#does that make ANY sense?

[irrevocablecondition]

i've never quite understood the "make an oc if you're gonna mischaracterise them" argument.

and not only because we all have different interpretations or because characters are going to look different when put into different situations, or that you should engage with the ones you enjoy instead of hating on the ones you dislike

but also because,,, emotions? yk?

take remus for example, he's my favourite character. i'll read more canonical characterisations of him, and i'll also read ones where he's completely different. but going into each fic, i already have alllllll of the emotions that i hold towards him, you know? i have the love for this character that's been crafted over years and over the books and the films and the countless fics etc etc - i wouldn't have that with a random OC i created.

so maybe in some fics he's a lil different than he was in canon but (1) that's what i find fun in fandom (exploring different interpretations and scenarios and viewing the same books through thousands of peoples' eyes) and (2) i don't think that that characterisation can be classed as "practically an OC" when that character and my engagement with him is based on my emotions? does that make sense? if it was some rando called bob, i wouldn't have that connection and my engagement with the character wouldn't bring me the same joy as engaging with one i already love, regardless of portrayal.

idk in my mind it's kinda the same concept as how some people struggle with reading published books after fanfiction because you're not already emotionally invested. i don't care if a character is "ooc" in a fic, if we all used the same remus for every fic with no variation whatsoever it would get incredibly repetitive and boring, right?

[itsgrimeytime]

Maneater (Part Three) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Two, Three

Taglist: @fuseburner @beltzboys2015-blog @gabrielleisalanastan @starkstiless @strnqer

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Slow Burn by J. Maya

Summary: You and Rick Grimes had a backstory, one no one knew except you and him. It's one you refused to share, you never really wanted to get into it. All anyone needed to know was you hated the man. When you're in a rough spot, and you could use the shelter the question is... does he hate you?

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), a touch of abandonment, kind of like awkward affection???, alluding to sex (not it actually happening), swearing, grudges, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Actually kind of sad this one is ending. I might do an epilogue of just some fluff, we'll see. But thank you to all who were along the ride :))) Thanks for reading!!]]

"You're kidding," you spoke -doused in heavy disbelief, "-there's no way."

"I swear, every mornin'."

"In the guard tower?" You asked, not that you hadn't known, but just to be sure what you were saying was right.

"For the last time," Rick spoke through laughter, sipping on a beer, "-yeah."

"God," you paused -genuinely unsure of how to say what you wanted to, "-I mean, think of the back pain."

His laughter was even louder than before, and something in your chest filled with pride. You could do that.

It was hard, getting used to such close friendships -you hadn't been in one in years. You were honestly surprised your voice still worked after all those years solo, so to have this? This intimacy of sitting on someone's couch and rambling about the funniest things in the crappy world you lived it, it made you feel human again.

This was a routine thing, though, Rick had wanted to hear your stories. But working through a long list of trauma wasn't exactly easy, so every once in a while he'd tell a funny memory. It smoothed over the mood a bit, and helped you stay grounded -double whammy.

In the beginning, he'd even shared some memories of his own -vulnerable and open, so you could find it was a safe space. How he'd killed Shane, lost Lori when Judith was born, and the trail of death that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

You'd only listened that first day, not willing to encroach on his space -his words. The way he spoke them, it was like a weight off his chest. Like, in all these years, he hadn't told a soul.

But he told you.

You still weren't sure how to feel about it.

Because it was one thing you telling him, it was what he wanted -he wanted to know what he'd indirectly caused. What you'd gone through that he could have prevented with just one changed decision. But it was another when he told you his memories.

He wasn't doing it because you could've fixed them. Rick was doing it because he trusted you, cared about you, wanted you to feel safe-

You couldn't think about it, it only left a whirlpool in your mind -half telling you to run and hide, and the other half telling you that this was good. It was always what you had wanted. A place to belong, someone, anyone who cared.

And he was here, unflinchingly.

You knew he lost sleep, you knew he did. And yet, he'd still welcome you into his house when you needed it -sat in the living room until the early creaks of the morning.

You were a little conflicted.

"Everythin' okay?" Rick's voice was suddenly soft, the laughter that radiated the space a few spare moments before dissipating.

"Yeah," you sighed, rubbing your palms on your cheek to try and bring you back to the present, "-just thinking."

"That can't be good," he quipped, eyebrows raised and the little smile, he always got when he was teasing, spreading across his face.

You rolled your eyes, biting back your own smile, "You're an asshole, Grimes."

He was way too good at that, taking you down from edges -bringing you right back to your seat. It had surprised you at first, the ease he'd done it at, and it working. But the more you truly got to know Rick, the more it just made sense.

He had such a heavy sense of empathy, much too large for the way the world had treated him, and always seemed to be so vulnerable and open about his feelings. You couldn't count on one hand how many times he'd hugged Carl today. Seeing love so openly displayed, was odd. Not because it should be there, but because it was forgotten in this world. You could've sworn it was forgotten.

In a world of rotting corpses and survival, Rick Grimes found the time to love.

At that thought you opened your mouth, leaning your head back against the pillows and staring up at the white ceilings, "Did anyone ever think about me?"

The words were quiet, barely a whisper in the room but something in yourself told you that Rick has heard.

He leaned back, a bit softer as if it meant more, "I don't know about the others but..."

You traced the designs of the roof with your eyes, mind in a sort of fuzz -it was nice this time. Reminded you of fireplaces and couches and blankets, a warm feeling trickling along your arms -safety.

"I did," Rick spoke so quietly, you weren't sure you'd even heard it, "-it's somethin' I don't think I'll ever forget."

You questioned, "Why?"

He pursed his lips, seeming to try to think -eyes glazing across the roof in a sort of scattered flicker. Your eyes skimmed over his face, a few seconds wouldn't hurt.

The pull of his eyebrows was strong, lips still set in a purse -it was odd seeing him so relaxed. Along his jaw the salt and pepper beard was making its way back ever-so-lightly, you briefly wondered what it felt like. A few curls were making themselves known, tussled in a kind of way that still felt like they laid perfectly -like he was written in some sort of poem. You thought he might make a good subject if you were a writer-

"I think it's kinda," he started, letting out a long breath -like he was choosing his words carefully, "-two things. I always wondered if you were alive, and got to a point where I thought you weren't. It was like I was holding on to hope so I wouldn't have another life on my hands...? That make sense? When I... When I thought you were dead, you woulda been the first one."

You knew the importance of that, having lived as far as you had -you remembered the first person you killed. It was in self-defense, sure, but it didn't change the shake in your hands or the deep-seated guilt you could never imagine going away. That feeling would go with you to your grave-

"And I guess I wondered just what I had robbed you of?"

"You mean-" you interrupted.

Rick continued like he hadn't even heard you -far too focused on the thought, "If you would've fallen in love like Glenn and Maggie did. If I hadn't kicked you out so early, would you have found the right someone? And then, if you would've felt safe. Did I take that from you? The security of the group had been so natural, like breathin', to me. I always knew there was someone watching my back, always. And I just... I ripped it out of your hands."

You were silent, a wave of feelings creeping up your throat -the loneliness, the rejection, the wishes on falling stars. It had always been something you'd wanted -security, safety. Even as you joined ragtag groups, you'd had a sort of mistrust as if they'd leave you in the night. You'd even stashed away food, just in case they decided not to give you any.

But then, you thought of now.

All the support you had in Alexandria, you have regularly visited houses -always welcomed to any kind of supplies you needed. And although you started holed up and afraid, everyone took in at your pace. Never too fast to scare you off, and never too slow to have you think they'd leave.

And where you were now, staring up at the ceiling -vulnerable and open, the thing you were the most afraid of, but Rick was right there with you. Every crack in you, he showed his own.

"I think we're working on it," you finally said.

He asked, facing you -head still leaned back, "-Workin' on what?"

"The security," you hummed, light like the words you were saying weren't such a big step, "-the safety. I think we're working on it."

Rick didn't respond -the air so heavy a new kind of suffocating. Like you wished to shut away the vulnerability. Looking over at him, you watched as he seemed to endlessly stare -not there with you.

It was your turn.

"The love thing, though," you joked, tone teasing, "-I think that one might be a little far-fetched, sheriff."

He grinned, arguing his case, "Why? Maggie an' Glenn did it, didn't they?"

"Well, they're different," you relented, pointing out, "-I'm sure even if the apocalypse hadn't happened, they'd end up together. That's destiny shit."

"What, and you don't have destiny shit?"

"I-" you paused, "-I guess I never thought about it. It just seems... so impossible. I mean, find your true love in the zombie apocalypse? It's hard enough to find someone interested."

Rick seemed to think for a moment, "I'd know someone."

"What?" you turned to him -finding it fairly ridiculous that he knew someone so quickly, "-You cupid now too?

He stayed silent, eyes a little heavier on yours. You tried to read the oddly serious look on his face, blue eyes right on yours almost expectantly. Like he was-

"Oh," you realized, blinking a few times to test the sort of disbelief you found you were in. And somehow in your nerves, you let a laugh slip through your lips.

"Are you laughin' at me?" he spoke -playful, grin bright enough to warm up your soul, "-Really? Am I that bad an option?"

"Wait, wait," you laughed out, trying to stop his train of thought, -this was new, but not in the scary way, "-let me think about it."

"Thi-"

You shushed him, dramatically closing your eyes and tilting your head back to the ceiling. Trying to clear your mind and think about it.

Rick, romantically. There was some fear there, as with everything, but... you knew he loved with all his heart. You could see it so clearly with Judith and Carl, he was a man of love. And you knew that, but what if you could see that part of him yourself? See all the inner workings of Rick Grimes.

You knew it'd be special, he'd make you feel like you belong -hell, he already did that. But, maybe that was the point. You imagined these late-night talks, just slightly different. A tick to the right. Maybe you sat closer, maybe he held your hand or wrapped an arm around your shoulder, or maybe you wiped away his tears, and pulled him into a hug.

He was a wonderful man, you knew that. You'd always known that despite the years of hatred -you knew he was a good man. A good man who was given an impossible choice.

You opened your eyes.

"Got a verdict?" he asked, still playful, but there was something else there in the softness of his tone. He was hopeful. There was something in you that twisted at that, long ago put to rest, dormant but maybe just this once?

"I'm interested."

[weedle-testaburger]

you don't get it. my gay thing is gayer than your gay thing

[thelilylav]

"Did you eat my homework again?"

"What? Don't be silly Faybelle... haha..."

Bunelle drawing + some headcanons for them below cause they're lowkey my favourite Faybelle ship and have negative amounts of content

Bunny wakes up earlier than Faybelle and it annoys her because she's used to being the first one awake in her house

When Faybelle practices spells in their room, sometimes she'll startle Bunny so much that she poofs into her rabbit form

Bunny sleeps in rabbit form, which Faybelle makes fun of her for initially until Bunny finds out that she sleeps with a stuffed animal, and the two agree not to talk about it after that

Bunny has eaten Faybelle's homework multiple times

Sometimes students will make fun of Bunny for her Wonderland mannerisms, and Faybelle hexes them when they're not looking. Bunny knows about this but doesn't comment on it because she knows Faybelle would get embarrassed and stop doing it

Alistair has come by their room twice, and Faybelle starts muttering gibberish to make him think that she's cursing him so he'll leave quicker. She doesn't tell anyone about this and refuses to do any self-reflection on why she dislikes him so much

Bunny gets frequent fevers, and wakes up to salads on her bedside table. Faybelle never mentions this, and neither does she

They also don't talk about Bunny crying when she gets homesick at night, although Faybelle lets her leave her carrots around their room without comment the next day

Bunny never forgets to invite Faybelle to parties, and will leave invitations out for her. When they go to these events, she'll remind Faybelle at least three times in advance to make sure they're on time (they never walk in together)

Bunny will give Faybelle outfit suggestions when they get ready for parties together. Faybelle always scoffs and says she doesn't need help, but she'll wear whatever Bunny recommends because she trusts her taste (not that she'd ever tell her that)

[singingowlfairy]

I just realized...could Pitch Black be considered a ' dark empath' ? He can feel people's fear / negative feelings and uses them for his own power.

Just curious.

[dnpg-hiatus-survivor]

i love being emotionally stable 🤩 (crying my eyes out to Golden Pig by DanAndPhilBEATS)

[golvio]

Sometimes I wonder if I write Ghirahim too butch or if the fandom is just completely wrong about him.

[the-paladin-gay]

YORE THE HAW TO MY YEE

[blackbirdsinmypie]

as a little kid my biggest dream used to be to change the world. but as i get older i realise more and more that we all have irrevocably changed the world just by existing. we have touched the world and the lives of so many people in ways that we can never know, both big and small. and once you let go of the need to change the world, you can finally learn to exist within it, as a part of it. by freeing yourself from the need to be remembered in a hundred years you give yourself the freedom to exist for today.

[mittykidi]

im so very terrible with words but i need to scream this out somewhere because i think i just realized, like someone just hit me on the head with this, that the reason a lot of people love fictional stuff so fuckin much it hurts is just because its like a safe observatory

i think a lot of it has to do with the fact that fiction lets you see relationships and dynamics with others from a safe distance, with all seeing all knowing knowledge of everything about them-

irl? im not gonna know everything about someone no matter how long i spend time with them- and thats fine. thats normal, actually. but giving you the power to know everything about everyone is such a helpful tool when it comes to exploring empathy, trauma, boundaries, trust, etc.

i never like REALLY thought about just how great fictional characters are for exploring dynamics irl, for exploring yourself through your own characters, headcanons, etc.

i know im rambling but i just really really appreciate the power we have to create OCs, headcanons, AUs, etc. the power to express ourselves, our joy, our hurt- its just so awesome i love building communities with people and loving things together. people are so awesome, i love people who love things !!!!! I LOVE PEOPLE AND THEIR CREATIONS!!!! I LOVE PEOPLE WHO LOVE CREATING!!!! I LOVE EXPLORING COMPLEX RELATIONSHIPS AND I LOVE ART AND WRITING!!!! >:[[ I LOVE PEOPLE, GET APPRECIATED IDIOT, KEEP DOING WHAT YOU DO, STUPID /AFF

[finest--hours]

last week one of my best friends hooked up with a guy i was kinda into and after leaving his house she sent me a message telling me what happened. i'm still a little hurt, not because she got the guy, but because she just risked years of our friends over a guy? like, she didn't know how i would react to them making out and still she just went for him? idk it feels fucked up. i was not in love with him or anything, i didn't even know the guy in person yet, but it feels so weird for some fucking reason but i kinda can't figure it out why. i don't want to believe someone i've known for so long could be such an asshole.

[itsgrimeytime]

Maneater (Part Two) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Two

Taglist: @fuseburner @beltzboys2015-blog @gabrielleisalanastan @starkstiless

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Christmas Kids by Roar or 'You'll change your name, or change your mind and leave this fucked up place behind. But I'll know, I'll know-'

Summary: You and Rick Grimes had a backstory, one no one knew except you and him. It's one you refused to share, you never really wanted to get into it. All anyone needed to know was you hated the man. When you're in a rough spot, and you could use the shelter the question is... does he hate you?

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), family death, identity crisis, a panic attack, disassociation, crying, a touch of abandonment, swearing, grudges, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: THERE WILL BE A PART THREE!! I feel kind of iffy about this one, but I think the story is nice buildup. Just for a more conclusive kind of story. And I tried to make it as realistic as I could.Thanks for reading !!!]]

You still hadn't cut your hair -it had to be all deadends at this point, no matter how heavily you washed it... it still seemed dirty.

It wasn't not on your mind, but you felt like it was a symbol. The longer hair, the torn clothes, it meant you weren't here for long... it meant you would move on, you wouldn't stay.

And yet, each morning, you woke up and chose to stay.

Part of you would say it was because of Carl, you'd missed out on so much -when was the last time you cared for someone so much?

The rest of you, though, knew it was deeper than that.

That's the thing, when you were abandoned that fateful night you weren't particularly guided. But you were. You wanted to belong -to be somewhere where there was a spot carved out for you, where you were missed.

And here it was.

It was here, as Carol came up to your door with an extra serving -not staying any longer than that, she tried so desperately to be in tune with your feelings. Or Maggie would offer her hand with anything -even offering to go get clothes after finding you didn't have anymore. On her tail, Glenn would offer you a place in whatever would come to mind -dinner parties, game nights, just some sort of campfire, anything. Daryl was the quiet one, simply leaning on the outside your porch as you sat on the steps; he didn't say it, but you always found him nearby when the world was too much.

And you hadn't asked for any of it -hadn't even thought to.

That night you don't know why it happened, but it had. It was like a switch, as you sat up straight in your bed. It wasn't like you could sleep anyway, you'd been particularly stuck that night. Memories flooding through your head of times when safety was so far... you didn't even think that it existed.

You were quick to the bathroom -taking your weapon with you, you wouldn't go anywhere without it. And stared.

The mirror was pristine, in a sort of way that made you wonder if it had ever been used. You had the urge to make it feel more lived in, distant flashes to an apartment. It was the first one you'd ever had, it was messy and colorful, and it was home.

Maybe you could make this house like that.

Your thought process was cut off as you detailed the changes in your face -scars and lines where they hadn't been before. It was odd, looking in the mirror, you'd expressly avoided it upon arriving -a dread of how long it had been inkling up your arms at the mere thought of how you looked.

It was an impulse, as your fingers carded through your longer hair -it didn't feel like you. Looking in the mirror, you didn't recognize yourself.

Maybe that was why, you'd begun chopping. Using your blade, which was covered in something you shouldn't be exposed to, probably, but there was something about you that just couldn't stop.

The hair was falling to the floor -spread all along the tile, and it felt like something you couldn't describe as you watched your appearance change. It was a mix of something you'd yearned to be, yourself, and all at once, everything you'd been through came to the forefront.

Remembering your family, the sad smile, and the thrashing of a jaw in place of you. You'd stepped too close, you hadn't known... The others hadn't lasted much longer, stress and broken hearts sent a sort of emotion that they could never get over. No matter how hard they'd tried.

You didn't know when you started crying, as you cut at the mess of hair on your head. The only way you'd even known you'd started was the blur of your vision -your face getting fuzzier in the reflection but at the same time more familiar.

Your scars weren't clear through your tears, and you saw a face you saw in family photos. In the cheesy school photos, you saw that person -not weighed down by things you'd thought would never come.

And here you were, you stopped. Your hair was shorter than before -littering the floor to prove it, and it looked like you again. Even though it was sloppy and there was a red tint for your poor choice of blade, you found someone familiar staring back.

You thought it would soothe everything -stop the sobs that racked your body, the memories that fluttered behind your eyelids.

And yet, as you played with the crooked ends, it somehow made it much worse.

You don't remember leaving the bathroom, much less the house. Your feet lead themselves, down the street and to the doorstep of an unsuspecting house. Initially, you'd been struck with the idea of Carol -she was kind and would help you with ease. But still, you somehow did not end up there.

You knocked.

Instead, you stood at the door of what you faithfully knew to be the Grimes house. It was easy to know which one it was -people circulating all throughout the day, and even more than often it was left unoccupied. Carl was off somewhere and Rick doing something to help Alexandria -the only one left was... the baby.

You didn't know much about her, and no one had taken it upon themselves to explain, you figured Rick wanted to. If he ever had the chance. You weren't sure you wanted to hear.

It was one thing to be confronted with Rick, but Lori? The woman had been one of the sole reasons you were set off, she'd lied to protect herself.

Well, you assumed she was Lori's. You guessed you truly didn't know, did you... did you want to?

Before you could answer that, the door creaked open and there was some part of you that hoped it was Carl. You'd have to explain much less-

He wasn't who you'd come there for, though. You knew that, deep down you knew that.

"What the hell is-" his voice was groggy and sleep-slurred -a pleasant sort of rough, you thought for a second before pushing that far away.

By the time his eyes connected with yours, he'd abruptly stopped speaking -an unsettled shock bright behind his eyes and a sort of worry in the crease of his brows.

"Y/N?" Rick questioned, his eyes trailing to the red-tipped edges and widening, "-Is everythin' alright?"

His hand was extended out like he wanted to reach out but hesitated. It was terrible to hate a good man.

You'd say that was why you started crying again, but you weren't sure. The tears felt as easy as breathing then, the blood dripping down onto your shoulder -your face was probably scrubbed red, and yet...

Without any more hesitation, his arm wrapped around you -ushering you inside, to safety. You hadn't even realized that you were shivering, the tank top and thicker pants were only really suitable for sleeping.

"Breathe," his voice was slow, and reassuring, and there was a part of you that felt scared (that you should run), but it slipped your mind as his fingertips brushed your shoulder -when was the last time you'd been touched?

"You're freezing."

As soon as it came, the touch left as he disappeared around the corner -muttering something close to stay. You couldn't feel enough to move, your mind anywhere except where you were. You felt like you were somewhere else -your life on the line, knives at your throat, guns at your temple, so close-

"C'mere," Rick spoke, hands on a heavy flannel -one you'd seen him wear a few times before.

For once, you didn't argue. The woodsy smell envelops you in a sort of grounding way -a voice screaming so distantly to get away, not him. Anyone but him.

You didn't listen.

He easily guided you to the couch, the living room.... his living room, and you could tell it. Ever so slightly. There was a worn picture in a too-big frame - a family photo, familiar faces, and on the corner of the rug a few toys. They were washed, but still somehow comfortably used -as if the baby had just been playing.

Rick sat next to you -respectfully, with a questioning look in his eyes that only made you think more about why had you come here of all places. He didn't speak the curiosity, merely brandishing a rag, "You mind if I...?"

You exhaled, your hands shaking at the expense of emotion you'd just been chasing, and shook your head. There was something safe here, in the hushed voices and dead silence of the night -even with Rick.

He was careful, scooting on the couch and decisively running the rag over your cheeks -despite tears following still, he cleared the stains. Thumb trailing after, skin-on-skin contact making you wonder once again how long it'd been. You were breathing deeply, watching the focus of his face -blue eyes intent and lips in a purse of determination. He was so close you could see all the differences, all the wrinkles and the bumps of his skin -it had been so long.

And after being sure he'd done what he could, his fingers moved to your hair. Taking the sections between his fingers and wiping away the red that stained there, still a soft touch that you could barely feel.

"There," he finished, still a little off-center with the fact that you'd come here but sitting back to scan over your face -eyes shining in a way you'd seen a few times, "-you gonna tell me why you're 'ere?"

"I don't know," you answered, wiping away at your eyes, "-I don't know why I came here."

"No, not-" he started, motioning to your tears, "-Although that's a good question, I mean why are you out at all? Why are you... It can't be anything good."

You fell silent, wondering exactly how comfortable you could be telling Rick Grimes what you'd gone through. What he'd inadvertently put you through -if he hadn't sent you away would you still be so-

"Nightmare?" he posed, not intimidating -not expecting an answer, not forcing you to speak a word.

You responded, voice hardly there and a bit curt, "Kind of."

Rick was quiet for a moment, before settling on something -almost a debate in his head, "I... I don't know if this is the right time for this, but... I've been thinkin' about it, and I'd like to hear about after I... After I kicked you out."

"What...?"

"I think," he exhaled, brushing his hand over his forehead -like he was frustrated and you stilled at the idea, "-Well, since ya told me you didn't want an apology, I've been tryin' think of a solution."

You didn't respond, but he apparently didn't need you too.

"For you, not-" he clarified, before sighing -seeming to recenter, "-Let me explain it better. You need closure, I can tell. Your shoulders are always hung so low from how much you carry-"

You softened at the fact he noticed that, against your will. There was still something fiery in the back of your head -clawing up to try and get its opinion back in place.

"-and I just thought... Well, what if I took it?"

"You..." you began, a little stunned at the idea, "-Rick, this isn't. That's not fair to you."

Rick replied, a deep regret seeded in his tone, "I wasn't fair to you that day. You know that."

You hummed in thought, the shaking of your hands slowing, and the blur of the world around you dispersing.

He huffed out a breath, a sort of defeat fizzling onto his tone, "I was the reason you were out there, it comes back on me-"

There it was, the heavy-laden guilt -so deeply rooted that you wondered if it had not shown up exactly when those words came out of his mouth all those years ago. There was a part of you that was glad to see it, a sort of twisted, broken person sat at the base of your stomach -agony for no one to hear. Relentless in the revenge of those who started your downfall.

Had he not lost too?

It wasn't quite like forgiveness, the way your mind settled upon it. It was more so that you were equals, in a sort of pain only this world could deal out. Your eyes flickered to the picture with Lori smilingly as beautifully as ever, and the empty space where you imagined she might be.

And that was only what you could gather. What else had he endured? What else had he lived through?

You thought maybe it was something similar to your own tale.

"Rick," you began, your voice was scratchy and your nose runny, but you remained confident, "-you don't have to do that. I think we've both suffered enough."

He opened his mouth to respond -slow and assured like he was choosing his words ever so carefully, "I want to. Really."

You looked at him then, there was something sincere in those blue eyes -something so honest and open and vulnerable. He really wanted to help.

"Okay, we can-" you started, voice soft against the cool night air, "-We can do that."

"Yeah?" He questioned, careful as if you were an animal who would scamper away and you kind of felt like one then. Afraid of the ginger closeness he was offering you, a listening ear. After he...

You exhaled, a big breath flooding through your chest -it was a peace offering, "Yeah."

The silence there was comfortable like the heaviness had shifted -maybe it was still there, but it was different now. You felt lighter already, even just at the idea.

"Hair looks good," he suddenly muttered, a quirk of a smile on his lips and you couldn't tell if he was teasing. The smile biting at his lip didn't help -it was something casual and friendly, something you yearned for.

It couldn't all be fixed in a night, but you were willing to try.

You rolled your eyes, unconsciously smoothing it on your head -a sort of hesitant grin biting up your lips, "Don't push it, Grimes."

[gaysforbyler]

On today’s episode of ranting about autism, I don’t think I’m depressed right now? I learned about autistic burnout yesterday and everything makes sense now. I thought I was just being overly sensitive about everything recently because I’ve been trying to pay more attention to how I’m feeling so I can actually understand what the hell is going on inside my brain. Like, the more I think about the sensations around me, the more bothered I am about them, so that’s why I’ve been so on edge recently.

But I think don’t think that’s actually what’s happening? I think I’m just genuinely feeling things more, so I notice it more often. I’ve been getting on myself for faking my symptoms because I never feel them this intensely, but I think I’m just genuinely not doing well

I’m trying to focus on my feelings to help the diagnostic process. I’m getting a diagnosis BECAUSE I’ve felt like shit recently. The only reason I’m noticing my symptoms more now is because I’m feeling them more

Idk man I’m confused

[theformerbastard]

• I don't mean to sound like the little kid whinin' about how his sister crossed the imaginary line he drew in the backseat but why in the name of Zeus's butthole do people always seem to park right beside me when there are dozens of empty spots around?

• My customer the other day was so goddamn sweet. I won't bore you with the whole story but when I told her that Enterprise called to tell me they didn't have a car for me she was like "I am not leaving here until you have a car" and, sure enough, she stayed until she saw me get into a car. I wish I'd met her a different way. That's another downside to this job that I hadn't quite prepared myself for: I've met a few people that I've thought I hit it off with but it feels unprofessional/creepy to be like "I wanna be your friend!" So I just give em their keys and accept that I'll likely never see em again.

• Your disposition is more important than your position. Jimmy Carr brought that up more than once in an interview I listened to today. The whole interview gave me a lot to think about, but I especially loved that.

• I was kinda gettin' excited about wakin' up to flannel weather in the midwest but now I'm headin' to Phoenix where they haven't gotten word that it's Fall yet. Weak.

• I saw this dumb thing on instagram the other day that I've let occupy more of my thoughts than I care to admit. I keep tryin' to write it out but I can't quite get the words right. The gist is that I see fragile men moanin' about how men have become feminized but I'm not seein' it anywhere other than on social media. It's like these chicken shit pussies see a picture of Harry Styles in a dress and think that every guy but them dresses that way. I love nail polish and jewelry but I've found myself scalin' back because I don't like callin' too much attention to myself and everywhere *I* go, I see dudes in grunt style shirts with beards that would flip shit if their son wanted pink crocs.

I don't think I'm articulatin' my point as well as I would like. I'm just incredibly fascinated by how we all see this world very differently. I wonder how much of it is based on what we actually see vs. what we see in our phones.

[causetheturtle]

I don’t know how to explain it but like this is how I view Archie, Betty, Veronica and Jughead respectively

[maydays-medbay]

Some shading practice with Halcyon and Paradigm! I'm really digging this style, and I'm definitely learning a lot about the different layer types and what they can do to create these more interesting and dynamic shaded works! Overlay layers are my prized children in these. Mmm, the way they can really sell a glow is so nice.