#they make me want to turn myself inside out then rightside in

[time-woods]

morning routines

#simon petrikov #betty grof #adventure time #fionna and cake #adventure time spoilers #i cant convey how ill they make me #they make me want to turn myself inside out then rightside in

[allspark]

Cheers, love! The time manipulating speedster frontwoman of Blizzard Entertainment’s Overwatch has arrived in the first wave of Hasbro’s new six inch line of action figures, and now she’s blinking into the Allspark Studio!

Overwatch Ultimates Tracer

To tell you the truth, I couldn’t tell you the last time I played Overwatch. While I was really big into the game when it launched, I think I can comfortably say my time with it is over. However, I think it speaks volumes about Blizzard Entertainment’s skill with crafting fun, enjoyable characters that I still found myself extremely intrigued by the proposition of Hasbro starting a new line of six inch action figures based off of the game. Though Max Factory over in Japan has already put out a handful of similarly scaled Overwatch action figures as part of their Figma line, the pricey nature of those figures for a game I’m no longer super passionate about gave me pause.

  While my tastes in non-converting action figures do typically skew more towards the Figmas and Figuarts of the world, I was still very much interested in seeing what Hasbro could do with the license. Despite my reservations based on past experiences with Marvel Legends and Star Wars Black Series, I’m very happy to report Tracer has been an extremely pleasant surprise for me!

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To give a small peak behind the curtain, I didn’t know I’d be writing a review of this figure when I purchased it. What this unfortunately means is that I didn’t know to save the packaging for photography. While I can’t illustrate this for you, I will assure you that the Overwatch Ultimates line has extremely striking packaging! A clean, white box with a matte finish features very bold strips of color on the sides, plus some very nice illustrations of the character on the front.

  What’s a little less cool in the case of Tracer, however, is that once you open her up, there is a whole lot of empty space in that tray she comes packaged in. She’s part of the same single packed, $20 range of Ultimates figures that also include bulkier characters like Lucio and Reaper, who I presume fill out those trays a bit more, so it’s not necessarily her fault that she and her accessories are on the smaller side. Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit shocked when I saw just how much empty space was in her box.

Speaking of accessories, with Tracer you get her two submachine gun pistols, effect parts that give the effect of shooting them, two alternate right hands, and the time bomb she uses for her in-game ultimate. That last one is a bit sneaky, as it comes attached to her back in-package rather than laid out in the tray, so be on the look out!

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The submachine guns are very nicely detailed for their small size, as is the time bomb for that matter. While they are easy enough to fit into Tracer’s default, gun-hold-y hands, the actual grip she has on them can feel just a bit loose. Not so loose that you can’t trust that she’ll be able to hold onto them if she’s posed on your shelf, but there’s a good chance they’ll slip out or at least turn sideways if you’re changing her poses while they’re in her hands. The effect parts are similarly reliably able to stay plugged in while Tracer holds a pose, but anything more than slight jostling is likely to knock them off. By looking inside them, it seems clear that there’s very much an intended top and bottom that the muzzle flashes are supposed to plug onto the guns, but it’s a bit difficult to tell what that way is and, in my experience, they feel the same whether they’re upside down or rightside up.

  For her handswaps, Tracer has an open palmed waving hand and a little two finger salute hand, both of which are for her right hand. The hands all plug in nice and solidly and feature a wrist joint. It is kind of a shame that she doesn’t feature any alternate left hands and, as far as I can tell, I don’t believe her left hand is even removable. While the included two hands are nice, it’s a slight shame that she didn’t come with at least an open palmed left hand as well.

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When it comes to her detailing and paint work, Hasbro did a good job of picking out all of the most important notes of her character design, making sure they got the attention they needed. Her shoulders feature nice and clear tampographs of the British flag on the right and a flight patch from her piloting days on her left. Her eyes are very nice and crisply painted on beneath her (non-removable) clear yellow goggles as well as some amazingly cleanly applied pink paint on her lips. The timey-wimey, sci-fi glow of her chronal accelerator harness is picked out in an eye catching electric blue, though unfortunately only on her chest. The back part features no such blue paint, though it is still picked out in a nice, bright white and silver. Tracer’s tights feature an amazing yellow-to-orange gradient, along with another tampograph of her own name that she has written on her left thigh for some reason and grey mesh running down the sides her thigh and calf. The gradient really is something to see, though, and helps give the figure a premium feel.

  Unfortunately, there are noticeable amount of smaller details, like the belts that run under her arms and fasteners/buckles that are molded but unpainted. Her unpainted gauntlets also seem a little under-detailed compared to the in-game model. A very slight blackwash or even just a bit of panel lining would’ve really helped them pop a little more, I feel. Some paint, like the aforementioned electric blue, is a bit messily applied on my copy, though it’s only really noticeable on close inspection. There is one very egregious paint flaw on my copy though, as underneath her time bomb there is a gigantic splotch of white paint on her brown jacket. While this is thankfully hidden just by virtue of being on her back and almost being completely covered up by the bomb, it’s still not an insignificant paint error.

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When it comes to articulation, I found Tracer to be better than expected, but still very limited in some ways. Chief among those limitations was, out of the box, my Tracer’s top right knee joint was completely stuck. Stuck in such a way that I feared trying to use force on it would cause it to break. Thankfully though, I was able to remedy this by sticking her in a plastic bag and then dipping her legs in hot water for a minute or two, which loosened her knee up good. With that fixed, Tracer’s legs are remarkably posable! She’s able to assume the kind of nimble poses you’d want her to be able to pull off. In addition to thigh swivels, her knees can bend just as far back as a human knee can without looking too freaky, and her legs can spread for almost full Van Damme level splits. While her legs can move forward decently high, she lacks pretty much any sort of backwards leg movement.

  Unfortunately, as you move further up, Tracer’s articulation starts to get less impressive. While she does have an ab crunch and a balljointed upper body, her bulky gauntlets mean she has practically no elbows articulation beyond pointing down or sitting at a near 90 degree angle, though they can swivel right or left. Additionally, while her shoulders can move back and forth just fine, they have next to no outward or inward movement. While not nearly as limited as her arms, the high collar of her bomber jacket does slightly get in the way of her otherwise quite good head articulation.

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All in all, despite my not particularly high opinions of Hasbro’s previous 6″ scale offerings and some stumblings with her, I’ve ended up being rather taken by Tracer. Giving her a once over after taking her from the box, I wasn’t too sure, but as time went on (and bad knee joints were fixed) I found myself warming up to her more and more. Honestly I think she might be the best experience I’ve had with any of Hasbro’s six inch figures. From what I can tell, they’re really stepping up their game for Ultimates, and I’m excited to see what they can do with it from here. If you’re willing to perhaps risk some slightly spotty QC, I think you’ll really find a lot to love with Tracer.

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Overwatch Ultimates Tracer Gallery and Review! Cheers, love! The time manipulating speedster frontwoman of Blizzard Entertainment's Overwatch has arrived in the first wave of Hasbro's new six inch line of action figures, and now she's blinking into the Allspark Studio!

#Action Figures #Overwatch #Overwatch Ultimates #review #Reviews #toys #Tracer

[ashaywalker-author]

Natural Instinct - Chapter 8 - FINAL (Poe Dameron/Reader)

SUMMARY: Reader and Poe discover what happened to BB-8 and Finn, and with a great deal of hesitation, the reader attempts to say her goodbyes to Jakku.

WARNINGS: Strong language

PAIRING: Poe Dameron/Reader

A/N: This is the final chapter of this little fic! I'm considering doing a part 2, but I'm not quite sure about it yet considering timelines and my brain. It's a finnicky thing, that brain. I would, however, love to hear your ideas on what you would like to see if I WERE to do a part 2, including but not limited to timeline (as in coinciding with TLJ, TFA, or afterward, etc...), relationship stuff, and whatever you would really be interested in. Getting opinions would really help to formulate a plotline. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the final chapter! I have loved this story and loved the readers who have said so many wonderful things and helped move everything along! Enjoy!

CHAPTER INDEX:  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

CHAPTER 8 – FAMILY

It was the most comfortable part of Jakku’s days: early sunrise, when the cold was beginning to abate but the sun’s rays weren’t yet harsh. Everything was as soft as the desert planet could be, a blinking haze that was there and gone too quickly. It was at this time that Poe finished his work on the speeder. Ergel was awake early, as always, preparing for the upcoming customers with the languorous ease of having done the same thing every day for years. When I watched through the door in the back, flipping stools rightside up off the tabletops, it hit me that soon my days would be fresh. I wouldn’t wake up every morning with the same dread of getting my hands dirty, only to be rewarded with nothing.

The goodbye was quick and awkward. I’d never seen Ergel’s emotions roused beyond a goodhearted chuckle, and he didn’t disappoint with our final encounter. Whatever we felt was kept in a quick hug and admonitions of safety; anything else would have been beyond two Jakku residents. Even if it didn’t seem right, and even if we would have liked it to be different, everything came and went with the wind on the sand. It was all we knew. I hoped, while I watched Poe make his final adjustments on my poor excuse of a vehicle, that something might finally be concrete.

Once the sun made its last leg beyond distant dunes, we left Cratertown. I drove the speeder, nagged by the assumption that Poe was holding himself back from correcting my every move. He rode behind, uncharacteristically silent. He was likely just focused on finding BB-8, always scanning the landscape as we went, but I liked to think that he respected my need for quiet. The goodbye with Ergel was a simple thing, easy to comprehend and accomplish. I was afraid that saying goodbye to Jakku would be a far more difficult process.

I wanted to take the lead and feel myself hovering over the plain, undisturbed sands, with my hand urging the machine along and my decision kicking up dirt. I was doing this for myself, and I would leave that knowledge behind, even if the tracks were temporary.

Poe immediately contacted the Resistance base once our comlink connected with the communications tower. He briefly informed them of his situation, of where he would be, and that he was bringing a recruit along. That sent my pulse rocketing against my skin.

I parked the speeder on the outskirts of Niima, hoping that a scavenger wouldn’t pick it out and take it for themselves, before figuring it shouldn’t matter anyhow. Let the scavenger’s pick it apart; hopefully, it would buy someone a good meal or two. We started forward, Poe with a wrapped cloth—courtesy of Ergel—around his head to keep his face partially cloaked. However, once we were amid the settlement, it was obvious The First Order had already come and gone. Scrap-metal—with the charred remnants of Tie Fighter shots blown across the surfaces—skittered around Niima. There were deep craters in the sand from an aerial onslaught. Unkar’s junkyard, a collection of ships, gears, and weapons he inherited or illegially swideled, was an even bigger wreck than I’d heard it to be. One of his best ships was blown to bits, and another had apparently been stolen, according to bits and pieces of gossip.

“I’m grateful for a great many things,” Poe said, blinking around at the wreckage. “But shit am I happy that that comm tower wasn’t shot down.”

I nodded. “We need to drive the speeder to Unkar’s Concession Stand.”

“Alright. Mind explaining why?”

“Because we need to get some information,” I said, looking over at him. “And around here, it doesn’t come cheap.”

“I will never forget what that stupid, ungrateful scavenger girl did to me!”

Unkar was livid, so much so that I nearly regretted bringing the speeder along as payment. He may have offered up his information for free, considering how spurned he was. The Crolute was still behind a barred window, muttering under his breath and screaming over his shoulder every now and again to anyone who would listen.

“First she refuses to sell that droid, like a fool, and then-"

“A droid?” Poe stepped forward, keeping his face within the cloth and a pair of goggles over his eyes. “What kind of droid?”

“The one the fuckin’ First Order would have paid for! That’s what kind!”

“What happened?” I asked. “Where did the droid and your scavenger girl end up?”

“What’s it to you?” Unkar asked, leaning a blobby pink forearm down against the counter. “Why would you care?”

Although the First Order probably thought that Poe and I were dead, along with their defecting stormtrooper, I still stalled. Giving Unkar too much information might bite us in the ass. He was obviously willing to sell anything, if it gave him a shiny credit in return.

“Why we care is none of your concern, pal.” Poe said, folding his arms. “We’re here to buy information; not be scrutinized.”

“Ah, a negotiator,” Unkar grabbed either side of the metal plates lining down his front, stretching to full height. “Who says this speeder is worth what I have to say?”

“You flatter yourself too much,” Poe said lazily, as if he had bartered a thousand times before. “Besides, this speeder has been refitted with a new carburetor, not to mention entirely scanned for product replacement. The engine has been scrubbed, the balance has been perfected, and I can almost guarantee just with a glance that she will run better than anything you have stashed in your junkyard.”

Unkar regarded him heavily, drumming thick, sausage-like fingers against the countertop. I kept my face as impassive as possible. If he was trying to get a read on how desperate we were, I didn’t intend to give anything away.

“I respect your confidence, stranger,” Unkar said finally, slapping a palm on the table with so much ferocity it made me twitch. “A scavenger girl of mine happened across a droid a couple of days ago. I recognized it as the one the First Order was looking for, so I offered to pay her for it. Handsomely.

“Of course, considering the brat she is, she refused to sell. I tried to get it through alternative measures, you understand, but that’s when the kriffing First Order nearly blew up Niima. Girl and the droid got away on one of my ships,” Unkar spit, a low grumble in his throat. “Stole it from me, along with a dark-skinned human in dark clothes I’d never seen before who stumbled in nearly screaming for water not an hour before. Ungrateful! After everything I’ve done for her!”

I turned to Poe. “Do you think…?”

“I do,” he said, nodding. “Finn.”

We turned from Unkar’s Concession Stand without another word, although we heard the questioning calls that followed. As we walked on, we passed scavenger stations, with a few of the poor souls Unkar ruled over scrubbing away at bits of scraps. Just looking at them had me feeling guilty; why did I deserve a ticket out? Yet again, most of them wouldn’t know how to survive outside of this lawless, unforgiving planet. They had built roots here, regardless of how bitter they were.

“BB-8 and Finn are out there somewhere,” Poe said, once we were out of earshot. The sun beat down mercilessly on us without the bit of shade the stand provided. “Hopefully still out of First Order hands.”

“They’ve made it this far,” I said. “It’s miraculous, to be honest with you.”

“I would share the news to have our supporters across the galaxy watch out for them and the ship they stole, but I don’t trust that this communications tower is secure.”

“I can almost guarantee you it’s not.” I swiped a hand across my forehead, wishing I had more water. “What’s the ETA on your rescue party?”

“Our rescue party?” Poe grinned. “They’ll be fast. Jess will be flying point to get us home, I’m sure of it.”

“Jess?”

“A member of my squadron,” he said. “Great friend, better pilot. You’ll get to know everyone soon enough.”

The Resistance was fast, obviously eager to get their best pilot back. When the transport ship landed on the coordinates sent through to the comlink, a starfighter named Jessika Pava came running out the transport as soon as the hatch docked, ran to Poe, and embraced him without thought or hesitation. I was taken aback at first. Firstly, because I didn’t realize the Jess he had been referring to to be a woman, and secondly because it made me feel all the more an outsider, one just trying to fit in and wondering whether or not her efforts would ever come to fruition. I was already raw on the inside. Leaving Jakku meant embracing the hope of a better life, a more purposeful one, but I’d never kept my faith in hope. Trusting Poe was the small push I needed to jump in, but was it enough?

“You must be (Y/N),” Jess said, releasing Poe and holding out a hand for me to shake. She was a petite woman, with deep-set eyes that were as black as Onyx stone and a round face that gave her the look of someone friendly. I took her hand, forcing a small smile.

“That’s me,” I said.

“You’ll have to tell me what happened to you two,” she said, looking up at me with her hands on her hips. “You both look like shit.”

“Look it, feel it,” Poe said, coming to stand beside me. “We’ll spill the details later. But before that, we need to send word to the Resistance; BB-8 is MIA.”

“We’ll get eyes looking out for him,” Jess said. “For now, let’s get out of here.”

They both turned to leave but I felt my boots stick to the sand, unwilling to move. Jakku was sucking me in, refusing to let me leave, even though there were no sinking fields in this area. I can’t do this, was the only thought I had, replayed over and over until the sweat was coming from a heat within my body, a fearful, flaming doubt. Jess turned questioningly when I wouldn’t move, and Poe stopped in his tracks. He said something to her, so softly I couldn’t distinguish the words, and when the woman continued toward the transport, Poe backtracked to me. When he got close enough for me to see his eyes—finally visible without those maddening goggles—I looked away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can.”

“No,” I insisted, shaking my head, looking off and back toward Niima. “You don’t understand Poe, I just… I can’t.”

“Okay then help me understand,” I felt his large, calloused hands on my cheeks turning my face toward his. “Tell me why.”

I swallowed, tasting the dirt that coated the insides of my mouth. “I don’t think I can ever be like you, like Jessika. There’s so much history already, so much war and I’ve been nothing but an outsider in it until just a few days ago. Being a survivor is one thing, but a warrior? I’m not like you, Poe.”

Poe shifted his weight, worrying his lower lip again. It went against his usual character, against the emotions he chose to show, but I thought he might be genuinely concerned, maybe even afraid. He wasn’t blinking, just staring at me, whatever wheels that constantly turned in his mind building up steam.

“Who ever said you needed to be like me?” he finally said, offering a small smile, although the worried creases between his eyebrows remained. “It will be a transition, I won’t lie. A huge, life-changing one. Things will be difficult. You’ll be putting your life on the line for something that you haven’t had a stock in until recently; I get it. But I just need you to trust me; I need you to hope.”

I closed my eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know how.”

“You’ll learn,” when I didn’t respond immediately, Poe stepped closer, threading his fingers through my hair along the side of my head and interlocking them behind. “Baby I’m not leaving you here.”

“I’ve done fine on my own.”

“You’ve barely lived,” he said, a bit of an edge to his voice that I hadn’t heard since the interrogation with Ren. “We’ve been through hell together, we’ve survived just off one another, and you think I’m just going to leave you behind? The Resistance is a family because when people go through shit together it creates a bond that doesn’t just go away. You are my family now,” he pressed his forehead against mine, digging the pads of his fingers into the base of my skull. “I can’t leave you. You lose so many fucking people in this business; I can’t lose you too.”

If I dug deep enough, if I let go of the restraints, I knew I felt the same. But it would take a while to get there.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, placing a quick peck on my lips.

I did, underneath it all. There was a small enough part of me that wanted to melt into him, to let go of every reserve and leave it behind. The sun hadn’t burned everything away. Somewhere, I was more than just a piece of Jakku.

“Yes,” I said.

He swept me into his arms and before I could squeak in surprise he kissed me. The hands once interlaced behind my head connected at the small of my back, pushing me into him until my hips met his. My grip automatically shifted from the front of his shirt to the back of his neck, aligning our bodies and allowing me to touch the waves of his hair I adored so much. Poe’s tongue was in my mouth, his lips nearly swallowing mine whole and his teeth colliding with mine in a way that was both shocking and pleasurable at the same time. Every bit of me was fire. For the first time in my life I felt truly needed. Poe kissed me like I was a mirage come to life, drinking me up, sucking my tongue into his mouth and sliding his hands down until he could grip my ass.

Poe hummed into my mouth, taking my bottom lip between his teeth and pulling gently before releasing it. “You have no idea how badly I want to get back to base right now.”

I rubbed my nose against his. “Is this your way of trying to convince me to come with you?”

“Maybe a little?”

“You’re terrible.”

He pulled his head away to look at me, and to ensure I could look at the mischievous grin on his face. “No, what’s terrible are the things I’m going to do to you when we get there.”

I didn’t know whether to be panicked or ridiculously turned on; probably, a mixture of both.

“Dameron!” Jess called from the transport. “Stop sucking off the girl’s face and get on the ship!”

Poe’s grin only widened. “She would never do that; she likes me too much.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ready?” he asked, gripping my hand.

I looked back, fingers threaded through his, a piece of the future in my hand and a vision of the past in my eyes. The sun’s rays painted quivering waves of heat above the horizon, and the reflections bounced back into the sky. It was strangely beautiful, the violent reds and oranges of a sunset, perhaps the last I would see on Jakku. Poe gripped me tighter, a reminder that he was still there. I was surprised that deep within me I began to feel less turmoil and a little more peace. I had fought so long to stay alive; but the galaxy was bigger than survival, and I wanted to know more than hunger, more than heat, more than just the speck of myself.

And I wanted Poe Dameron.

Within a breath, I squeezed his hand in return and faced him, away from the sun.

“Let’s go home.”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron #star wars imagine #poe dameron imagine #star wars fanfic #fanfiction

[maraudersmessrs]

Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban---Chapter 1: Tea and Entanglement

Ao3 link

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Chapter 21 / Chapter 22 / Chapter 23 / Chapter 24 / Chapter 25 / Chapter 26 / Chapter 27 / Chapter 28 / Chapter 29 / Chapter 30 / Chapter 31 / Chapter 32 / Chapter 33 / Chapter 34

Remus J. Lupin was neatly folding the slacks of a–sadly– no longer needed clerk uniform for a local Muggle supermarket when there was a knock on the door. He straightened, warily, and eyed the door. Landlord, confused vagrant, wrong address? Nobody visited him–there was nobody left to visit him. Perhaps they would go away.

Again, a knock. Apparently not.

He pressed a hand to his jacket pocket where his wand was stowed away for reassurance as he opened the door–and choked on his greeting. Albus Dumbledore was standing in the dingy hallway of his flat, beaming down at him over his crooked nose. “Professor!” he gasped, feeling as if just him standing there in his emerald robes and hat had just stunned all the air out of his chest. Just the irrationality of a wizard of his stature coexisting with the scent of burnt bacon from down the hall was mind-boggling. 

“Hello, Remus,” he said, still smiling at him and Remus found his footing, precarious though it was, and quickly invited him inside. He was suddenly intensely aware of the vague musty smell that had permeated this place since before his occupation, the water stains on the ceiling, the peeling wallpaper and shoddy windows. The ground down carpet with an almost offensively indeterminable color that could range anywhere from puce to pea green, depending on the lighting and humidity. Even so, he adamantly stifled the urge to apologize or explain such accommodations. He wouldn’t want to put the social nicety onus on Dumbledore to try to scrounge up redeeming features.

As graciously as he could, he gestured to the foot of his tidy if threadbare bed. “Er, do have a seat, Headmaster. I’m afraid it’s the only one I’ve–unless you would rather I draw one up,” his hand clamped upon his wand pocket as he was suddenly was seized by the embarrassingly startling remembrance that he was a wizard, for God’s sake, and could do things like that. Too much time scraping by in the Muggle world had caused his undercover persona to become a little too comfortable. It no longer seemed second nature to just reach for a wand.

But Dumbledore had already sat himself down and proceeded to cross his legs, hands woven together around his knee and look quite comfortable. “This is lovely, thank you.”

Remus made as if to tidy, but most of his meager possessions were already stowed away in the suitcase at the foot of his bed. Using this homey momentum, he launched himself at the restroom announcing, “I’ll put on some tea.”

He used this familiar chore to collect his whirling and clamoring mind. Albus Dumbledore? Here? Why? Did this mean something was wrong? Had he done something? He was 11 again, standing in the Headmaster’s grand office, trembling head to toe as he spoke with him before his first term. Terrified; no context; certain he was somehow in trouble already. Why on earth would the Professor want to talk to him, of all people?

He tapped the electric kettle with his wand and steam gouted from the opening–couldn’t just have a teapot, as he had no stove and didn’t want to rouse Muggle suspicions. Remus raked through his recent memory of anything happening in the Daily Prophet, when he found them abandoned in his limited wizarding haunts he favored nearby. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing about werewolves, certainly nothing about him. Well, he thought irritably at himself, you’re definitely not going to figure it out panicking in the washroom when he’s obviously come to talk. He sheepishly emerged with his 2 chipped mugs and presented one to Dumbledore. “I only have sugar, at the moment, sorry. Would you like…?”

“2 would be splendid, thank you.” Dumbledore turned his piercing, smiling eyes on him as he wrapped his long fingers around the thrift store cup and blew gently.

When Remus was done fussing, he set his suitcase rightside up and sat astride it, too uncomfortable to stand when Dumbledore was sitting. He was trying to pick apart the most polite way of saying ‘what the hell are you doing here, sir?’ when, thankfully, the older wizard stopped sipping and spoke. “I suppose you’re wondering why I came to call today?”

“Er, yessir.” Remus said, slightly sheepish. “Not that I don’t appreciate your company.”

“I come under…difficult circumstances, I’m afraid.” He swirled the cup pensively in his hand, the deep emerald of his sleeve shifting like water.

Remus tried to ignore the cold shaking that was trying to take root in his stomach. “Ah?” he tried, lightly.

“This hasn’t been made public yet, only myself, the guards, and the Minister know about it as of today. It is not an easy thing to say or hear, and I’m sorry for what this will mean for you.  Sirius Black escaped from prison yesterday.”

The Headmaster continued. Remus watched his lips in numb fascination, but nothing came through but a steady, growing ringing. Dumbledore had come that day, too. 12 years ago. That Halloween. The Order had been together for the news of the next day. Sirius. Peter.

He had been laughing, they said. As they took him away. After he had betrayed his heart. After he had destroyed everything–

This dusty corner of unmentionable thoughts was rattling and it spread, trespassing through his limbs and he shook with the unbearableness of it. Some nameless emotion was pulsing down to his fingertips with every heartbeat, virulent. Choking. He was slipping, too close to the feeling of his Change to bear as some sort of blank emptiness was lapping at his thoughts, bringing only the words–

“How.”

Dumbledore took a breath in through is nose and gazed deeply into his mug. “At the moment, that is unclear. None of the Dementors have any ideas; merely that one moment he was there and another, he simply wasn’t. It’s…unprecedented, to say the least. I may say what I will about them, but the Dementors are very good at their job. It eludes me how he could have eluded them.” He raised his eyes, blue, sad, and very old. “Are you alright?” he asked gently.

He couldn’t make sense of this feeling. Was it fear? Rage? Hatred? Shock? “I’m…” It felt like shock. Maybe he was in shock. “Why?” His throat was so dry. He looked to his hands for his teacup but it had since rolled from his unfeeling grasp. His knuckles were white, his fingertips balled up into his palms.

“Hmm?”

“Why…tell me?”

He studied Remus for a moment, then said, lightly. “I thought if anyone had a right to know what Sirius was doing, it would be you.”

Control, he thought desperately, control. He stood abruptly from the suitcase, not giving his knees the option to refuse and automatically picked up his cup. Bearing it back into the washroom, he counted his breathing. This box of untouched memories was trying desperately to resurface but he refused, he would not think of the wreckage of their house; the empty crib, the shattered door. He would not think of the pictures of that torn up street, with pipes streaming water out over outstretched limbs flung awkwardly like forgotten dolls–the blood–of how well Remus knew the sound of his uproarious laughter–

The mug shattered in the sink.

Stop.

Now.

Evanesco. “Evanesco.” The shards vanished away. Away, away… The harsh flourescent above his sink buzzed and gave a sputter. His own bloodless face stared at him underneath it, shadows dug deep beneath his eyes, beneath his scars. His mouth tasted like metal.

A deep shuddering breath and he turned on his heel, out the door, out to face Dumbledore again. “I apologize. This has…caught me by surprise. I don’t mean to be rude.”

“My dear boy…” Dumbledore murmured but shook his head. “I am not the bearer of completely bad news, however. I’ve come with an proposal that I feel you will find agreeable.” He twinkled at Remus from behind his beard.

Remus wished he could muster something resembling a curious smile, but he feared the result must have looked ghastly on his face because he saw sympathy flit across the Professor’s face. He felt like a pumpkin that had been scooped clean inside, hollow. “Ah?”

“You see, I find myself in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, seeing how the last few have, er…retired. I was wondering how you would feel about filling that role?”

Mentally, if felt as if the first news had hit him had been a train and this was it barrelling back over him the other way. Hogwarts? Go back to Hogwarts? A professor? Him? Hogwarts? “You mean…teach? At Hogwarts?”

“Unless I have grievously misunderstood the location of my tenure, yes, at Hogwarts.”

“I…I don’t…know what to say.”

“May I humbly suggest, ‘yes’?”

“Then…yes. Yes.”

#ficlet #my stuff #remus #nanowrimo #Remus lupin and the prisoner of Azkaban

[vellichor-and-flowerpetals]

What Could Be the Harm?

Summary: You had just gotten back home for Summer break after a long year at Hogwarts, and all year you knew exactly what you were going to do as soon as you got back home. You were going to teach your best friend how to ride a broomstick. (Hogwarts au)

Pairing: Bestfriend!Sehun x reader

A/N: This was based off of a random dream I had, so I thought why not make a lil one shot out of it ya know? Anyway, this turned out to be wayy longer than I expected, but I hope you like it! This also my first fanfic so if it sucks im sorry lol but i still hope you like it!

“Oh no. Ohhhh no, absolutely not. I’m not doin’ it.” Sehun shook his head and let out a breathy laugh.

You had just gotten back home for Summer break after a long year at Hogwarts, and all year you knew exactly what you were going to do as soon as you got back home.

You were going to teach your best friend how to ride a broomstick.

Sure he was a Muggle, and sure you weren’t exactly sure if you were allowed to use magic outside of school grounds, but what could be the harm? It was your fifth year, so you had plenty of experience with magic. You were 16- just under the age of when magic outside of school grounds was permitted- so if you did get in trouble, you wouldn’t get in too much, would you? Plus, this would be a great source of entertainment seeing as Sehun was scared of heights, so all rules aside, this was going to be hilarious.

“Come on, how are you of all people afraid of heights? You’re like six feet tall! You are a height!”

“First of all, i’m six feet and a half-”

“Oh, big difference tree boy. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re about as wimpy as a wet piece of paper.” You said, rolling your eyes and sinking down to sit against the Cherry Blossom Tree that grew in front of your house. Soon Sehun appeared next to you, and you both sat, reminding you of how much time you used to spend playing around this tree before your first year of Hogwarts.

“Dude, you’re like, really mean now.” Sehun said in mock offence.

“Must be all that Slytherin, it’s getting to my head.” You smirked and glanced at him through the corner of your eye.

“I’m still bitter that you got sorted into Slytherin. I was sure I would win that argument.” You both smiled to yourselves, remembering the argument you had about which house you’d get sorted into upon your arrival at Hogwarts.

“I told you I would. But seriously, I couldn’t see myself in any of the other houses. Ravenclaw- sheesh, those kids are way too uptight for me. Gryffindor are just watered down versions of Slytherins, (a/n: plz don’t come for me I love all houses I promise) and Hufflepuff is all good and fun, but they’re just too…”

“Nice?” Sehun said, mocking your not-so-nice tendencies that he had learned to like. You playfully hit him, rolling your eyes but also letting out a small laugh.

“Shut your mouth, skyscraper!”

“Okay, what is it with you and making fun of my height today?”

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot! Are you riding the broomstick or not?”

There was a silence and you could tell he was thinking about giving in, so you nudged his arm with your elbow and wiggled your eyebrows, hoping to convince him further.

“Ugh, fine, you win.” He said standing up.

“As always!” you stood up with a bright smile on your face, anticipating how this would go. “We shall begin!” you yelled, raising your fist in the air, looking up to the sky. You stayed in that position and basked in the glory of a another argument won by you, of course.

“When, though?” Sehun said un-enthusiastically. You quickly apologized for your melodramatic outburst and ran inside to get your broomstick.

You came back out, holding your broomstick triumphantly in your hand, marching out to Sehun who couldn’t hold back a giggle. You stood in front of him and held the broom in both hands, showing it to him.

“I introduce to you,” you said proudly, “The best part of Hogwarts. This is a Nimbus 2000. The one and only Harry Potter’s first broom.”

“Harry Potter… i’ve heard of him before.”

“Everyone has. All Muggles and Wizards alike. If you haven’t heard of him, you’re not just living under a rock, you’re living under Mount Rushmore.”

“Okay, Nimbus 2000, Harry Potter, Rocks. So when do we start sweeping?” He said with a sarcastic smile.

“Ugh, God I hate you. You do not sweep with a magical broom you bucket head.”

“Then what do you do with it? How are you supposed to make it fly or whatever?!” He said, running his fingers through his hair.

“Like this.” You said, mounting your broomstick, then kicking off, feeling the breeze whipping around your body. You had almost forgotten how exciting it was to ride a broomstick, despite all of the times you and your few close friends from Hogwarts would ride around the Quidditch field and sometimes even venture into the Forbidden Forest in the late hours of night, usually landing you into heaps of trouble. But you couldn’t resist, the air around you was comforting, and being so close to the clouds was so freeing, that it was worth double the amount of homework.

You landed back in front of the Cherry Blossom tree, and turned around to meet a shocked (a/n: or should i say shookt) Sehun, who couldn’t believe his Muggle eyes.

“Dude what the heck?! This is unreal!” He exclaimed.

“Nothing is unreal when you’re a Wizard Sehun, trust me.” You said, laughing at all of the strange things you’d seen at Hogwarts so far.

“Hey, I know I give you crap about your weird Wizard tendencies all the time, but man, you’ve gotta teach me how to do that.” He said, laughing in disbelief.

“No problem. Broomstick 101, my expertise.”

The next 30 minutes or so would be spent explaining the basics of the Nimbus 2000 and how to ride it. Soon the broom was mounted, you on the front of the broom and Sehun on the back, clutching onto your Hogwarts robes- which you had yet to change out of- for dear life.

“I swear if you hold on any tighter, you’ll rip holes in my robes, and we’ll see what happens to you then.” You warned.

“Sorry, but i’m really not trying to die today.” He said, half sarcastically, half genuinely worried that he’ll fall, or the broom will go berserk or something like that.

“You ready kid?” You said, turning your head back to face Sehun.

“Yah, don’t call me kid, you’re only a-” You didn’t give him to finish his sentence before you kicked off and went flying.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU Y/N?!” Sehun yelled, or rather screamed.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, I just know you well enough to know that if I give you enough time to think about something, you’ll chicken out!” You yelled back at him over the wind. You eventually rose above the trees and soared about them, admiring the beauty of the woods surrounding your house.

“You haven’t passed out or peed yourself yet, right?” You asked.

“What do you mean yet?” He sounded petrified, knowing that you always had some sort of bad idea lodged in the back of your head.

“Nothing, I would just hold tighter if I were you!” You spun the broom in mid-air, sending you upside down and rightside up again. You laughed, again forgetting how fun this could be.

“Oh my God, I think I might puke…” Sehun said, leaning his head on your shoulder. You slowed down, really not wanting to ruin your robes.

“Sehun, look.” You said nudging him with you elbow. He looked up to see that the sunset had caused the clouds to turn various shades of pink and purple. You two sat in silence, in awe of the colors that the sky was turning.

“That’s pretty amazing, i’ll give you that.” He said quietly, still in shock from the fact that he was literally flying on a broomstick right now.

“Isn’t it?” You said, admiring the sky with a warm smile on your face. “You ready to go back down?” You said, talking over your shoulder.

“This is cool and all, but yes, please.”

“Okay, hold on.” You chuckled. You turned your broomstick around to face the way back home, and when you got closer to the patch of trees that surrounded your house, you aimed your broomstick down to land.

You landed with a thump, causing an un-experienced Sehun to fall off of the back of the broom. You swung your leg over the side and quickly ran to put the broom back inside. When you came back outside, Sehun was on his back, laying under the Cherry Blossom tree, covering his face.

“You okay, Oh Sehun?” You said, falling down beside him, moving his arm so it was underneath your head.

“I just rode on a broomstick. I. just rode. on a broomstick. I flew into the air-”

“On a broomstick, yes Sehun, you did.” You said laughing at the state of shock he was in. “So was it fun?”

“If your idea of fun is traumatizing, then yes! It was tons of fun!” He said sarcastically.

“Well i’m sorry you’re so traumatized, but you know it was fun.” You said smirking.

“Yeah, sure. Can we talk about normal things now? You know, how’s school? Who do you hate? Who do you… like? Hmm?” He said, nudging you, wiggling his eyebrows as you had done earlier, while trying to convince him to ride the broomstick.

“Well…” You said mischievously.

“Wait, what? Are you serious? You like somebody?” He said, turning to you.

“You asked! And yes, I do. Her name is Nora, and she’s kind, and smart, and has big honey brown eyes, and-”

“Jeez, you’re whipped for this chick aren’t you?”

“Ew, shut up.” You said chuckling and playfully hitting him. You two sat under the Cherry Blossom tree for the rest of the sunset, talking about the Hufflepuff girl you- a slytherin- had managed to fall for. And while Sehun went on about the irony of the situation, you thought about the irony of you, a pure-blood, and him, a Muggle with Muggle parents, becoming the best of friends over the years. You remember being only eight years old, seeing him sitting by himself at the park, deciding whether or not to talk to him when your little eight year old self thought, “What could be the harm?”

#sehun #oh sehun #hogwarts au #exo #sehun x reader #exo oneshot #exo x reader #hogwarts #kpop scenarios #kpop #kpop reactions #sehun scenario

[69annebowlin69]

5-6/8/19 Watching True Detective Episode Eight Finale

5/8/19

16.53

I can’t work on anything else so i’m writing this up now to salvage this afternoon. Not up for cops and pseudo-philosophy.

One night the summer we all started taking pills, we were at my dad’s house after a party, i can’t remember where my dad was, but Adam said something about how with the Picasso and Kandinsky prints on the wall, it was like a pseudo-intellectual’s house, and because i didn’t know properly what pseudo meant or had such low opinion of my family and i, i took it as a compliment, that at least we were grasping to look like something more than we were. I hate this memory. Why couldn’t i defend myself. I would defend it now. Adam’s family had a fucking New Yorker cover print framed on their wall.

16.58

Hays’ jeans are too tight; his dialogue with Hoyt is a Previously On with the eery music. It hasn’t started raining outside yet.

16.59

This mf Hoyt literally dragged Hays from his house to walk through the Ozarks swigging bourbon and sobbing about the myth of the ideal family. I hate this show. Masculine posturing bullshit, but like a parody of the machismo that people mock online. As previously mentioned, i’m not one to shy away from the Big Opinion. This season more trash than season 2.

17.07

Damn dude sometimes you gotta burn your suit at 3 in the morning, give him a break.

17.18

I had to get the torch out myself the other night. One of the giant snails disappeared. Best friend and i looked high and

17.36

Sorry, the last entry wasn’t even worth finishing, and i had to go to the toilet to scroll the 40 pictures i took of passages from books over the past year. Some of them i couldn't even remember what they were, too much Tao Lin from before i read Richard Yates and saw how problematic he was; a lot of Liveblog, maybe my fav book ever.

17.38

What i look like, a snapshot:

the cheap sports direct adidas striped sliders with nike tube socks (white)

Black chino shorts (dirty, the only proper pair of shorts i own)

T-shirt of the keith haring statue of liberty print (too hack to wear in NYC; Eve’s mum got me it)

Hair “half-up” like Eve’s

Monobrow stubble at the top of my nose that i haven’t excised in a couple of days

Beard just about too long

jaw clenched

stomach gross

My legs are so bulbous, like why was i born with such ridiculous protruding legs. Not muscly, hefty. Very gross. Gross.

17.43

All i’ll eat tonight is a peanut butter and banana sandwich and an apple. Sorry, i have to try again with other Personal Projects. I don’t want to watch this show. i can’t watch this show right now. I’m no insider but there is maybe six per cent of a chance that HBO run it back for a fourth.

***

6/8/19

20.25

Emmy said she wouldn’t be impressed if i were to get in to a fight. I laid out a whole hypothetical where someone gets thrown out the bar where we work and is needling me the whole time. I take off outside after him and we get in to it, but it’s outside work premises. Asked her A) if she thought i was meek, B) would she understand if i threw fists in that instance and C) would i get fired. She wouldn’t be impressed and thought it was the bigger thing to do to let it slide. Also the police would get involved which would effect the work thing.

Pete’s been in fights. People are always getting in fights in the past. I’ve never seen anyone i know who’s been in a fight when they were actually fighting. The fights in True Detective are all in the past. Emmy said she doesn’t think i’m meek.

20.28

Mr Scotland (Peter Mullan) also does a show set in the Ozarks and what i think is that his southern accent was so bad that it had to be edited in post production. During his dialogue, the camera cuts to a reaction shot from his equally sociopathic wife or the Arrested Development guy, which is wildly disrespectful to a man who was trying to play an abusive maniacal southern drug kingpin instead of the usual abusive maniacal alcoholic Scottish criminal. This is what happens when someone tries to branch out and why so many people are scared of failure. Anyway, we’re not here to talk about rival crime shows set in the Ozarks. We’ve got a child sex ring to uncover and Dorff heat to savour.

20.30

Would be nice to have the honesty in a relationship where you can tell one another you should probably give up on a central arterial line of your life and move elsewhere. Emmy and i tell one another something like ‘you should quit’ all the time but neither of us really believe the other when they say they will. I don’t believe her when she says I love you during sex. It feels like a placeholder for real-life emotions or intensity that she’s still waiting to feel.

20.32

Quality of office lighting: strip lights, squares placed amongst the cardboard tiles, headache grain, staticky, unnervingly silent, revealing, bags under eyes, shadowy somehow, depersonalising, unaltering.

Quality of school lights from Euphoria: suplhate glare, neon, alienating and spooky but in a fun way?, fireworks! makes you say ‘it’s like a club in here,’ glitchy, Fireworks!, transformative.

20.36

Roland in the afterglow of starting a mass bar brawl then getting emotional over a mongrel, sipping straight Jack. Damn, to have memories like that. Roland didn’t have a gf telling him it wouldn’t be impressive or cool getting into brawls.

20.38

Like how they announce Man of the Match before the Match is even over (seems presumptive), i’ll be announcing my top crushes from this season VERY shortly.

20.39

Yup, not long to go until my number one crush from this True Detective Season is announced, as well as numbers two, three and probably four and five. It’s been markedly less horny than previous seasons, so we’re including different iterations of the same characters. It’s dry out here in the 80s.

22.02

There are noises in our living room, not like threatening banging or whatever, but people. There are friends in our living room. Not that we’re here to talk about popular 90s NBC sitcoms.

23.35

Everyone is here in our flat again tonight these snails have made us so popular.

Lucy put Mr Rightside on her arm.

Mil cast Bad Medicine to the TV and Jane suggested Van Halen.

Damon put on Carlyle Williams and Mil decided he couldn't apply for a Montreal visa until he found out what Sarah wanted.

Best friend and Jane cast Cold in my Veins. Mil got sad and started rallying for the TV to be turned off.

Best friend and Jane cast a Big Train sketch where Chairman Mao is dying and then the flatlining heart monitor turns into the opening riff of Virginia Plain and Chairman Mao recovers to sing.

Best friend cast the shooting stars where Vic and Bob do Virginia Plain and we listed the most recent instances we could remember of celebrity blackface.

I text Emmy if she wanted to work together tomorrow instead of taking the mushroom pills.

I feigned interest in a story about a kayak Jane told because i think she’s cool and want her to like me.

Lucy and Damon were lame when they left. Lameon lol.

Best friend turned off the tv and he and Jane went for a tab. Mil talked about Sarah.

Jane said she could get acid for Lucy but not this weekend and left.

Steve came in to ask if he could shut the door and I left to watch this episode.

00.07

This one-eyed mf talking like it’s Wuthering Heights and he’s [whoever the Irish housekeeper is who does most of the first half’s narration]. Recalling some vague terrible accident that blighted a rich-ass family, that should have zero impact on his one-eyed ass.

00.10

His story is very Woman in Black. Would love a Pizzolato reading list from this season. Friend of the blog Nick Pizzolato, please send me your reading list and influences.

00.12

It’s always too late. No matter what we do. Damn. That’s some extremely defeatist shit. Old people, you think they all feel this way. A cop out. These detective shows, i want meaning from them. Structure. Some kind of organisation that i can understand and trace, not this.

00.21

Roland and Hays hanging out, staying over at one another’s house. Can’t wait to be old, hanging out just me and the boys. Like how homes have a similar vibe to halls, just at the point on the back end of your life, symmetrical to the front. Just playing old Final Fantasies, absolutely on pills. Distracted during family visits because i have more gaming to do and a year left at most. Sounds reassuring. The long term doesn’t matter, so you do only the things that produce instant gratification.

00.32

Googled “what’s the word for when one thing is the same on one side as it is on the other’ lol then i cried at this stupid show. Mahershala Ali transcends this dumbass show and it’s writing and is  doing something complex and satisfying and sad. Pulling together what he can of this jumble that sometimes makes sense and most of the time is not worthy of us trying to make sense of it.

00.42

Ok, here it is. True Detective season three Crush List:

5. Me all the days i wrote this and didn’t throw up whatever i’d just eaten. Very proud and horny for u, my boy

4. 1990 Roland with the rockabilly blazer

3. Hays in the tight acid wash jeans

2. Amelia’s dulcet monotone transcends being annoying around the middle of the season and turns alluring, like i need to hear it for thirty per cent each episode. It’s pretentious but in a way that makes you wish you were pretentious

1a. Hays burning his clothes in the dead of night. Mysterious. Jacked. Sweating as hell. Haunted.

1b. Everyone who checked out during the front end of this season - intelligence is a quality that personally makes me very horny and they displayed plenty of it by forseeing that this season would be a less exciting mess than last. Would love for them to contact me to just like hang out and watch a different show, if they want.

[whatsoeverwatson]

What it really feels like to loose a mother

I never wanted to write about grief, not here, not as often as I am. But grief doesn’t run to my schedule, it has an agenda of it’s own and descends at a whim oblivious to my goings on. Some say it comes in waves, but that would suggest a rhythm one can predict, like tides that run with the moon. I feel no rhythm in my grief from the death of my mother six months ago ,but I do live in a slow motion pace inside a bubble from which I see my altered world. Outside, the bubble is a world of noise, inside is silence and muted sounds. When grief hits, the bubble bursts and a cacophony of sadness invades my head until the bubble grows again with me back in it. I don’t mind the world inside the bubble, though I fear my constant retreat to it will prevent me from living in real time. Four days after my mother died, I lay in my bathtub soaking in tepid water and rang her mobile phone. She didn’t answer, but I knew that already. A man’s voice took the call and I hung up. Her phone had not been used for over a year, and her number had already been transferred and her name replaced. I can’t explain why I rang her old number, no more than I can explain why I felt the need to constantly kiss her on her cheeks when she was in the hospital or why I apologized for not being married or my need to hold her cooling legs like marble under my hands long after she took her last breath. I had thought that when my mother died, it would be like heartbreak. It would be intense and painful and follow me round with every single breath, dragging behind me like a boulder. But it’s not. I live my life, I have fun, I laugh and all seems fine and then bam. There it is again. It may last a minute, 10 minutes, an hour, a few days and then it’s gone. Just like that. Grief is crazy-making with an element of surprise and the constant knowledge that no matter what you do that person is gone, never to return, never. Losing a mother is like being on a ship that has lost it’s ballast and is now at the mercy of the deepest ocean and all it holds within. I bob around without a foundation to bring me back to the same balanced spot each time, a spot I just can’t get right. Instead, I spend my time sideways, upside down, rightside up, sinking to the ocean floor and floating back up, taken on the current to places I have never been. My bubble burst again this week. It was stretched beyond repair and I wrestled within it, trying to find a space to survive away from the madness inside my head. I fled to the Internet at 1:00 a.m. when I couldn’t sleep and trawled and sleuthed and googled ex-boyfriends just to make myself feel really good about myself until 5:00 a.m., when I knew I was now well and truly lodged within a rabbit hole. I later fled to the air-conditioned confines of a movie cinema to escape the summer heat and the pulsating burning of my chaotic thoughts fueled by my insomniac Internet session the night before. By dusk, I was walking around the streets, dialing friends who went through to voicemail. When I found a live voice at the end of the phone I broke down and sobbed for half an hour into a t-shirt I found on the floor. My friend stayed on the line and taught me how to breathe again. Turns out I just wanted my mom, and the silence of my ex-friend since her funeral just mimicked the final silence of her. It also reminded me that I had put the grieving of a significant romantic relationship to the side when the end of life’s ultimate relationship took precedence and now there was no escaping either. I wanted one to comfort me for the loss of the other and vice-versa, yet both had legitimate reasons why they couldn’t. Grief is like that; it intensifies every loss no matter the size and takes residence inside your head 4 months ago I wad told that my mom was send to hospital. I didn't know why and the doctor didn't know it eighter. But what I knew is that is was serious. It wasn't as serious as cancer, but still serious. I don’t long for my mother to return. I felt that as deaths go, she had a good one, and it is bound to come to us all, bringing her back would just delay the inevitable. Inspired by her own desire to face it head-on, I ran towards her for the last vulnerable year of her life and was rewarded with some truly special times. What I do miss is the constance of her presence in this world, my world and the physical aspects of her body being here. My body, born from hers, has acutely felt the physical loss. The warmth of her hand and the sound of her laugh. When I was born, the only other person in the room was my mother. That’s what I miss. Just my mother and me in the room.

#sorrow #sorry #grief #sadness #lost #lossing #death #dealing with life #life #krama #dead #never come back #broken home #depression #emo #emotion #emotions #emotional