life is cruel.
it's tragic, horrific, and unfair. it gives us the worst of things, causes us to feel and experience things that are so unspeakably painful that sometimes I can't even. I can't even.
and it seems even more cruel in those moments of pain and grief and loss when you see something beautiful, like fall colors, or the color of the sky at sunset, or how the holidays typically are meant to bring joy to people but all you can think about now is that every year when this time of year comes, you'll just think about how tragic it is.
and cruel.
and horrific.
and unfair.
and beautiful.
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any stuart crumbs for us tonight?
I haven't really worked on it lately because I've been trying to focus on the fest fic (and coming up with a million other wips on the side to distract me from the fact that I cannot for the love of me get that fucking opening right). Buuuut here's a snippet from the funeral scene:
I feel like Neil and Stuart's relationship has a lot of potential, though it doesn't really get explored past the basic on this fic (at least not in my plans). I don't think they could ever see eye to eye in any universe that was not drastically different, and there is something to me that just feels right about this limbo they settle on, where Stuart is still protecting Neil from a distance but neither of them really have anything to do with each other, kind of like a mafia guardian angel. They both had one thing in common, and it was Mary, but even then she meant very different things to each of them. Now that she's gone, though, they remain connected by having been two people that loved her – and I think that does impact the fact that they won't let their relantionship evolve past being Mary's brother and Mary's son, as if they are preserving some part of her by refusing to let those versions of each other go, and allowing themselves to get closer as who they are now would shatter that illusion.
Also, I went through the last book and in his appearences after Baltimore, Stuart doesn't call Neil by name (granted, they have only one on-screen conversation), and in Baltimore, he calls him Nathaniel and not Abram – so though I do think Stuart refers to him as Neil in their conversations, in his mind Stuart will always think of him as Nathaniel. Because I think that while he doesn't resent Neil personally for it, Stuart is very aware of whose son he is.
(In a similar way, Stuart thinks of Ichirou as Ichirou even though he refers to him as Lord Moriyama most of the time before they get closer, because I do think fitting that a British man has some bones to pick with the class implications of the Moriyama's hierarchy and no one is stopping him from being blatantly disrespectful inside his mind. There is a pretty good case to be made in canon for the fact that Stuart doesn't really respect Ichirou at all even if he knows to fear him and that's a very fun balance to navigate).
It was also pretty fun to describe Andrew from the perspective of someone who is soooo indifferent to his existence. He's just a little guy to Stuart.
There's probably more I could say but I should really sleep now. So... Bone apple teeth?
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Why is my stupid idiot brain sunk to the very bottom of the sea bed like whale fall. I'm on extra strength medication, I'm staying off social media, I'm surrounded by kittens. And yet. My anxiety has turned into full blown agoraphobia and I'm so depressed that getting out of bed is a feat I only achieve because my cats need feeding.
It's been almost seventeen years of being bipolar but I still can't internalise that mood disorders are actual illnesses that disable and debilitate as much as any physical disease. Clearly the only thing wrong with me is that I'm not trying hard enough to crawl out of this. If I really wanted to get better I'd fight through my anxiety and back pain and sensory hell and do stuff like go to therapy, eat healthy, exercise and get a job.
To make matters worse, my brain keeps hollering that I'm 37 this year and no closer to joining the rest of the job-having, rent-paying, independent adult world. The fact that I've been in a consistently worsening mental health crisis since 2020 to the point that I was in greater danger than I've ever been of committing suicide the first six months of last year is clearly irrelevant. Somehow.
Tbh, if it wasn't for my rescue kittens, I'd be regretting that I didn't just go through with it. Not enough to go through with it now, but regretting it all the same. But I do have my kitties so I can't regret it. Instead, I'm just resigning myself to the fact that having something to live for, even when I don't want to, is the best I'll ever get.
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Bodies in Motion and at Rest – Thomas Lynch
[TEXT ID: “I want to remember him the way he was.”
And who could blame them? Who'd want to see someone they love like this? Whatever way they got like this. Dead.
“But remembering him the way he was,” I say, slowly, deliberately, as if the listener were breakable, “begins by dealing with the way he is.” I'm an apostle of the present tense. After years and years of directing funerals, I've come to the conclusion that seeing is the hardest and most helpful part. The truth, even when it hurts, has a healing in it, better than fiction or fantasy. When someone dies, it is not them we fear seeing, it is them dead. It is the death.
We fear that seeing will be believing.]
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