#Maintaining Creativity

[syntonylife]

The Art of Writing Every Day: Challenges and Balances

Behind writing there is living. I embarked on this challenge because the idea of ​​publishing an article every day seemed enticing to me, a form of exercise to improve my writing skills and build an online presence. However, behind this ambitious goal lie significant challenges that require delicate balancing. Writing daily is a discipline that demands dedication and consistency. Every day, one…

[wackywatchdotcom]

the thing is that to me kinger IS naturally a very silly person. like light or dark, hes a naturally goofy person- it just gets incorporated into his more erratic behavior in the light. i think theres an assumption that hes naturally calmer and that this comes out in the dark, but imo the only reason hes being so calm and gentle in ep 3 is cus pomnis Freaking The Fuck Out and hes worried about her (...probably worsened bc hes SEEN many times how that ends if left to fester :[ ). i said it before but one of the first things he does after pomnis just been thru smth deeply traumatic is to make a joke about his computer science bg (and when she Doesnt seem to even notice it he stops and changes his approach). and even still, even earlier in the ep like when the thunder takes the lights out (i wonder how the others managed at that part?) hes a little better at remembering things ("i just remembered a really funny joke!") but still a tad jumpy and prone to saying goofy things (but notably doesnt get startled by the angel. like at all. even BEFORE it reminds him of his wife). it makes me wonder if some of them werent genuinely attempts to keep the mood light for pomni or if he genuinely thought the sounds could be from magnets. or a boat

[purple-mushroom-cap]

in honor of merlin trending on a random monday in november, allow me to reiterate AGAIN how much magic in camelot parallels with the queer experience in a community that frankly treats queer children with almost the same hate and violence king uther had against sorcerers.

morgana thinks hating (sorcerers) is morally wrong and disproves of her bigoted father killing them all. she believes that despite what you were born with, you should judge someone based on their character. she figures out she's (a sorcerer). gaius gaslights her into thinking she's crazy. she goes to merlin, also (a sorcerer). he's about to tell her this secret that's been weighing on his chest for so long, that everyone told him to hide because people would look at him differently for being open about. the person he loves most in the world, in fact, might hate him for being honest. he ends up not telling morgana, even though he's the only one that would understand. morgause gives morgana unconditional love and affection after telling her she's (a sorcerer) too! morgana leaves her prejudiced and claustrophobic family life for a girl that's given her validation for the first time in years. (yes, i know morgause is her sister. love comes in all forms, especially the queer community.)

now replace every (sorcerer) with (gay).

[backfliips]

I keep being like "oh why am I so stressed recently" and "I thought i was making progress with my depression but I feel like how I felt years ago" and "why do I feel so fatigued and unmotivated" and then I remember this is just like back when trump was first elected and every day I woke up to see the stupidest most disheartening news on every platform I went on except worse this time

[zylphiacrowley]

An uncertain homecoming...

<previous - next>

[notbecauseofvictories]

I will say, choosing to make your way through a bunch of point-and-click games on itch.io will single-handedly remind you that creativity is not "dead" or "corporatized" but actually, we as a species are still amazing, wildly inventive, and largely unhinged; if you claim otherwise, you're just not looking at the right bits.

[thatfoxnamedfinley]

It's happened. I've discovered Rammstein.

I am utterly taken

I don't normally like this kind of music either

but its just so SO

So this may be all I blog about for a little bit

JUST A LITTLE BIT

This man (frontman Till Lindemann) has a fucking CHOKEHOLD on my lesbian soul like WTF

[deiaiko]

#27.3 Forming a team

Grace was glad that everything so far had gone as planned. The administrator had changed the winning condition of this second test.

Agni had run him through different scenarios in case this time didn't go as it had before, and it seemed like half of them were not needed anymore.

However, it was not over yet. He needed to get past this next negotiation first, then see where it would lead him.

Though he should've held back even more on the floral piercing butterfly technique earlier. Not that he remembered how high his score was before, but one million seven hundred thousand had stuck up like a sore thumb over everyone's average point. He could only hope that this wouldn't stir up unnecessary trouble in the future.

"Then, Mr. Grace. Choose seven regulars." Love sounded uninterested, like most administrators did when dealing with regulars on the test. But Grace knew better.

Love was hiding his resentment. Not perfect, but it was good enough to be unnoticeable by everyone else. Grace still remembered the reason why he hated FUG, although only after Agni presented him with some available info regarding Love's past to refresh his memory.

The floral butterfly technique, which was known to be used by FUG's slayers, was what would make Grace's identity known once he performed it. Now he knew that it was why Love was willing to change the test.

Looking around, Grace had carefully weighed his options beforehand. He knew he could take the easy way by simply picking his former Sweet and Sour team members. However, he had been observing them the whole time, and he figured that if he were to do that, they wouldn't be the team that he wished them to be.

He noticed how Prince was uncomfortably touchy and bossy toward Ehwa, and even looked down on Horyang. A complete opposite of what he remembered them to be. How Miseng and Goseng still hold grudges against Akraptor, which was actually reasonable up to this point. That would be a problem if he were to choose them now.

Grace had also totally forgotten about Nia's relationship to Wangnan. He didn't even know what exactly had happened to him before. He only remembered that Nia didn't make it through the test, and something about Wangnan being angry at Lurker…had been about Nia, right? He should probably look into it later.

"Mr. Grace?" Mr. Love's voice dragged him back to the present.

Ah, right. He was asked to pick. But before he could even say a word, a familiar voice shouted from the audience.

"Number ten twenty-three! Regular Wangnan Ja! Let me introduce myself to you!" 

Grace wore the mask solely just to hide his wide grin. That's right, this was how it had gone before.

Wangnan inhaled and let out a louder voice that echoed in the room. "Number ten twenty-three! Regular Wangnan Ja! I've got more than just power! The era of the ten great families will end with me!!" He declared with fists raised high.

How bold, for someone that was ranked fifteen out of twenty-seven. In front of Ehwa too, who was from the Yeon family. But that was his charm, wasn't it?

"You won't regret it! I'm Wangnan! I can dance! I can sing! I'm the real entertainer of this era!"

The dance and singing that he briefly displayed were awful, but Grace could agree that he was quite entertaining.

"The more you get to know me, the cuter you'll find me!" Wangnan beamed. "My name is…as I said…Waaangnan!"

Grace bit his lip, fighting to keep his laughter contained when Wangnan posed right in front of him. He needed to let this play out first.

Wangnan suddenly bowed down on his knees, "Please choose me! I'll do anything for you if you choose me!" Wangnan begged. "I'll bark if you want! And I'll lick your shoe! Please, choose me!"

Grace frowned. He did not remember this. Or, at least, he didn't remember if Wangnan had ever told him why he was so desperate to pass this test. Desperate enough to be willing to put his head so low.

Prince was the only one in the room that sneered. It seemed like everyone else had a taste of helplessness at some point in their life.

It was sad, when he thought about it that way.

Akraptor walked up to the stage and kneeled beside Wangnan. "Please choose me." He looked up to Grace with teary eyes and wiped it with his palm. "My daughter…is waiting for me. She must've grown a lot. I want to see how much she has grown."

"He's lying! Don't trust him, Grace! That's so unrealistic." Wangnan was already up on his feet and accusing Akraptor. "He's absolutely lying to you! First of all, can you believe there's a girl out there that looks like him?!" 

Grace let his eyes droop, as a memory of a silver haired girl resurfaced in his mind. It was only a brief moment, so he wasn't quite sure if she was related to Akraptor at all, but she did resemble him in some ways that Grace couldn't help but remember.

"Why… Why do you say I'm lying?!"

"Look at yourself in the mirror!"

Horyang came up to the stage and kneeled down, surprising the other two. "Choose me. I've got to find someone."

Cassano Beniamino, Grace filled in the unspoken name. The guy that took Horyang's devil and joined side with Rachel. Akraptor and Prince were killed in their attempt to get the stolen devil back so they could wake Horyang up. He definitely did not want that to happen this time around.

Miseng suddenly ran up to the stage and tackled Grace while crying. "Waaaah! Please take me with you! I miss my mom and dad!"

"That's not fair! Don't cry!" Wangnan scolded Miseng. "Get off my master!"

Grace didn't have the heart to pry her off from his waist, so he just started patting lightly on her backpack, to not let his hand just hang awkwardly on his sides.

"Stop it. You all." Ehwa joined them, walking up to him with the confidence of someone from the great family. "Mr. Grace, I suggest you take me as your teammate."

"What?!" Wangnan yelled.

"Everybody has their own sad stories, but I think we should choose based on strengths."

"Why are you acting as if you're already his teammate?!"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm from the Yeon family, and I'm a fisherman. Who else is he going to choose?"

"Don't overestimate yourself! You kill your own teammates!"

"Wh-what?!"

"Hmph, you don't remember me? I failed the last test because of you!" Wangnan said it in a way that made him feel like he was bragging.

"Ugh– are you…"

"Oh, you burned so many people so you wouldn't remember me." Wangnan smirked and turned back to him, "Lord Grace! You shouldn't choose her! She barbecues everyone, even her own teammates!"

"Wait! That's–"

"So! Other than killing your teammates, what's your power?! Tell me!"

"Argh."

"Hahaha, you've got no words to say."

"You…"

"Now please leave before you kill the rest of us!"

Oh, Grace remembered where this was going. So before Ehwa could say anything else, Grace slid his mask down and declared with the most serious face he could muster at that time.

"Quiet. That's enough." Grace tried to put on his most disinterested gaze to each one of them that was at the stage.

He was met with silence. Good.

"Let me make this clear." Grace manipulated the shinsu in the room to be slightly heavier, just enough to make him more intimidating. "I'm Geu Biol Grace. A FUG slayer candidate. I live to kill Jahad and bring changes to this tower."

Grace could feel Love's eyes bore into him. It unconsciously made his muscles tense, ready to block any attack.

Not letting his guard down, Grace turned his gaze on the audience, especially aimed at Wangnan and Ehwa. "If you're not ready for the consequences of being in my team, then I suggest you go home while you have the chance."

"I-I'm ready." Wangnan gave an immediate answer, though Grace could see cold sweat forming on his forehead.

Everyone else had given some thought to his statement, especially Ehwa who looked very troubled. But he wasn't that patient to wait for everyone to give their answers. It didn't matter anyway, because…

"If you still choose to stay here for a chance to team up with me, then you need to prove that you can work as a team.

But seeing how poorly you're getting along with each other, I could easily foresee that you'll only hold me back."

No one on the stage could deny it.

"In that case…" Grace pretended to think. "Let me just take the next test by myself, administrator."

Silence. He could see the shock painted on everyone's faces.

"Rules are rules, Mr. Grace." Love said sternly. "The next exam is for teams only. You must choose seven others."

"Then how about we play a game? Something for us to settle whether I can take the next test by myself or with a team. And for them to form a team that will take the next test with me if I lose."

Love mulled on it for a bit. "That doesn't sound too bad… I will accept your challenge."

Grace gave him a slight bow. "Thank you for your consideration."

Love looked surprised at that, but he moved on just as quickly. "As the administrator, I will be the one to pick what kind of games we'll be playing."

"Understandable." Grace patted himself on the back for getting through this negotiation.

"Alright. Then, take a break while I prepare for the game." Love gestured with his hand and a gate to the right of the room opened. "Anyone who wishes to participate in the game, go to the dorms through that gate." 

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[quatregats]

Tell me about la (no-)presa de roses obrianitzada

OH YAY IT'S MY FAVORITE CHILD WHO WILL NEVER BE PUBLISHED <3

Essentially what it says on the tin, this is the attempt on the fortress at Rosas/Roses in Ship of the Line but in the style of Patrick O'Brian, and also an excuse to go down the rabbit hole of Catalan history during this time period. Originally it was this passage which I published here, and I'll post the rewrite of that as well as some unnecessary extra stuff regarding my bestie Joan Clarós because I watched a literal documentary about him made by his descendant, amongst other madness, and I have to do him justice:

They drew up again to the dark, rocky headlands of Cape Creus a few hours before dawn, with bright Saturn setting to the south where the Gulf of Roses and the French battery awaited them. The westerly breeze had died down in the night, and with it the worst of the dry heat that it had carried from inland; but it was humid on the sea without a wind to stir the air, and below decks the atmosphere was almost oppressive. Once they had rounded the Cape, Hornblower had little reason to remain on deck, but there was a distinct restlessness in the air—even the hands, normally drowsy and sullen on the middle watch, stood huddled in little groups on deck, speaking in hushed voices.

“You had better sleep, sir,” Bush said; the two of them had stayed up on the quarterdeck to watch the Sutherland’s progress. “There’s nothing left for it until we make the rendezvous. Gerard can manage.”

Hornblower had not been able to argue with him, and had gone below, but he had not gone to sleep, only shrugged off his coat and sat down at his desk to look at the faded and stained chart which had been sitting there for weeks; finally the marine on the deck above him rang out five muffled bells and he heard the soft chorus of “All’s well” outside his door. A minute later, Polwheal knocked gently and entered with a basin of tepid water and a towel, and he got up to dress and shave.

“Caligula’s already there, sir,” Gerard said, as he took his place on the quarterdeck again. “Pluto’s lagging behind, but I reckon she’ll catch up eventually.” He looked grim and serious.

Hornblower nodded in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Mr. Gerard.”

“I’ll call all hands so we can begin to bring up the shot from the hold, sir.”

“If you please.”

A moment later, the bosun could be heard piping hammocks, and the sound of several hundred feet, several hundred whispering voices, several hundred moving bodies, floated up from below. The faint land breeze picked up slightly, and overhead, the splendor of the Milky Way, a celestial echo of the path that they would be taking come morning, dulled with the hint of dawn. Another body came up and joined Hornblower at the taffrail.

“Sky’s clear, sir. And the land breeze is blowing. You’ll have good weather, at least.” Bush, freshly shaved and dressed, followed his captain’s gaze out across the water towards where the faint outline of the Pyrenees fell into the sea. “Likely a trifle hot, though.”

“It’ll mean that you’ll have a good breeze to cut back around the cape, then,” Hornblower replied, staring absently. “You’ll make better time than we have tonight.” Bush hummed quietly in response. The two stood for a minute in silent contemplation before turning to watch as the first load of shot came up from the hold.

“Quiet there, you damn lubbers—” “—if you don’t watch where you’re going—” “—let it fall, the captain’ll kill you, you know how he gets…” But now the crate was up on deck, and the man was delivered from whatever terrible consequences he had been about to be sentenced to. Another crate of shot came up, and then another; the marine rang six bells and there was another quiet “All’s well” in response; the blackness of night turned slowly to the grey darkness before dawn. The Caligula was no longer a white speck in the distance, gliding into full view as they rounded the point.

“By the mark seven, by the mark six,” came the soft song of the leadman, and when they had made anchor, Bolton’s gig came across to greet them. The easy-going captain had a somber expression on his round, ruddy face as he joined Hornblower in his cabin, where the latter had been taking his coffee.

“Pluto will be here within the hour,” Hornblower said. “Shall I have my steward send for another cup?”

“Please.”

Polwheal did not need to be asked; he had already disappeared from the cabin. Outside there was the sound of the last keg of powder being heaved up from the hold, muffled oaths and a quiet thud before the men began to make their way down to the mess to quickly take their biscuits and tea.

“You’ve made good time,” Bolton said, just as Polwheal returned with the cup of coffee. He thanked him and took a gulp, some of the color returning to his face, then set down the cup with some force on the table. “I just wish the same could be said for that scrub of an admiral.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here presently. Your men are ready, I presume?”

“We’ll be in the water at the drop of a pin, all he has to do is give us the signal.”

“Good.” Hornblower took a measured sip of his coffee and glanced once again at the map, his eyes fixed on the dot which marked the fortress at Rosas.

Bolton paused, then shook his head. “I’m sorry that you’re bearing the brunt of the bloody fool’s nonsense; he ought to remember you’ve added several hundred pounds to his coffers.” He fixed Hornblower with a conspiratorial look, as if giving Hornblower permission to let out his flood of complaints, but Hornblower merely took another measured sip.

“The situation is what it is, Captain Bolton.”

“It damn well shouldn’t be.” Bolton cleaned off the dregs of his cup and set it down on the table. “But if you’re resigned to it, then I won’t interfere. I should return to my ship and see if the infamous villain’s arriving. Best of luck—give ’em hell for us, at least.” He got up, patted Hornblower amiably on the shoulder, and made his way out the door.

It was just as well he did, because the flagship anchored alongside them soon after that, and Hornblower returned to deck, the coffee having done away with what little tiredness he had felt before. It was light enough that every man on deck could make out the signal to lower the boats, although Hornblower dutifully waited for Vincent, the signal midshipman, to read it off before he gave the orders. There was a series of quiet splashes as the first boats touched down, the seamen hissing to each other as they loaded them with powder and shot. The carronades proved stubborn beasts, and at one moment there was a sudden cry as one of the Caligulas had his toe crushed by the gun’s unsteady rolling in the small launch; but the ensuing hushed silence was met with nothing more than the sounds of seagulls across the cove, and the work eventually resumed.

“Boat’s ready, if you please, sir,” Brown called up softly, and Hornblower took one last look at the Sutherland before making his way towards the ladder. He had only just swung himself down the side when he felt someone loom over him, and a calloused hand covered his.

“Good luck, sir,” Bush said.

“Thank you, Bush,” Hornblower replied softly, and they exchanged a brief look before Bush let go his hand and allowed him to make his way down to the boat where Brown was waiting to row him ashore.

------------

In the muted dawn light, the cove was all muddled yellows and greys, the sandy bottom clearly visible, the little beach tucked between harsh, imposing outcroppings of volcanic rock. Villena was there to meet him, looking drowsy but with a hint of interest in his hazel eyes at the activity of the boats, which were being unloaded with a remarkable efficiency; already a pile of munitions had been tucked into the folds of the rocks. With Villena was an older man, perhaps fifty or sixty years of age, with greying hair and a sharp gaze, dressed in Spanish military uniform.

“I have the honor of presenting to you Colonel Juan Clarós, of the Figueras Migueletes,” Villena said in Spanish.

“A pleasure to meet you at last, sir,” Clarós said, extending a hand. He spoke Spanish with an accent so thick that Hornblower struggled to understand him, and his handshake was firm, businesslike.

“Equally, sir. Have you any word from Rovira?”

“He has raised the call from here to Olot, and with any luck he will join us before noon. But come, with the guns and your men we will certainly be able to give a good blow to the Frogs.”

The guns were rolled up onto the beach with great effort, then attached to ropes so they might be hauled up the narrow path. There were not enough mules; the men looked displeased at the suggestion that they might have to act as beasts of burden, but there was nothing to be done. Slowly, the procession began to make its laborious way up the slope, the sailors slipping on the scree as they strained to pull the carronades after them. It would be several miles of this to Roses, Hornblower thought unhappily.

[marypsue]

I've seen a couple of fics imply that most of the boys would eventually cut their hair short when the mullet gets dated, that they would end up updating their clothes to modern cool, and I must protest. Update their looks, yes, but the boys are counterculture and proud of it. You just know they would've collectively gone grunge in the nineties. Paul dabbled with emo in the aughts, while David was experimenting with a Matrix-Blade-Van Helsing new-millennium action-horror-fantasy movie longcoat thing he's still disappointed got dated and goofy-looking so fast. Marko had an ill-advised steampunk phase in 2011. Dwayne is currently rocking 'knockoff Hozier'.

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

Wish our society valued the arts more and would pay artists livable wages to support them and their creations.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Do you think in the Gravity Falls AU I dreamt up Metal would straight up get a gun. like she’s taking the place of mabel but she wouldn’t need a grappling hook and shadow (who’s grunkle Stan bc he is canonically the egg kid's great uncle) would have a ton of guns lying around. so does she just have a glock.

[becauseimanicequeen]

Just when I thought We Are had exchanged the old engineering and architecture student thing for engineering and fine art students, it turns out Fang studies architecture.

Well, it’s hard to let go of old patterns, lol.

[not-a-heretic]

you guys got any drawing ideas? requests maybe? something that you’re like, man i wish there was a piece of art for that?

[rebrandedbard]

Me, emerging from the notes app, headphones tangled around my neck, hair matted with dried blood as I cough and drag myself across the room with broken fingers:

I have finished the song.

[oxymoronicdumbass]

i fucking LOVE when i fic hits so good that i pull out the pinterest/spotify combo and get right to making a moodboard and playlist