typinggently

[typinggently]

Small artists you need to understand that when you see an artist who you think has 'made it' tells you not to worry about the numbers and to not fret about getting more likes than reblogs they are not telling you it because they think you are stupid for caring or because they dont need to network to survive they are very likely telling you that because they have witnessed first hand the way the numbers game tears people to shreds in terms of mental health and motivation

#me and my log of ao3 stats going back literal years #at least 2018 if not earlier #I used to do them WEEKLY #now it’s once a month which is a lot healthier. I am healed :) #<- lying #I’m also by no means a big writer in any way shape or form #so I have hurt and betrayed myself for nothing

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You want me to just suck it up and do this for you? You have no idea what you’re really asking. You have no idea what I’ve been through. Every single word that I say up here, I’m reading from a script. I didn’t write any of these words. I don’t even know if I believe in them. I mean, I believe in God, I love God so much, but… honestly, it’s… it’s just how goddamn certain everyone is around here. I mean, tickets start at, what, 170 bucks, so that these people can tell you how to get to heaven? How do they know? How does anybody know? When the Bible was written, life expectancy was 30 years old. I mean, I’m not so sure you’re supposed to take it literally. It also says that it’s a sin to eat shrimp. What, if you’re gay or if you’re Gandhi, you’re going to hell? I mean… And if you have sex before marriage, that’s, that’s not immoral. That’s human. What’s immoral is the guy who shoved his dick in my face. Here’s the truth. Anyone who tells you they know the answers is lying. And I know, I know, I’m supposed to be this hero-idol-symbol-whatever, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m just as scared and confused as the rest of you. I’m done pretending, and I’m done taking any more shit. | ANNIE JANUARY/STARLIGHT IN THE BOYS (SEASON ONE)

#my love my darling <3 #annie january

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John, I don’t see the same thing in your eyes that I see in Tommy’s. You should get out. You should get out.

#I MISS THEM #John

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this is KILLING MEEEEE

#dw #.....profoundly unserious character

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One of my many sorrows is that I feel some type of way about Claire but I DO have a song that would be so, SO good for DeanClaire. Just perfect. One could write extremely good porn around it.

#I’ll be real I wrote this last night and completely forgot about it #it’s the first snippet of just about anything I’ve written in weeks. I’m so startled #I’m still thinking about the little lady because it makes sense to me #I’m just not sure if he’d say exactly that #something to bring distance between them in some way #which works obviously and she calls it out but that just betrays that he doesn’t want that distance? #something like that. #also I do think there’s that lighthearted semi flirting teasing bs. I can see that for him #either way. a problem for nobody to figure out.

[typinggently]

#hannigram #themmmmmmm <33333

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Ok actually I do feel like talking about general fic notes/random notes on the atmosphere

Hannibal&Will are layers. Fur, silk, claws, Id&Superego, fog, the scent of grass - wool - Barbour jackets. Porcelain, silk, breakable and beautiful things stretched tight over a wolf’s fur. Europe, fine art, a gourmet decadence that hints at a gourmand appetite. Dark chocolate, oysters, eroticism and violence. Nabokov — butterfly wings and Botticelli tears.

Napoleon&Illya are hedonism, either way. It’s either the display of it or the reaction to it. Greed, velvet, the scent of roses. Heavy oil paintings, golden watches, thick cotton and silk ties, shameless, magpie abundance. Glittering mirrors and perfume, night creams. Hotels in their luxury and anonymity. But violence, always. Steel, polished nails and cold hands. Greed, laughter, adrenaline.

Tommy&Alfie are desire, intimacy. There’s an ache for luxury and the outside view on religion. There’s violence, crass but superficial. Blades sticky with blood and gun-powdered hands, the scent of mud and pain, that terrifying void behind one’s ribs. The cold, the sea. But more importantly, there’s whiskey and a faint hint of cinnamon, soft cotton shirts and body-warm gold. Smoke, faded ink, silent conversations. Teasing, bickering, desire.

Clark&Bruce are opposites, bluntly put. Cluttered, sun-warm spaces, honey-drenched light and the scent of warm wood. Apples and crocheted curtains, faded photographs and basil on the windowsill. || High ceilings and large windows, cool-glittering mirrors, endless empty hallways. Handwritten notes and expressionist-untidy stacks of books, laptop screens and coffee, steel, vast spaces filled with surrealist-industrial music.

Billy&Frank are growling beasts. Sand, heat, sweat. Stinking alleys, darkness, blood. Bruises, broken mirrors, blood-black clothes. Then there’s the cold luxury, empty and glittering, sharp edges and bold lines, glass and concrete, black and white. Hiding spaces, the exact opposite, dirty floors and dust-sweet mattresses, rotting wood and graffiti. Sharp smiles, manicured fingernails, intricate rituals.

Villanelle&Eve are silk and steel. Perfume, poison, pomegranates. The luxury of anonymity, photo booths, tailored suits. Powder-sweet arrogance, pencil notes on thick paper, popcorn, green velvet sofas, bouquets of roses. Razor blades, lace, cracked phone screens. Wild, bubbling, fresh — champagne, mania.

Sam&Dean are shadows. Omnipresent, tangled. Smoke, gunpowder, salt. Silent conversations, beloved artefacts, mundane rituals. Neon lights, leather seats, technicolour screams||Dust-sweet books, whispers of Latin, ancient sins. Shaking hands, spit-slick mouths, dental floss scars. Heavenly vices, deadly virtues. Shadow-born tenderness.

John&Annie are dolls. Powdered faces and vaseline smiles, glossy curls and straight backs. They’re stage names and fake personas and tv interviews, perfect non-beings. They’re also blood and guts and broken spines, of course, but most of all they’re a gut-wrenching loneliness. Puzzle pieces, really, but there is too much shattered porcelain and stained silk between them for that to ever become apparent.

#my most important post btw #god I remember how ashamed I was when I went back and added S&D #that fandom really did fuck with my head #not every part of course #just the bad parts.

[typinggently]

Sigh!!!!!!!!!

One of my many sorrows is that I feel some type of way about Claire but I DO have a song that would be so, SO good for DeanClaire. Just perfect. One could write extremely good porn around it.

#it’s so tragic lol #I feel I could do something with that #DeanClaire #I fucking guess #I actually thought about this and it’s not as ooc for him as it sounds and you know what #whatever. I’m not talking about it.

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#xx

[typinggently]

no matter how terrible my day is. i can always end my day in bed imagining fictional characters making out sloppy style and fucking raw. and that's beautiful. there's some good in this world mister frodo and it's worth fighting for

[typinggently]

COMN FANFIC WRITERS !!

#hmmm....... #clown boys

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#Clown Boys

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he can infodump so deep inside me I'll have trivia running down my leg

#clown boys #Shiba is innocent. Dean is guilty.

[typinggently]

One of my many sorrows is that I feel some type of way about Claire but I DO have a song that would be so, SO good for DeanClaire. Just perfect. One could write extremely good porn around it.

#I’m using it for fem!D instead which works as well #but sometimes I think to myself ‘oh! the things I could write….’

[typinggently]

#brank #….

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Tommy getting his pretty face fucked. The flushed cheeks, the lowered lashes. The cheekbones, the jawline. The messy chin dripping drool and precome on his pretty suit. The hand in his hair.

His whine-sweet, gurgled moans. His throat. His pretty thighs sprawled as he’s kneeling, pinstripes and gleaming shoes. His hands fisted in a heavy wool coat. Cigarettes, whiskey, soaked trousers.

[the other side, of course. Alfie’s soft grunts, his almost-thrusts, his hand fisting in that ugly-gleaming haircut.]

#I love when past me put little snippets on my posts #sigh she was so great #I miss her.

[typinggently]

I did🩷

Tommy getting his pretty face fucked. The flushed cheeks, the lowered lashes. The cheekbones, the jawline. The messy chin dripping drool and precome on his pretty suit. The hand in his hair.

His whine-sweet, gurgled moans. His throat. His pretty thighs sprawled as he’s kneeling, pinstripes and gleaming shoes. His hands fisted in a heavy wool coat. Cigarettes, whiskey, soaked trousers.

[the other side, of course. Alfie’s soft grunts, his almost-thrusts, his hand fisting in that ugly-gleaming haircut.]

#I have beautiful additions that include a link to the fic #but I should give it another shot because there can never be too much oral fixation Tommy