#life without you

[jt1674]

[denimnan]

sitting here thinking of you

wishing you were here with me

i know you are not coming back

but i still wish you were

have so many things i want to tell you

feeling alone and sinking in my misery

screaming my heart out

hoping you can hear me

- N.R.K.

[flogisto]

big fan of stories that, while undoubtedly being about the power of friendship, acknowledge that the power of incredible violence is just as important

the love was there. the love changed everything. the crowbar helped also

[lavenderbones-sophisticatedcats]

i still visit this spot from time to time, at first it was years between and after the very first visit by myself it’s been several months. i visit when i feel like reliving those few times we came here together. when i feel that i need physical space from the world, people and situations. i had absolutely no idea where and what we were going to see, all i know is what you told me “i know a spot”.

well. here’s the spot. do you remember we came here the day after my birthday? most things were shut that day because of easter so we sat here for i don’t even remember how long but it was long enough for me to fall in-love with the view. we then came back at night, we could see the clouds approaching and i thought that was coolest thing ever. it was the closest i’ve been to the cloud while on the ground. it then rained and we kissed in the rain while holding hands and ran to the car. it was thrilling.

i visit this spot in hope that maybe i’ll see you here one day, sitting alone like i am, listening to sad music like i am, reflecting on the day and years that are. wondering if this had played out differently we’d be as happy as the day we met. i guess we’ll never know. i said and begged you ‘please don’t go’, but you left anyway. the one person i allowed myself to love after you left me too, it must be me. there’s something wrong with me. i try to make everyone happy but WHAT ABOUT ME? it’s not fair. none of this is fair.

[firstfullmoon]

Jackie Sabbagh, “Having a Great Time Being Transgender in America Lately”

[thestuffedalligator]

The thing was a mound of flesh and mottled skin, as big as a barn and the shape of a pumpkin. Four tentacles as thick as trees hung limp at its sides; teeth ringed the gaping mouth at the top of its head like a crown.

A huge, sad whale eye the colour of wine stared at the knight. She could see her reflection in the jelly surface.

“We don’t know what it is,” she heard. “Some kind of monster that makes a perfect copy of whatever it eats. They think that was how the Dark Lord made his armies, feeding his minions to it so that it would make hundreds of copies of them. Do you recognize it?”

The knight opened her mouth. She hesitated. “Yeah,” she murmured, drawing out the word. “We found it in the Dark Lord’s tower, right?”

“That’s right. That’s where it ate you.”

The knight turned around and looked at her other reflection. This one appeared to be about ten years older, and had doffed her armor for a loose blue tunic and breeches.

She was holding a cup of tea. She had pressed another cup into the knight’s hand when she woke up here. It had been a shock finding herself suddenly out the obsidian dungeons of the Dark Lord’s tower and into this tall room of stone and straw. The warmth of it in her hands steadied her a bit.

“Everyone else in the party was worried, but then it started making copies of you,” the copy went on, staring up at the tentacled thing. “And all of the copies helped fight against the Dark Lord, and we won, and peace was restored across the land, but then nobody could figure out how to kill the damn thing or just to make it stop. Dozens of copies of us in a day, hundreds in a week, and then someone decided that the only thing we could do is just bring the thing here, seal it off and hope it starved to death.”

She sipped her tea. “Anyways, that was two-hundred years ago and it’s slowed down a bit. It can only make a new copy of us every few weeks now.”

The knight looked down into her tea. The copy had also draped a blanket over her shoulders.

“I have so many questions,” she said.

“I figured.”

“How can it be two-hundred years? I can still remember breaking into the tower. That feels like it was just minutes ago.”

“It was, basically. Your brain is a perfect copy of the original you’s brain at the exact moment she was eaten.”

“But the quest is just — done?”

“Yep. You missed some of the things that needed tying up afterward. There was a war, and a dragon, and some business about a ring.” She waved a hand. “It was before my time. Things are pretty settled now.”

“My parents?”

“Passed away about a hundred-and-fifty years ago. I’ve been told that they were very proud.”

The knight nodded. “Um. I don’t know if you know — we had an elf in our party—”

“I’m aware.”

“I — right. Obviously. Um. It’s just, after everything was done, I was going to ask her—”

“One of us did. She said yes. She outlived her. A couple of us have tried to reach out since then, but she wants to be left alone for a while.”

The knight considered this. “Uh — right,” she said eventually. Her fingers tightened around the tea cup. “Um. What do I do now?”

Her older copy shrugged. She had let her hair grow out again, the knight noticed. There were a few strands of grey against the black. “That’s up to you, I’m afraid,” she said. “A lot of us are finding work as soldiers and sellswords. We’ve done it for so long that most armies know we’re reliable and don’t tend to turn one of us away. Most of us are just sort of spreading out, wandering the world. Some of us keep in touch.”

The knight frowned. “What do you do?”

Her copy paused, tea cup half raised to her lips. “Sorry?”

“You said it only makes a new copy every few weeks now. So you just stay here and wait for a new one to show up?”

She lowered the cup. “Well,” she said. “I guess I just — I know what it can be like, waking up here in the dark, and it — it can be horrible trying to figure all of this out on your own.

“So I thought that what I’d do is just stay here with a pot of tea, and whenever I see myself again, I tell her that — that she’s not alone.”

“We aren’t?”

“Of course not. We’re all in this together, you know.”

[denimnan]

Today I made the tough decision to delete all your pictures

I think I have hung on to them far too long

Causing me pain every time I looked at them

Memories I wish I could erase

But with no pictures to look back to

At least it will ease of some of the aches in my heart

I know my heart will never be whole again

But I can try to salvage some of the broken pieces

To move on without you and live my life

- N.R.K.

[daisywords]

One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

[staying--whelmed]

the perfect scene with the perfect comment

[umblrspectrum]

3 years of this godforsaken show

[clumsypuppy]

wait for me

[aerialworms-art]

Lifespans.

(ID under cut)

[Image ID: A three-way venn diagram floating against a starfield. The circles are coloured; one yellow, one light blue, one a darker shade of blue. The yellow is the smallest, the two blue ones over double its size, with the darker blue the biggest. The yellow is half covered by the two blue circles, while it takes up a small amount of the two blues. The centre overlap between all three is labelled "the precious few years we three were together".

There is very little overlap between the yellow and the darker blue without the lighter blue.

The work is signed 'aerialworms'./End ID]

[chloesimaginationthings]

I have been a mimic disliker but man you have worn me down

Life was cruel to them 💔

I am starting to like them a bit now so great job

THE MIMIC’S STORY IS GOOD I PROMISE YALL,,

[defensivelee]

why does every queer turn into a redpilled anti-woke far-right comedian fan the moment you tell them they're intersexist like 'stop inventing new terms 🤡🤡 why is everything a slur now 🤡🤡🤡 that one friend that's too woke 🤡🤡' like it's actually surreal how often it happens. i desperately want to know what makes them think that shits okay.

[sidewalk-cracks]

Bruce would give up the mission if Dick ever died. And not in the angry-grief way of "this is the last straw on the camel's back" aka the way he sorta kicked Dick out, but in the "hasn't set foot in the Cave in over a month because the last time he did he kept hearing Dick's laugh echoing across the stalactites" way. He literally cannot bear to put on the cowl, to be Batman, because Batman has existed longer with Robin than without. Bruce doesn't remember being Batman without Robin (without Dick) anymore. He can recall his first meetings with a few of the Rogues, but beyond that? It's been so long that those first 2-4 years are all just a haze of self destructive grief. Dick flipped his entire life in a 180 to the total opposite direction. He showed him how to hope, to love, to live. If Dick dies as an adult, Bruce would've spent half his life with his first son. No matter what age Dick dies at, Bruce will have always spent more time being Batman with Dick Grayson as a son rather than without him. Dick changed Batman, changed Bruce so irrevocably that Bruce wouldn't ever be able to wear the cowl without remembering him.

[aftg4rd]

🧼: “D’ya think I cuid take my gear off first, Si?”

💀: “Negative.”