pindrops on tiles

reverse-mermaid: In case you missed it, you should know that this is a thing now: http://under-the-bed-stories.tumblr.com/post/34543334872/rock-a-bye-my-baby-playlist

On a related note, a question: are there any songs in particular that you yourself associate with the story?

I am SO GLAD you do things like this and let me know because I am so under the rug when it comes to fandom and I probably never would have noticed it was there unless someone hit me in the face with it.

I was gobsmacked when I clicked that link. Wow, I can’t believe someone did that! It makes me all warm and fuzzy and I still can’t believe someone took all that time to find songs that resonate with them and the story I wrote. gosh, it just really means a lot. I can’t even express how much. it’s wonderful.

As for songs that I associate with the story, there are quite a few! I’m not sure if you want a long list of specifics, but two of the main songs I think of are All This and Heaven Too, No Light, No Light, and Spectrum by Florence and the Machine. A lot of my inspiration comes from Florence, and these songs just make me feel… like them. I don’t know how to describe that. They feel very much like Wheatley and Chell to me, specifically in this story. It’s a strange feeling.

I listen to Florence and the Machine a great deal when I’m writing, haha. It probably shows. (:

update to let SN readers know that I’m not dead

Nearing 3k words on chapter 10! or is it 11? I don’t remember. That’s awful.

It should be done soon-ish. The -ish is because I doubt I’m going to get much writing done this weekend. I haven’t seen Matt since July and I’m fucking ecstatic that he’s visiting this weekend.

But I’m estimating a couple weeks. Depending on how many assignments my professors throw at me, it may be more or less.

so.

(:

just posting this here to show that I’m making progress

He feels. He can feel. He doesn’t know how it’s possible, but he can. This is what it’s like, isn’t it? This must be. God. The ground beneath him, cool, cold, individual strands of grain bunching beneath his fingers, and it’s so much to take in because he’s never had fingers before, no, he mustn’t have, this feels so incredible, so real, so wonderful; there’s so much around him and he feels like it’s struggling to push through every inch of him so he can feel it all.

And then he realizes that he’s breathing.

He hears himself take a soft inhale—it hurts a little, just a little, not as much as everywhere else—and he can hear the shaky, slow release. This is one of those things humans do, right? Breathing. They have to do it or they’ll die. It’s something for their brain, isn’t it? Oxygen. It’s a subconscious process that they don’t even have to think about. It just happens so they don’t have to worry about it. And once he worries about it, it stops.

The sudden halt of airflow is sharp and obvious. There’s a swelling feeling centered in the middle of him, swelling and grasping and desperate and oh god, oh god, what does he do, the world is seeming to burst from inside of him—and then something clicks. He takes control, inhales, trying to suck in as much air as he can, drawing in sweet relief and ecstasy. Everything settles, the pain subsides, and it’s with another grateful breath that he recognizes something: the damp scent of the earth.

It triggers something. He doesn’t know why it seems familiar, but it is, and it’s something so deep and buried that he’s having trouble understanding exactly why this sense of I’ve done this before is permeating everything, and then he begins to panic because the world seems to bleed into darkness, black closing in.