The-nyx-mere - Theme? What Theme?

Daily Reminder To:

Take your medications that you need to!

Get up, stretch, walk around a bit!

Get some food and water if you haven’t in a while!

Plug in your device!

Feed any pets!

If it’s between 10 pm and 7 am and you have no reason to be awake besides being up on your phone, go to sleep or at least get comfortable and start trying to sleep!

Check around you and stack any dishes and bring them to the kitchen! Including plates, cups, bowls, and utensils!

Do a quick look around and pick up any trash and put it in the bin!

Message anyone to check in on them and yourself! Respond to any messages you may have gotten, answer some asks if need be, let your family know that you’re safe, whatever you need to do!

If you need to and are able to, go take a shower! Or clean your face! Get changed at the very least, put your clothes in the dirty hamper, and feel better about it!

That’s all for now! Good job, I’m proud of you for doing that!

time travel au? time travel au.

Season 5 Jon has two moods and they are Bastard and Soft. Season 1 Jon is just So Done.

Read the fic here.

Heh.... Yeah....

Someone: oh there’s this show I’m watching... oh, nevermind, it’s silly you probably don’t wanna hear about it

Me, knowing fully well how much it sucks to have your passions invalidated and how cool it is to rant about something you love:

Noice

can a guy not braid his hair in peace

White people: if you want to help long term: get used to being told your opinion is wrong, irrelevant, or unwanted. Tell your friends to get used to it. Work on getting used to it and do this work with other white people. Because white supremacy has all of y’all very used  to being right and being an inherently valued voice and if we’re going to fight white supremacy you’re going to have to be comfortable surrendering that expectation and also white people will need to learn how to handle being rejected or disagreed with. It’s an extension of racism and racial trauma for black people to try and educate or speak up about our issues only to expose ourselves to your white fragility which  makes you defensive– this defensiveness can look like shutting down, silencing us, painting all corrections or disagreements as ‘fighs’ (extending the idea that black people are aggressive) etc.

White resilience is the opposite of white fragility and black people are VERY good at resilience, unfortunately. Listen to us we know how to combat this.

On a rainy night sometime in October, Martin had a nightmare about killing his husband. Something about the top of a tower Martin didn't recognize, and a dead body on the floor, and a crumbling building. Jon was saying a lot of things he didn't understand, and Martin was shouting a little. They both were crying. Jon handed him the knife, closed his hands around it and guided it towards his chest. 

Martin thought he wouldn't do it, at first. He thought he wouldn't do it. He tried not to do it, his arms stiffening with the motion. And then, as he pushed the knife into Jon's chest, he started begging desperately, silently, to wake up. 

He didn't. He felt every inch of that knife as it pushed into Jon's chest, felt the weight of Jon's punched-out gasp, felt the weight of Jon crumpling in his arms. Felt the tears sliding down his face as he didn't wake up. 

And then he was awake, and he was crying, like it had been real instead of just a horrible dream, intrusive thoughts at their finest making a home in his head. It wasn't real; he knew that. But that didn't stop him from sliding across the mattress, from leaning towards Jon and pressing his face against Jon's shoulder, biting his lip so Jon wouldn't hear him sob. 

Jon woke up. Of course he did. He stirred slowly, shifting against Martin and groping back for his hand until Martin tangled their fingers together, Jon's ring cool between his fingers. "M'rtin?" Jon mumbled sleepily, turning towards him. "What… what's wrong? Are you crying?"

Martin swallowed hard, wiped his eyes with his free hand and said, "Bad… bad dream."

"Oh." Jon pulled his hand up and kissed the back of it, his eyes still mostly closed. "It… it was just a dream, Martin. It's okay."

It's not, Martin wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. It felt silly to say. It was just a dream. He'd never seen that place in his life; he'd looked different in the dream, and so had Jon, unfamiliar versions of themselves somehow. 

He pressed a free hand over Jon's chest, the place where the scar would've been, if the dream had been real. He said instead, "I hurt you," in a faltering voice, the words almost too awful to say. He kept feeling it, the phantom motion of stabbing Jon. He couldn't get the picture out of his head. The tears welled up again; Martin held his breath to try and hold back a sob.

"Martin," Jon mumbled, sleepily, his eyes still mostly closed. He reached up for Martin, put his arm around Martin's shoulders and pulled him down into his chest. Pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. "You would never hurt me."

Martin pressed his wet face into Jon's neck and tried with everything in him to believe that, tried to banish the images from his mind. He mumbled I love you, and Jon said it back, and they fell back asleep tangled up on Jon's side of the bed. 

When Martin woke back up in the morning, there was an unfamiliar sound echoing in his mind—something like the whir of a tape recorder. 

Reblog for those who might need it.

hey so protip if you have abusive parents and need to get around the house as quietly as possible, stay close to furniture and other heavy stuff because the floor is settled there and it’s less likely to creak

so now in every universe now there is a jon & there’s a martin and in every universe they either find each other or they don’t and either way they know, even if they don’t, that they did find each other, once, and it was horrible and beautiful and so, so, unfair, and despite that, despite the horrible, beautiful, unfair briefness of that, their existence there, and in every universe, has value, even if it disappears forever, even when it does disappear forever, even when it did disappear forever, even when all that remains of them is the vague longing for what once existed, somewhere else, sometime else, someone else,

and some part of them both knows this, even when they’re different, even when jon never knew georgie, even when martins dad never left, even when they never met, even when they met each other sooner, fell out of love in uni, married as soon as it was legal, whatever happened, every time… in each universe. somehow. in some way. some parts of each other. knives and blood and tears. the tight grip of jons hand around martins wrist as he died. something about birthmarks where you died in a past life. what about birth marks where, in a past life, you killed someone you loved?