#snippet of my life

[valewritessss]

Something about me is that I’m always dehydrated.

I always have been. I went to the ER in first grade because I didn’t drink water all day during summer camp.

I feel thirsty but for some reason I can just ignore it and I forget I’m thirsty.

I get constipated because I never drink water. I have so much water retention because I never drink water. My skin is suffering because I never drink water. I’m low on energy because I never drink water. My hair falls a lot because I never drink water.

Part of the reason I forget to drink it is because two years or so ago, I hated that I would get bloated after taking a sip of anything (I also hated the way I looked I thought I was fat but this was why) so I decided to just not drink water until I got home from school. I also started skipping meals which made things worse but this is about water right now. Obviously, this made the matter worse because I was already dehydrated to begin with so I started to get even more bloated, more tired, I felt like shit all the time, and my anxiety levels skyrocketed. Then I went to the doctor and told her about it in hopes that she would give me some magical solution. She just told me to drink water and I was like oh…

Long story short, drink water. I started drinking a lot more water and my skin sighed in relief, my hair is try thriving, and I get less bloated now. I overall feel more confident and energized, I would definitely recommend.

I still forget to drink water a lot since it kind of became a habit to ignore my thirst but I’m working on it and it’s helped a lot

[farfromstrange]

My mom be like: You’re so obsessed with celebrities and fictional characters, grow up!

also her: So, how’s Charlie doing? How’s Harry? ESPECIALLY HARRY? What are they up to? Are they healthy, doing alright, what’s going on in their lives?

I wish I knew, mom. I wish I knew. If I did, I probably wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t be broke as fuck.

Bonus:

She sometimes asks me how my writing’s going. I tell her that I will never let her read a chapter of any of my stories EVER.

She goes: Why, are you writing porn?🤣

Me: well…

That was an awkward conversation.

[commatuesday]

baby comes in just to sneeze for me twice in the restroom, gets her complimentary “salud” from me, and exits promptly

[m-ir-a-nd-a]

went somewhere nice this morning to finish up my presentation because my apartment is currently stress messy and I am too exhausted to clean it.

[neon-kazoo]

Villains I dont see very often; mute. Mute villains are the best, nothing can convince me otherwise.

One idea thats been on my mind is a mute villain confessing to the hero, either through sign language, or a perfectly executed scheme. You’re choice :))

Not sure if this counts, but I ran with it. Might try this again after I gather some ASL knowledge. Hope you enjoy :)

A Silent Movie

It wasn’t exactly easy to get Hero sat in front of the cinema screen. In fact, the planning for this trap had taken over sixth months. Not to mention the money it took to buy this building off foreclosure, and the multitude of investments into Hero-proofing the location.

It was even harder to get said hero to stop yelling long enough to pay attention to the image being projected from the back of the room. Not that their sense of hearing was needed for this experience, but Villain imagined Hero would appreciate the lack of noise-based distractions, including sounds they themselves were making.

The theater was notably large, probably the most expensive showing room of its day. That is to say, the upholstery was a little outdated. The popcorn had been swept off the floor, the swirling carpet surprisingly clean. The velvet of the seats did not appear stained, and the cupholders were absent of any discarded snacks or tickets.

The glow of the emergency exit lights were the only thing illuminating the room, and they revealed a dim image of the hero situated in the center of the third row, which was optimal seating in the villain’s opinion.

Clearly, Hero did not agree, considering how hard they were pulling at the restraints to try and exit their carefully selected theater chair.

It was futile, of course, and the hero finally stopped straining when the villain appeared a row below them, quiet as a mouse, standing with a finger pressed to their lips.

Villain retreated when the hero quieted, letting their attention shift to the screen and this special showing. Images flicked past, and Hero became engrossed in the story unfolding on the screen.

Shown was a news reel Hero recognized as the time Villain had crashed their Election Day speech. A zoomed out map of the city, marking City Hall with a red square. Grainy footage of two figures dancing around next to a dumpster. Once again the map appeared, now with two squares pasted on top. The pattern continued, and Hero was amazed.

It was an agglomeration of every moment they had spent together, every public battle, every nighttime-shady-alley encounter.

There was only one reason to collect these momentos, these reminders. It had all meant something to the villain.

The complete lack of kernels on the carpet certainly pointed to a level of dedication and commitment to this scheme.

Maybe, they were hoping it meant something to the hero, too.

Another scene zoomed out a final time, revealing all the markers spread across the city. Only, now, Hero noticed, a rather distinct pattern had formed.

Villain moved like a phantom, appearing again, this time at the hero’s side. The ropes at their wrists fell away like magic while Hero gazed at the awkwardly hovering villain. They presented the hero with a glittering object hung from a chain held loose around their fingers. It was a large ruby gem, expertly cut into the shape of a 3-D heart.

Stolen, no doubt, Hero suspected possibly from the large jewelry exhibition that had just entered town.

The screen flashed bright, and lit up the hero’s face as it contorted in surprise. They processed the scene as fast as they could.

A heart of red markers, a heart of ruby, a heart fluttering in their chest, a heart laid open in front of them.

“Oh,” Hero breathed, “Oh.”

Villain sucked in a breath.

This was it, this was the moment they got rejected because they couldn’t-

“I had no idea.”

Of course they didn’t know, it’s not like Villain had ever spoken about it.

Preparing automatically for the rejection, Villain started to withdraw their hand, cold-as-steel demeanor returning to them with all the familiarity of a security blanket.

It was so stupid of them to think that they deserved any kind of reciprocation, so stupid to think that the hero could possibly-

The hero snatched the charm from their fingers before they fully withdrew.

“I didn’t say no,” they spoke softly, and the villain’s heart skipped a beat.

They reached out their other hand, wrapping their fingers over the still-outstretched hand of the villain. Instead of elaborating, Hero pulled the frozen criminal closer, connecting their lips in a gentle proclamation.

Actions spoke louder than words anyway.

[overtake]

This is a super short (550-ish words) snippet from the maxiel hockey au I got 30k into before life got in the way. I’ll probably never finish it, so have this random scene. For context, Daniel is staying at Max’s home because he has an ankle injury and the only bedroom at his own place had stairs.

Daniel hears Max before he sees him. Based on the frantic pounding down the stairs, you’d think Max was being chased by a fucking murderer.

“Daniel,” the shadowy figure in Daniel’s doorframe says in a shaky, frantic voice. Daniel hasn’t kept his door shut since the cats first started scratching at it and demanding to be let in, and he briefly wonders in the recesses of his sleep-addled mind if Max has ever Edward from Twilighted him and just watched him sleep.

“Hmmph?” Daniel manages. His brain is thick and sluggish through the foggy, sleep haze surrounding it. He tries to prop himself up on one elbow and immediately fails.

“There’s a spider in my room,” Max hisses, as if he’s scared the spider might somehow hear him and immediately attack. “Can you come kill it?”

“I am not walking up stairs right now,” Daniel groans. It was a brutal PT session, and he spent half his afternoon with his ankle wrapped in ice and elevated. Plus, he’s not exactly fond of spiders either.

“I can’t sleep in there,” Max says, and Daniel wants so badly to make fun of him, but there’s an edge of real panic in his voice. Also, Daniel is even more scared of far more embarrassing shit, so he’d never win.

“Stay in here,” Daniel says, reaching an arm behind him to flop at the empty space. “Plenty of room.”

Max only hesitates for a second before crawling in. “Are you sure?” he asks, like he isn’t already sticking his cold toes against Daniel for warmth.

“The terrors will probably kill the spider by morning for us,” Daniel says, letting his head drop back onto his pillow.

“Jimmy and Sassy are not terrors. It’s not nice how you talk about them,” Max says primly as a crash echoes from somewhere upstairs. Daniel doesn’t dignify him with a response.

He feels Max’s weight settle behind him, and a hand reaches out as his eyes drift back shut and lightly caresses his exposed shoulder. “Thank you, Daniel.”

In the morning, Daniel wakes up to find Max curled in a ball around a pillow he somehow stole from under Daniel’s head, quietly letting out cute little snores. Sassy is lying content on the floor nearby with half a dead spider dangling out her mouth.

“That’s your problem to collect and throw away,” he tells a sleeping Max. He’s got freckles on his shoulders, Daniel notices, a whole constellation of them decorating the broad, pale canvas.

He fights the urge to trace the space between them and instead collects Max’s morning Red Bull from the fridge. He leaves it to drip condensation on the bedside table closest to Max’s pillow-creased face, next to a little note that Daniel is out for his morning walk.

Max texts him twenty minutes in to his stroll.

Max Verstappen: thanks for the red bull. okay if i stay again if we don’t find the spider? It was huge.

Daniel gnaws at his cuticle, contemplating his response for half a second. It’s not like he has proof that spider was the one Max saw. Sassy probably got rid of the evidence, so he can’t ask. He doesn’t want to make Max sleep in a room that makes him anxious.

Daniel Ricciardo: Of course. Better to be safe. That spider could be deadly.

Max Verstappen: Need your Australian powers to scare it off

Daniel Ricciardo: 🤺🤺🤺

When he opens the kitchen bin later that day, he sees the body of the spider sitting on the top.

“Crazy girl. You learned how to open the bin,” he coos to Sassy, aiming for a head scratch she runs away from and pretending he doesn’t see the very human tissue wrapped around the remains.

[lifemod17]

It was so nice knowing you guys, unfortunately this ended me

I'm so dead I'm actually posting this from the great beyond. Don't forget me guys. Be sure to leave pretty flowers on my grave tyvm.

Source: @ theskimm on TikTok

[the-maddened-hatter]

[backpackingspace]

Odysseus knows he made a mistake calling out for Athena. He knew the second her name left her lips. /she/ doesn't like it when he calls out any name but hers. When he mentions home or telemachus or gods forbid his penelope. It's not allowed. He's not allowed to think about anything but herherher. He knew it was a mistake. But

He had /felt/ Athena. For the first time in years that old connection sparked to life. A muscle long stiff with use but /there/he felt her. And if she heard him. If she chose to help well.

It would have been worth calypso wrath.

In the days that follow, it's all silence. All signs of Athena having disappeared. And as odysseus hangs from his wrists, numbly allowing his master to do as she pleases, he can't help but regret.

He knows the rules. He knows how to survive (dying is pointless /hes tried/) he can't help swallow the bitter pointless helpless rage. Why had athena even checked on him if she was just going to /leave/ him like this. And even still, as soft fingers drag their way down his skin, he can't help but silent pray (his tears long since dried up. It only ever made things worse) please goddess, please Athena don't leave me here. Kill me punish me in any other way just please please let it end.

[shortnotsweet]

In a Week by Hozier ft. Karen Cowley

“The raven is death, obviously. When I die, I want a good tombstone—something right spooky. LT’s got something against the underground, though you’d think that would be just his kind of place. That’s alright. He needs to, he can cremate me. It’s not exactly Catholic, and Mam would turn in her grave, but God is a unicorn and no one is pure anymore, so. What’s all that got to do with me?”

Johnny “Soap” McTavish has a journal. Had. It is his no longer.

Simon “Ghost” Riley had dreams—awful ones, the kind that sank claws into his lungs, dragged him into sleep, and then sent him careening out of it. He still has dreams, but they’re different, now. Better. Johnny’s pages have folded themselves under his eyes and gotten into his head, brighter and more infectious than anything else has ever been. It’s more than the past, that rotting carcass behind him, and more than now. Now is nothing. Now is ash. It’s like, it’s like—blinding, is what it is. He’s a blind man.

It is biblical now. Ghost has read it backward and forward and sideways and inside out. When he runs out of things to read, he reads them again, and when that is not enough, he reads between the lines.

[gossippool]

ok hear me out on this fic idea i'm working on. so my own special little version of wade in my head is a massive empath in the sense that he not just knows about other alternate timelines and things behind the fourth wall but he actively feels the emotional and existential effects of them. i kinda mentioned this in one of my fics and already but imagine wade knowing what every other version of himself has been through, the good AND the bad. but he feels it all the same way because he doesn't have the good things in this universe but conversely he's also kinda been through all the bad things too. (in my head the things about him he knows unprompted but he has to voluntarily tap into everything else if he wants to.)

SO THEN imagine that because of this he also has the power to know what every single wolverine has been through. him not just empathising with logan but actually knowing and feeling all the shit he did and how he feels about it. like a person-A-can-feel-others'-emotions AU but dialed up to 11 because he also has to deal with his OWN shit from other universes

[valewritessss]

I felt so seen when I first read pjo and it mentioned Annabeth’s arachnophobia. I used to have so many nightmares when I was younger (probably started when I was around five or six), I would wake up in the middle of the night and be so terrified of moving because I thought there were spiders all over my bed. The shadows on my popcorn ceiling looked like spider figures and I remember just laying there sweating and not making a sound because I thought it would attract the spiders I guess? It was routine for me to shout for my mom—poor her, she would be woken at 2 in the morning like thrice a week— and she’d always shake my sheets and lay with me until I feel asleep. She would also take me to sleep with her and my dad in their massive bed (who was I to say no to the invitation?) and it got to the point where I was embarrassed that I couldn’t sleep a whole night without someone. Occasionally, I still have these nightmares about spiders and I just turn on a light, go to the bathroom, come back, and pretend it never happened.

Idk, just thinking about that. I kind of had forgotten about those nightmares but I don’t play when I see spiders because I know it means I’m going to dream about them.

[rosietrace]

As excited as I am for the Wisdom Saga (especially God Games), y'all better watch out when the Ithaca Saga is out to conclude the musical and “The Challenge” is part of the tracklist

I can't live off the snippet, Jay.... I need it ENGRAVED into my skull

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Another Time

Half Life Fanfic from this blog? It's more or less likely than you think, it just takes 1-4 business years.

-

When she was young and the oceans were still full, Alyx Vance dreamed of bright lights and a dark tower that touched the sky.

Her mother didn't know why she woke crying in the middle of the night. Azian fretted and fussed. She pet Alyx's hair and whispered comforts as Alyx's shining eyes locked onto her mother's smiling face and the dancing flash of her silver necklace. Her child's mind full of a grief not yet come to pass and the drowning sensation of loss. The minds that sang to hers silenced for a bit longer. Tears shed for those still alive. The absence of a chorus in a once echoing cathedral. The concrete walls of Black Mesa swallowing voices and silencing the halls of its labyrinth.

Outside their apartment, the New Mexico sun breached the horizon and painted the sky anew. Night's blues and blacks gave way to an ominous red. Workers awoke and the complex buzzed with the rising day shift. The hive fell into motion once more. Scientists and Security, and all the little people who kept the wheels turning, all the ones who got caught in the machinations and ground up in the cogs, awake and alive for the moment.

Somewhere a man in a suit adjusted his tie.

-

When she was young and the oceans were drained and left only with leeches that stripped meat from bone in seconds, Alyx Vance dreamed of two prisons. One full of light, floating in the sky, and the other on the ground, full of loud noises, the ringing of bullets and the shrieks of something she both remembered and had not yet heard.

She was older now, wearing her mother's necklace, as she raced around the halls of Black Mesa East and asking questions as quickly as her mind thought of them. D0g nipped at her heels, small and sleek with his metal paws clacking against the concrete. The passage to Ravenholm was open and she waved at the couriers making runs and delivering news.

Alyx rarely cried nowadays. It was something she prided herself on. Babies cried, or so she'd been told, and she was a big girl now. She found herself frustrated by being one of youngest, being coddled and hovered over, so she threw herself into her studies. Uncle Izzy would give her books and she would give him drawings. She was hungry for knowledge, for understanding, to speak and be listened to, to have some real power to help.

Somewhere in a lab late at night, her father rests his leg and allows him the moment to think of what could have been.

-

When she was young and brave and trusted with making the trips between safehouses, Alyx Vance dreamed of brilliant blinding pain in her body and the suffocating gulf of grief. She awoke to what she thought was the sound of helicopter blades, but silenced greeted her and her tear-stained face. Uncle Kleiner's notes on the Borealis lay on the desk in front of her and a blanket covered her back.

She moved a hand to her torso and did not pull it away with the sticky warm feeling of blood through cloth as she imagined she would.

Somewhen or where, another reality overlapping with hers, a man in a suit stands and picks up a crowbar.

[varpusvaras]

"It's settled, then", Bail announced. He had already pushed his chair back and stood up, when he noticed that Mon had not moved an inch. She was still sitting there, just looking at him, with a light frown on her face.

"What?" He asked. "Is something the matter?"

Mon hummed, thoughtfully.

"I think I should be the one asking that", she said. "Is everything alright?"

Bail frowned now, too.

"I'm not sure I follow", he told her.

Now Mon sighed loudly.

"Please don't try that with me", she said. "I have known you for a long time, Bail. I know you. I can see when something is bothering you."

Bail leveled her a look.

"I have my days", he said. "I am not always the paragon of kindness and softness. You should know that."

"I do know that", Mon said. "I know very well that when you are at work, you are very driven by that work. But here's the thing. I have both worked with you for years, and been your friend outside of work just as long. I know how you behave and how you operate, even during the most stressful situations. If you haven't forgotten, we were just in a Galaxy-wide war. The way you are behaving now, this abrasiveness, this tension you are bringing everywhere with you now? I saw you like that in the moments where the whole Galaxy was at the stake. For you to be like this, is just now 'one of those days'. It's not even one of those weeks. Yes, I have noticed. This has been going on for a while now."

Bail didn't turn his eyes away from her, and neither did she turn hers away from him.

It felt like a stand-off, all of a sudden, and the stupidity of it crept into Bail's mind. Mon was not his enemy. This was not the Senate floor, nor was this a negotiation for a freedom of an entire world.

No, this was his own office, with one of his closest friends sitting in front of him, expressing worry for him. Mon was not trying to extort him, she was only trying to help him.

He just didn't know what to tell her. He wasn't the one who was being wronged in any way, and instead was only taking his selfish guilt out on the people around him.

That didn't make him feel any better, either.

Mon's expression softened slightly, as the silence between them dragged on.

"You don't have to talk to me, if you do not want to", she said. "I am just letting you know that I am willing to listen. But, please, if it is something truly serious, do not keep it for yourself. If you won't talk to me, talk to Breha or Fox, at the very least. I know they wouldn't want you to go through something by yourself."

Bail noticed that he had grabbed the edge of his desk tightly, only when he started to feel said edge digging hard into his palm.

Breha and Fox were the last people he could talk to right now, as they were the ones who were being wronged, by Bail himself no less. He could not, would not burden them with himself any further than he already had.

Mon's face grew more concerned again.

"Is it about them?" She asked. "Are they alright?"

"Fox is pregnant", Bail said, before he could think about it too long to stop himself.

Mon paused, her mouth left slightly open.

"Oh", she said finally, blinking rapidly a few times. "Oh. I mean. Is this a place for congratulations?"

"It is", Bail admitted. It really was. Still, despite everything, it was one of the happiest things that had ever happened in his life. "It is very much a wanted thing."

Not in a way any of them would've perhaps expected or wished for it to happen, but a wanted thing nevertheless.

Mon smiled slightly.

"Congratulations, then", she said. "Is everything going well?"

"Yes", Bail nodded. "Both him and the baby are healthy. Breha is having the time of her life spoiling Fox."

"Of course she is", Mon smiled a bit more as she said that. "It's a good thing that one of you can be at home with Fox."

Bail smiled tightly at that. A bit too tightly, perhaps, as Mon seemed to immediately zero in on his expression.

"Is that what this is about?" She asked. "You being here?"

"Of course it is", Bail said. "What else? Breha and I agreed on not even trying to have our own biological children, both for her health, and for my inability to leave my work. That was the agreement with Fox as well. Now, we have one baby at home already, and a second one coming along soon, and I am still just as incapable of being at home, breaking every agreement and changing nothing."

Mon looked at him gently.

"You haven't broken any agreements", she said.

Bail let out a dry laugh.

"Fox didn't make that baby by himself", he pointed out.

"But it was a thing you all wanted", Mon said. "You said so yourself. Are they happy?"

Bail thought about it. The messages both Breha and Fox sent him every day, the pictures, the recordings, the holos of Even pushing himself up on his feet as he learned how to stand, of all the updates from every visit to the doctor. Of the recording of the baby's heartbeat, hearty and strong. Of the happy words and expressions in every single one of them, despite how tired they both were sometimes.

It was worth it, Breha and Fox had both said. Multiple times.

He nodded.

"Yes", he said.

Mon nodded as well, slowly, her eyes assessing him for a moment.

"Are you happy?" She asked then.

Bail paused.

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say yes, immediately. Of course he was happy. Why wouldn't he be happy? Breha and Fox were both happy, of course he was-

Bail tried to say it. He wanted to say it.

He couldn't.

Mon waited, patiently, for him to say something. Bail wanted to say yes.

He just...he just couldn't. Not without it feeling like he was lying.

His eyes dropped down, to stare at his desk. He just couldn't look at Mon anymore, shame rolling thunderously inside of him.

He was happy. Of course he was.

He was happy.

He heard Mon stand up. Bail listened to her steps slowly coming towards him, and finally stopping right next to him.

Then her hand reached for his, at the one still gripping the edge of the desk, and she laid hers on top of it.

"Bail", Mon said. "You need to talk to someone."

Bail wanted to argue with her.

He couldn't.

He sighed, and nodded.

"Yes", he said. "I...I think I do."

[desertduality]

He looks for her. He had seen her fall, in that brief moment before the zombie had distracted him. She’d been telling the truth, about that. He follows her over the edge.

He calls for her. It's not over yet. He looks for her. It can't be over yet. He hasn't died.

He can smell the faint scent of ozone and scorched earth as he jumps down into the hole. Is she hiding? Running? It is far too late in the game for that. Pearl knows that. She wouldn’t. But then where was she?

He stands there, sword in hand, calling her name. She doesn’t answer.

The wind picks up, blowing at his cloak and knocking his hood back, revealing grey-streaked hair. His skin prickles, the feeling of eyes on the back of his head, and a quiet voice finds its way into his ears.

“She’s dead, Scar,” Grian tells him, echoey and distorted and everywhere. “You won.”

Oh, he thinks. 

Winning had never really felt like an option, to him. He had made too many enemies and too few friends for it to feel like something within reach. No one had been on his side, and he was still the only one left standing, alone in a trench with a zombie. He kills it on autopilot at the last second, still half waiting for Pearl to pop back out and stab him. 

But she’s dead. He won. 

It’s quiet.

Scar pulls himself up out of the trench, his clothes stained with blood and dirt, and he looks out across the field. All he can hear is the wind. The world is all craters and ghosts and empty bases, eerily still. He stumbles on his first few steps forward, about as injured as it gets. His own base is right there, right to his left, and he spends a few slow seconds staring at the sunflowers, all facing him. The wind blows, and he moves on.

He passes by the empty grave of Lizzie. They like to pretend, sure, but there are never any bodies. People die, and it’s like they were never there at all. Pearl is dead, and there is nothing to bury but his guilt.

The Secret Keeper looks the same as always, untouched and pristine and looming. It’s waiting for him to press the button. He’s succeeded, after all. 

Scar stands there, staring blankly up at the statue, and remembers the days where they would all gather around the button, laughing at their ridiculous tasks. There’s not even an echo of it left. The blood is drying on his hands, and he is cold, and he is still alone. 

“The villain’s not supposed to win,” Scar tells the Secret Keeper, voice hoarse and emotionless. “You got the story wrong.”

The Secret Keeper does not reply. 

Scar presses the button.