ㅤ ㅤ𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐍

 ㅤㅤ㇁ㅤㅤword  of  advice  from  me,  currently  fighting  for  my  life:  do  not  have  three   vodkas  and  a  handful  of  hershey’s  kisses  for  dinner,  your  stomach  will  file  a  formal  complaint  </3 

 ㅤ㇁ ㅤfeeling  way  better  today  after  some  rest  and  sleep,  i  seriously  needed  it.  i  appreciate  everyone  who  reached  out  so,  so,  so,  so  much.  you  have  no  idea  how  much  it  meant.  

㇁  i  want  to  start  by  saying  i’m  completely  unharmed,  but  on  the  way  home  from  the  store  i  was  crashed  into  at  a  light.  it  wasn’t  serious,  but  i’m  a  bit  shaken  up,  i’ve  always  had  a  constant  fear  of  car  accidents,  so  it  rattled  me.  i  might  be  a  little  slower  to  reply  for  a  bit  while  i  calm  down,  but  i’m  okay!  thanks  for  understanding.

oh,  don’t give me that look. 

㇁  i’ve  been  getting  a  little  nervous  reaching  out.  it’s  hard  not  to  overthink  if  maybe  i’ve  done  something  wrong  or  if  my  writing/portrayal  just  isn’t  clicking  with  what  people  want.  i’ve  really  been  trying  to  make  friends  through  roleplay,  and  i  miss  a  lot  of  the  amazing  people  i  used  to  write  with.  i’ve  been  so  fixated  on  nolan  lately,  like  he’s  fully  taken  over  my  brain,  and  i’d  be  so  excited  to  get  to  write  him  with  someone,  or  plot.  i  put  a  lot  of  effort  into  my  replies,   and  try  to  keep  them  thoughtful.  if  we’ve  ever  talked  or  almost  plotted,  or  if  you’re  just  bored,  i’d  really  love  to  build  something  with  you.  always  down  to  write,  plot,  or  even  just  talk  characters.

i’m not hungry .. 

quit bossing me around!  

did you see that?!  did you see what i did?! 

 ㅤ㇁ ㅤthinking  about  nolan  having  nightmares,  sweat  clinging  to  his  skin  like  guilt,  the  sheets  twisted  like  he  fought  something  off  in  his  sleep  and  lost.  it’s  not  just  viltrum  that  haunts  him,  though  the  weight  of  that  world  never  really  leaves,  the  indoctrination  buried  deep  in  his  blood,  in  his  instincts,  whispering  about  survival  and  strength  and  loyalty  to  something  he  doesn’t  believe  in  anymore,  but  it’s  also  earth.  it’s  mark’s  face,  twisted  with  fear.  debbie  backing  away  like  she  doesn’t  recognize  the  man  she  once  loved.  it’s  their  silence,  or  worse,  their  screaming.  and  he  knows,  he  doesn’t  deserve  to  mourn  what  he  destroyed,  doesn’t  deserve  the  ache  in  his  chest  when  he  wakes  up  gasping  for  a  life  he  forfeited  the  moment  he  chose  the  empire.  but  the  nightmares  don’t  care.  they  just  come,  over  and  over,  dragging  him  back  into  rooms  soaked  in  red  and  filled  with  voices  that  sound  like  his  son,  his  wife,  his  people,  all  asking  why.  how  he  gets  angry  sometimes,  furious  at  the  manipulation  that  shaped  him,  made  him  think  love  was  a  weakness  and  mercy  a  disease.  but  the  fury  always  burns  out  too  fast,  leaving  only  the  quiet,  the  empty  space  of  a  house  that  doesn’t  feel  like  home  anymore,  and  the  rare  nights  he  presses  his  hands  to  his  eyes  and  just  lets  himself  cry,  soft  and  bitter  and  alone,  because  if  anyone  saw  him  like  that,  he  wouldn’t  be  able  to  explain  the  tears,  not  when  so  much  of  the  pain  is  his  own  doing.  

㇁ ㅤhappy  pride..  he's  omnisexual...  get  it