#i have gotten sick

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

a tweeter (2022?) - frank c

"i suck men liberal and conservative men get suck. i got married to hot men so easily"

submitted by @lavendersalve

[leedee013]

WIP Wednesday

I'll be participating in @/kedreeva 's game again this week!

PLEASE SEND IN THINGS. THIS IS LITERALLY THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY WEEK.

Anyway, rules:

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Here is what I have to offer:

1. Etienne 2. Baby Jean 3. Needle AU (CW: Needle AU will occasionally feature depictions of self harm scars and injuries. The primary focus of the AU is on healing and growth, however.) 4. Dealer's Choice (aka I work on a secret project and then also on a random one)

MASTERPOST OF PREVIOUS WRITINGS

Snippet from Silly Little Jean Moreau Fic (from last week's selection, technically falls within the rules!) below the cut

"Exactly. It's practically an admission of guilt."

As soon as Henriksen said that, Jean’s vision went red. “Fuck you,” he growled. “Don't fucking talk about him like that.”

Henriksen’s smile faltered.

“You're fucking cowards who want to take the easy way out. This is and always has been Tetsuji Moriyama. Don't you dare pin all our suffering on Riko, because he suffered too. When Kevin left The Nest, Riko didn't fully regain consciousness for three days," Jean spat. "He was punished just like the rest of us, except he punished himself too. Didn't you ever notice how Riko was also absent from the public eye after Kevin's 'accident'? Or, hell, how he was absent after mine?" he continued, his voice growing more frantic and increasing in volume with each question. "Tetsuji fucking Moriyama destroyed any chance Riko had to have a life outside of The Nest. Riko knew that he'd never been wanted. Riko knew that the only value The Master saw in him was as an investment, and that his life literally depended on how much that investment earned him. So if you want to have your careers considered anything other than pathetic failures, you'll get your heads out of your asses and focus on the real villain of this story. Stop letting the Moriyama name make you two its bitches and do your jobs properly."

The room was silent for a while.

[pixlatedvampire]

It’s been ten years since I finished a drawing so please enjoy these two idiots I drew all the way back in 2021 😭🤣

[amethysttribble]

Father had personally asked Feanor to stand for this portrait, so he was. Father had quietly suggested that perhaps this could be a painless exercise, which did not actually mean ‘painless’ but rather ‘silent’ for Feanor, but he agreed. Father told him this painting did not symbolize anything but his own desire to have a record of all his available loved ones around him, and Feanor was trying to see it that way- for the sake of his own sanity.

Because his stomach was roiling, and there was a heaviness in his chest, a great emptiness which his heart was pounding against, echoing, echoing, echoing.

Father had one hand on Feanor’s shoulder and the other was upon Indis’s. She was sat in front of them, smiling beautifully, little golden-haired Arafinwe in her lap. Around them, her three dark-haired children were gathered. Findis on Father’s other side, Nolofinwe with her, and Lalwen in front of Feanor.

To the unaware eye, Feanor knew, they must all look like they matched. Like they went together correctly. Like a family.

When the portrait was complete and those dark haired children were gathered around the mother and father, who would guess that one child was out of place? Who might glance at all that paint representing their faces and think anything but-

You could almost be her son, Feanor thought, and then his mind replied, But you’re not.

He was so still and he dared not move, because if he did, he’d never get back in place. If Feanor flinched once, the sharp, jagged pieces of him that never fit right in this puzzle would scratch one of them. They’d be annoyed and that would be it: he’d combust in anger, he’d shatter across the floor, snapping and snarling at everyone unnecessarily until he ruined their perfect little scene. Father said this might be a painless exercise. No, no; this was to be a silent, still exercise.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

How good a painter was this person Father hired? How varied his faces? Would he capture that Feanor’s nose resembled that of none of the people here? Could he represent that his frame was already different from his father and little half-brother’s?

Would he lie and throw a pleased smile on Feanor’s face? Not even Father had asked him to smile.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

Feanor’s presence made them fit together so symmetrically, maybe that was pleasing enough to hide the wrongness of this scene. Maybe that’s why Father made him come here today, the pretty scene. Why he asked him to suffer, even as the longer he stood here, the more and more Feanor felt like he was about to be sick all over the floor.

A ghost, a ghost, there was a ghost looming over their shoulders ruining this perfectly symmetrical scene. Couldn’t they feel her breathing down their necks, icy chill against sweat? Didn’t their perfectly posed heads feel her long, clever fingers wrapped lovingly around their necks?

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

Feanor’s gaze slipped down to the back of Indis’s head. Her beautiful golden hair. She didn’t wear a crown, this was a family portrait, and that felt worse. So much worse.

If he let his eyes unfocus and his mind wander, he could try to lie to himself that her hair was much lighter and the faces of the children around them more closely resembled his own. The woman in front of him loved him, and she fussed over his hair before they sat for this portrait, and he’d let her do it.

The worst part was Feanor did know that Indis would help him with the ties of his robes, if only he let her.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

She’s not, she’s not, she’s not. It was a simple statement of fact. It was scandal enough that the father replaced the wife, when one at least chose a wife, but what freak replaced his own mother?

What would the people who saw this portrait think? Would they see Finwe’s happy family or would they see Feanor’s blaring, uncomfortable intrusion upon what gods and men declared to be a better order of things? Father wanted him to belong here, but he didn’t.

He just didn’t.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

A painless exercise. Painless, painless, painless, for them. Silent, still Feanor, a happy accessory to the triumphant union of Finwe and Indis, a grateful stray dog permitted to drink from the bowls provided by Indis’s family.

This exercise was just meant to capture the image of all Finwe loved, nothing more. Don’t think too hard about it, Feanor. You might make the children unhappy.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

You should pretend you are, though. That’ll make them like you.

Because they did so disdain him, most of the time. They disliked how he glared at their mother and started fights at family dinners and ignored them in the hallways. Why shouldn’t they? Feanor would hate a person who did those things to his family, too.

He just couldn’t stop, though. He wanted to, sometimes, when the exhaustion and loneliness caught up, and then he remembered that he wasn’t Indis’s son and never would be, and remembering that made him angry. Wouldn’t it just be so damn convenient for them all if he was almost her son?

But he wasn’t.

He was Miriel’s son. That was her name. He had no portrait with her. He loved her.

He loved Miriel, but it was Indis he posed with and-

When the session was done, Feanor jerked away from his father and shoved his way past Lalwen. As he went, Indis looked up at him, caught his eye, and he couldn’t help the sneer that crossed his face.

He hoped that was painless enough for her.

When he returned to his chamber, he went to the wash room and heaved in the pot there. The gagging and retching made wetness prick his eyes, and the sudden tightness of throat made him choke all the harder. The sickness and heaving stayed long past when there was anything in his stomach to lose.

No one came. Feanor hoped maybe Father would, but really, why would he? Feanor had been mostly good, just a little rudeness wasn’t worth either reprimand or comfort.

No, they were together. Maybe admiring their portrait, happy and pleased, or complaining about his behavior again. Really, why couldnt that Curufinwe just accept nice things?

I need to get out of here, Feanor thought, face and body wet with both sweat and tears. I need to leave this place.

He was a good son, and he could do anything else his father wanted but betray his mother any more.

Feanor couldn’t pose as Indis’s son even a second longer. He would destroy himself, if he had to think one more time-

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

[p4nishers]

the amount of ppl i've seen use she/her for not only muriel but BEELZEBUB too is concerning. also i cant even count how many ppl have called ineffable bureaucracy a straight couple. yall r annoying as fuck

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 278

You know what I’ve gotten obsessed with and inspired by? Dredge. 

You know what is also fun? Merfolk. What’s even better? Lovecraftian corrupted merfolk. Especially if say, one goes with the Lazarus Waters being a form of ectoplasm. So, in this? Lazarus waters are like lakes, while Amity Park, thanks to the Portal, and the barriers? It is an entire sea. 

There are islands, small areas that were once the tips of buildings that have gathered more landmass around them. There are mangroves, trees not like anything on earth or anywhere else stretching up in canopies dark enough to block out the sun, yet lit by the green waters. 

It goes deep. Mariana Trench deep, despite it being impossible. The GIW have explored for caves or tunnels, they’ve tried to find some sort of explanation, but there isn’t one. 

Now all that ecto? That has an effect on people. They mutate, they change, they adapt. Anywhere else would have been a slow death- something the GIW might have even been counting on. But Amity Park? It was founded by witches, it was the hotspot for the supernatural, even before the Fentonwork Portal. They’ve been dealing with this sort of energy in microdoses from the moment they first began to live in the city in any generation. 

But they begin to adapt. Shift into something… other. Some stay contaminated, clinging to human forms as they form homes on the tiny islands, fishing and farming what they can. Others become Liminal, almost seeming to meld with fish, some similar to ones of the Living and others something just to the left. Similar yes, but not quite… right. And then there are those that have truly melded with the energy of the dead, forms torn asunder by it, ripped apart and made anew by it. 

The first sign back when the barrier was activated, when they could no longer leave and were trapped were the fish in the lake. And now they are the same, with gazes of something Else, with gnashing teeth and a hunger gnawing at where hearts once were. 

But they aren’t monsters. They’re still themselves. Just a little… Other now. 

[realbeefman]

stacy is sooo interesting because she's in love with house but knows that they will never ever be able to have a healthy, stable, sane relationship because they're too similar so. she finds house-lite instead and marries him and. essentially moves on with her life! and is successful in this because she's a moderately well-adjusted person!

wilson, in contrast, never manages to escape the inevitable, in spite of his best efforts to find a house-lite of his very own, because he's an absolute fucking freak and ends up glued to house to the bitter. bitter end

[heretherebedork]

There is no one sicker than a BL boy that gets caught in a rainstorm. No one.

[skyward-floored]

LEAVE ME ALONE

[soaps-mohawk]

Heyyyy ik ur are tired ,just wanted to ask if you will post a chapter this week ,get well soon

Honey, I am not "tired", I am sick.

Congestion, sinus pain, headache, fatigue, sure my sore throat went away last night but now I have a cough. I can't sleep because I don't want to use my cpap while sick, so I wake every hour either from not breathing or because I'm choking on sinus drainage. (And yes, I sleep at an angle and it still doesn't help any.)

I wrote 600 words of chapter 16 on Saturday when I was getting sick, and I have not touched it since then, nor have I even thought about touching it because I am now fully sick.

I gave y'all two chapters last week. Two. You have no idea how badly I was stressing about Chapter 15 and how close I was to giving up writing and I still got the chapter up for everyone on Sunday WHILE I HAD A FEVER.

Regardless of the extra bonus chapter everyone got, I still would say it's not likely you'll get a chapter this week because I AM SICK. I want to rest and sleep and try to get better because I have things in my real life that I need to do too that I haven't been able to because I've been sick. I'm not even thinking about this fic and updating it right now.

I am begging y'all to remember I am a real person with a real life behind this blog. I get busy, I get tired, I get sick. I do this as a hobby. I post here on tumblr for free. I pump out 7k word chapters every week, and in the case of last week, multiple times a week. It's hard. It takes a lot of work and dedication just to do this alone while I feel healthy and normal, much less everything else I do during the week.

On top of that, Friday is my birthday and I'd like to take that day to do what I want to do and celebrate the crisis of getting yet another year older.

So no, chances are, there's probably not going to be a chapter out this week. I want to rest and recover and even if I did try to pump out 7k words in the next two days, I'm not going to be happy with it. I'm not going to like it. It's not going to be up to par with the standard I've set with the rest of the chapters quality-wise and I'm going to be tearing myself up because I'll have felt like I cheated y'all trying to write while sick just for the sake of getting a chapter out this week.

Now that I've got myself all worked up, I'm going to go lay down and rest and maybe have some soup because I'm hungry and for the first time in days, it does not hurt to eat. So take one of the chapters from last week and consider that the update for this week.

[romansmartini]

informative flowchart i made

[apelcini]

there is a hollowness inside of rich kids that truly terrifies me.

[spiderversegf]

been looking at fountain pens and inks for hours now 😵‍💫

[abisalli]

1hr drawing of our favorite feminist ;P

[wizards-and-t]

Reaching for you, wherever you are

or, a quiet night in quadratum

[nathanielhsewell]

this is sick. m no last name what are you doing to me.