the 'get Morgan used to Svetlana's tiny keyboard/new comp celebration' spam post

[roomforonemore]

How It Works:
1. Break out your character journals and have them ask my characters questions. If they have no questions, have them... I dunno. Say a word or random phrase and I'll throw a character at them to talk about that word or phrase and they can have existential debates about paperclips if that's their kink. The idea is random, pointless, stressfree fun. If you demand an explanation out of one of my characters or have legitimate questions, personally and OOC-ly, I'm all right with that too.
2. If you'd rather start a more proper thread, throw someone in with one of those. Anything goes.
3. Optionally request someone in particular to be thrown at said comment in the subject, or just leave it open.
3b. OC and kids you know I do/have play/ed who don't currently have journals also are fair game.
4. RP spam happens.

Comments

[noonegetstome]

He has to leave her sometimes. He has to walk away because otherwise he's going to break, going to scream and shake her and demand his Molly back from wherever she's disappeared to. And he knows, he does know, that that won't do any good, that it might make her worse, but he still wants to sometimes.

Jim isn't very good at being patient, unless he has a very clear idea of how long it's going to last. And he doesn't know how long it'll be before Molly is herself again, doesn't know if it ever will happen. He can't fix this, and it makes him want to scream.

So he steps out, steps away and lets out his frustration elsewhere and when he's done, when he's calm and can be gentle and pleasant again, he comes back.

This time he has a bag of groceries in his arm when he lets himself back into the flat, still upstairs from the shop that might as well be gone by now for how often he opens it. He's smiling, and he manages to keep it even when he sees her on the couch, sees the expression on her face.

He walks past her, sets the groceries down on the table, moving quietly so as not to disturb her. He stops to take a breath, and it's only then that he moves back to the couch, sitting carefully on the edge next to her and reaching out to rest a hand over hers.

[itwasntworkingforme]

She tenses, her eyes darting away from the blackness and towards Jim. He's a shadow, a lie, a ghost that she's not sure of.

But his hand is on her, warm and soft and reassuring.

Maybe he's not a ghost. Maybe he's there to rescue her.

She slumps against him, her eyes closing again as she makes herself comfortable. "Please be real," she mutters softly. "Please Jim, please be real?"