Rereading ur writing and something caught my attention in one of my asks- u clarified a difference between what they'd *need* and what they'd *want*, so now I'm really curious, what would they *need* in a partner?
haha i was kinda hoping someone would notice that! 😜 this is a reference to this ask.
honestly i don’t think what they need is particularly different to what they’re looking for. The same person could definitely be both what they are looking for and what (I think) they need. but there are some key differences.
Leo: I think that what Leo needs is understanding. Not the kind you’re thinking though. Well maybe a bit but mostly he needs someone who understands that they can’t always be at the top of his priority list. He’s the leader, he’s responsible for so much, and as much as he would love to be there for them always, he can’t. He needs someone who not only understands that, but wouldn’t change it for the world. It’s part of what makes Leo who he is, if they can’t handle it they’re not the one for him.
Raph: Raph needs someone he can open up to. (This fucking turtle…… okay I’m normal now. Anyway.) He needs someone he can talk to about his feelings. Someone he can be soft with. He needs a safe haven in the storm. His lighthouse guiding him to safety. You understand. He doesn’t have a proper outlet for all his feelings, and he can’t go to his brothers because he needs to be the edge to hone them. A partner could do that for him, be what he needs when he has to let go.
Donnie: I think that what Donnie is looking for is what he needs. Curiosity. The question becomes then is he looking for it for the right reasons. I think what Donnie’s looking for is someone he can bounce ideas off of and who is willing to listen to him talk about what he’s doing. I think what he needs is someone who can expand his horizons. I feel like Donnie can get into a rut where he creates for a purpose rather than because he loves it. He gets bogged down in the day-to-day, and while it’s rewarding and helps his brothers, it doesn’t necessarily bring him joy. He needs someone who can remind him of the joy of creation, who reminds him that he’s allowed to create for fun.
Mikey: Mikey? He just needs someone who loves him openly and unconditionally. He needs a hype man. It is clear that his brothers love him, but they’re not affectionate with him generally. To them he is someone to protect, the precious little brother. He is also their annoying little brother whom they love to rag on. With the right love and support, I think he could really blossom. With someone who is unabashedly and without reservation in his corner? Someone who doesn’t hide their love behind jokes? Someone who can match his energy, who he doesn’t need to impress because they’re already impressed with him? Well, he could reach his potential.
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head bonks: @yorshie @avery73 @justalotoffanfiction @thejudiciousneurotic @writinandcrying @xnorthstar3x @morenovix218
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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.
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The grass is warm and soft beneath him as Steve gazes up at the stars shining down on him in those constellations he knows so well. It’s a crisp and clear night, a light breeze chasing away the last remnants of the midsummer heat, and Steve is smiling up at the moonless sky. Beside him, Eddie has his eyes closed and Steve is pretty sure he’s asleep, but Steve has never minded being alone with the stars.
They know him. They know all his secrets.
They know how he longs to reach for Eddie’s hand where it’s lying between them, palm up and so very inviting. They know of his yearning heartbeat and how it is reduced to flutters when Eddie is around with that beaming smile of his.
The stars know Steve Harrington better than he knows even himself, but they keep it a secret among the universe, shared only on moonless, cloudless nights. Like this one, with Eddie here beside him.
“Did you know you always smile when you see the stars?”
Eddie’s voice is too soft to really startle him, but Steve's heartbeat picks up anyway. He couldn’t fight the smile even if he tried.
“Do I?”
Eddie nods, the grass rustling beneath his head, and Steve looks over to see Eddie’s eyes still closed. It’s what makes him keep looking. The stars won’t tell.
“Yeah,” he breathes and Steve’s eyes fall down to his lips. “Makes me think like you’re in on some cosmic secret sometimes, Stevie. You one of them?”
“One of what?” Steve whispers back, his hand inching closer to Eddie’s. Not to touch. Just to make sure that in another universe, another Steve will take that hand.
Eddie smiles as if he knows, as if he feels that other universe inside his chest, but he doesn’t reach out. “The stars. A fallen one, maybe.”
Steve huffs out a breath and tears his eyes away from Eddie to look back up again. “I’m not a fallen star, Eddie.”
“Hmm,” he hums, and Steve wants to wrap himself up in it. Curl on his side and rest his head on Eddie’s chest, ask him to hum for the rest of their lives, or so long as the stars will cover them. “Tell me about the stars, then? And why they make you smile.”
Steve swallows and searches the sky for answers. He could. He shouldn’t, maybe. But he wants to. Right now, with Eddie’s eyes closed, their hands almost touching, their smiles refusing to leave, and the stars above them glowing and twinkling so kindly, Steve wants to tell him.
This is it.
But if he closes his eyes, this can be just like any other night Steve has spent telling the stars about him. Only this time, Eddie is here to listen.
“It’s because they know,” he whispers, heart beating in his throat now, choking off the words.
“They know?” Eddie prompts after a while, just as quiet, just as trembling.
And now Steve reaches out with his pinkie and hooks it over Eddie’s pointer and middle fingers. “They know,” he repeats. “About you.”
Slowly, achingly slowly, Steve caresses Eddie’s fingers with his own until their hands lie on top of each other, slotting together perfectly. He hears a hitched breath and wonders, fears, aches, for all but a moment. Until Eddie’s thumb comes up to draw tentative patterns on Steve’s palm. Until Eddie is moving closer to rest his head against Steve’s, never once letting go of his hand.
“What about me?” he whispers, and Steve finally opens his eyes, shifting until their foreheads are touching, and looking down at their joined hands.
“Just that… I really, really like you.”
Another hum, and this time Steve can feel it making its way through his body. It makes him shiver even on a warm night like this. Makes him yearn for more.
“And that’s making you smile?”
He’s helpless. Now that he started talking, now that he took Eddie’s hand, now that they’re sharing the same breath, Steve is so, so helpless. But he’s not scared anymore.
“Yes.”
Eddie’s free hand comes up to rest on his cheek. Not to pull him in for a kiss like Steve thinks for a second, but just to hold him. Maybe in another universe they’re kissing. In this one, Eddie is cradling him like he’s something precious. It feels even more intimate.
“You’re doing nothing to convince me that you’re not a fallen fucking star, though, Stevie.”
Steve laughs softly, sounding almost giddy to his own ears, and lifts his hand into Eddie’s hair.
His tone shifts when he continues. “I’m not even entirely sure you’re real right now.”
Along with Eddie's tone there was a shift in the very fabric of the universe that leaves Steve breathless. He swallows and angles his face closer to Eddie’s, feeling brave because Eddie is still here, still talking like that, and maybe, maybe…
“I’m real, Eds,” he breathes.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” And it feels like he’s saying more than that. So much more. “Are you?”
Eddie nods again, bringing his face even closer until their noses are touching and he breathes a tiny, “Very,” against Steve’s lips.
And then, covered by the kindest glow of the stars above them, Steve claims Eddie’s lips in the softest, slowest, most genuine kiss.
for @withacapitalp in the hopes that you'll have a kind and gentle day, or something to come to that could feel like a hug 🤍
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𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵. That said, when speaking of his paramour with the mention of Mystra, it is not a slight. After all, Mystra, the goddess, wasn't just his lover; she, as she'll remain, controls the Weave.
As a scholar of magic for all his life, Gale is thoroughly enamored with it. He's always had the Weave, casting spells and enchantments for as far as his long memory goes, and there's no power on earth that can pale that devotion. When Gale says Mystra's name, in love, it is never with yearning. When he tells his lover that he forgets his goddess when he stands beside them, he means quite literally that he foregoes his faith. He doesn't mention her like a quality benchmark with which they've somehow surpassed, but to punctuate how wholly he has fallen for them. With a new, honest love, he is turned entirely from Mystra. In fact, so utterly bewitched, he's like a born again man. He isn't besotted by his goddess, held stalwart in her sway and seemingly, abundantly, and frustratingly stubborn. After that disastrous relationship, I promise you, Gale spares not a single thought toward her. She might have control of the Weave, and as such, stands still his only patron deity, but his new, doting lover? They become something of a new religion for him; he is most devoted, taken by, and so loyal to them.
He does not see Mystra. Do not assume he still feels for her.
He's a man of one love, and they will have all of him.
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Ah, has Padme noticed that Obi-Wan is assigned to Senate duty and that's why she's making assumptions about why Anakin is worried?
this chapter and the last chapter take place within like...an hour or so of each other -- so no one knows yet about obi-wan's new assignment cause he's been given it only a little bit ago!
i think padmé really is trying in this chapter, trying to speak anakin's language and understand him - and i think she really does, as much as she can. she's relating her experiences of being worried about anakin to anakin's experiences being worried about obi-wan (which baby, honey. are you really not going to notice that you're talking to anakin as if he's obi-wan's wife).
in my opinion, she's not really making assumptions about why anakin is worried here. anakin flat out tells her that he was worrried that obi-wan was injured, that that's why he stayed.
she's really just trying to get him to realize that he shouldn't go running off to be by obi-wan's side every time he gets an intrusive thought that obi-wan could be hurt when logically there's a very slim chance that he has been been and a very big chance that he could get help IF he ever was. because the war is over. obi-wan has amazing access to the best healthcare on coruscant. he would be FINE if he felt a sudden twinge in his chest or whatever.
it's just that anakin doesn't want to hear that. anakin doesn't want to live in a world where he can't drop everything to get to obi-wan's side. anakin doesn't want space between him and his master. he doesn't get why he should. if that's because of the war, like he sorta implies in the chapter, or if it's always been like that for him--for them, i don't think matters as much right now as the fact that anakin and anakin's wife are on solidly opposite ends of this debate
and it's really only going to get more rocky from here as we move away from the end of the war and both of them have different expectations of what comes next
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