Tamlin: This Is Lucien, He's... Well Not My Assistant, Some Other Word.

Tamlin: This is Lucien, he's... well not my assistant, some other word.

Lucien: I'm his carer.

Tamlin: Yeah, my carer. He cares so I don't have to.

Send me 🚪  ( or ‘door’ )   and I’ll generate a number for my muse to show up on your muse’s doorstep ( a mix of angst, silliness, and fluff ) …

crying

starving

possessed

sopping wet

blackout drunk

holding a baby

after a car crash

looking for a fight

covered in bruises

after being mugged

covered with confetti

severely dehydrated 

angry beyond reason

with a broken arm/leg

covered in blood (theirs)

after having a nightmare

after being missing for days

after the death of a loved one

covered in baking ingredients

about to faint from exhaustion

with a real crown on their head

on their knee, with ring in hand

covered in tiny scrapes and cuts

covered in blood ( someone else’s )

holding a baby animal ( sender’s choice )

I know that in the morning

I'll see us in the light up on the hill

Although I am broken, my heart is untamed still

@tamlinweek

“But just because you’re strong and resilient doesn’t mean you never need someone to be there for you, to take care of you.”

— Tammara Webber

thinking about the finding. oh yes the bruise-littered skin and rubbed-raw wrists and red-rimmed eyes, oh yes the shallow, pained breaths and semi-consciousness, in and out for the pain, but more acutely: the finding. the 'you are safe now' as well as the 'how do i touch you without hurting you'. the 'i'm here, and i'm sorry that i'm late'. you know