listen y'all. i have not made clear enough how Deeply In the Jank (what i am choosing to call jack/frank. because it's: funny. and ultimately that is all that truly matters to me. it started as ironic but now I can't stop so I'm just committing) pit I am. But that shit is about to become fucking CRYSTAL. Let's goooo.
I think actually this thing originally grew out of a prompt for 'abbot/frank - forehead touch'. Then I decided to do it from Robby's POV. and then it became...what it is. Somehow. Anyway. I love these two so fucking much. Pls enjoy.
Title: The Eye Of The Storm
Fandom/Pairings: The Pitt. Langdon/Abbot, Langdon/Robby (can be read as platonic or romantic)
CONTENT WARNING: Depiction of surgery (vague/metaphorical)
Summary: Langdon is injured and Abbot's response to Robby and his team attempting to save his life gives him some insight on a relationship that's been brewing between the two people he feels he knows best in The Pitt but somehow never noticed. He has no jealousy or issues with it AT ALL.
Link: AO3
All the time they work on Langdon, a single figure in the corner stands in defiance against the prescribed chaos of an emergency room in the grip of a fresh trauma.
Jack Abbot watches over them, silent and still. The eye of the storm.
Untouched by the swirling, battering insanity that crashed against the rest of them, as the wild, storm winds of fate and life and the world and all its cruelties attempt to rip this life away from them. In answer they hold on with all their might. Jack stands apart, present but separate. A sentinel of light that looms against the shadow of a reaper, who is felt in the taut air by all. Poised. Patient. Waiting to see if this soul has met its end and will be his to take.
Yet as his eyes caught the corners of Jack’s stare, unflinching, unwavering, only for the man on the table between them, Robby is sure, in a way he cannot fully explain or understand, but would stake his entire ED on right then and there, that this soul is already claimed. And if Death wishes to have Frank Langdon he will not find him quite so easy to take as he might assume, as Jack Abbot has never let anything precious to him go without one hell of a fight.
No one calls on Doctor Abbot to join in or assist - they have plenty of hands, almost too many, more than Frank would ever have believed would be this desperate to get a hold on him and help to keep him up when he was falling. Abbot is not needed as a doctor here; nor is Jack standing there as one. That could not have been clearer. He also makes no move to get closer to the action, the heart of which he’s usually always so eager to dive into head first, heedless. Not this time. This time something restrains him. Like he knows that for all he’s suffered and survived, this– this would be too much.
His face is too calm to make Robby believe he actually is. Jack withdraws when things are bad. The harder he’s trying to appear calm, and unaffected, and otherwise ‘normal’, the worse his internal state is. Looking at him now, indistinguishable from a fucking statue? Robby feels he holds not one life in his hands in this room tonight, but two.
No time for that now. No time for emotion, no time for questioning, no time for thoughts and theories. Time for action. A man is dying, his man– But he can’t let himself remember that. Has to push that– all of that, all of that history, the love and the friendship, the pride and the pain, the trust and the betrayal, the highs and the fall. None of that can be here in this room with him now, because if he lets it close to him, it will break him, he knows it.
He must briefly remove his bloody, beating hard from beneath his ribs and set it off to the side in a kidney dish to wait. He cannot fall prey to its emotions and its panic. Just the medicine. Processes. Procedures. Don’t think, just do. Let muscle memory take over. Let instinct guide him, steady him, trust himself to his training, to Adamson’s teaching which has helped him save so many lives. Please, god, don’t let it fail him now, please. Not now. Not Frank.
A casual observer might mistake their work for play. Every person in that room moved with effortless, practiced, intuitive perfection. As if this were a stage production they’d trained all their lives for, rehearsed a thousand hours, each person in their role, their lines and movements so practiced and coordinated they could have done them in their sleep. All for this moment. All for this man.
When the surgeons descend like vultures, seeking stability only, speaking of safe passage, his team snap back.
No.
He is theirs. Theirs. This is where he belongs, with them, here, in Robby’s ER. They will not surrender him. The dice will be rolled, the fates will decide, and he will live or die in this place he has given everything to call his home. As he would wish. Garcia understands. Agrees. Scrubs up and steps in without hesitation. He is hers, too, her entrance to the stage as scripted and seamless as all the others. So far, his team have won their battle – Garcia’s war now begins.
Artistry comes in many forms. Adamnson had told him that once, and Robby had agreed, up to a point. But he’d always believed that what they did – that was science. It was logic. It was applying method and mathematics to madness and making miracles. There was a beauty in that, he allowed. What he witnesses in that room finally makes him see what Adamson had tried to tell him.
Yolanda Garcia is an artist in every way it is possible to be.
Crimson conductor of the bloody symphony they call life, her scalpel seems to sculpt masterpieces from once raw hunks of hewn flesh and torn skin. The Fates themselves have never woven anything so well as she sutures broken bodies, making them believe their sundered forms can be made whole once more. The monitor’s sinus rhythm obediently keeps time, captivated by her skill, and for a while his whole ER dances to her beat, until–
His heart stops.
Jack Abbot moves for the first time in hours. A single step out of his place. Towards the point where time has briefly come to a halt. The world is not ignorant of this shift. It shudders upon its axis. Realises its mistake. Sets it all to rights. Frank Langdon lives again. Jack returns to his place, and the vice-like grip that seemed to briefly hold time still, releases. The storm rages around them once more.
When, at last, it is done, Garcia sets down her conductor’s baton. The scalpel that has saved her friend consigned to the sharps waste to be forgotten, its part in this play done. Letting her shoulders sink and her heart feel the weight of the burden this room and all its eyes had placed upon her for the first time. She slumps in place. Exhausted but triumphant. Final orders given for Frank to be moved somewhere (somewhere in the ER, it goes without saying) so he can rest. Once he does, she will let herself join him in that rest, more than well earned.
Before she leaves to take it, she turns to Abbot, the first of them brave enough to acknowledge the force of calm, so intense at times it borders upon the violent, who has presided over this like a judge over a courtroom.
A soft smile, tired and wan, but genuine, graces Garcia’s lips for him. A rare thing, which makes it all the more valuable. She confirms aloud for him something that, with all his skill and experience he must know, but evidently still needs to hear: Frank is going to make it. He’s going to be okay.
For the first time in hours, Robby is sure, Jack lets himself breathe again.
Frank is moved by his team, who gather him up as if they were clouds, then set him down, gentle as a fresh blanket of snow falling to the earth. Once settled, they leave him. A moment of hesitation grips them, as they wonder who among them should stay, for one of their own will not be left long alone within these walls. Yet as one they, like him, feel Jack Abbot’s presence as he steps into the room, and as one they yield to it. None knowing or understanding what tether, hidden from them all in spite of their proximity to both men, exists between them, but feeling in their blood and bones that this vigil is his right, not theirs.
While all the rest depart, in the quiet of this hallowed space, set aside, separate from the chaos as it can be while still upon its fringes, Robby lingers. Drawn by something stronger than he can name or know, he stands on the outside of this hospital room, and watches these two men, the closest Robby has in this hospital, and in his world, and realises he knows neither of them as well as he thinks he did.
The look on Jack’s face, how every line softens into utmost tenderness, with which he beholds Frank, tells Robby so clearly that he had held Jack Abbot’s heart and world in his hands without knowing it at the time. When, and how, and why Frank somehow became Jack’s everything, he is not let in on. Then, nor now. He only knows it to be so, not how it came to be, or how he could have missed it when he’d thought himself so close to them. But then that was before– Before that night where everything changed, when everything true was made false, and everything right became wrong, and everything real became ash in his mouth as love soured to hate within his veins
Fractured and broken, Robby had ripped himself from Frank’s orbit, in gory imitation of the way he had ripped out his heart. But, of course, a man with Frank’s singular gravity would not long be left without some sort of celestial shepherd. Robby, so long his bright, intense burning sun, had finally burned out and left him. Only to be replaced by the quiet, gentle moon that was Jack.
With that circling and swirling in his mind, the intimacy with which Jack now bends down and touches his forehead to Frank’s makes Robby’s bruised, battered heart briefly shudder back to life within his chest.
He watches Jack hold there for a moment, sinking into that point of contact and letting the comfort of it cradle him. Watches him soaking in the warmth that still remains, thanks to Robby, the soft rhythm of his sleeping beloved's breathing. The moment suspends, as if for a fraction of a second, all the world contains is them. Only them. Allowed to have this moment of utmost humanity, and love, and life.
Then Jack withdraws, first pressing a soft kiss to Frank’s temple. Fingers trail through his hair as he pull back. Feather light, so casual, but so intent, carrying more words than any library could ever hold, unspoken but unnecessary. All felt in that simple touch. The weight of it, the familiarity of it, the ritual of it–
All at once, standing in this quiet, clinical hospital corridor, Robby is struck like a blow across the face by the certainty that he has just witnessed something not meant for him. Something holy, perhaps profane, but something that had not been made for him to see.
Real quick heads up for the next... weeks: it's that time of year again when I'm working on something with a deadline that requires priority. I don't think any actual "crunch" will be required this year so I'll still be around to pick and prod at drafts, and available through the usual "throw ideas into the void/threaten me with a good time" channels, I just might require my nights to be a little more full of actual hand/arm/shoulder rest (ew) than keyboard and mouse usage. Organic physical bodies be dumb.
tldr; I probably won't be much slower than usual for the next few weeks, but a little warning seemed polite anyway.
Ah... feels good to be back! Now that I've got time to actually come up with ideas and stick to 'em (uni's fun like that) ... here's the first part to this dumb AU idea that I came up with! Mostly just exposition dumping here, but we'll get into the action bits in a minute (I make no promises on how my brain decides to deal with that).
Aaaaanyway... here's the handy dandy link to AO3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
And now for the tags... since y'all were the ones who seemed interested in this: @bberetd, @rainbogen, @supergay-64, and @loud-kid2. Anyone else who wants to hop on the ride... buckle up.
(Also, Tumblr reading down below! ^^)
Gadd Log: 0249
Update:
I seem to have encountered an abnormality in my haste of this experiment. It would seem that my equipment needs extra tuning in order to finish the last part, unfortunately. A minor setback, but a necessary precaution to be taken, just to be safe.
I will need to reschedule my test for tomorrow morning:
Experiment 2005/07 - to be continued
Toxicology Test: rescheduled - 8:20 a.m.
Notes: Please inform the toad assistants to fix the generator. The noise is unbearable.
It was during this wait that I remembered another experiment I previously shelved: Experiment 56
My data indicates that it was one of the few lost in the volcanic cataclysm during the Shroob Wars. Pity… it would have served wonders to my career! But I’m not one to let an experiment go unchecked and unfinished.
I would like to return to that experiment, if only to see how the effects of 22 years following a volcanic eruption affected it! Imagine how exciting that would be! I’ll need a volunteer, however.
I certainly couldn’t send in G00igi. The volcanic aftermath would melt him instantly.
I need the toads to stay in my lab site for more work with the DNA Splicer. I simply can’t have it go to waste!
I suppose there is that one option. I will need to make a report soon.
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
Mario always knew his younger brother, Luigi, to be the charitable sort. He had a heart of gold, larger and shinier than any other he had come across, always willing to lend a hand to the needy. He could have sworn he would’ve given the shirt off of his back, even for someone he just met. It was one of the many things the red plumber admired him for, admittedly. A wonder Luigi was, he often thought.
He never once complained when Luigi set out a steaming cup of coffee out on the kitchen counter beside his plate of breakfast, nor when he offered to clean up without prompting. Luigi did it all from the kindness of his heart… and Mario found it quite admirable. Even with those around Toad Town, he held no exception: with Peach, he was the first to offer support to many of her fundraisers for the town’s benefit; Tace T., he routinely helped her with his pastries and supplies; even the toad children, he made time for them when he was needed, however shy he was at times.
But sometimes… just sometimes… Mario wished Luigi was at least a tiny bit rude.
Mario shrugged off a bug from underneath his hoodie as he trudged through the shrubbery, squinting ahead through the dark forest for any signs of flashing green from his brother. It was a wonder Luigi could even tell where they were headed, much less in the Forever Forest. It had been ages since his trek there, but Luigi still knew the way almost immediately.
His brain still never ceased to amaze Mario…
“Luigi…” Mario huffed, plucking a twig from under his hat. “How much further is the place? It’s gonna be dark by the time we head home if we keep this up!”
“J-J-Just a l-little further, b-b-b-big bro!” Luigi’s voice resonated behind a few distant trees. “It’s j-just up ah-ahead!”
“You said that like two hours ago, Lu… are you sure we’re not lost?”
“P-Positive. If you h-h-hadn’t stopped, we w-w-woulda been th-there sooner.”
“Well ex-cuuuuuuuuuse me! I didn’t know I’d be stomping through a bunch-a bushes when I woke up this morning! At least then I woulda been prepared.”
Mario suddenly stumbled as he fell against something hard, only to find himself faced with Luigi’s knees as he kneeled on the forest floor. With a light chuckle, the younger brother extended a hand, helping him reach his feet again, albeit rather smugly.
“We all m-m-make mistakes, t-tough guy!” Luigi giggled once they could see one another again. “Also… c-complain no more… w-w-we’re here!”
Sure enough, Luigi gestured proudly before him, revealing a small clearing in the wood. There, laden amongst thick shrubbery, sat a tiny, metal cabin in the shape of a familiar face. Outside the heavy, industrial doors were several cameras, all scanning the area for (presumably) trespassers. Strange noises emitted from inside… all of which made the place look very uninviting.
Nevertheless, Mario watched in awe as his usually timid brother casually approached the door, holding the letter from that morning in hand; he could’ve sworn he even heard him humming a little! Luigi knocked on the door, prompting a shrill, high-pitched voice from a speaker to practically shriek, “TRESPASSERS IN REGION. PLEASE IDENTIFY. PLEASE IDENTIFY.”
This also didn’t seem to phase Luigi as he calmly replied, “L-L-Luigi M-Martinet Mario… a-and guest.”
Almost as soon as it all popped up, the speaker turned green and the door swished open, allowing entry for the two bros. Seemingly proud of himself, Luigi turned to Mario and smiled broadly.
“Yeah, yeah, I see ya,” Mario rolled his eyes. “C’mon, let’s go get this over with…”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Luigi excitedly led Mario inside. The first thing Mario noticed were the television screens.
Lots…
And lots…
Of television screens.
All were painted a deep red, displaying many a visual that Mario felt far too lazy to understand, no matter how hard he tried to study them. Everywhere he looked, there was one flashing light after another, ranging in sizes and colors. A loud beeping noise echoed throughout the small space, practically piercing into Mario’s skin from the volume. Papers were scattered all over the floor, much to his chagrin as each crunched under his boots. However, the strangest part was the loud clacking coming from what appeared to be a computer of sorts… in front of which a tiny, turnip-like man sat, oblivious to his visitors.
“E. G-Gadd…!” Luigi called, his voice cheery and light. “W-W-We’re h-here!”
Almost as soon as Luigi finished, the man swiveled his red chair around, adjusting his spectacles curiously. Upon seeing the younger plumber, he smiled broadly, lacing his fingers together importantly.
“Ah…! Hello, Luigi, my boy!” he greeted excitedly. He then found Mario’s puzzled gaze. “And Mario, too! I take it the two of you received my letter, then?”
Mario finally found his voice in his stunned silence, “Erm… y-yeah. You said you needed us for a project or something?”
The professor nodded.
“Correct! It’s of utmost importance that I had the two of you on hand for this… I would have liked to have had you sooner, but that’s all water under the bridge!”
“Sorry… we h-h-had an i-i-issue b-back th-there,” Luigi shrugged.
“As I said, my boy… water under the bridge. Now, onto what I needed the two of you for! We don’t have much time to waste! I’ll need you to answer a few questions for me… and be honest!”
“A test?!” Mario groaned. “Weege, you didn’t tell me there would be-”
“Ah ah ah,” E. Gadd replied, shaking a finger scoldingly. “I understand your apprehension, lad… but I assure you… this is an easy one! It’s one someone even of your… um… ahem… intelligence, could understand! Trust me on this, boy!”
“If you say so…” Mario grumbled, slightly insulted at the implication.
“Alrighty! Any more questions then? No? Good! Then allow me to get right to the point!” E. Gadd spun around in his chair and began typing away at his computer, displaying a strange-looking checklist that only he appeared to understand as he leaned back. “Question one… are you familiar with the Shroob Wars, boys?”
…
…
…
“Kinda…” Mario answered, cocking a brow curiously. “Peach told me about it a couple-a times… I don’t remember much, though…”
“Hm hm… interesting. And you, Luigi?”
“I kn-kn-know a little b-b-bit ab-about it,” Luigi tapped his chin. “It in-involved… a-aliens, I think… I th-think me a-a-and M-Mario w-w-were th-there…”
“Correct!” E. Gadd chirruped. “Yes indeed… a terrible thing those Shroob Wars were… fascinating, yes, but terrible! The Shroobs… no one knows quite where they came from… but they wrecked havoc on the kingdom. And you, dear boys… you were the ones to remedy it all!”
“We were?” Mario asked.
“Correct! Though… I wouldn’t blame you for not remembering… you were only babies, after all! I think with a few other characters with you, too… hm…”
…
…
…
“What are you talking abou-”
“Question two,” E. Gadd practically yelled. “Are you aware of the Thwomp Volcano eruption, then?”
“Um… y-y-you m-mean that c-creepy w-w-wasteland…?” Luigi asked, nervously tugging at his overall straps. “Th-That had the w-w-worst eruption i-in the M-M-Mushroom Kingdom… a-and it s-s-stopped j-just as soon as i-it s-s-started?”
“Correct, again! It did used to be a volcano… and yes, there was an eruption, way back during the Shroob Wars! I suppose the Shroobs had done a bit of meddling to the environment to cause it… pity. But that’s all behind us now! Onto my last question!”
This time, the strange professor turned to the brothers, smiling… a bit too eagerly.
“Were you aware that I had a lab up there…?”
At that… both brothers fell silent, staring at E. Gadd in pure shock. They honestly weren’t sure what to think! As far as they knew, E. Gadd had always been the town’s eccentric ghost researcher and occasional inventor, hiding in the Forever Forest of the Boo Woods outskirts to study them. The idea of him lurking anywhere else besides there was simply unfathomable.
Of course, E. Gadd ignored their shocked faces as he closed his eyes in reminiscence, “I see… well, I suppose the two of you are close enough to explain…”
He then leaned back in his seat, never once looking at either of the brothers as he stated, “When I was about… hm… I’d say… ah, well it doesn’t matter. I was much younger than I am presently. It was during one of my many many brainstorms that I had planned to stakeout on Thwomp Volcano to study the Thwomp species in their natural habitat, as well as the history of the volcano itself! I had initially planned on incorporating it into my ghost studies… and possible inventions! I studied the way the Thwomps defended themselves… much similar to the Hammers and Slammers, mind you! So I wanted to study the possible connection between the two… just to see if there was a possible way I could…”
Gadd blushed as he noticed the brothers starting to tune him out.
“Eh heh… sorry…” he apologized. “Ahem… I was in the middle of studying them when I was forced to flee my lab from the volcanic eruption! I thankfully made it out with all my skin… but my lab… my work… all of it was destroyed in the explosion…”
“Oh no…” Luigi whispered sympathetically.
“That’s… that’s awful…” Mario bit his lip.
“Ohoho… oh you don’t have to tell me twice… but that’s why I’ve brought the two of you here!”
Mario and Luigi looked at each other in confusion.
“You see… something tells me that there might’ve been a few survivors in the blast! It might sound insane… but trust me, lads! There’s work to be had up in that volcano! And I’m dead-certain there might be just a couple of files and artifacts still there! And now that I’m on the subject… I do remember that I had a safe in a small bunker… just in case things were to go awry! It should still be functional!”
Hearing that, Luigi’s eyes widened in horror, seemingly realizing something the oblivious Mario overlooked as he smiled up at E. Gadd.
“Well… that’s great, then!” he replied. “You can get your research from there, and it’ll be all good!”
“M-M-Mario!” Luigi squeaked.
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” E. Gadd beamed, excitedly spinning his chair around. “But… you see… that’s where you two come in!”
“P-P-Professor, w-wait!” Luigi exclaimed.
“Who? Me and Luigi? What do we gotta do with this?”
“I’m glad you asked!” E. Gadd replied, earning a frustrated groan from Luigi. Quickly, he typed away at his computer, displaying more of the indecipherable code, which he read out, “You see… I’m far too old to be out on adventures, and my toad assistants… well… you know how they are. I need someone young for the job… someone able-bodied and strong… someone else who knows the volcanoes inside and out! And who better than the two of you for the job, eh?!”
Hearing that bit of information, the realization of just what the strange professor was asking suddenly hit Mario like a ton of bricks.
“WHAT?!” Mario exclaimed. “Lemme get this straight… you want us. Me and Luigi… to hike up some mountain-”
“Volcano.”
“Mountain, volcano, whatever… you want us to hike up that. A place where no one’s even stepped foot for who knows how long… just to grab a couple of papers?!”
“And machinery.”
“Do you realize how insane you sound?! You don’t even know if any of that stuff is… y’know… NOT melted!”
“I’m aware,” E. Gadd nodded. “That’s why I’m asking you to go up there just to make sure. If it’s all melted, we’ll know the test was all for nothing and we can all move on. If not, then great! See? Simple as that!”
“That’s great and all, but how d’you know we’re able to climb all that stuff? Do you even know where that place is?!”
“Yes. That’s why I’ve made you a special pair of boots. Luigi, my boy, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with this! And Mario, lad, I’ve got a dozen ice packs for that pesky shoulder of yours should you need ‘em! You’ll be fit as a fiddle to go! Oh! And I made sure to add in a few of my favorite foods that you’ll certainly enjoy! Pickled dandelions, fried mushrooms, canned Cheep-Cheeps, canned spaghetti, canned greens, and my personal favorite… banana, peanut butter cupcakes! Made them myself this morning…!”
…
…
…
“We don’t have a choice, do we?” Mario asked.
“Nope! You’re going up that volcano, lads! Just think of the adventure! The mystery! The unknown!”
“I’d l-l-like f-f-for it to st-stay unknown…” Luigi whined pensively.
“Oh, pish, posh, you’ll be fine! It’s not like there’s anything up there that’ll hurt ya! Like your big brother said… no one’s been up there for years!”
“I h-h-hope you’re r-right…”
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
Before the brothers knew it, they began making their way out of the Forever Forest, a new bag in one hand, and a can of Cheep-Cheeps in the other. Both felt apprehensive as they finally found the light streaming from Toad Town, realizing that this was only the beginning of a very unwanted adventure. They had no idea what was in store for them as they relished the clean, emerald-green grass for what felt like the last time. But with a tight hand squeeze and a loving glance at one another, they promised it wouldn’t be a solitary mission.
Even Mario, for all his apprehension toward the professor felt slightly elated. It wasn’t every day that he had the chance to explore old, forgotten areas; usually those remained… well… forgotten. However, he knew Luigi didn’t share that sentiment.
And so… he did what he always did when his brother needed some reassurance.
“Y-Y-You mean it…?” Luigi asked, staring up at Mario in surprise, his eyes sparkling.
“Heck yeah, lil’ bro!” Mario sang, scooping a few licks from his can. “We get this done, and I’m gonna get ya something sweet just to end the day… I’ll even get your favorite! Sound like a plan?”
“W-Well… I g-g-guess…” Luigi muttered, nervously playing with his overall straps. “I just… I w-w-wish I c-coulda fixed my t-t-telescope b-beforehand…”
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“M-Mhm… I l-l-like ha-having it on adventures w-with me,” Luigi pulled out the tiny telescope, showing off a small crack in the glass and a burned handle. “J-Just in case, y-y-y’know…”
“Aw… well, it’s okay, Lu! You’ll have plenty of time to fix ‘er up once we have some down time! Plus… the road’s plenty clear up ahead! What’s the worst that could happen?”
To (hopefully) get my brain deciding to move a little more in a making words direction, and to encourage interaction, please do like for a thing in your ask box. The trick is, you get no say in what pops up in there. Or when, but soon. In-character (IC) interaction will only happen with other RP blogs, but we don't have to be mutuals or have had any interaction for you to tap the little heart for a something.
Somehow I always get the trickle of new followers while I am neck-deep in Other Tasks Requiring All My Time and Energy. How does that even work. But, here:
Like this post for a thing. If any specifics are desired (verse/mood/a specific muse/character interaction/etc.), leave a comment. Or shriek incoherently in Tumblr messages. Risking randomness is always an option as well it'll be angst or humor or horror or some combination; I don't think any other genres exist here! The result will be drabble-ish, but those can always be replied to if desired, or discussed for something expanded.
tldr; smack-a-heart for some near-future wordsss. ETA: next week..? Potentially?
Somehow I always get the trickle of new followers while I am neck-deep in Other Tasks Requiring All My Time and Energy. How does that even work. But, here:
Like this post for a thing. If any specifics are desired (verse/mood/a specific muse/character interaction/etc.), leave a comment. Or shriek incoherently in Tumblr messages. Risking randomness is always an option as well it'll be angst or humor or horror or some combination; I don't think any other genres exist here! The result will be drabble-ish, but those can always be replied to if desired, or discussed for something expanded.
tldr; smack-a-heart for some near-future wordsss. ETA: next week..? Potentially?
So! I have now officially been able to end this impromptu hiatus; I finally regained access to this account! One of many, hopefully!
To summarize: things have been going very poorly. BUT! I am still trying to get through everything with brute force and optimism!
I'm hoping nothing new gets in the way. Regaining access to my recovery-email accounts was step number one in getting things back on track; now I can work through resetting passwords to all my art accounts and start posting again. With everything going on in my life, I have been completely unable to make art. But I'm fixing that!!
Now that I have been able to start this repair process, I'll be going through old notifications and messages. Any communication I may have dropped with you, I hope you will forgive me! I am working to resolve these things!
Join me again on my continuing journey, won't you?
