#and even more thoughts

[icewindandboringhorror]

(also feel free in the tags to clarify Why you made the choice you made!! :0c)

[hinamie]

newest issue of first years fashion just dropped

[the-moon-loves-the-sea]

Shared here today by Matthew Boroson on Facebook. (ETA: Gaining inspiration from other authors is great. Lifting passages and avoiding giving credit isn’t.)

Tanith Lee was the first woman to win the British Fantasy Award for best novel, for the second book of the Flat Earth series. She died in 2015. You can buy Tales From the Flat Earth here and here .

[eosofspades]

i didn't have "i'm broken" teenage asexual angst i had "i'm literally being the only reasonable one about this concept and the rest of you are behaving like fucking freaks" perception issues

[chloesimaginationthings]

This goes out to poppy playtime pianosaurus enjoyers

[1alchemistart]

this is based entirely off of the fact that the "complete without issue" chapter completion trophies are cancelled if you get the eggs, making the eggs the issue LKDSLKF

i just think it would be so funny if we had two mysterious forgotten guys and they hated each other

[aethersea]

the question of fic comments is very straightforward actually. readers do not owe writers comments. writers do not owe readers fic. there is no bargain, no transaction, no debt.

fic is a gift. comments are a gift. gifts are exchanged between friends, out of love, not out of obligation.

I write for myself. I post it for others, as a gift, because their joy brings me joy. I read for myself. I comment for the author, as a gift, because their joy brings me joy. perhaps we were not friends before, but we are now, however fleetingly, because we have given each other gifts out of love.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

couldnt draw my thang for mid-autumn so treated myself to a calne redesign instead

[cryptocism]

"just as I did, in 1983."

you'd never know my favourite parts of the show are the fucked up insane bits when my first instinct is to draw the cheesiest thing imaginable

[inkskinned]

i keep thinking about how rfk said that autistic people "will never write a poem." i keep thinking about that, about if humanity is calculated on the back of old verse. how far we measure personhood is in baseball and stanza breaks.

i keep thinking - i have over 7k poems on here alone. language can be a special interest, after all. did you know the word autism comes almost direct from the greek word autos, meaning "self"? self-ism.

maybe he is right - i haven't really played baseball. i was a ballet dancer instead. and besides - my sister once accidentally hit me in the face with an aluminum bat. i'm not sure if the injury gives me half points. am i only a person in the dugout? hand in a mitt? swinging?

does softball count? does cricket? am i a person if i throw the ball to my dog. am i a person as long as the ball is in the air, or do i stop being a person as it rolls into the bushes. i took my girlfriend to fenway recently; was i a person in the sun, with my hands up, with the game laid out at my feet in a diamond. i felt like a person, but that was back in the summer, and i often feel my most person-like then.

am i more of a person because of the sheer number of things i've written? does quality matter, or is it quantity? i used to write entire books every summer in high school - i wasn't doing well. i felt the least like-a-person back then. but then - does any person feel human in high school?

in the library, ink on my skin, i feel personhood shutter at the edges of myself. actually, writing feels blissfully like not being myself. it feels birdlike; escaping into creation so my body dissolves and i survive only by muscle memory. i am not there, i am writing.

but who can deny the falconlike focus of warsan shire, the tenderness of mary oliver, the sheer skill of amanda gorman. those are poets. they are certainly human. you could line them up with the way their words have influenced us and measure their literary shadows like wings.

perhaps it was very assumptive of me to want to be a poet rather than "a [ label ] poet." i wanted the work to fill itself in, rather than be stained by what i am. i do not write in despite of my neurodivergence, i am just neurodivergent and writing.

does the poem have to be in english or can i send it through my palms into the coat of my dog. does the poem have to make sense. does the poem have to love you back.

if i break a glass, will the poem appear naturally? or is the act of breaking the glass human-enough. the shards of my life glittering out beneath me - do i have to write the poem, or is it self-evident in the pile of glass splinters? i cannot grasp this world the way other people can. regardless, i endeavor to touch - even the mess - very gently.

i broke my toenail against my coffee table recently. i released a bug outdoors. i made coffee. i walked my dog.

i didn't write a poem about any of these things.

something else, then. existing without humanity.

[snail-day]

Suguru can be a bit manipulative… okay, maybe a lot. But can you really blame a guy for wanting his girlfriend to stay over for more than eight hours? It’s your first night at his place, and you’re just going to leave in the morning?

Yeah, that doesn’t sit right with him.

And it’s not like he’s even being pushy. You two haven’t done anything yet. Even though - god - there’ve been moments tonight where he’s sure his self-control is about to snap.

Like when he let you use his shower for the first time, and he had to pretend he wasn’t imagining what you looked like in one of his towels, hair dripping wet, skin flushed from the steam. Or how he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle you coming out smelling like him.

Or earlier, in the kitchen - your soft footsteps padding around, your voice all curious and sweet when you asked where he keeps the tableware. That little pout. Those eyes. The way your hips brushed against him when you reached for the cups, and his hands instinctively went to your waist. He prayed - begged - you didn’t feel the hard-on pressed against you. He's a religious man after all.

So when you’re finally nestled beside him in bed, wrapped in his dark, silky sheets, his arms, his scent - he’s desperately reminding himself: Don’t be a pervert. Don’t ruin this. You're too good to me. You're not ready. I’m not ready.

He’s not ready to see what your face looks like when he’s on top of you. Whether you're the type to reach for his hands. Whether you’d whine into his kisses and chase them like you’re addicted to him.

Of course he doesn't sleep well. Not with you so close. Not when he keeps pulling you tighter against him in the middle of the night. Not when all he can think is - Please don’t leave yet.

So, of course, he wakes up before you. Of course he adjusts the blinds just right - so the light doesn’t hit your eyes, but still kisses your skin like a cat sunbathing. Of course he tucks the comforter closer around you, warm and heavy, so you stay cocooned in comfort while he goes about his morning.

He checks in on you often. Teases you when you stir, coos about how sleepy you are. Laughs softly when you grab for his hand, half-conscious. And of course he’s going to make it feel like this is your idea. Staying a little longer. Getting cozy. Not rushing off.

Because the truth is - he doesn’t want you to leave. Is that really so bad?

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

you mean nothing to me

[milkamel]

AU idea: PV never regains memories, ancients don't reunite and the beasts are freed. Soul jam's powers are weak so SMilk aims to forcefully make PV remember and takes him to the spire (Little does SM know he'll get attached to this little compassionate Healer)

More details about this AU (currently called Slumbering Truth AU): Basically it starts off with Smilk being terrible and basically doing what he was doing in the 8th episode, trying to make PV remember and playing with his mind for his entertainment. He knows who PV used to be but PV knows nothing about him or his own past. He's confused as to why would this powerful cookie need him but decides to submit in exchange for the village being safe.

At first Healer is uncomfortable and nervous but gradually despite Smilk's intimidating look decides to play along his games and get to know him better. Smilk is surprised by the other's behavior (and unexpected wits and trickery) and what started with the urge to break PV down slowly became an urge to keep the other close since the other's intentions to know him were genuine and comforting and SMilk hated the thought of losing that (not that he'd admit that. he needs that Healer to see him suffer, right?).

Now he doesn't want Healer to remember, he doesn't snap at that cookie as much, he wants him to stay in this blissful lie because if PV knew the truth then he'd definitely leave Smilk and lock him again. If Healer knew the truth he'd turn against him instantly, Smilk was sure. For the first time in a long time, Smilk felt like he found someone to who he was connected and he wasn't going to let anything ruin that.

(It's a wip so I might change some stuff along the way)

[jellolegos]

older korrasami

[dreamyblanket]

Yearning from the nothing dimension [rambling in tags ^^]

[chloesimaginationthings]

The moment FNAF movie Vanessa knew she fucked up