Regret - Blog Posts
The ultimate salt!!!! ⏫⏬⏩◀✨
Big Brother to the Rescue!
This fic was inspired by @justcourttee - A Brother’s Love. I loved her fic and I couldn’t stop thinking….what if this happened?
Jason sighed, rereading the text he had gotten again from Gina.
Nona: Jay, I am unable to get to Paris in the time I wished. My son and his wife are having problems with my Little Fairy. They claim her to be a bully and a brute, but I know this is not my Little Fairy. I am her guardian now and my plan was to bring her with me. Go in my stead and take her to Gotham. She told me she has a date with her boyfriend, Adrien Agreste. Break the news to her gently.
Gina had traveled with him for awhile and was always there for him when he got in a fight with Bruce. They could disappear on the road and travel, forget their worries. Gina had told him about her granddaughter, her ‘Little Fairy’, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was an inspiring fashion designer, who was also her class’ president. She had designed for Jagged Stone and won a contest from Gabriel Agreste. She even had the opportunity to be mentored by Style Queen, herself, in New York, and turned it down. Gina had told him so many things about Marinette, he felt as if she was his little sister. When Gina told him that Pixie was getting bullied again and no one would help or see her side of things, he had gotten upset. Even her boyfriend had told her to make peace with the bully and to let it go. She had never asked him for a favor before and he didn’t want to let her down.
Jason had taken the first flight to Paris to bring his little sister home to Gotham. He watched as she left the bakery and pressed the button to head to the park when her phone rang.
“Adrien? Yeah, I’m just heading-Oh. Ye-Yeah, I can meet you there instead. Sure. Bye.” Marinette spoke and quickly took off in another direction.
'Sounds like a change of plans.’
Keep reading
I will write smut and think it's the pinnacle of all my works, forget about it, remember I wrote it, then cringe and put it in a hidden folder on ao3 where it will never again see the light of day
I feel like such a dumbass rn.
I come up with an AU in my head and make myself cry ffs. How dare my brain do that, it's not allowed.
IT'S NOT EVEN SUPER SAD, IT'S JUST ONE TRAGIC EVENT
:'(
(I mean, one extra tragic event)
My brain just went on a tangent and ended with this.
It started out as 'Zoro's first daughter is definitely named Kuina', then 'Imagine if she almost died falling down stairs, that'd be sad' then fucking 'she dies falling down stairs because I have to torture my favourite anime character'.
Help.
Why tf did I laugh???😭😭😭
Call the police.
Kai : stuck in an evil dimension that only opens every I don't remember how many thousands of years ✨️
Lloyd : repeated panic attacks after the 17 seasons of trauma caught him up ✨️
Arin : looks more and more like Morro, this close to fall in the dark side ✨️
Jay : amnesic and forced to be an agent at the pseudo Matrix ✨️
What a great start for this season 😀
guilt? or righteousness?
betrayal? or regret?
The road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions
It would be simpler if conviction burned away everything else. But it doesn’t make consequences disappear; it just straightens your spine when you force yourself to look at them.
— Leslie Jamison, Splinters: Another Kind of Love Story (Little Brown and Company, February 20, 2024)
Do you regret the late nights out? The ache in your chest that you can’t place anymore but know is there from the constant nagging at that one hour of the day? Do you remember the day that they left clearly? Or does the warm escape of the whisky whisk you away? Is it all a faint memory? Or is it like a car wreck? Something you won’t ever forget?
Did you love her or the idea of loving her?
I am sorry I couldn't create a safe place for you.
I am sorry I couldn't be brave enough to let you be you.
I am sorry for all the times I made you say you hate pink (we love it now).
I am sorry for trying too hard sometimes and not trying at all other times.
I am sorry that you had to face all those years alone, without someone to hold you close.
I am sorry for letting you go when I should've held onto you tighter.
I am sorry for thinking that shutting you out will make me feel like I belong somewhere, anywhere.
I am sorry for abandoning you when all you ever had was me.
But now, little one, we are here. You and I, both of us are safe in this space that I have started to call 'heart'.
Cry all you want, I'll hold you. Be fierce, be gentle, be everything that you've wanted to be. I am here and you can be you.
Sweet young child, you're safe in my hands.
And we'll be okay. I love you, and that's all that matters.
To my younger self,
I'm sorry that I couldn't save you. I'm sorry that I didn't stop you from harms. I'm sorry that now you're too broken to be put together
It was never your fault. It was never your fault. It was never your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault
There is so much I could possibly do, what a terrible tragedy I am not immortal. What a beseechingly mortal remark, but I don’t suppose I would like to live forever, just enough.
Walking through the machines, They’d see blued bones Every place you held me in. Bated breaths from them peeling The suitcase we let gather dust, How come we’re on the same flight, Just in different terminals? The plane which took off before mine, carried the longing with it, And what is your love without the yearning mixed in it? Not the shaking when we landed, Face first in deep so called regret, Ignored the rumbling of shoved voices, What could be better than your heart’s erratic noises, When I pass through the crimes of unforgivable circumstances?
So when I was struggling with hands, my friend said,
“Draw him with powerpuff girl nubs!” Sooooo This happened.
You couldn’t give me the love I deserved
You hurt me really bad without regretting a single one of your moves
But I’ve learned that that’s okay
You broke me and had fun with it
I’ve grown from it, you’re still stuck
I won
~ excerpts of me moving on ~
colored pencil on paper.
Los Angeles CA 2018
I had that dream again last night.
I dream I'm in a differen city looking for a place to live. I'm alone, searching with this longing feeling deep in my soul.
I've been having this dream for years.
When I wake up I'm so relieved.
colored pencil
Los Angeles CA 2018
colored pencil on paper.
Los Angeles CA 2018
colored pencil on paper.
Los Angeles CA 2018
Instagram @quotations_and_lyrics
Irish Myths
VOL 9. The SELKIE. An Irish Mermaid Story
The Selkie’s Secret
In a forgotten corner of the Emerald Isle, where cliffs stood like ancient guardians and the waves whispered forgotten lullabies, there dwelled a fisherman named Eamon. His cottage clung to the rugged coast, its thatched roof weathered by countless storms. Eamon was a man of few words, his eyes etched with the sorrows of a lifetime spent chasing elusive fish and memories.
One tempest-laden evening, as rain drummed upon the windowpanes and the sea roared its defiance, Eamon stumbled upon a sight that would forever alter the course of his existence. There, nestled amidst the seaweed-strewn rocks, lay a treasure—a seal pelt of silver-gray, soft as moonlight and shimmering with otherworldly grace. Eamon’s gnarled fingers traced its edges, and he knew he held something more than mere fur. This was the skin of a Selkie—a creature of myth and melancholy.
The legends whispered of Selkies—of their dual existence, their fluidity between land and sea. By day, they swam as seals, their sleek bodies slicing through the icy depths. But when the moon hung low, they shed their skins, emerging as ethereal women, their eyes reflecting the mysteries of the abyss.
Eamon hid the pelt beneath his bed, its presence a secret shared only with the wind and the salt. Days turned into weeks, and his cottage became a sanctuary for the lost and the weary. Sailors sought refuge from raging storms, widows mourned husbands swallowed by the sea—all found solace within those walls. Yet Eamon’s gaze often strayed to the hidden pelt, wondering if the Selkie would return.
Then, one moonless night, as the stars blinked like ancient eyes, Eamon heard it—a melody that tugged at his heart, a lament woven from moonbeams and longing. He rushed to the window, and there she stood: the Selkie. Her skin was pale as foam, her hair a cascade of seaweed green. Her eyes held the wisdom of ages, and her lips curved in both fear and hope.
She was naked, vulnerable—a creature caught between realms. Eamon retrieved the pelt, its silvery strands slipping through his fingers like water. He held it out to her, voice barely a whisper. “Take it,” he said. “Be free.”
The Selkie’s tears glistened. She reached for the pelt, her fingers trembling. But then she hesitated, torn between love and duty. For Selkies faced a cruel choice: to remain with mortal lovers or return to the sea. Their hearts were bound by moonlight and salt spray.
Eamon understood. He had glimpsed eternity in her eyes, tasted salt and starlight on her lips. And so, with a bittersweet smile, he released her. The Selkie donned her pelt, her form shifting until she became a sleek seal once more. She nuzzled his cheek, a silent farewell, before slipping into the waves.
As the sea swallowed her, Eamon wept—for love unspoken, for a Selkie lost, and for the ache that would haunt him till his dying day. He walked the cliffs thereafter, eyes scanning the horizon, listening for her song—a melody carried by the wind, sung by a Selkie who danced beneath the moon.
And so, the legend of Eamon and the Selkie passed from generation to generation—a tale of sacrifice, of love that transcended realms, and of a fisherman who held the sea’s secrets close to his heart.
And there, my friend, ends our journey—a whisper of magic and longing that lingers in the salt-laden air, where Selkies still dance upon moonlit shores
Christy,
Male, Husband, Dad, Family man, Friendly, Easygoing.
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Bartemius Crouch Senior
I love Barty Crouch Senior, I just do. Maybe it’s because when we meet him I just see this bright man who got shafted by his family, the public and was alone; I feel for him. Now, he’s not perfect. We know that he could be cruel, as we see with him and Winky and hear from others in regards to the trails of other Death Eaters not connected to his son. But while he was ambitious and made mistakes as department head, they were misguided mistakes and not with the background of the mistakes or self-promotion ones made by Fudge or Scrimgeour. And while we hear about how he was an absentee father working late at the ministry, we know Barty Crouch Jr. had his mother to over-indulge him similar to how I believe James Potter was overindulged, and we know that Barty Crouch Sr. adored his wife so I feel there were limits or levels to his cruelty, especially as at any moment he could have handled his son differently after his wife passed, but he didn’t.
How Barty Crouch Dr. became who he was, we’ll never know, but once brought to the light I feel that Barty Crouch Sr. wasn’t as shocked as he would otherwise be, he just wasn’t in denial anymore. Maybe Barty Crouch Jr.’s nature turned his father away from him and not the other way around because regardless of the speculation that Barty Crouch Jr. might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, we know that’s not true. Barty Crouch Jr. was a proud Death Eater. When it comes to Barty Crouch Sr.’s errors, I put them more in line with Dumbledore’s. While not as understanding of his own faults, Barty Crouch Sr. was not malicious, but strict. Why he could not get the sympathy following the death of his wife and child as Dumbledore had with his sister I don’t understand. Barty Crouch Sr.’s main fault seemed to be in his appearance of being cruel (also alluded to in why Ludo Bagman got more praise than him) because the public first hated that he sentenced his son so ‘unfairly’ by treating him like any other Death Eater, then blaming him when he died in Azkaban, then hating him when they found out he had taken him from Azkaban but had him imprisoned in his home….I think they just wanted to hate him.
Bartemius Crouch Senior was not perfect or innocent, but for the most part, he tried to do what he believed was best for the world even if his methods to get there are more than questionable, and, he honoured his wife more than anything, which counts for something. His story reminds us that life isn’t fair but it is complicated.
What Are You Doing?
What do you do with the flooring that gets ripped out from underneath you?
How do you find everything that went out the window?
At the moment the breeze that was coming from all around was refreshing
Time was a weird state of being
At the time the sun went down it
Rang out the last drops of pink daylight on the clouds
Evenings are cold with you gone
You were an exceptional white flag
Out with the old, in with the new
Unfazed when my insecurities are soaked in the salty type of anger
Doing the action of pacing in the trench that I fell back into
Oozing with the blood of regret from standing,
In,
No mans land, with a,
Great gunshot wound in the heart
The Streets Of Regret
I often walk the streets of regret
I know my way
Down the blank streets,
Of this blank town,
That few people know by name
The ones that know are the ones who survive the pain,
With pockets full of dread,
With feet full of lead
There are people on the empty streets
Fighting to be the next Bruno Mars, or Beyonce
While peacemakers argue with them,
I secretly stand out
I’m fighting to be the next Bob Dylan, or Patsy Cline
I know that those two are mine
Artists with feeling,
Don’t live in the same world as the robots with glass and glazed, laser eyes
There are cracks in the sidewalk kids are playing near
There are booze bottles littering the streets
I walk past with hurry stuck in my messy hair like gum
I don’t know much, but I'm sure I'm walking after midnight
Alongside a rainy wind blowing,
My wills are growing
I stop to see my hopelessness weeping
Instead of possums and passions sleeping
I turn a corner to find winter waiting waving at me
I turn a leaf to find some grey pill bugs that resemble me
Where do you go when you don’t have a home?
Do you just sit defeated the moment you are set free from your room?
Defeated because in the beginning you pushed too hard
In the start I saw the morning light hitting the dew drops in the backyard
The illusion of freedom in my black play pants
I guess that’s kind of my thing now, but now they come with ants
I don’t remember running out of hope
But I did realize that life is certainly not a fairytale where dreams come true
And true love’s kiss saves everything
You must live without your dreams and just do what a man’s got to do to keep yourself alive
The frustration of walking in circles, round and round
And constantly seeing clowns with painted frowns
As if they were mocking misery with their humor
They tell everyone how great the streets are but it’s a funny rumor