May 28, 2015
opheliaed replied to your post “my plan is ill take it today and have no caffeine whatsoever and, do...”
tbh i am doing kinda the same thing today & it's nice to feel like im not alone
new meds buddies!
<3
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opheliaed replied to your post “my plan is ill take it today and have no caffeine whatsoever and, do...”
tbh i am doing kinda the same thing today & it's nice to feel like im not alone
new meds buddies!
<3
umm hello i am a new follower, nice to meet you! for a prompt, have you considered writing kent parson' s realization that he worked like a dog for /nothing/ & jack is never coming back? i ask this bc i hate happiness & love crying
ahahaha fun fact that is the fic that i have in my drafts right now because i also hate happiness
here’s an excerpt:
For years, it was nothing. Looking delicately away in locker rooms. Touching, carelessly on the ice and carefully off. There was a thrill in looking at Jack Zimmermann, the electric power of him, and Kent looked for a long time before he noticed Jack was looking back.
And then it was easy. What was there to learn? They were already best friends, tuned to each other, sending each other no-look passes on the ice. This was no different.
Morse code. Semaphore. Kent didn’t need ‘em. They passed each other messages with just a look, a smile, and none of their signals ever got crossed.
####!!!!
you know 4# still only gets you one sentence, right?
my urban fantasy fic where cities choose players:
People have known about the power of cities for decades.
opheliaed replied to your post:please if anyone can recommend an article to me on...
i have an article on the creation/evolution of slang & internet terms in asl if you want
YES that would be great!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! I HOPE THIS NEXT YEAR FOR YOU IS FULL OF NOTHING BUT LOVE & LIGHT
THANK YOU AAAAAAAA THIS IS SO SWEET...
opheliaed replied to your post: toewss asked:cry with me over the...
oh shit i though the url was toewses instead of toewss
hahahah that's ok no worries
9 for kane/toewes!
((seriously adrian we are going to be having WORDS about these prompts
this is not the end of a war, technically))
Patrick is smeared with dirt when the mortars stop falling.
There's a splinter of wood the size of his little finger wedged shallowly in his cheek; when it pulls it out, the blood inches down his face, sluggish.
He waits for his ears to stop ringing, and then wishes they hadn't. In the distance he can hear screaming, cries for a medic, someone shouting for their friend.
A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, and he spins around. He's never seen anyone more beautiful than Jonny, just as filthy as he is, grinning through the earth and the blood and the haunted look in his eyes.
Jonny hugs him so hard his ribs creak and groan. Patrick buries his face in the crease of neck and shoulder and hugs him back just as hard.
They're in a foxhole, in the middle of Normandy. It's chaos, outside. No one's looking at them. No one cares. Patrick's lips crash against Jonny's as easy as blinking, and he breathes Jonny in for a long minute. Jonny's hands are tangled in Patrick's (non regulation) curls and it feels like he's never going to let Patrick go.
(Patrick doesn't think he ever wants Jonny to let him go.)