#emotional reflection

[aventurineswife]

“Reqs are open and my inbox is empty‼️‼️”

Not for long. (Now I sleep, ehe.)

—I’d absolutely adore you to write a scenario for Dan Heng, Sunday, and Aventurine (Possibly Shadow if you feel real extra tonight.)

How would each character react towards their partner falling asleep against them? Whether it’s late at night, early morning, they’re simply too comfortable to keep themselves awake.. and this would dawn on our dear characters. Feeling a sense of warmth, knowing their presence brings such a high level of comfort n’ security, where we—the reader fall asleep with ease no matter where we are so long as we have them. 💙✨

Anchored in Stillness

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Comfort, Quiet Moments Softness, Vulnerability Gentle Affection, Bonding, Emotional Reflection, Introspection, Slow Burn, Established Relationship.

It was late in the quiet hours of the night, the gentle hum of the Astral Express barely audible as it sailed through the endless expanse of space. Dan Heng sat in a corner of the lounge, eyes scanning a book that had long since lost its grip on his attention. His focus, though steady and disciplined as always, was elsewhere now. The warmth of the room, combined with the soft whirring of the train, created a sense of peace he rarely afforded himself.

It was then that he felt it—soft pressure on his shoulder. His eyes drifted to his side, and he froze for a moment. There, resting against him, was you, your body relaxed in a deep, untroubled sleep. Your presence, warm and quiet, was almost a contrast to his own habitual distance. Dan Heng’s gaze softened slightly, the weight of the moment settling over him.

His lips parted, but no words came. He didn’t want to disturb you. There was something deeply comforting about this—how, even in the quietest, most vulnerable moment, you trusted him to be your anchor. He didn’t feel the need to say anything. The connection was unspoken, but it was real.

Dan Heng shifted subtly, ensuring his posture was just right so you could remain comfortable. He could feel the steady rhythm of your breathing against him, each inhale a small reassurance. It was in these moments, in the quiet stillness of the night, that he allowed himself a brief reprieve from the guilt, from the weight of the past that clung to him so tightly. Here, now, in the silence, he felt something akin to peace. He wasn’t alone—not anymore.

And as you continued to sleep soundly, his own eyes fluttered closed, the faintest trace of a sigh escaping his lips. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t running from something.

The moonlight outside cast a soft glow over the Astral Express, and the cabin was bathed in a tranquil, almost ethereal light. Sunday sat at the edge of the couch, a book forgotten in his lap. His eyes wandered to the window, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere. The gentle rhythm of the train’s movement was lulling, but it wasn’t what held his attention tonight.

It was the soft, rhythmic sound of breathing beside him. He turned, and there, curled up against his side, was you, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Your body was relaxed, the weight of your head resting against his shoulder. For a moment, Sunday merely watched you, his eyes softening as he observed the vulnerability you showed in your sleep.

His wings fluttered slightly, as if subconsciously reacting to the warmth you exuded. He felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest—a sense of duty, yes, but something deeper, too. A connection that went beyond his usual capacity for empathy. It was the kind of bond that, despite all his doubts and internal struggles, felt undeniably right.

He felt your presence, steady and grounding, and it soothed him in ways he couldn’t quite describe. The idea that he could be someone who provided comfort—that he could be the source of someone else’s peace—was something he had never fully embraced before. Yet, here it was, real and undeniable.

Sunday’s breath caught for a moment as he allowed himself the luxury of simply being in the moment. He was so used to thinking of others, to sacrificing for the collective good, that he often forgot how to simply be for himself. But with you here, asleep and safe, he felt a strange sense of ease. It was a quiet reassurance, like a whisper in his heart that reminded him of the small, beautiful connections that made life worth living.

His hand shifted slightly, resting over your shoulder, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He wasn’t sure if you were aware of his touch, but it didn’t matter. The warmth between you was enough, and with a soft sigh, Sunday closed his eyes for a brief moment. There, in the stillness, he allowed himself the rare indulgence of peace.

Aventurine, ever the master of managing his surroundings, sat in his luxurious chair, surveying the quiet room with a calculated detachment. It was well into the night, and the flickering light of a candle danced across the polished surfaces of the cabin, casting long shadows on the walls. He should have been focusing on the many schemes, the next move in the game, but something about tonight felt different.

He had thought he was alone in the room, but as he shifted slightly in his chair, he felt a warmth at his side. Looking down, he saw you, your head gently resting against his shoulder, your body soft and relaxed as you drifted off to sleep. Your presence was unexpected, yet it wasn’t unwelcome.

Aventurine’s eyes narrowed slightly, the usual hint of calculation in his gaze replaced by something softer. He had never been one to let his guard down, not even for a moment, but here he was, caught off-guard by the intimacy of it all. His mind raced as he quickly calculated the right course of action—should he move? Should he speak?

But then he paused.

Your presence, your comfort, filled the space around him. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the warmth radiating from you—it was an unexpected peace, a momentary break from the endless games of strategy he played with his life. For all his calculated risks and meticulous plans, he hadn’t anticipated something as simple as this.

He allowed himself a rare, almost imperceptible smile, his eyes flickering with a touch of vulnerability—just for a moment. His gloved hand moved almost instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the harshness of his demeanor. He hadn’t realized how much he had longed for this kind of closeness, this kind of warmth.

The silence was heavy with unspoken words, the tension of his past and his ambition swirling just beneath the surface, but for now, Aventurine let it all fade into the background. Your presence grounded him, and for the first time in a long while, the thrill of the gamble didn’t feel so urgent. With a quiet sigh, he allowed his body to relax, his hand resting on the armrest of the chair as he let his thoughts drift, your warmth a silent reminder of the connection he never quite understood but desperately needed.

In the soft silence of the night, Aventurine let the game rest, just for a while.

[thediaryofalmosteverything]

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[burning-beneath]

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[reply2001]

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[selfhealingmoments]

[squidpedia]

processing trauma is not an option when algebra class starts in like 10 minutes. Lock in Block out😀😀😀😀😀😀😀

[soaked-doors]

when it rains, it pours

[brijendrasstuff]

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[directingscreenandstagepx7401]

Armed with only a hunch, I strive to be as articulate as I can be

A Director Prepares: Seven Essays on Art and Theatre by Anne Bogart (Chapters 2-4)

I enjoyed this reading so much. The way Bogart writes about theatre and about art evokes so much emotion and inspiration.

Particularly inspiring is how she paints emotions with negative connotations - violence, terror (even eroticism in some ways) - as essential to the directing process and producers of great art is revitalizing. Whilst it won't prevent fear, it will encourage me as a director to lean into what feels scary.

What stood out particularly to me was mentions of embracing risk in order to progress artistically. In a tarot reading recently, I pulled a card that told me a similar thing (I love it when the universe lines up like this!) The creativity card told me that "there's no way to avoid risk if you wish to lead a creative life" and these chapters we've read for class hold the exact same message at it's core.

Here are some phrases that particularly stood out to me, although so many did:

Armed with only a hunch, I strive to be as articulate as I can be.

It's so easy to fall into the trap of needing to be self assured about all decisions, especially in a position of power. But it's also important to trust your instincts and to push forward when unsure, especially if you are an integral part of the ebb and flow of an energy around a creative process.

In order to be touched, we have to be willing not to know what the touch is going to feel like.

This one interests me greatly. I feel it so strongly as an audience member, but as a director I had not yet considered it. As a director, you've got to have a vision, but if you want to be touched by your own vision and affected by your own work (and if you are not, how can you possibly have faith in showcasing it?) you have to be willing to give it room to transpire in a way you didn't expect.

The word interest is derived from the Latin interesse which is the combination of inter (between) and esse (to be): to be between. The state of interest is a liminal experience – the sensation of a threshold. Interest is personal and temporal. It changes, it vacillates and should be attended to in every moment because it is a guide.

This quote particularly reminds me of a Devotion Workshop where Sophie Robinson spoke of how once her poetry is published, it becomes dead to her, as she finds the process much more exciting and energising than the final product. It just really emphasises that idea of liminal experience, and how we find true creativity in limbo.

[phantomwithbreakfast]

~ 𝐀𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 ~

⟢ One-shot Danny Phantom — Genre: Angst / Hurt — TW: Emotional Distress — Rating: T — AU? — First Person’s POV

———————

There he was—there it was.

My reflection stared back, the green glow of my eyes erratic, flickering like a faulty lightbulb. I wasn’t just looking at myself—I was looking through myself, and I hated what I saw. Not just the face staring back, but the endless spiral behind it—pulling me deeper into some unknowable abyss.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the battle. That one battle. Not with a ghost, not with some lurking threat—but with myself.

The dark part of… me.

The part that had escaped.

Again.

I’d won, of course—I had to believe that. I was the good side of myself, wasn’t I?

The hero.

But winning didn’t feel like triumph. It felt like a delay. Some whispers of the future lingering behind me, leaning over my shoulders, suffocating me with their burden.

I was afraid of becoming him.

That dangerous, older me. That monstrous version of myself that had been waiting all along.

All the—what ifs—it claws at the edges of my thoughts, unraveling my already frayed mind.

What if I couldn’t stop it? What if I was already becoming that monster? What if it was inevitable?

I stared deeper into the mirror, my fists tightening until my nails bit into my palms through my white gloves. I thought about my family, my friends—the people who had always been there. I’d already pushed them away, hadn’t I?

Maybe they aren’t even my friends anymore. Maybe I don’t deserve them.

Sam and Tucker had gone to college, following their dreams like normal people. Jazz was too busy carving her own path to stay. And me? I had stayed behind in the crumbling town I couldn’t abandon, giving up my dream of going to space. Protecting people was my purpose now. At least, that’s what I told myself. But deep down, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

Was it a noble choice—or a coward’s excuse?

You could still go. You could leave. You could be an astronaut. Fly into space. Fulfill the dream. Your dream.

But it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing ever would.

I gritted my teeth, my reflection rippling in the glass like a warped painting.

Happy thoughts, I told myself. But they didn’t come. They never did anymore. It was always easier to sink into the darker ones, to let them drag myself down into the undertow.

The mocking voices of ghosts, the weight of battles fought and won—none of it mattered in the face of the gnawing feeling in my chest.

My core.

It purred softly, a dissonant hum, both comforting and sinister.

It felt… so freaking wrong.

As if it didn’t belong to me anymore. As if Phantom—him was bleeding into me, hollowing me out from the inside.

My breath hitched. My fingers trembled as I gripped the edges of the sink. My eyes clenched shut, but it didn’t block out the image of myself—the warped, flickering, monstrous reflection staring back. I felt like a glass that was about to shatter, cracks spidering across my soul.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

I punched my palms tighter until the pain jolted me back. But the ache in my chest was worse. Phantom wasn’t just part of me. Phantom was me.

My breath staggered in my throat—a sob trembling on the edge of release. My knuckles ached, my chest burned, and that pressure—that suffocating pressure—kept building on.

“Get out of my head!” I screamed, my voice raw, ripping through the suffocating silence.

The sound reverberated in the tiny room, crashing into the walls and returning to me like a ghostly echo. My reflection flickered again—glowing red of Phantom’s eyes overtaking my own for the briefest moment before fading back into green.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Leave me alone!” I shouted again, this time so forcefully that my throat hurt, as though I was tearing myself apart. The sound cracked into a wail—an uncontrollable, heart-shattering release.

Green tears left cold trails down my cheeks as I screamed again, and again, and again… until the room seemed to quake.

The mirror shattered.

Shards exploded outward, raining onto the counter, the floor, my arms. A jagged piece nicked my cheek, drawing a thin line of green that dripped down onto my trembling hand.

I didn’t care.

My reflection was gone—splintered into a thousand fractured pieces scattered at my feet.

My knees buckled, and I barely caught myself against the sink. My hands shivered, slipping on the porcelain.

I sank to the floor, my back pressed against the cold tile, knees pulled to my chest. My hands tangled in my snow-white hair as sobs wracked my body. Every shuddering breath felt like it might break me further.

The shards of glass caught the dim light, a kaleidoscope of chaos surrounding me, reflecting parts of me I couldn’t escape from.

I clutched my chest, my core still purring that discordant frequency—like a faint, mocking laugh echoing from deep within.

“I’m scared,” I whispered to—no one. My voice cracked. “I don’t want to become… him.”

My words dissolved into another sob as I curled tighter, the shattered mirror fragments glinting like stars against the dark void I felt, pulling me under.

“I will never turn into you.”

———————

Okay. First time I drew Dan. I was scared. Scared of those eyes. Those eyes that pierced the whole time into mine—no, through mine. I should’ve waited with his eyes until the end, but of course, I didn’t.

———————

⟢ You can find my Phan fics here.

[theambitiouswoman]

Green Flags in Communication 💚💬

"I want to know when I hurt your feelings."

This shows they are willing to understand and acknowledge the impact of their actions.

"I don't want you to feel alone in this."

This shows empathy and indicates that the person is supportive and does not want the person to deal with issues alone.

"I've been struggling with ___”

This demonstrates vulnerability and trust, as the person is open about their struggles.

"How have you been feeling about ___? I know it's been on your mind a lot."

This shows concern for the other person's issues or worries, showing that they are listening and care about what's important to the other person.

"I feel __ when you __; are you open to trying __ next time?"

This is an example of constructive communication.

"What do you need from me when this happens with your family?"

This shows awareness and sensitivity to the persons family dynamics and a willingness to provide support.

"I appreciate when you ___.”

Expressing appreciation is vital for positive reinforcement and acknowledging the efforts and qualities of the other person.

"I didn't handle that well."

This is a sign of self-awareness and accountability, recognizing one's own mistakes and being open to learning and growth.

"I'm sorry, I was wrong to say that. I'll try to be more mindful in the future."

Shows you are able to apologize genuinely and a commitment to improving behavior.

"Tell me more about that; I'm really interested in hearing your perspective."

Indicates a genuine interest in the other person's thoughts and feelings.

"I noticed you seemed a bit off today. Is everything okay?"

It shows you are attentive to the other person's emotional state and a readiness to provide support.

"I'm here for you, no matter what you need."

Offers unconditional support, creating a sense of security in the relationship.

"I love how passionate you are about your hobbies. It's inspiring to see."

Expresses admiration for the other person's interests.

"Let's work on a solution together. What do you think would be fair?"

Focusing on collaboration rather than conflict.

"I trust your judgment on this."

Trust and respect for the other person's decision-making abilities.

"Your happiness is important to me. Let's make sure you're taking time for yourself."

Prioritizes the other person's happiness and emphasizes the importance of self care.

"It's okay to feel that way. Do you want to talk about it more?"

Validates the other person's feelings.

"I appreciate how you handled that situation. You're really good at ___."

Praises specific strengths or skills, boosting the other person's self-esteem.

"I know we disagree, but I respect your point of view."

Acknowledges differences in opinion while still maintaining respect and understanding.

[burning-beneath]

Fear of Death

Fear of death is perhaps the most universal and primal emotion experienced by humans. It lingers in the background of our consciousness, sometimes a faint whisper, other times an overwhelming roar. This fear isn’t just about the act of dying itself but also the uncertainty of what comes after, if anything at all. As children, our first brushes with death often come in the form of a pet’s passing…

[astearisms]

fionna and cake drawings before and after watching the episodes so far. it’s nostalgic and somehow cathartic and poignant and relatable and—it just started

[deathricedrawn]

i'm ready to try

[xvxblahhhxvx]

What do you mean. What do you mean Akutagawa didn't know why Atsushi saved him. What do you mean Atsushi saw how Dazai treated Akutagawa, thus adding a new layer of understanding between them. What do you mean Akutagawa wanted to kill Atsushi for fear he would never be accepted "and then—" And then what, you fell in love??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN DAZAI WAS THE DIRECTOR BECAUSE ATSUSHI TOO HAS TO ACCEPT HIS PAST—

[chazchaschad]

”I consider Geordi to be my closest friend”