else" and continue and risk disliking it even more. i feel like simply singing in the grass or in a church with friends brings me much more pleasure, simple giddy fulfilling and without anxieties. yeah i can't sing masterpieces i've been dreaming to sing since years, needing 40 persons, but those masterpieces are not going away. they will still be sung in years and years (indodana and baba yetu my beloved)(that, funnily enough, are going to be sung this year in one of the choir i left lol. didn't change my decision) - having "one night more" gives me a little more time to try to be more active in reaching out to friends and proposing drinks or outings or so (....maybe. that's the plan. "if you wish you had a friend like that, be that friend" post)

pros : - singing and spending a little time every week with my friends, who as adult is hard to do in other circomstances ! - not feeling like my friends are having fun and sharing time together and i'm all alone not being there :( - working on what i'm working on with my singing teacher... maybe (loosing your long-time used crutches / wrong things you did because you didn't know better is very hard in context of choir where you body has sooo many automatisms)

So cons are winning a lot. but i'm so scared i'm making the wrong choice !! especially imagining them all having fun and feeling like i'm the one not there, shunned of my own desire. it uh. it hit a little bit deep in the never healed wound in my heart.

[united-under-skyfall]

.

[savage-rhi]

I'm very much a, "fuck yeah and fuck you, I don't need validation! I'm me, cunts!" kinda fella, but sometimes I could use support.

[oglegoggle]

Ugh. Woke up at like 4am. Couldn’t go back to sleep. I miss so dearly being able to roll over and hold somebody and easily fall back asleep again. I genuinely resent how much easier it is for me to sleep beside another. I deeply resent my own hunger for touch and affection. I resent needing support that I know I won’t get because I shouldn’t need it. I resent not being strong enough to just comfortably exist in isolation. I resent not being able to make the peace with solitude that I’m supposed to.

[futureghost97]

cried for an hour, read some of my depression poetry from fall semester, my mother called, now back to packing up my entire apartment