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#diary entry or something like that

cursed-dolphin-witch · 8 months

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My 2hu progress by game

1. Got the bad ending on both routes on normal with a lot of continues

2. Got the bad ending with the fast shot, normal or hard i forgot

3. Normal 1cc with Rikako, Ellen, Mima

4. Normal 1cc with all shots

5. Normal 1cc with Mima

6. Easy 1cc with Homing, Normal with Marisa, Hard with Needles, Extra with Missiles

7. Normal 1cc with Sakuya Misdirection, Ran's swastika is whooping my ass Extra with Sakuya Misdirection, 1st try Easy 1cc with Marisa Missile, capturing exactly 60 spellcards and unlocking Phantasm

7.5 Literally can't get past the second stage :sour:

8. Easy 1cc(6B) with all teams, Normal 1cc with Ghost team, Hourai Elixir~Normal captured, Reimu's and Marisa's Last Words unlocked😎

9. Extra done as Komachi n Eiki. 1CC HARD WITH REIMU, SAKUYA,MARISA AND CIRNO! Scored over 70 mil with Marisa(and lost 4 rounds to Eiki together with that 1cc. Sad!)

9.5 Unlocked Remilia's/Sakuya's scenes

10. MarisaBugged Normal 1cc, Needle almost 1cc

10.5 Bunch of characters cleared normal with continues. Yukari is kicking my ass

11. Ayyayaya Normal 1cc

12. Snake Sanae Normal 1cc

12.3 Haven't played, probably won't

12.5 Unlocked Hatate

12.8 LoL. LMAo.

13. Stage 5 Normal/Stage 3 Hard. Don't play it

13.5 1cc Normal everyone.

14. 1cc Normal with Tsukumogami[Mini-Hakkero] :smug face: only thing good about that game

14.3 All scenes and items levelled to max

14.5 All gold Hard

15. Easy Pointdevice with all shots, Normal Pointdevice with Marisa and Reimu, Normal Legacy 6cc with Reisen, Hard Legacy almost 6cc with Sanae, Extra clear with Reisen

15.5 Unlocked the golden skins

16. Bad ending on Normal with MarisaSummer

16.5 Completed the story and the first 2 weeks

17. Easy and Extra clear with Youmu+Wolf and Marisa+Eagle, got every animal spirit

17.5 Up to Yuuma's SUCC spellcard with Reimu, Murasa's anchor nonsense with Marisa.

18. Easy all endings, Normal 1cc with Marisa, Extra clear with Reimu

18.5 Unlocked 5th 6th Market completed the story. Pro tip: playing this game counts as self-harm

19. Haven't played

Bonus meme from PoFV Netplay Discord

#toehoe #long post #diary entry or something like that

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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if it were anyone else (e.m.)

warnings: strong allusions to depression, disordered eating/rough relationship with food, mentions of smoking, description of a sort of panic attack. very sad. hurt/comfort? not edited.

wc: 1.6k+

a/n: this is literally entirely self indulgent and written entirely after i sat and cried and thought "i wish i had eddie here right now to hold me". maybe in like thirty minutes tops. this is for me and only me. go figure lol. sorry. yeah. anyways.

if you relate, my askbox is always open, and i'm very sorry you've felt this way as well. i hope you all take care of yourselves. drink some water, call a friend. be kind to yourself.

“I’m worried about you.”

Four words that always manage to strike a certain type of fear in your gut. You don’t know how to react as he says it, how he wants you to react. You can only stare blankly, you can only wish harder for the earth to swallow you whole.

“What do you mean?” you laugh nervously, following it with a hard swallow.

You’re playing dumb. You know it, he knows it. The tremor in your bones and your numb appendages know it, too.

“You’re…” Eddie stalls, licking his lips, letting his eyes rake over you, “You’re getting bad again.”

You’re quick to shake your head, forcing another hollow chuckle from your chest, “It’s not that bad. I’m fin-”

“You’re not fine.”

The look in his eyes could crack your spine if you stare too long. Wet eyes, a trembling bottom lip, worry lines etched into his forehead that you realize might be caused by you.

You’re causing him worry. The last thing you want to do, you’ve accomplished. You’re on a fast-track to becoming a burden – the first step is always acceptance.

You’re still unsure of how he wants – no, needs you to react right now. This conversation is a landmine for both of you, and you hold every breath with every step as you try to navigate it. If you make one wrong step, it could cause an explosion that spares no survivors.

You don’t mind if it tears you apart limb by limb. You do mind if it hurts him.

“How… How do you know that?”

It’s not a sarcastic snipping or defensive deterrence. It’s an unfiltered response of genuineness – you want to know the signs, you want to know what has exposed the rot this time.

And then, maybe next time, you’ll be able to better shield it from him with this knowledge.

“How could I not?” he takes a deep breath in through his nose, and you focus on the flare of his nostrils rather than any of the tears beginning to gather at his waterlines, “It’s been happening for a while now, though, hasn’t it?”

Your throat is a cage, tight and restrictive and ringing with a bitter metallic taste in its tenseness. You can’t respond with words. You can only nod.

He chooses to answer your question more properly now that you’ve admitted it, “You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground. Picking up distractions like they’re going out of style.”

“Hey, they might be. We never know-” you cut yourself off when your eyes meet his. Now’s not the time for jokes, “Sorry. I… I know. I’m sorry.”

He’s right. Fuck, he’s right.

“I want to ask you something, and I need you to answer me honestly,” his own steps across these landmines are just as delicate, just as feathery light, as your own. You hear it in his tone, see it in his body language. You wish your body could sink into the mattress you’re sitting on the edge of as he crouches in front of you, warm palms connecting with your knees. Grounding you. Tethering you. Holding you back from that sinking you crave. “Are you… Sweetheart, are you okay?”

If anybody else had built up to such a stupid question, you would have laughed in their face. You would have shoved those warm palms right off of your skin and you would have thrown up those ice cold hands of your own, shouted obviously not.

Obviously not. I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay, it’s a bit comical. I am drowning. I am treading in freezing cold waters and I am barely capable of keeping my head above the waves. My engine is fucked, my tank is empty. I don’t think I’d even know how to be ‘okay’ again if you did manage to pull this mangled body of mine from these depths and sat me down on safe, solid ground again.

You can’t say any of this, though. Not because you don’t trust him, not because he would judge you. But because the moment he asks the question that should make you scoff, you let out a sob instead. Something like a muffled, broken wail that tears from deep within you. It had already been ready and poised, laying in wait for a perfect moment like this one to escape.

His eyes aren’t the only glossy ones anymore.

“I-” you start, breathing already stuttering and chest already constricting, “I- I-”

“Hey,” he palms smooth up your thighs, carrying their warmth with them, as if he were trying to spread it across you. As if he had heard your thoughts. As if he already knew all about those dark, treacherous, freezing waters you were stranded in. All you can do is spew out another cry, strangled as you tried to swallow it down before it entered the atmosphere between you two, “Hey.”

You only notice the tears when you crumple forward and he meets you halfway. Those warm palms, those hands so capable of safety and promise, cup your cheeks and his thumbs make quick work of swiping away the salty streams.

“Hey, baby, breathe for me,” his voice is tragically gentle, “Just one deep breath, okay?”

To demonstrate, you watch his chest expand dramatically, his hands forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

You can’t see through the bleariness.

“C’mon, sweetness,” he encourages again, “One breath. Just one.”

If it were anyone else, you’d turn into a fit of rage at the coddling. You’d break everything in sight. You’d scream until your already burning lungs finally collapsed as they’d been yearning to for so long.

But it’s him. It’s just him, it’s just Eddie.

His chest rises dramatically again, and this time, yours does as well, albeit through stifling hiccups. You’re dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the flood of emotion that was wrecking you.

“There you go!” his voice rises ever so slightly, and when you flinch a bit at the sudden volume, he retracts, “Sorry, sorry. But that’s it, sweetheart. Another one, okay?”

Another breath. Another sob. Another wave of all the pain you’ve been battling off.

You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground.

He was right and it fucking killed you. None of those are things you could ever shield him from. You didn’t have the heart to pull away those numb and icey fingertips every time he’d reach out for your hand, or try to cover the shivers that managed to rack your bones even in the middle of summer. The sleeping situation had been spiraling, a pendulum of sleepless nights that would end in a sleep so deep that you could have been mistaken for resting with the dead. Maybe the smoking you could have hid, especially when you’d been so boastful about quitting.

You weren’t running yourself into the ground. You had already collapsed into the dirt, you had already joined the worms. You’d buried yourself alive, six feet under, and nothing could have stopped him from sniffing out that scent of decay on you.

The death of a soul and mind. The death of the thing that had propelled you forward for so long. No amount of sweet perfume, or hour long scalding showers, or minty gum to occupy your mind rather than a proper meal, can erase that stench.

You never could have shielded him. He always saw right through you. Always had, always would.

“I’m sorry,” you end up crying out.

You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but you echo the words again. Over and over, on repeat, until he’s rising from the ground. Until he’s sat beside you. Until his arms are suddenly encasing you and you’re awarded a warmth you didn’t feel deserving of.

He doesn’t smell like the decay you’d surrounded yourself with. He smells like slow waking in the morning, dreary and calm and at a reasonable time. He smells like warm baths that only relax your bones, and don’t have to blister your skin in the process. He smells like three meals a day, all comforting and all effortless and that never linger with a sense of regret.

He’s not decay, never even treading close to death. He’s home. He’s the promise that you could be okay. Even if it isn’t right now.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, squeezing you tighter into his chest, not even blinking an eye at the patch of wetness you leave behind from where your cheeks bury against him, “Never apologize. Ever. Not with me, sweetheart. Keep the sorries. I don’t need them.”

If it were anyone else, the holding would have suffocated you. But it’s him. It’s Eddie.

You don’t fight him when he pulls you fully into his lap, situating the two of you comfortably on that mattress.

You don’t know how long you let him cradle you like that. How much of that time is spent filled with your cries, or how many breaths he gently urges you to take with him. He never once has to verbally say what you already know; he never once promises aloud that it’ll be okay. He doesn’t put that pressure on you, not yet. Not today. Not when he knows the journey to okay is still such a long one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers to you instead, “I’ve got you, now, sweetheart.”

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t believe them.

But it’s him. It’s Eddie.

And he’s got you, for now and for as long as you need.

#my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson comfort #idk what this is #i hope it flops because fuck is it personal !#i wrote very quickly and did not edit it lol #like my own personal diary entry or therapy session #bleh #very niche and doubt it's relatable lol #but i'm unwell and what good am i if i can't make content #if nothing else #i can create #still good for something maybe i don't know #at least something not awful can come from this storm

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vulcanette · 3 months

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the 3pm message I need every day and maybe you also need:

you can relax. no one is mad. everything is okay. you’re doing a good job and your coworkers don’t hate you. your boss doesn’t hate you. your friends love you. everyone at home is okay. you’re doing what you’re supposed to do. you’re not in trouble and you’re gonna be okay

#my scheduled 3pm mini anxiety episode needed to be addressed #and I was like hey maybe someone else needs to hear this too #personal #a small diary entry #edited to add that our friends love us bc that is also something I am anxious over lol

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loose-leafstudy · 1 year

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22:59pm

monday, january 16

hi, i've started school again :) i've been working as a cna, and i enjoy patient care. but i also wanted to use my biology degree. so i'm working towards going for an accelerated nursing program

i'm taking pre-requisites that my bio degree didn’t cover (developmental psych, nutrition, and pathophysiology), and all of the classes are online. it’s been a transition to get back into school while also working. but it’s a new year and i'm trying to be optimistic haha

✿ wishing everyone the best in the new year (over two weeks later!)

#student #back to school #post graduate #studyblr #lifeblr #trying to study #studying developmental psych #also omg sorry this post basically became a stream of consciousness diary entry #proceed ahead to the rambles #and this is the second time I've learned about freud erikson piaget #but i still struggle to take notes and stay focused haha #listening to glass animals new album #*new as in aug 22 lol #pretty cool noises going on #also in search of a new pfp but idk what i want #wow isn't that the story of my life lol #is this a lifeblr or studyblr post?#there needs to be something where it's like shouting into the void and hoping to connect with someone #from abby

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heretodestroyou · 1 year

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i desperately need an anakin x reader fic set from AOTC to ROTS where reader takes padmé’s place but instead of being taken aback and confused and freaked out by anakin being angry and turning to the dark side, they support him and feed the fire. where are those type of fics.

#if someone finds something like that can u pls tag me #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader #darth vader x reader #star wars #attack of the clones #revenge of the sith #⭐️ — star wars #🌿 — diary entries

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nicollekidman · 9 months

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have u listened to the good witch??

okay so my current thing with maisie peters (and i say currently bc who knows i change my mind/taste all the time) is that i’m glad the gen z girlies have their raised-by-taylor-swift cursive adjacent diary-songwriters and maisie is very talented for sure!!! cate’s brother? BOP! however. this genre is very much like shows about teenagers for me. like. not made for me! i’m too old! i cannot connect with the hyper-specific lyrics and i’m not meant to. so like im not a hater by any means and shes definitely got some singles i love to bop around to but. the really situational specific youthful crush music is not really my current vibe so im not spinning the whole record.

#and like outside of maisie the just general genre of young indie pop girls that are writing songs that are SOOOOOO specific they almost #forget to add a melody to their diary entries. i’m tired of it! old man yelling at a cloud i know and there are always exceptions but #atm i’m looking for like. interesting or invigorating production or something cool with form #which is why chapelle roan is my current pop girlie

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netscapenavigator-official · 5 months

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If I had to describe the way I feel about Mozilla in the tech space, I’d say they’re like American Democrats in the political space.

Like, I don’t choose Firefox because it’s the perfect choice. I choose Firefox because it’s the least bad choice.

Mozilla makes a lot of questionable choices. Their pro-ad stance is certainly one, and paying their CEO millions of dollars a year while their products and engineers struggle with funding is bad. Also, them leaning so hard of Google’s search engine money to keep themselves afloat while their CEO continuously gets raises is pretty shitty.

But like, I don’t exactly have a choice. It’s Mozilla or no more web privacy, just like its Democrats or no more human rights.

#rambles #mozilla #firefox #politics #american politics #reblogs off because I just need to write this like a diary entry ramble/rant for myself #i don’t wanna even risk brain rot in the reblogs because I’m just not in a mental place to handle it #if you’re a follower tho and REALLY wanna say something the replies are always open to y’all

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americanrecord · 1 month

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waited all day to write and have the most massive headache ever …awesome. great, as tony the tiger would say

#like already a terrible day can we not just give me something please #cried in the car before work and it just went downhill after that #at least it’s raining :]#✯ — diary entries.

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warlordfelwinter · 8 months

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i think i'm deciding that rain was created before bhaal's death and is significantly older than he looks bc god blood + no mortal mother potentially at all means his lifespan is fucking calvin ball and he can be whatever i want

bhaal made a special little freak who was unrelated to his other children and their use for resurrecting him so that's why he wasn't killed during All That and why he's got the urge and a obsequious little wretch who follows him around

just imagining how long he spent skulking around becoming the worlds best murderer while the other bhaalspawn were tearing each others throats out just like

all the other bhaalspawn: *murdering each other*

rain:

#not that any of this matters to rain #although given that he couldn't even speak with kressa #and you get some memories back through the game #kind of implies to me that his brain is very very very slowly healing #so he might remember more over the course of the rest of his life #but probably not all #and it'll just be a surprise how he ages and how long he lives after this #since bhaal took his blood back #he's no longer a half elf his race is Little Fucker #bhaal made him look like that cause he would blend in or something #and his fucked up eye and the veins of darkness from it (that's not a tattoo in my mind) are evidence of the god blood #there's also apparently a note somewhere where the durge mocks orin for not being as special as them and i need to find it #i probably missed it already knowing me #but i want to see more of rain's diary entries #fel's bg3 #oc: rain #it's fine also cause gale is a wizard so he can figure out some way to live for way longer than a human should #to keep up with his godspawn freak of a husband

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eoinmcgonigal · 8 months

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09: Bill/Johnny

Sloowly getting through @almost-a-class-act 's wonderful prompts! This one is: Character A has just moved in and it's Character B's turn to tell the new neighbour the neighbourhood's dark secret…

Now, I've set this in rural Scotland. I've given Bill the appropriate language, but I have zero idea how to actually spell it. It's one of the stupidest things I've ever written, but no, I'm not taking it back. Bill Fraser is a teuchter now (for this fic at least).

War is Helloween

He’s seen him before. In the darkness of the countryside, folk illuminated only by the built-up bonfire, the occasional sweeps of torches, and the sparkers the children run around squealing with, Bill finds himself looking towards the stranger. It’s hard not to notice newcomers around here, and especially not ones so handsome they turn heads wherever they go. The blond hardly seems like he belongs amongst countryfolk and farmers, but he’s ended up at the fireworks display on the brae all the same. Bill first saw him two days ago in the village shop, where he was with a young woman, a babe in her arms. His sister, the gossip says. Bill’s already heard the older folk muttering about it, wondering where the husband is, and what the brother is doing here. He’s sure he’ll hear all the news the next time he goes to the Fife Arms, whether he wants to or not.

He can’t deny feeling curious, though. Not much changes around here—not usually for the better, at any rate. Besides, the man is good-looking. Johnny Cooper. There’s something about him that catches Bill’s eye, and makes him half want to go over.

He doesn’t, though. Johnny is surrounded by some of the farmers’ wives, and is gratefully accepting bonfire toffee. Bill’s mouth is still sweet with the rare joy of it, Jenny Grant’s recipe as good as he remembers from childhood. It’s as warming to him as the bright fire that’s been built to last, and he’ll try to get another few pieces off of her before he heads back home.

Until then, he stands in the cold November night, waiting. A few friends and folk have drifted by, stopping to chat, offering him a beer, and he nods and listens to the words they have to say, contributing here and there. He finds himself standing in a loose group of men, their attention turning towards the pitch dark beyond the fall of the firelight when a faint torchlight flickers there. Johnny is still on the other side of the little gathering when the fireworks begin. Bill looks away from him, to enjoy the display. It’s nothing like the big, fancy ones he sees on the telly. He wonders what Johnny makes of it. If he likes it here, or if he thinks as little of this place and its people as townfolk usually do, the way of life too small and simple to be worth noticing in their opinion. Plenty outsiders have bulldozed in and then drifted away again, not taking to the lifestyle, or simply missing the glittering lights and apparently comfort of bustle.

Bill likes it here, though. It’s home. He watches the fireworks light up the darkness, and feels something ancient and primal tug at his heart. You can’t feel this anywhere else, he thinks as a chill breeze stirs around the little gathering.

When the last firework is spent, all that’s left is the warmth of the fire, and the people around it. Bill soaks it up, lingering as people start drifting home—the folks with younger kids first, then others following. He snags some more of Jenny’s bonfire toffee, and sees that Johnny is just drifting from the circle of firelight. There’s a set to his shoulders, a sense of purpose about him that makes Bill’s blood run cold.

Half running, he catches up with the man. “Oi!” he calls out.

Jumping, Johnny turns around, laughing. “You scared me!” He’s grinning, the distant fireglow softly picking out the features of his face.

“Far ye gaun?”

A blank look. Bill gestures out at the darkness.

“Yer car? Far’s it at?”

“Oh!” Understanding dawns on Johnny’s face, his smile softening but not fading. “My sister has it. I was going to walk.”

“Tae the village?”

“Um, yes?”

The cold feeling in Bill’s blood grows more profound. “Ye cannae dae that,” he warns.

“No?” Johnny looks around, out into the darkness. “I mean, it’s only two and a half miles?”

Bill shakes his head. “Ye’ll no mak it.”

“Um,” Johnny breathes. He’s not smiling any more. “But I came—”

“Ah’ll gi ye a lift,” Bill insists. “Or, if ye rither, ony ae the fowk here wull gi ye a lift. Just dinnae wauk it an yer ain, aye?”

“O–okay?”

The distant, warm glow of the fire is reflected in the blond’s wide eyes, and Bill suspects that, while he might have got the gist, he’s a bit dazed. Another chill curl of wind swirls around them, and they both shiver.

That seems to decide it. Relenting, Johnny moves closer to Bill. “Where’s your car?”

Bill points back towards the other side of the gathering. “Mandy’ll be glad tae tak ye, if ye’d rither.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m good.” After a few paces, Bill hears a shift in fabric, and a hand is drawn out of a pocket and offered to him. “I’m Johnny, by the way.”

“Aye, Ah ken,” Bill nods. It’s an awkward angle to shake someone’s hand at, the gesture out of place here. He lets it happen, though, giving Johnny a brief, firm squeeze of a handshake. Johnny’s hands are cold, but there’s a warmth that transfers to Bill at the touch. Stickiness too. They’ve both had toffee. It’s the reason Bill hasn’t pulled his glove back on.

He pulls them on now, knowing it’ll be cold for the first few minutes, until the car heats up. There’s a heavy jacket on the passenger’s seat, which he pulls out of the way as soon as he gets in, the wellies in the footwell joining the jacket on the back seat.

Johnny looks so out of place as he gets in, the harsh interior light of Bill’s car making him look pale. He’s probably cold, Bill realises.

“Ye cauld?”

Rubbing his hands against his thighs, Johnny nods. Bill pulls the jacket forward again, offering it over.

“Hae a shottie o this till the heatin kicks in.”

“Thank you.”

They fall into silence as the light dims and Bill starts the engine. He rolls slowly out onto the single track road that winds its way down the brae and towards the village. They’re near to the planted forest of Norwegian pine when Johnny finally speaks again.

“What’s wrong with walking?”

The headlights fall strangely on the pines for a moment, and Bill watches the shadows shift. “Naebody wauks atween the braes an the village this tid o year.”

In the pause, Bill tries to work out how to explain what people usually figure out, if they move here early enough in the year, or if they have any sense.

“Why not?”

It’s best to keep it simple. “Fowk disappear.”

“They get lost? Isn’t there only one road?”

There is, and it follows the contours of the land, the fall and rise and then fall again down into the village. They are clear of the trees now, and in the gully that curves to the left, is a burn. It’s impossible to see in the dark—the headlights don’t peer down over the edge. “Aye,” Bill has to agree. “Bit thare’s mae tae it then that.”

Beneath Bill’s jacket, Johnny shifts, shivering. Bill reaches out to turn the heat up.

“I’m fine,” Johnny insists. “I just… don’t get it.”

“Dae ye wint tae?”

“I guess?”

They’re one bend away from being within sight of the village, and Bill feels like he can speak easier when he sees the warm glow of the streetlights. He doesn’t need to ask where Johnny lives. Everyone knows.

“Thare’s simmat oot there, simmat auld.”

“Something?” Bill catches the crease of worry lining Johnny’s brow. “Like… an animal?”

“No quite. Hiv ye nae feelt it?”

“No?”

They turn into the lane that leads quickest to Johnny’s home. From the tone of his voice, the uncertainty wavering in it, Bill suspects that Johnny has felt it.

“What is it?”

Bill doesn’t quite know how to answer that. As he pulls up, he leaves the engine running, heat starting to spill enthusiastically into the car. The light from the streetlamps has a different quality to it than the firelight, but, as uneasy as he looks, Johnny still looks handsome. Beautiful, even. It’s warmth like that that keeps the cold and the darkness from taking over everything.

“The lan.”

Johnny blinks. “The land?”

“Aye, this place. Atween the noo an Februar, it’s hungert fae wairmth. Dinnae wauk ootae the village aifter dark.”

“Seriously?” In the safety of warmth and light, scepticism steals over Johnny.

“Aye. Ask aebody,” Bill promises. “Fa telt ye tae come up the braes oniehoo?”

“Um… Mitch? Mitchel?”

“Eejit,” Bill mutters. He can believe that Mitchel forgot to make sure Johnny was getting there and back safely, although he’s of no mind to let the man get away with it when Bill sees him next.

Johnny is toying with the collar of Bill’s jacket. “So this wasn’t some elaborate ploy to get me alone?”

“Elaborate?” Bill echoes. “No, Ah wantit tae mak sure ye got hame safe.”

“I was joking,” Johnny smiles, and Bill realises that maybe he was, but perhaps he wasn’t. He lets out a breath, not sure what to say.

As his jacket is offered back to him, Bill takes it mutely, looking at Johnny’s hands, then up at the beautiful but utterly unprepared young man.

“Thank you, um…”

Bill waits as the silence drags on.

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

Oh. Right. “Bill,” he supplies, aware of the way his cheeks have started to flush. It’s annoying, and he reaches out to turn the heating down. “Ah mean it,” he impresses on Johnny. “Ye haftae stay safe.”

“I will,” Johnny says, with what feels like the right amount of sincerity.

“Good,” Bill nods.

“Thank you, Bill.”

Johnny already said that, but it’s nice to hear it again.

“Good night.”

“Nicht,” Bill answers.

Reaching for the door handle, Johnny goes still. “Um…” he turns around again, his mood tentative. “What was that sweet stuff?”

“The bonfire toffee?”

“I think so. I’ve not had it before. Do you know the recipe?”

Bill does not, but he knows where it’s written down in the old cookbook that used to be his grandmothers. “No, but Ah can get it fae ye.”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

“Nae bither.”

When Johnny smiles again, Bill gets the feeling that Johnny would be quite happy to linger here a while longer. He’d be happy if he did. All that lies ahead of Bill is the dark drive home.

“See you soon?” Johnny seems to hope.

Bill nods. “Aye.”

With a bright smile that brings something of the sun to the night, Johnny goes.

Bill isn’t entirely sure if Johnny will pay heed to the warning or dismiss it as nonsense, but what he does know is that the long winter ahead is going to be much easier to bear if he has a chance of seeing that beautiful smile again.

#sas rogue heroes #war is helloween #bill fraser #johnny cooper #johnny x bill #document type: supplementary diary entry #i don't know WHY i had him speak like that? for fun?#idk i was thinking of where i grew up today and that inspired this #i could write a lot about the feeling that creeps over the mountains and steals from the woods #the chill of the wind that carries more than just the biting cold #the stirrings and mutterings of something unknowable #the whispering and hissing of it and the howling and baying when it's ravenous for warmth #and then bonfire night and being gathered around the fire and you really DO feel something so old it no longer has a name *inside you*#know the winter darkness of the highlands and then feel the rawness of the fire and understand how ancient and powerful these forces are

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mp3minded · 1 month

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Writing Update: The First Week

So far, I've gotten a little over 2.7k words down, for my first draft of chapter one of my Ozzy villa fic, of the eight chapters I currently have planned 👀☕️

I think if it weren't for me getting shark week this week, and how I got caught up with my recent Liam stuff, I could've gotten a considerable extra amount done? It's always good to know the sort of pace I'm capable of 🥴 since this is my first time back in the writing rodeo since forever.

But yeah, things are shaping up folks! And who knows, maybe before the end of season 8, I may even dip my toes in and start writing a 'lil something something for that goblin man Liam 🤡

#aly sez #writing is so interesting because in a way it's almost like #jotting down something inbetween a daydream and a diary entry—that's how it is for me‚ anyway #anyway! thank you to everyone whose been rockin' with me so far‚ i really appreciate it 🥺💚

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