You Will Live And You Will Say The Wrong Things And Make Mistakes And People Will Love You Anyways.

you will live and you will say the wrong things and make mistakes and people will love you anyways.

Quack

the urge to write is like a cat meowing for dear life for someone to open the goddamn door, who then shows utter disinterest in said open door

thinkin about the chosen one story told from the pov of the person standing next to them again. thinkin about the one who has to stand by and watch the chosen one become a weapon, a sacrifice, an offering to the machinations of plot and can do nothing but make sure they’re fed and rested and soothe them when they wake up screaming from nightmares. thinkin about the fierce devotion that has to exist to follow someone to the end of the world just so they don’t have to die alone. thinkin about the terror they’d feel every step of the journey knowing it’s not their place to change how the story plays out. thinkin thinkin thinkin.