I live inside my own brain but love to step outside of it. I have dreams
of travel, and becoming a writer. I am going to college and plan on
studying linguistics and languages. I study French, and plan on studying
German. I would love to meet new people and write letters, were we make
fiction stories, or debate, and maybe become friends. I LOVE packages
and would be into sending them to someone.
“The problem is, you’re in my fucking head and I didn’t ask you in.”
“So what? So what? Really. What, you think I’m going to see something I shouldn’t? I’m going to learn some deep hidden secrets, something important? Yeah well, relax. I could care less. Frankly, there’s not much here that’s, uh, even interesting.”
“I don’t fucking care. You’re inside my mind. MY mind. You wanna talk to me, get the fuck out. Come and see me like a normal person. Or whatever you are.”
The man cocked his head slightly and seemed to almost smile before turning away. I was aware that he wasn’t what he was trying to be. I knew his appearance was simply a projection. Because he was without doubt the most nondescript, ordinary looking man I had ever seen. Plus he was in my goddamn mind like some poorly written sci-fi plot device.
“Oh, I’m not a person,” he said calmly, “ and you’re not even real, so an actual face to face meeting? Well, you’d need to have a face for that to happen.”
“I’m the one who’s not real?” I replied, and glanced around the bland conference room that had been chosen for this little talk. “ I see. You’re real. I’m not. So you’re NOT in my head. I’m in your head pretending that you’re in my head.”
“I’m not real either, you small minded, thought crippled, self centered delusion.“he said and turned abruptly to face me. An odd trick of light made it appear that he had no eyes.“Humans. Why do you even have brains? You refuse to use them. You’re a traveler. You’ve seen the multiverse. Even your fractional awareness must have an inkling of what infinity means. But you, like every single human ever, persist in harbouring this arrogant childish notion that it was all made for you. It all revolves around you. Because you’re so special.”
“Hmm. Apparently I don’t have to worry about what you’ll see in here. Because you obviously can’t see shit. I’m the last person, or uh, whatever I am, that thinks there’s anything special about me. Or the human race for that matter. Which, since I’m not real, must not be real either.”
“You don’t even understand what reality is, do you? Of course you don’t.” he said and stepped closer. His eyes remained hidden.“ To yourself, you’re real. Those around you, they’re real. In this specific fragmented layer. I’m the same. But nothing, not one single thing, that anybody in your or my reality ever does will mean anything. As far as true reality goes, we’re all a single rain drop falling into an ocean.”
“Nice metaphor. Poetic even. Mind if I steal it?”
“Just curious.” he said softly and for some reason I found myself trying to lean away from him,“ Why are you lying? Not to me. To yourself.”
“I’m not. I’m…”
“When you discovered you had the talent to manipulate Urdoji energy, you realized you were dual realm.” he said and I wanted him out so fucking bad and that meant shit.“ Here, you idiots who’ve never even conceptualized the possibility of another realm have it undeniably introduced to you, and the only one who can read both lines is you? Oh, don’t even pretend you didn’t get that jolt. A middle capacity mule who’s got a trick the hottest riders don’t?”
“So fucking what? It’s done what for me?” I asked, and tried to will myself to step back but I couldn’t.“So I can hear. Big deal. Big fucking deal. It makes me a wiretap. Not a hero. Not special.”
“God, seriously. Do you ever listen to yourself?” he leaned forward. Still no eyes. Creepy as fuck.“ You know, you say that so often. Even when it’s not necessary. But you, ordinary nobody that you claim to be, have been thinking about how to cut the Urdoji line. Yeah, see, I can see what’s going on in here. You want to be the hero. You just don’t want the responsibility that comes with trying. You’re not even afraid of failing. You’re afraid of trying. Because then people will expect you to keep trying. People might even…rely on you.”
“Okay look, I’m not Matt Damon and you’re sure the fuck not Robin Williams. So save the fucking critique of my self esteem issues and character flaws. I’m not real, you’re not real, which means what the fuck is this other than an opportunity for you to be a big bag of dicks?”
“The Urdoji can destabilize your realm.”
“My tiny weak little fucking brain already figured that out.”
“This will destroy your realm.”
“Gee, thanks Fox News but I got that figured out too.”
“This will, in turn, destroy the Urdoji realm.”
“Well hey, silver lining.” I said and finally stopped fighting to move away. “So we go, we take them with us. Sorry if I’m missing out on the boo hoo factor here.”
“That will start a chain reaction.”
“Chain..” I found myself leaning towards him. Trying to see eyes. “How many realms are there?”
“More than two, and that’s all that should matter.”
“Ah, yeah okay. I got it.” I said and smiled without actually smiling. “The chain reaction will reach YOUR realm. Good. Great. So do something about it. Us humans are too short bus. YOU can do something then, genius.”
“Really. Yeah this is..”
“Where is home?”
“What? The fuck? I’m a traveler. Noplace is home. Everywhere is home.”
“Where is home?”
I stopped trying to see his eyes. Something told me that whatever eyes were watching me, I didn’t want to see them. Not now.
“Terra Prime Main-Chaotic.”
“I didn’t ask you where you started.” he said and his voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.“You don’t want to answer. Because you don’t want to HAVE an answer. So I’ll answer for you. This is home. The place you don’t believe you can have. The place you’re terrified of wanting. Because you’ve never belonged. Anywhere. Ever. And you’ve accepted it because you’ve been told that’s how it is. How it has to be. A bunch of pseudo-scientific quasi mythological bullshit to justify a very simple truth. Having no home means having no responsibility to a place. To people. There’s no obligation to do better, make things better. Save the denial. I see you know I’m right.”
“Yeah? Once again, so what?” I said, but somehow my voice suddenly sounded like the scared sixteen year old kid saying yes to his first step. “ You’ve told me how stupid I am. Now you’re telling me how inadequate I am. None of this means shit. If my danger is your danger, then my fight is your fight. You’re so much better than I am, start fighting.”
“We would if we could.” he said, and oddly enough I believed him completely. “We can’t physically reach here. In fact, we can’t non physically reach here. Well, we haven’t been able to. Until now.”
“Oh great.” I said, almost punching his eyeless face.“Another stupid reason that I’m a special little flower. I’m just a fucking mule, remember? Nobody will believe, or give a shit what I tell them, no matter what you tell me.”
“I know.” he said and smiled grimly.“ I know you can’t do it. Trust me, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone in ANY reality with less faith in you than I have. But this is your home. You’ve found your home at last. And it’s the place that will burn first. So fight for it. If you’re going to finally fight for something, for the first time ever, home is a good choice. Fight for it. Prove me wrong.”
It was impossible to not feel manipulated. But it was also impossible to deny the truth.
hi,, don't want to put pressure on you especially if you're short on time but could i suggest a modern emil/lalli for the delayed flight one? you dont have to obviously, good luck with your trip planning and all c:
No worries, I don’t feel pressured! I think this is a fun list, and it’s nice to have a few prompts sitting in my box to work on when I get inspired. And since I have travel on the brain right now, this is an excellent prompt! (Based on this post - feel free to still send me pairings and prompts!)
a storm is delaying our flight home and I’m afraid of thunder, please talk to me while we wait
Emil’s phone let out a blaring alarm, startling him so badly he nearly dropped it. “Great,” he muttered, “Another weather alert.” They’d been going off all afternoon, and the noise got him every time. Between his phone and the phones of his fellow travelers, the sound was even worse.
Emil unlocked the phone to cancel the alert and saw a text message from the airline, too - another delay. Not a surprise, really. He could see the downpour from his seat by the window, and thunder growled every few minutes. He didn’t need technology to tell him that he wasn’t getting out of there anytime soon.
With a sigh, Emil set the phone to vibrate and leaned down to open his carry-on. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well listen to some music. He dug through his bag - wallet, boarding pass, packet of cookies he’d forgotten about - until he found his ear buds, tangled up in everything else. “A-ha!” He tugged on the cord to pull them loose. It worked, but in the process half the contents of his bag spilled out. Emil groaned and got out of his seat to gather them. When he ducked down to search for the cookies, which had rolled under the chair, he found a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at him.
“Wha?” Emil jerked backwards in surprise. “What are you doing?” The person under the seat didn’t answer, just closed his eyes and covered his ears. A second later, all the nearby phones made the horrible alarm sound again. The stranger scrunched his eyes even more tightly shut. When the noise faded, Emil tried again. “Hey. are you…okay? Why are you under the seat?”
The stranger blinked, but didn’t uncover his ears. “Loud,” he whispered.
“Oh.” Emil sat back. “I guess between the storm and the alarms, it is kinda awful in here, isn’t it?” He should probably go back to his seat and leave the stranger alone, but…for some reason, he wanted to keep the conversation going. “Did you see any cookies under there?”
The stranger’s eyes darted to the left. The package of cookies was nestled in the crook of his arm. He looked from the cookies to Emil, then carefully removed one hand from his ear and offered them back. He didn’t look happy about it.
Emil opened the cookies and held the package out. “Want one?” The stranger didn’t even hesitate; he reached out and plucked a cookie from Emil’s hand. His face took on a blissful expression. Emil felt his own mouth twitching into an answering smile. “You like these, huh? They’re my favorites too.” And since the situation was plenty weird already, he felt brave enough to say, “I’m Emil, by the way. You?”
The other man swallowed and licked a stray crumb from his lip. “Lalli.” He started to say something else, but an especially loud thunderclap made him shrink in on himself again. Emil felt bad for him; clearly, this Lalli didn’t do well with loud noises, and there was no getting away from them. Unless…
“Lalli? Do you like music?” Emil held out an earbud. “I don’t know what your favorite is, but it’d block out the storm a little.” Lalli cracked one eye open, then stretched out his hand and took the earbud. Emil searched his playlist for something soothing, then put the other earbud in and rested his head against his carry-on.
You don’t know but that’s okay You might find me anyway Don’t you know that I Belong arm in arm with you, baby In a town that’s cold and grey We will have a sunny day Don’t you know that I Belong arm in arm with you, baby…
The music couldn’t quite drown out the sound of the storm, but it made Emil feel better. And it looked like it had done the same for Lalli, who had relaxed enough to reach over for another cookie. When another flight delay notification came in, neither of them minded much.
(Edit: Oh yeah, forgot to say that the song they’re listening to is Raindropsby Regina Spektor).
DErs: Damon suffers the most! He just got the girl, now he lost her! It’s not fair! Stop torturing our baby!
SErs: Damon forced himself on Stefan’s girl and eventually succeeded, he killed Stefan’s best friend (who was always there for him) on his birthday, Stefan drowned for 3 months, ended up having ptsd and amnesia, got fucked in the brain by the travellers and continues being tortured even though he’s one the most selfless people on TVD.
The first sign of trouble was Teacup. Specifically that Teacup was sitting outside
on the stoop with a forlorn expression, if a dog has a forlorn expression that
is. Charles bent to scratch the poor
creature behind the ear and noticed that she was wet and smelled especially
fresh, like fresh lemons to be exact.
So, a freshly washed dog sitting on the stoop instead of beside the
hearth and no wife to greet him. He sighed. At least it would likely be a good story.
Cautiously, he pushed the door open and glanced around the
living room. The fire in the hearth had
died down to nearly embers and no wife lying on the sofa or curled in the comfy
armchair. His frown deepened, definitely
not a good sign. There was nothing she
liked better than a warm fire and a good book on a rainy day. Now he was worried. Just then, his attention was caught by a
loud noise from the general direction of the kitchen followed thankfully by a
feminine voice exclaiming a decidedly un-feminine word. His relief had him smiling broadly as he
strode quickly to the kitchen, but the smile dropped from his face at the sight
Whatever words of greeting along with the power of speech
fled, but he must have made some semi-articulate sound because his wife turned
to greet him. That made him almost
light-headed as all blood left his brain to travel southward. Something must have shown on his face because
her smiling greeting turned to one of worry.
“Charles, Charles, are you well? You look as though you might faint,” she stepped
toward him anxiously. Her movement
seemed to bring some sense back into his head.
Swallowing once or twice, he managed to ask, “Elsie, is that
what I think it is?”
Her cheeks tinted faintly as she glanced down at herself,
only to notice exactly what had her husband so speechless. The water had splashed and this fabric wasn’t
Looking back at him with a smug smile, she answered, “If you’re
thinking I’ve nicked one of your shirts then it is. Do you mind?”
His eyes trailed down her body, from the bulging buttons
over her chest where the water had splashed causing the shirt to cling tightly
to her figure, to the rolled up sleeves, and finally down to where the tail of
the shirt ended just above her shapely calves.
He took another step toward her and shook his head.
“Not at all, but may I at least ask why?”
Her lips quirked up on both sides as he reached for the
lapels of the shirt. “Your blasted dog
decided that she needed to take a run through the mud.”
“My dog?” he asked, dipping his head to nuzzle just below
her left ear. “I seem to remember that
Teacup was your idea.”
She stretched up to wrap her arms around his neck, “Humph,
it’s not my feet she’s always wanting to sleep on at night, and she’s not my
dog when I have to run around the back garden trying to catch the little bi—“
He cut her off with a searing kiss. Smiling at her breathless response, he said, “Now,
now, dear wife. While that word might be
technically correct, you still shouldn’t call her such things. Um, one dirty dog doesn’t explain how your
entire wardrobe is reduced to one of my shirts, however.”
“It does when that dog decides to hide herself in my
wardrobe so she won’t be bathed.”
“Ahhh,” he answered, less and less interested in the
conversation as he began to unbutton the shirt and followed his hands with lips
teasing at her skin as it was revealed.
“Um, and just what, oh that’s nice,” she murmured as he ran
one hand down her side, “um, what do you intend to do about it?”
“I intend to reclaim my property,” he said firmly with a
predatory gleam in his eye as his hands and lips traveled lower. “That shirt belongs in my wardrobe, I
And that was how Teacup spent the day in the rain. (But got extra treats at dinner)
(For mrpoohnminnie Enjoy your exams and thank you for the plot bunny.)
Some people say that night is a dark time, but not me. I see the forgiving reflections off the traffic signs. I see the bold streetlights, like a lighthouse in the sea, casting their light for my sole benefit. I see the glimmers of the moon. I see the stars.
The mix CD I’ve played for myself four dozen times again gets to my favorite song. The voice washes over me, and the crescendos of sound smooth my mind. I sing along, somehow still not knowing the words, my mouth producing the sounds but not the language.
I lose track of distance. How far have I traveled in this moment of bliss? Has my brain prevailed amidst its own distraction? I wake to check my surroundings. I’m that much closer to home but, for some reason, tonight I don’t want to stop driving. I guess I don’t want this feeling to end.
Forty-five miles an hour is the worst speed to travel. My foot begs for sixty, my mind cautions forty. How many times have I driven this same route unaware of the limit, never once seeking out the law’s verdict? I shiver as I worry about my risk.
My mood degrades rapidly as my least favorite song on the album begins. I could skip it with a brief click of my finger, but I don’t. I take pity and let it play its notes, devoid of emotion, vanquished of soul. Have I gained anything for giving it its three minutes of time? Has my self-discipline increased, has my character emerged victorious? Or have I, in my infinitely insignificant choice, merely caused myself a glimpse of grief for no purpose but my own punishment?
The streets grew darker now, as I approached my house. Were it not but for my lack of adventure, my fear of the unknown, I might have pushed my car forward down the straight streets that night, missing my turn to abandon my goal and start another. But I didn’t. I slid into my driveway, released the key to my hand, and opened the door to the freezing wind.
I’ve seen so many positive reactions on the “Eruri” scene in the latest chapter and I’m gonna add my own thoughts to this. Not really the ship Eruri, more on the way fans percieve SnK and how Isayama writes the story. The way this chapter was written and the reactions to the Eruri scene really sums it up.
This is the scene people are praising, like something good is actually happening. I’ve asked myself so many times if I actually read the same story as many of the fans here on tumblr, and I think I got my answer today. Yes, ofc I read the same story. We have the same manga in front of us, so there is an illusion of “we are experiencing the same story” when we actually aren’t.
Most of us have eyes we watch the pages with, but that’s about all we have in common. The signals the eyes send to our brain travels through layers and layers of programs, programs created since we were born. I talk about childhood traumas, that toy your sister broke, parents that didn’t know how to show love, abuse, abandonment, fears.. All of that are codes running in our minds, codes that twist whatever signals comes from our senses and creates what we percieve is happening in front of us. That’s why we all have so different experiences, even if we are standing in the same room witnessing the same scene. That’s how different opinions are created.
But can we talk the women in this episode. Even with Tamika and her armyout of commission, women did all of the heavy lifting in this episode.
Maureen must have some serious brains to have figured out the whole “alternate dimension travel” thing, but what really excites me is the female leaders of the revolution.
Dana rescued Cecil. Dana, so excited that she may one day be great, but not seeing her current greatness Dana, who survived the dog park and the desert, has a freaking army. Those tall figures - her army.
Mayor Pamela Winchell is fighting for her town.
And Old Woman Josie is back, and she still has her angels.
Look at these woman. They are woman of color. They range from children to the elderly. Some are warrior-like, some philosophical and caring.
They are leaders. Tamika, Dana, Josie, they inspire others to follow them, even into war.
AN: So this turned out to be a bit more of a beast than I thought so I apologize for the excessive length…and all ridiculous typos I probably missed. I hope you enjoy!
Still the One
“And in the end, we were all just humans drunk on the idea that love, only love could heal our brokenness” - F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Movement across the jungle gym caught Jennifer’s eye as she sat on the playground bench and kept a close watch on the fair haired little boy that owned her heart these days. He skipped around chatting animatedly with a few of the other children after telling his mother that he wanted some independence, sounding much older than his five years would suggest.
It had been 9 years since she had last seen his face.
The face of a broken man.
The face of the man that she had broken.
And here he was, in front of her after 9 long years.
How irreparably changed their lives had been in the years that had passed when she let the love of her life walk out the door.