#hey i wrote that lol

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME #there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing #and the writing is what i need to be doing #writeblr #this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to #edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol #i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!! #my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means #i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her) #hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong #i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet. #i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse #i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!! #i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO #i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness #and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it #im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us #i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer #and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art. #i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work #even if it means being miserable #but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.

[ryssbelle]

I forgot the set up so all yall get is the punchline

#my art #dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 #trolls #trolls band together #brozone #trolls john dory #trolls floyd #the set up had something to do with floyds earring #and john was like 'why the earring everyone already knows' #and then it led to this #it was a lot and i couldnt remember it lol #i remembered this section tho cuz i wrote it down #idk why this is the only one i wrote down #im a little silly #but hey thats why im so funny

[lightasthesun]

Imagine surviving the war only to lose most of the people closest to you.

The Woman that once upon a time held your heart in her hands.

The Girl that you loved like a daughter and whose death would ultimately lead to you losing your only brother.

•

In this universe, the river of time flows differently. Each step, each choice, and each poignant moment in its stream drift slightly off course.

It starts like this:

When Ahsoka and Bo-Katan ask the Jedi Order for aid in freeing Mandalore from Darth Maul's grasp and finally putting an end to the former Sith's reign, Obi-Wan does not ignore their call for help. Satine's ghost still haunts his nightmares, and it's the look on her sister's face, along with the redheads snarling accusations and Ahsoka's distant demeanor, that cause his typically composed exterior to splinter.

Through the cracks in his shields, a presence slips in – wild and tumultuous, yet practically radiant in its brilliance.

Days, months, weeks and even years later Obi-Wan will wish he'd taken a little longer to cradle her presence close.

It ends like this:

Anakin with Windu on the Invisible Hand. A incapacitated Sith in custody and another, more vile, more cunning, more sinister, choosing the wrong moment to reveal himself. A twist of fate. A long lost friend showing signs of old loyalty. Lightning. Screams. Hurt and Betrayal. The Chosen One as he was meant to be without terrors of the night influencing his most damning decision. Red clashing with purple, with blue. Red, blue, purple, blue, red, purple— A head rolls. The cackling stops.

For a moment, Peace.

A bond, frail at the edges but oh so resilient, crafted amidst blaster fire and silly nicknames and bets made on the battlefield, breaks—

Anakin screams.

•

On Mandalore the last chess piece falls with a Padawans last sacrifice.

First, Maul taunts. Maul laughs. Maul feeds on rage, on grief and hurt and terror, terror, terror. He's stronger here. Less controlled too, but while his greed costs him his head, his strength costs Obi-Wan the centerpiece of his lineage.

Obi-Wan holds his daughter as she bleeds out in his arms. His shoulders shake but he does not cry. His eyes burn but he does not weep. His lips twitch but he does not sob. He holds Ahsoka much the same way he held Satine only months before.

“No, not you too.”

Something flickers inside his mind, once, twice. It grows ever dimmer and Ahsoka's grip on his shoulder, ever weaker. A feeble voice inside his mind, It's okay. It doesn't hurt. I'll be okay, Master.

But this time no reassurance, no hand to his cheek, no last confession, nothing, will temper the anger slowly rising in tandem with his grief. He needs a medic. He needs a medic, now. Where's —

Cody!

Obi-Wan doesn't like the expression on the face of his slowly approaching Commander. The furrow of his brow, the emotion in his eyes. He doesn't like that Cody has taken off his helmet and reaches out to hold Obi-Wan by his shoulder as if he knows Obi-Wan needs the physical support, as if Ahsoka is going to —

“Master—”

Obi-Wan turns his eyes back on his Grandpadawan. Hers are barely open, her lips smeared with blood. Obi-Wans eyes catch on the red trailing down her chin and the length of her throat.

Ahsoka catches his eyes and smiles. She tugs on their bond the way she had always done before a battle, up until her last assignment on Caito Neimodia.

She tugs once, twice, three times. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest. He tugs back three times.

He does cry then. For the life she will never have. For the peace she will never experience. For the war she fought and whose final victory she will never reap. For the girl he learned to love as his own.

And even in her last moment, even in pain, even after Hurt and Miscommunication, and Betrayal born out of insecurity and misjudgment, she still worries for others first. For him.

You're safe. You're all sa—

He shushes her. Tired amusement tingles across their bond.

Then,

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

You are forgiven, Obi-Wan.

Exhale. The light winks out and as their bond shatters his last remaining one pulls tight with white hot agony.

Cody is all that keeps Obi-Wan upright right then and there.

•

The war is over. They won. So many dead. His lineage torn asunder.

Ahsoka is dead. Anakin won't speak to him. Qui-Gon is dead. Dooku is imprisoned.

Here the river of time finds a stream parallel to the one we know.

Obi-Wan and Yoda at the end of things.

#obi wan kenobi #codywan #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #commander cody #idk what came over me #no betaed obvsl #i wrote this just now #it was meant to be a prompt for someone else welp #couldn't let go of it but hey if somebody wants to write the entire thing you're welcome to #just mention where you got the idea lol #writing #the clone wars #tw death #death fic #my writing #text post

[rogersstevie]

really and truly unless it's a discussion about why peggy/steggy fans shouldn't like endgame, at this point idk why people feel the need to continually make the argument about her having a family as if that's the biggest problem about the ending especially when i figure most people are of the belief that it was another timeline or whatever idk what the current consensus on that is in the mcu and i don't care

but what about the fact that it destroyed steve's family? does that not matter because it's not the standard spouse and children but is instead a family he built for himself with sam and nat and bucky? because it's easier to decide steve is a selfish asshole and always has been instead of acknowledging that that storyline did more of a disservice to him than to anyone else? like oh maybe peggy's family was erased and that's horrible but it doesn't matter that steve's family was abandoned in the midst of the kind of trauma he knows very well?

i've said it before but it makes me so sad that so many people just turned on steve and decided a decade of movies don't matter in the face of one shitty desperate attempt of a movie to make him look like a pathetic creep just so they could justify their heterosexual nonsense ending

#steve rogers #anti steggy #anti endgame #also just occurred to me how part of the whole bullshit about not undoing five years #was so tony's daughter wouldn't be erased (even though like hey pepper could've already been pregnant in iw and it would've been fine) #but they had no qualms about peggy's family (since the writers and directors didn't even agree about the timelines) #bc peggy does not matter as anything other than steve's love interest lol and they just continue showing that as far as i can tell #marvel does not care about her as being anything but part of a ship that only ended up together #as a fulfillment of male fantasies and to try to squash stevebucky #so idk why fans are so defensive of marvel on that front #in the end anything redeeming that they wrote for her character was negated and stripped down so she's just a girlboss and a prize #neither of which are good things no matter how hard y'all try to put a feminist spin on it!

[dipplinduo]

Chapter 1 of a New Dipplinshipping Mini Series is OUT. Introducing...

* ~ The Dichotomy in Our Hearts ~ *

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Summary: Kieran and Juliana have just returned from the depths of Area Zero, where Juliana once again is the hero of the story who gets to keep the glory and the legendary pokemon that comes with it. Bitter and jaded, Kieran is left to tend to the wounds of his defeat as he waits to hear about the League's decision regarding who gets to keep the Championship title in Blueberry Academy. He was prepared to do whatever it took to salvage his reputation, but then Carmine delivers the news that they will be going home for a period of time. Will this trip help ease the pain of his loss, or will it be too hard to show his face again - especially to his oh-so-perfect rival of all people?

Juliana has felt the distance grow between her and Kieran, and it's exactly the opposite of what she wants with her crush. She hopes she can reach out to him and somehow make things right, but he seems to be irritable and stressed whenever she does talk to him. In a moment of unexpected vulnerability, she realized that the old Kieran was still inside of him somewhere. Can she successfully team up with Carmine and the rest of Kieran's family to help him soften up again? And can she find a way to tell him about her feelings?

This story will be told in five chapters, and everything has already been planned out in advance. I'm going to have a lot of fun with this, and I hope you can too. Please let me know what you think if you decide to read it! 💕

#my fics #dipplinshipping #kieran pokemon #kieran x juliana pokemon #juliana x kieran pokemon #juliana pokemon #kieran x juliana #juliana x kieran #carmine pokemon #kitakami #☯︎☯︎☯︎☯︎☯︎ #next chapter will be from Juliana's POV smile #hey swifties I listened to 'tis the damn season on repeat as I wrote this first chapter LOL

[wundrousarts]

Hi folks! It seems like people are discovering that there are people online who write some WEIRD! 👎 stuff for Nevermoor. Some tips and tricks for dealing with that:

Don't engage. Don't read the fics. Don't even comment to say how much you hate it.

Don't spread it around. It's gross as hell, I know! But being like "ew, guys, I found this gross fic" just means you're causing more people to seek out said gross fic, and that's just not great. If you don't want to see it, no one else wants to either.

If you can: block, mute, or filter. I don't really use any fanfic sites to know if these functionalities exist, but I'm sure people online have found ways. Edit: here's a way to do it on Ao3.

TL;DR: Ignore, Ignore, Ignore. 👍

(PS: Same thing goes for when people send weird inappropriate anon messages. Just delete them from your inbox and don't subject others to them.)

This is unfortunately something that's been present for years in the fandom, on both Ao3 and Wattpad. This is also why I essentially don't read Nevermoor fics unless they're for Mogtober, and even then I'm cautious. I have seen some weird stuff written about my favorite characters that I wish I could pluck from my brain and set on fire, or worse! But when I stumble across that stuff, I just quickly close the tab and pivot to something else to get my mind off of it.

We should not entertain these types of people in a fandom full of minors about a middle grade series, so: just don't engage with them, ignore them, filter them out, and maybe even drown them out with some fics of your own.

#good talk 👍 #nevermoor #nevermoor fandom #nevermoor fanfic #why oh why does this fandom attract the occasional weirdo. #I'd be using stronger language when talking abt these types of folks but i'd prob get banned. #as an adult in this fandom I feel I have a responsibility to keep folks safe from weirdos 👍 i've banned folks on discord + i'd do it again #years ago there was a weird af fic on ao3 that I noticed folks were kudos'ing and I had to be like. hey guys pls don't do that 😭 #unfortunately ao3 moderation and rules are NONEXISTENT!!! so there's nothing ppl can do except the stuff above :/ #and I wouldn't know abt wattpad bc I went on there once to see what mogtober stuff ppl wrote and was horrified and noped out of there 😬 #anyways. all the more reason to participate in mogtober. so everyone's writing stuff in order to bury the gross stuff. creation for a cause #(and bc mogtober is fun and everyone should participate. lol) #soz for the psa folks but I deemed it necessary 🤷 feel free to enjoy the art I just posted as well #just been on the internet toooo long and don't like the thought or reality of young folks being exposed in any way to this kind of stuff. 😕 #couldn't figure out where to fit this emoji in so here: 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢. thats me and my constant feeling whenever this stuff pops up again. 😑

[cherryatombomb]

Simon Riley headcanons

help girl this man is rotting my brain. anyway here r things that might not show up in my fics but i still think apply to him :] some of them are explicit autistic! ghost others are not but. he always is in my brain u get me. could be considered x reader bc i only mention s/o vaguely so go wild gang

Good with body language, figuring people out via how they act. Mostly good at understanding tone and such - but passive aggression is where he falters. He just doesn't get it mostly, struggles to register it. Surrounds himself with people who are pretty blunt so it doesn't matter, but oh man he hates passive aggression

Speaking of, he's so blunt. He just doesn't see why he should need to sugarcoat himself and will speak his mind all the time. Doesn't see it as being rude, he's just an honest guy.

Love language is physical affection he just has no idea. He's SO touched starved please hold him.

When he gets comfortable with an s/o he's just so cuddly when sleeping. Like, full on limbs everywhere, you have no idea whose limbs are whose. He loves it.

Favourite positions for cuddling are either his s/o on his chest, or him on their chest. Both becoming weighted blankets for the other, it's GREAT.

Also loves quality time, but when the person he's spending time with and himself are doing separate things in comfortable silence, it's so cozy.

The mask is a sensory comfort for him, that's why he wears it so often. He also doesn't emote expression-wise that much, which some people find disconcerting, so it helps. Mostly communicates physically through his eyes.

He's got a secret sweet tooth, and has multiple snacks stashes hidden throughout the bases he stays on. Gummy sweets + chocolates are his favourite.

He has dimples bc I think they're cute. That's all.

Good with kids but they scare him in the like "they're so sweet and I'm not sweet how do I handle it??". They think the mask is cool and just think he's pretty cool. Uses his shitty jokes for good if he's ever in a situation where he needs to calm a kid down, but makes sure they're more pg. Everyone thinks it's so funny to see this intimidating masked man make a joke abt fish being so-fish-ticated (sophisticated) when wearing bowties, but its okay bc it makes the kids giggle

Shows his affection in subtle ways when in public, he's not really a PDA guy. Like, pinky fingers intertwined, or feet touching when sat down. Not very obvious about it, but he's there nonetheless.

If his s/o is in the military he'll like do their armour straps before a mission, or clean their gun in between missions

Loves petting hair. It's so soft and feels so nice under his hands ohh he loves it. Lay on him and let him pet ur hair and he can die happy

Has a list of names of people who his s/o has mentioned hurting them. If they ever show up this boy will just glare the Whole Time.

Speaking of he's so protective but tries not to be overbearing with it. Like if someone's hitting on his s/o he trusts them but will just loom behind them to see if they need help. Waiting for them to either leave, or for his s/o to sic them on him like a guard dog, bc lets be real, that's who this man truly is

Loves picking his s/o up he's so strong so he can pick up most people. Only done in private time but will sling his s/o over his shoulder or stuff bc he loves hearing their response it's so fun

Good at art, but only really does charcoal landscape paintings. Very protective over this because he's kind of embarrassed about it but he finds it comforting

Not really a gift giver, he mostly just gives people money so they can buy it themselves because he's very practical.

For those that are close to him, though, I can see him making some effort - a personal sentimental gift alongside the money

Gifts his s/o one of his knives so they can protect themselves. Will teach them how to use it if they aren't military

Likes to fuck with new recruits who are scared of him because he thinks it's hilarious. This man is a MENACE

Cat person for SURE. They just get each other. The need to fuck with people and seem kind of hostile but also love affection on their terms? That's so Ghost.

#i love him so dearly #i wanna give him a little kiss #wrote this bc i had the sudden urge to whilst writing another ghost fanfic LOL #i mean hey if u wanna preview of my next fic in the 'tism ghost series #itll be him getting unmasked by a rookie whos bein a dick #so look forward to that #so much hurt/comfort gang #call of duty #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley headcanons #ghost headcanons #could be read as x reader #but i wont tag it as that bc i dont wanna clog the tag up :]

[titiro]

Chapters: 1/8 Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP, 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Charles | Grian/Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar, Charles | Grian & Rendog, Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar & Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar's Cat Jellie, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Oliver Brotherhood | Mumbo Jumbo & Charles | Grian, Oliver Brotherhood | Mumbo Jumbo & Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar, Cubfan135 & Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar, Charles | Grian & Joel | SmallishBeans, Charles | Grian & Cubfan135 Characters: Charles | Grian, Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar, Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar's Cat Jellie, Rendog (Video Blogging RPF), Oliver Brotherhood | Mumbo Jumbo, Cubfan135 (Video Blogging RPF), Joel | SmallishBeans, Minor Characters Additional Tags: the major character death is temporary dw, its not unserious though so thats why ive tagged it, Avian Charles | Grian, Vex Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar, Mating Rituals, <-hate that that tag is here but its the best descriptor ive got., miscommunication out the wazoo on this one lads, so buckle up, but like the funny miscommunication(mostly), tags will be updated as I go, no beta we die like scar. often and in ridiculous manner Summary:

miscommunication out the wazoo! Scar and Grian are trying. so hard to rizz each other up but unfortunately neither of them stopped to consider that the other is a different kind of hybrid and has different requirements for this. they're also accidentally succeeding at it. meanwhile their friends are just watching the trainwreck happen, amused and baffled.

#hey guys i wrote a thing #or rather i am writing it lol #scarian #trafficshipping #hermitshipping #my writing #behavioral isolation

[inkskinned]

so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.

this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.

somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.

i used betterhelp.

i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.

the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.

they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.

the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.

i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."

i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.

the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.

i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.

in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.

the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.

betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.

i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.

there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.

in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.

i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.

#writeblr #the book.... #coming soon #hey so if ur someone who has ever said “you need to write a book” #i wrote the book #it's ... probably the best thing ive ever written #this is maybe too honest lol #okay to reblog thank you for asking i love u i am in love with u our wedding will be in may

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

WHO UP AND READY TO CRY:

Kara doesn’t say anything even though she should—for a moment, she seems frozen as if in shock, not even her hair braying in the breeze of Jeremiah’s standing fan. As he looks at his sister, her curly brown hair that’s grown far past her shoulder blades, her eyes that are now fitted with contacts instead of boxy glasses, her nose that’s now pricked on the right by a cubic zirconia, he realizes he wasn’t just vague about his reasons for returning home, but cruel. What kind of brother calls his sister on a Sunday morning and explains his abrupt return is nothing to worry about, that all he needs is time, that in a week he’ll be better, clearer? What kind of brother says that if a week isn’t enough, then two certainly will be because he’ll quickly learn how to love the scent of coffee again and how to ask for a table for one and how to dance on his own and how to think fondly of a sunset and how to pray without feeling wrong and how to sleep alone? What kind of brother says that in any regard Madonna’s releasing Confessions on a Dance Floor in less than a month so he expects he’ll change by then and if that doesn’t fix him he’ll figure it out anyway? And what kind of brother looks at his sister now and thinks that in all this time he’s relieved she was never there to see him get into a bar for the first time, see him find himself in his houseplants and in Biyu’s laugh, see him fall in love with the wrong man? When Jeremiah was ten and his sister was sixteen, they’d promised each other they’d stay close, and maybe at that age, he didn’t know what that meant, to remain intwined in someone’s life till you were an intrinsic part of them—a lung and a breath, dog and a bone, a god and the son he creates. But here they are, so close, so far apart, Jeremiah’s mouth formed around a question he can’t bring himself to say out loud. What kind of brother leaves?

#MEEEE WHEN SIBLINGSSSSSSSS #this feels like a mess to me <3 but not in a bad way more in a way where I will read it next week and see how I feel LOL #BUT YEAHHH hey kara how you doing girl!!!! #i know nothing about her literally at all <3 and could barely settle on her name LOL it was between this and kira? she seems like a k name #THIS IS ALL I WROTE TODAY GONNA GET A BUN FROM THE BAKERY AS A TREAT NOW #changing states

[antiparticular]

everything i have on my original star trek species. it is extensive

i welcome, nay encourage, people to create their own z'lichte character (so long as I am credited)

#hiyaa please bear in mind that im a physicist not a biologist lol and also i wrote most of this when i was like 16 #so i know a lot of it isn't exactly scientifically sound #but hey this was born from me drawing a cool elf alien once and i think it's pretty sick how much i built on that #kind of ended up looking more like a vampire though LMAO #star trek #star trek oc #star trek fanart #z'lichte #speculative biology #oc: ensign tila'ave

[rocknrollsalad]

STWG Daily Prompt (Nov 10) - "I can explain..."

❤️ pairing(s): clarkson (implied steddie)

🧡 Wayne tries to have a quiet night in with Scott and Eddie, as usual, has other plans for them.

💛 content/trigger warnings: implied period typical homophobia (internal), concussions, injury treating

💚 word count: 2500

💙 Wayne Munson is a lot of things. Hardworking, caring, smarter than he looks, and incredibly private. Something life in the trailer park doesn’t always afford him, people keep track of the comings and goings around them and don’t mind coming over with a barely warmed frozen pie to find out why there’s a new car parked out in front of Wayne’s trailer. 

That curiosity doesn’t mix with the reason the car is there, something best kept off other’s lips but Wayne doesn’t have the heart to ask Scott to park somewhere else or suggest they go to his place instead. Surely Wayne’s old truck would stick out like a sore thumb in Scott’s neighborhood and old ladies are busy regardless of their tax bracket.

Not that he’s doing anything with Scott he should be ashamed of. Not anymore, at least. The evening plans consisted of Bonanza reruns, cheap wine, and stealing the root beer Bottle Caps before Scott noticed. A night so unremarkably like any other even the gossipy of church ladies couldn’t find anything to say. 

See, privacy was limited. Bartered and scheduled during Eddie’s shifts at work or bribing him to take friends to the movies. There was the occasional out of town trip now that his friend group had expanded but there was always an end to the empty trailer. To the privacy that a man Wayne’s age should have with ease. 

Instead, his bedroom folded out into the central room. He slept with his head mere feet from the front door which had proved useful more times than Wayne wanted to admit. Especially now as it was the biggest fault in this layout. 

There’d always be a room for Eddie. Wayne didn’t care if the boy was forty-five, he’d still clear a space and welcome him back in and, truthfully, Wayne thought his days of courting someone were long past. This wasn’t a problem he was meant to have and yet he watched the clock. Eddie’s shift ended five minutes ago. By the next commercial break, he’d be pulling in, talking about everything under the sun, and taking half the food out of the fridge. 

Meaning there was a respectable distance between him and Scott on the couch, not quite sitting on opposite ends but no longer sitting together. However, three commercial breaks came and went, a bathroom break and a little wander around to move joints that didn’t like to sit still for long periods of time, and a quick trip outside to smoke a cigarette because the smoke made Scott sneeze and not at all to watch down the road for familiar headlights all came and went. No Eddie. 

And so Scott moved closer. It was always Scott and for that Wayne was thankful. Too out of practice to make moves on his own, Scott picked up the slack. He was now passing over the coveted root beer candies and pointing out the historical inaccuracies of a bunch of men on a sound stage. 

Enough time passed, and Wayne stopped watching the clock. Eddie had probably gone out with friends and forgot to call. The lecture could wait until the morning but Eddie was old enough to take care of himself, Wayne kept alert enough to answer the call from the cops should it come but beyond that relaxed into an Eddie-free night. Something he shouldn’t be celebrating but as Scott stretched out across the couch, laying his head on Wayne’s leg, it was hard not to. 

The wine had done this. It always did and Wayne would tell him every time “It’s going to knock you out, take it easy,” and every time Scott would come up with some reason it wouldn’t. He’d had a big lunch, the sun was still shining, and he was really enjoying this movie. An answer for everything and every time it ended this way. 

Wayne couldn’t find a complaint to utter though and carried on watching the Cartwrights do their thing. When the corrections stalled and Scott gave up on most midsentence, Wayne eased the man’s glasses off and folded them gently on the table beside him. The protests that followed were from a script, these were the same every time and easily silenced. 

By the time he clicked over to the nightly news and nothing came from his nephew, Wayne decided they had the trailer to themselves tonight. And while he should have done so many things, turn off the lights, have another cigarette, lock the door, he didn’t want to risk waking the snoring science teacher. 

If they were going to do this, sneak around and date outside the prying eyes of everyone like some teenagers, Wayne could give into a bit of those childish wants. Everything didn’t have to be old man Munson. 

Rather than get up, leave Scott to the couch and the good blanket to go off to his bed, Wayne shifted slowly, carefully, until he was lying behind Scott. Propping his head on the arm of the couch, Wayne watched the reporters talk about the events of the day and enjoyed the warmth of lying with someone else. It almost felt too indulgent, like he was only allowed a little bit of this. 

Instead, Wayne drifted off as well. An arm over Scott, nestled close. It was one of life’s simple pleasures, surely. Sunsets, hitting all green lights, and cuddling next to someone, it was all magical in a way Wayne had forgotten. Being close enough to smell shampoo, to feel the rise and fall of his chest, and to know he felt safe enough to be here. Wayne was a lucky guy. 

He had no idea how long he’d been laying there, the TV station had gone off the air and the static image mixed with the one good street lamp outside. Eddie’s silhouette was in the door that he’d just slammed into the wall. Wayne wasn’t sure if the sound woke him or the need to yell at Eddie for the hole they couldn’t even repair anymore. 

Before Wayne could settle on an answer, he remembered where he was and scrambled to sit up. Shoving Scott’s feet out of the way, Wayne sat bolt straight like a sergeant was here for bed inspection. 

At about the same time, the sight of Eddie came into focus. There were leaves in his hair which seemed a little wilder than usual. His eye was swollen, surely on its way to blackening, and his clothes were ripped in a few new spots. 

That sight and not the embarrassment had Wayne on his feet. Eddie took the words Wayne was about to speak and held his hands up. “I can explain.” 

“It better be a good one,” Wayne warned, peering out the still-opened door to check on Eddie’s van or if he’d been followed. 

Somewhere behind him, Scott groaned and sat up. It was Eddie’s turn to peer around, judging just slightly. They were too similar sometimes and this was the last moment Wayne wanted to be putting that together. 

“Okay, so you know Steve’s best friend? Robin?” 

Wayne shook his head. He barely remembered half the stuff Eddie said about Steve. Though in Wayne’s defense, it was a lot. Somehow the kid had replaced Lord of the Rings as the constant topic of conversation and Wayne wasn’t sure if it was an improvement. 

“You’ve met her several times. Several. It’s not important. She’s got this possum that’s like living under her porch and…” 

There was a bit of relief in the way Wayne relaxed but mostly it was regret. For asking, for not knowing better, or for thinking Eddie had been in a fight, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was all of it. He knew at this moment, shenanigans should have been expected. 

For the first time, Wayne looked to Scott. Both to see if he’d commiserate and if he was okay. He looked asleep still, just sitting up. No help there. Reluctantly, Wayne looked back to Eddie to hear the rest of this tale. 

“...so I’m under the porch and I think I got a handle on this bastard, right? I’m gonna get him out of there except we didn’t really, like, check gender or whatever. I don’t even know why we thought he was a guy. Robin named him Jeremy and Steve and me rolled with it. Anyway, Jeremy had several babies he was protective of.” 

Ages ago, Eddie set the bar for weird. Telling a story about how he’d broken his arm, he was all of ten and it had something to do with a book Wayne couldn’t remember, a pile of rocks, and several "dragons". It was all very…Eddie. Something that said the next generation was certainly different. But this seemed to raise the bar. It was going to take a bit more to pass this one than Wayne wanted to live through. 

“I hate that I have to ask this question, kid, but did the possum give you a black eye?” 

“No. You’d think that, right, but their cute little hands aren’t that strong. I punched myself trying to bat Jeremy away. It was so cramped under there, there wasn’t a lot of room to swing around I guess and I got myself.” 

“Naturally.” 

“Jeremy is still there, we didn’t get him out but Robin said I couldn’t stay at her house. Her parents have rules about boys and sleepovers they’ve been trying to get them to relax about for ages but me and Steve had to leave. I slammed my head pretty good, so they didn’t think I should be alone. Y’know, in case I had a concussion or something.” 

“Why didn’t you stay with Steve?” 

“I’m injured, uncle, and you’re trying to kick me out of my house? My home?” Eddie flawlessly switched on a pout he’d perfected about the same time he’d mastered getting himself into bizarre situations. Though it was worse with the one eye swollen shut. 

Wayne grumbled but walked off to the kitchen, grabbing the bag of peas and carrots. The label was wearing off and Wayne thought they should probably replace these. At some point, they had to be harboring new life forms in there for as many times as it had been thawed and refrozen. 

“Go sit in my chair,” Wayne said, slapping the bag to Eddie’s chest and heading over to click the lamp on so he could get a better look at the boy. Trying to figure out what to say to Eddie who looked like he went toe to toe with a biker gang but it was nothing more than his own clumsiness and desire to cheat death. 

Eddie skipped over to the chair he usually wasn’t allowed to sit in. Only when hurt or sick. Just because he was in his twenties didn’t mean traditions had to go. It obviously still worked as Eddie plopped into the chair with every ounce of disrespect and pride he had. 

Wayne waved his hand to remind Eddie where the veggies were meant to go. Instead, Eddie sat there with that shit-eating grin he was too good at. Something that decidedly Munson. Wayne’s dad had the same Chesire grin. He was sure his grandpa did and all the other branches of the family tree. 

“How’s it going, Mr. Clarke?” Eddie said, returning to pathetic and wounded. 

Scott opened his mouth but the rebuttal fell flat, he sighed and crumpled. Too tired to be clever and it had Wayne flashing a warning to Eddie. 

“I got in a fight with a possum,” Eddie said, not needing Scott’s participation in this. 

However, he got it. “Looks like the possum won,” Scott grumbled. 

Eddie’s eyes shot to Wayne like he was going to stop that and not stand there laughing. It was deserved and true so there was little Wayne was going to do. Other than laugh.  

“You wanna keep playing or should we check this out,” Wayne said, comfortable in the newfound smugness Scott allowed him. 

With a heaving sigh, Eddie nodded. Wayne bent down and had Eddie track his finger, watching for any bouncing or inability to follow. Everything looked good, he wasn’t out of the woods but at least it wasn’t a trip to the ER. Those cost too much. 

“You’re supposed to use a flashlight,” Scott said, scrubbing his face. He stood up and put his hand on Wayne’s back and continued the same way he’d been talking about cowboy inaccuracies. Wayne was not smart enough for a guy like this. “I don’t know what you were checking but we need to check his pupils. He walked over just fine though.” 

“You suggesting we give him a field sobriety test?” Wayne looked at Scott, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. 

“It’d work. We wanna see if he’s off balance or easily confused. If he could do his alphabet backward, I think we’d know plenty.” 

“I’m not drunk,” Eddie protested.

“No one said you were. It might be a piece of the story you wanna embellish in later retellings. If you couldn’t figure out how to get through the alphabet though, it’d be a cause for alarm. But we could start making a bunch of noise and see if it bothers you, that’s also a symptom.” 

“Is this…where did this guy come from?” Wayne whispered. 

“That’s Mr. Clarke,” Eddie said. 

It shouldn’t have been the answer it was but Scott was using his teacher voice on them. He likely had to develop a bit of sarcasm or permanent exasperation to deal with middle schoolers all day. Wayne liked the spunk, though. A pleasant change. Except for the part where half-awake Scott defaulted to his teacher role. The man likely needed a vacation but who didn't? Who could afford one? 

“Alright, let's try a flashlight then,” Wayne said. Not wanting to get into all that with Eddie in the conversation. 

“The smaller the better.” 

Wayne went rummaging through the junk drawer to find it and the three of them worked to make sure Eddie was okay. All of Scott’s tests proved the same thing Wayne’s did but they decided to keep an eye on him anyway. 

Finding a channel that hadn’t gone off air, they watched some B-movie in black and white. Scott and Wayne took opposite ends of the couch, Eddie thawing peas and carrots against his cheek in Wayne's chair. Wayne tried not to mourn what he’d lost, especially while watching over his injured nephew, and decided to enjoy the fact that he didn’t have to explain a thing about what was going on. Somehow they'd become the teenagers in this situation and they escaped getting caught.  

Nothing about the night had gone as planned and Wayne wasn’t sure that was a good thing. He might have to get over his problems with the cute little suburb Scott lived in because there weren’t any kids running around that house and what Wayne wouldn’t give to repeat tonight without the interruption. 

#okay i'm falling asleep so aesthetically i know this isn't great i'm sorry #i'm only so strong lol #clarkson #stwg prompt #my first one #and i'm finally writing things!!! #it feels so good #i had some great sprints like keep this energy up man #sorry this isn't a DRABBLE either #like i know it's a full one shot #but we're being nice because i'm trying to get out of this slump #hey everyone come see what i wrote now

[skrunksthatwunk]

kuwabara sketch dump bc i had a dream where he was just sittin there last night and i love him and i miss him :((

#im just projecting onto him a little bit #had a profound experience sitting in front of a drum kit that i never posted about but wrote a long ass ramble about. rip kuwabara you #would've loved drumming #hey wait wasn't he the drummer in that band official art #HE WAS OMG #anyway default gesture/stim/filler action has become doing the rock on thing at people like. all the fucking time #and i've also been getting vaguely into metal bc my buddy has good taste and is very passionate about metal #so like. again im just having experiences that i am now channeling through him. think it would be really funny to draw him renovating a #bathroom or something bc that's also going on in my life. i mean im not doing it but i wanna make him do and then regret diy plumbing #yyh #yu yu hakusho #kuwabara kazuma #also posting this at like 5am bc that's when i did it and also it's kinda bad lol #sometimes posts are for me. that's all #skrunkart

[krash-and-co]

ok before we start a war, know that an "unreliable narrator" is someone who actually misleads you and tells the story falsely, whether in purpose or by accident (but messes with the whole meaning!!) not just a person with opinions influencing their views. that's a bias. and that's in most, if not all, first person stories. that's human!!

unreliable narration is an actual literary term and it may cause some confusion between the people using it as such and the people using it as the the meaning of the word unreliable, like an adjective to describe the narrator rather than a real term.

I think the word we're looking for here is biased, especially when we discuss Lucy's high opinions of lockwood. since she has a crush, she will see him as better than he is. yes, that's a bit of an unreliable description, but not unreliable narration entirely, as that is a literary term that's (I think) talking about the full text. the whole story is certainly not narrated unreliably. so two different things. :D

also want to mention that I don't think Lucy is seeing lockwood wildly wrong either, I think it's just around teg where she's trying to look past the fact that he's acting suicidal. and that's no secret that she's trying not to see it. also her descriptions of him as super hot are probably upped from whats in reality because, you know, the crush, but I don't think its too much of a LIE at all, just Like A Person With A Crush. I think stroud had no intention of tricking us.

take pjo for example. you could argue that Percy was seeing Annabeth as prettier than she really was the first time, perhaps her princess curls weren't really princess curls after all and it was his crush. (pjo fans don't hate me just go with it) you could say that, but would you argue that Percy was an unreliable narrator? he says some things that are UNRELIABLE, I guess, but he's not an actual unreliable narrator as that's a different thing! not just an ADJECTIVE to describe a narrator!

you could do this with almost any story, and they're not all unreliable narrators! every human has a bias, an opinion, that influences the way they see the world. there’s no one right answer even in real life, but that doesn’t mean everyone is an unreliable narrator by definition.

hope this helps, as earlier I was confused about the same thing. :D also if I'm wrong about unreliable narration feel free to correct me in the comments, as I just woke up and have no clue what I just wrote. gmornin yall I am still asleep and probably just made a huge fool of myself typing this lol (also if I sound rude I am so sorry jfjfjf)

#also not attacking anyone in particular I swear #lockwood and co #lockwood and co Netflix #Lucy Carlyle #unreliable narrator #talking about book Lucy btw #hey.... you could argue that my sleep deprived mind is an unreliable narrator.... heh #actually tho if I wrote a story right now and left out key details due to my exhausted brain it would be lol #ready to get attacked in the notes kkdkdj

[capucapo]

Into the Storm

Storms berrate the helicopter as it draws near, towering waterspouts reaching into the dark clouds like pillars of the Parthenon. Rain swirls around them, flashes of lightning threten to blind the pilots, all while something darker than the clouds snakes throughout the sky.

The chopper shakes with turbulence, but the Other Yugi pays it little mind as he sits with his rival. In a rare moment of cooperation, they compare their decks, discuss their strategies, try to form a battle plan to save the world.

Finally, a geat tower appears through the wall of dark clouds and rain, a spire of white stone rising from the black, tumultuous sea. Mokuba, hanging on to the back of Isono's co-pilot seat, gasps as it comes in to view. He calls out for Seto to look, finally daring to interrupt the Duelists' conversation.

Somehow, the pilots manage to brave the winds and land atop that massive structure, before an intricate and ornate temple.

Without hesitation, Seto Kaiba and the Other Yugi exit the helicopter and approach that temple, both determined to bring this Armageddon to an end. Though Tristan and Téa both hesitate at the entrance, Mokuba marches in right behind his brother.

The temple feels ancient and brand new all at once, with all its long, stone hallways and intricately carved snake motifs, and not a speck of dust. It almost feels unreal, like a sophisticated movie set, or something in a theme park. But the oppressive feeling that permeates the air in this place is very real, making Mokuba's hair stand on end and his chest feel tight.

Seto tells him to stay close, and Mokuba wishes he could laugh. As if he could stay any closer. No, he doesn't plan to fall more than a step behind.

The group enters a massive chamber, dimly lit by standing torches but otherwise empty. The walls, floor, and ceiling of this room are carved in thousands upon thousands of perfect rectangles, each filled with the image of a different human being.

Téa gasps as she realizes what these tiles depict.

Mokuba feels his stomach sink.

The walls of this chamber stretch up, up, up into shadow, to a peaked ceiling too dark to see. And every inch of those walls is tiled in trapped, human souls.

So this is what made the air feel so heavy with dread.

Out of the rows and rows and rows of poor, unfortunate souls, somehow the Other Yugi finds that one in particular almost immediately. His eyes widen as he calls out for his Partner and races ahead impulsively, and the rest really have no choice but to follow.

Until an echoing voice stops them in their tracks as they reach the center of the expansive hall.

"You've kept me waiting, Nameless Pharaoh, Seto."

Who is this guy to use his first name, anyway?

"Still, my god feels blessed that those with strong souls have finally arrived. And you brought your friends for dessert, too. Good. My god is very hungry."

The torches flare, flooding the room with bright light. Finally, Dartz shows himself, appearing from the dim shadows as if by magic. Or some cheap parlor trick, as Seto would say.

Mokuba steps closer to his brother.

Yugi starts to argue with Dartz, to launch some speech about the value of these lives and souls, but Seto cuts him off. "You know there's no point to arguing with him, Yugi. You know what we came here for." Straight to the point, as always. Unwavering and confident as he readies his DuelDisk.

Mokuba feels a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon," Téa urges him away from his spot at Seto's side. He glances back up at his brother, with his own determined glare fixed on his enemy. Reluctantly, Mokuba follows the cheerleaders to the sidelines.

He had told Crowley he preferred his role as support. But when there's no computer to hack, no plane to save, nothing to sabotage or investigate or DO except watch and cheer, he feels helpless. Maybe if he played Duel Monsters more, he could fight too. Maybe if he wasn't so afraid of being the hero, he could have taken that Claw of Hermos when Joey fell. Maybe he could be helpful. Useful.

The Duel begins, and Seto goes first. By the end of his turn, he already has one Blue Eyes White Dragon on the field, and Mokuba feels his spirits lift a little. Yugi's first turn ends with Black Luster Soldier at the ready, and the teenager cheers.

And then Dartz begins his turn. Unfortunately, he had a fortunate opening hand as well.

He activates the Seal of Orichalcos.

A gust of wind snuffs the torches, leaving the chamber illuminated only by the teal light of the Seal of Orichalcos. The air, already thick with the anguish of countless trapped souls, feels suffocating. The temperature drops.

Across the playing field, the expression on Dartz's face changes, his lips curling back in a snarling grin. His mismatched eyes narrowed, fixating on the Duelist's with what could only be described as bloodlust.

Mokuba feels that hope fade as quickly as his brother had summoned his first dragon.

#ooc #plot #I was having trouble getting this started and was dreading writing another duel #and then also the actual final battle after this #until I was rewatching the ep and saw the way Mokuba like runs to walk in right beside Kaiba like he's actually gonna do smth lol #and I was like #hey #what if I write it from the perspective of sb who doesnt give a shit about dueling #THEN Sin had the idea to rewrite the entire duel bc the way yami and kaiba play in the beginning is kind of reckless to the point of ooc #SO #I'm using this as set up/filler in the meantime #and so I can say I wrote today and nobody needs to punch me directly in the face tonight