#memory rambles

[greenshroomtea]

I love the 3AM version of people. They get vulnerable, honest and real. I just love it so much. The talks are always so refreshing and beautiful especially if the person is tired and relaxed. There is no room for fear. It's also the best way for me to calm down from panic attacks

[risks-nonhuman-life]

I think I now understand why my relationship with gender is so weird. You see, as a phantom, you don't have much to worry about. Gender is sort of a "Unless you're royalty or going to become such a thing, this doesn't mean anything." Phantom royalty in itself is weird as there's usually just a king in a hive with basically no queens except for ancient times.

I also have a memory that in standard phantom language, pronouns aren't exactly used in any way. If we really needed to use pronouns we would've had them. Really the only thing you'd use them for is regarding a king but really you can just refer to one as "the king" and phantoms just know it's usually a hive thing, yknow?

I think it's the lack of exposure in the past to any form of gender even close to being human in one time that makes things so complex now, even if I know I've lived more lives where gender existed than not.

[abyssal-healer]

Why does my brain now want to remind me of the braid train memories again?

Ahhh I miss those times.

[leafypaws]

the realization that richarlyson likely didn't exist in my canon was .............. a strange feeling. it makes sense, i guess ; i never felt attached to him in that kinfeels way of "this is someone who was close to me in a past life" like with roier, baghera, even bagi and pac. but it's a bit upsetting, really, to think that in most if not all timelines i had a son ........... except the one i lived. it feels like mourning something i never had.

arguably, i was better off without a child in the life i had. or rather a child was better off without me. i can't imagine i would've been a very good parent with everything that i was and went through. i guess i'll never know.

[abyssal-healer]

The Doctor's Signatures

General (text post / reblogs):

#syth speaks

#perc <3

#not feeling well

#memory rambles

#medical talk / #healer rambles

Ask tags:

#qpp talks

Other's sign offs:

#percy speaks

#wrio speaks

#ally speaks

#blurry

[greenshroomtea]

Quality time 👌

[greenshroomtea]

Stories

I always thought I could write as long as I wasn’t feeling well. Now I’m not feeling well but I can’t write shit. I always thought it would be easier. I thought I could put my feelings into words and write a story where I let my characters suffer as I do and let them have a happy end. But what am I doing? Writing shit about myself. The way that I can’t get a hold of it. And at the same time I am the one who says “I fifty shades of grey is a best seller, that I can write waaaaay better than that.” Well, I could write better but I will need something to write about. I need to get my shit together and write. But there is nothing. I cannot write anymore. It’s like a blockage, the words aren’t flowing like they used to. I wrote beautiful things when I was younger. I used metaphors without thinking. Now I write about how I can’t do it anymore. Well shit. How come I can’t anymore? What happened? I used to have own stories, own characters with own skills and lifes. Then I lost my own stories, put my OC’s into stories that already existed. Lastly I lost my own characters. They are gone now, since summer where I invented Carina, Miguel’s sister from Road to El Dorado. My alternative ending was perfect, I loved it very much, but then... I only wrote some fluff about Junkrat and Roadhog as friends, then how they ended up in Overwatch but after that I lost my writing skills. Do I need a muse just like Shakespeare? Even the new fandom of Don’t starve doesn’t help. I just kind of lost my ability to write. A few months ago when the evenings were already dark early and I was sitting in the living room alone I found a new programme called Zen Writer. It’s a full screen writing program in which you can put a background, add a sound to your keyboard and let some music play. The music was so inspiring that I started writing a letter of an old man to his wife after he died in a stormy evening when his wife wasn’t home. It wasn’t tragic. It wasn’t even sad. But it soothed my mind and relaxed me in a way I missed for a long time. The last time I really felt good after writing was when I was still 15 and writing my Meta Knight stories. This was also the first time I identified with three characters at the same time: Olivia, the loving mother who cared about their children so much but had to leave them behind; Meta Knight, who fought in the war at a young age, knowing that it was his destiny to fight but never wanted to hurt or kill someone; and Liz, the carefree and happy woman who searched for her luck in another dimension and found her love. They all suited my perfectly and it made me happy to go back into their bodies, caring for others; crying my eyes out or laughing at the worst. Whatever I wanted or needed I could get it in my characters. I loved them with all of my heart. I was so overly protective with Meta Knight that I didn’t accept the OC of a girl I followed at Deviant Art and hated her for creating the OC. But then I was finally feeling better over the time. I started to move on and I didn’t need my characters anymore. I left them behind; I needed to leave them behind so I could move on. It has always been like this.

I once read my story to my brother. He was literally speechless, and I wasn’t sure, I’m not even sure today, if he liked it or not. He never told me. Maybe he was just shocked at how good I wrote or he realised how bad I was really feeling.

My mother loved my stories and I was really happy about it, I still didn’t read the love scene of Akemi and Kaito in my Detective Conan fanfiction to her, I was too embarrassed.

I never read my stories to dad. He wouldn’t have appreciated it. Maybe today but I the chance he had is over now.

I guess I never really knew how bad I felt myself. I often think so. Now I’m seventeen and if I look back there is only a long part of my life that is blurred. The only thing I remember during this time is that I wrote stories. They saved my life after all.

I hope I can find my way back to them one day.