#so that's what we have ended up with

[allylikethecat]

“nightmares again?”

as an unfortunate sufferer of them often, i would love to hear your thoughts on this and pretend i have someone like one of the boys to comfort me 😪

The way I was like HELL YEAH I'm chipping away at these prompts! 🎉 Then I promptly reblogged another list and got more (which I am very excited about and will also get to eventually I promise) On that note, thank you so much for sending this in! I'm not sure if this is exactly what you were looking for, but alas here it is! Thank you for your patience as I took twelve thousand years to fill this prompt, I hope you like it! (If anyone else wants to submit a prompt from the late night prompts list, it can be found HERE I make no promises on WHEN I will be fill it, just that it will be filled eventually) Thank you again for sending this my way!! I hope you had a lovely day and that you have a wonderful week!

❤️Ally

WARNINGS: Nightmares, references made to drug use/ abuse / overdose, discussions of character death even though there is NOT any character death in this fic

“nightmares again?”

Matty frowned, pushing the blankets off his chest to sit up, reaching over the bedside table and turning on his reading lamp. His frown deepened when he realized that he was alone in the king size bed, George’s side of the mattress cool to the touch. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes groggily, before groping near blindly for his glasses. He slipped them onto his nose, and swallowed a yawn. 

He shivered as his bare feet hit the cement floor, and he shuffled in the dim light until he found his slippers. He felt like the old man in a horror movie, gray hair and all, trudging through his darkened home, wrapped in the red and blue plaid flannel robe that Louis had gotten him for Christmas the year before.

“Hey,” said Matty softly, not wanting to startle George, but accidentally doing so anyway. He looked up sharply from where he sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea, long since gone cold sitting in front of him. Matty yawned and hobbled over to the stove, intending to make them both a fresh cup, his knee protesting stiffly after spending the last few hours in bed. 

“What are you doing up?” George asked softly, tracking Matty’s movements as he stood on his tiptoes, reaching to retrieve two fresh mugs from the top cabinet. His robe fell open as he stretched giving George a lovely view of his tattooed chest and toned stomach. 

“Could ask you the same question,” said Matty, setting the mugs down on the counter. George looked down at the wooden surface, his cheeks pink.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said at last, “and I didn’t want to wake you up with my tossing and turning.” 

“You know I can’t sleep without you anyway,” Matty said, coming up behind George and wrapping his arms around the younger man’s broad shoulders. He pressed a kiss to his cheek savoring the warmth of George’s back as it pressed against Matty’s chest. 

George just hummed in response, taking one of Matty’s hands in his own, holding tight, swiping his thumb back and forth against Matty’s palm as if trying to memorize the divots of his lifelines. 

“Nightmares again?” Matty whispered, hesitating to break the calm that had settled over the kitchen, but needing to know. George nodded, giving Matty’s hand a squeeze. 

“Yeah,” said George, his voice hoarse, “yeah.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Matty asked softly, sometimes George wanted to talk about his nightmares, other times he just wanted Matty near. George sniffled, and Matty’s heart broke. 

“You were dead,” he said quietly, “you ODed and I was too late,” he let go of Matty’s hand to swipe at his eyes and Matty took advantage of the shift in position to drop down onto the bench next to George, wrapping his arms around George’s hulking frame as he curled into himself, then into Matty’s chest. 

“It was just a nightmare,” said Matty, “I’m alright, I’m right here.” He took George’s hand maneuvering it to press it against his bare skin, letting George feel the rise and fall of his chest. The steady beat of his heart. 

“I know,” said George wetly, “I know, but it's just,” he took a shaky breath, “it was so real, and, and it could have been real. If I had been a few minutes later—”

“No,” said Matty, pressing harder on George’s hand. “No, stop that, I’m right here.” He took a deep breath George hand moving out then in with his lungs as he exhaled. “I’m alright,” he said, his own words growing watery as silent tears streamed down George’s cheeks. 

“I know,” said George, leaning forward to bury his face in George’s shoulder. “But, but if I had been just a little later, if I planned on stopping for coffee but it was raining and I was lazy, if I had stopped it would have been too late and you would be gone, I would have had to find your body.” George hiccuped wetly, his breath hot against Matty’s skin. 

“But you didn’t,” said Matty, rubbing what he hoped were soothing circles against George’s back. “And that was a long time ago, I’m okay, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere as long as you’ll have me.” 

“It just,” said George, “it felt so real.” 

“Fuck,” said Matty taking a shaky breath of his own, “fuck, I’m so sorry for putting you through all of that, I was selfish, and it’s keeping you awake even years later, and I’m so sorry.” 

“No,” said George, “no, you don’t have to be sorry, it wasn’t your fault, you were sick, I should be over it by now—”

The tea kettle whistled, and Matty apologized, detangling himself from George and quickly pouring the piping hot water into the mugs, then adding a drizzle of honey before bringing them back over and setting them on the table. 

“I’m sorry,” Matty said quietly, nudging the mug towards George. “I’m sorry that I put you through that, and that it’s haunting you even now.”

George gave Matty a watery smile. “As long as you’re still here to haunt me in person.” 

Matty chuckled, and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to George’s dry lips. “Forever and always.” 

[inkskinned]

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.

[cracklewink]

Harmony Syndrome Part 5/5

The last chapter of my mlp infection AU! Thank you to everyone who followed along. Some final thoughts on my twitter @cracklewink if anyone's interested : )

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Get Their Ass.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[egophiliac]

I got a really tough question.

What’s your favorite Twst event of ALL TIME?

I like Harveston

this truly is the hardest question. :( but after much consideration, I think Endless Halloween Night wins out for me, because it's nonstop Characters Being Silly the whole way through. the whole thing is just lots of these little dorks having the most ridiculous interactions, which is always my favorite! and of course the big twist is SO delightfully stupid and doubles down SO hard that it becomes AMAZING and I 100% unironically adore it. AND it's Halloween! everyone is in their cute little costumes and having a spooky adventure! it's great!

however, I am ALSO a big fan of the Harveston event! how can I not be! everyone is wearing comfy winter outfits and getting along really weirdly well with Epel's grandma and he's getting a little worried about that! my terrible loud son sews a plush squirrel and then gives it a silly little nickname and refuses to leave it behind when it breaks! the ending shot with the sled! I LOVE IT.

obviously we need the best of both worlds now

[sivsii]

I sincerely hope every artist gets to have the experience of falling in love with their art someday. even if you have to fight for it. i think we all deserve to look at the result of our creativity all giddy and go holy shit, I loved making this! I love the lines I put down and the colors I used and the indulgences I’ve taken. I love seeing things I liked and taking it for my own, pushing and molding and playing. I can’t wait to do it again

[bacchuschucklefuck]

while teen while goblin while aroace while injured while doing your best

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

it is. so weird to me that I'm having to say this again after a real-life cartoon supervillian already once ran for president on a platform of hatred & fascism and won, but.

it's November, please fucking vote

[katabay]

desmond & friends modern day assassin sequences…..I miss you……..

[turtleblogatlast]

Every day I’m haunted by the fact the boys happily swim in sewer water

Even if it’s filtered somehow there’s no way it’s not still nasty 😭 Bet they can defeat any of their villains just by accidentally giving them diseases I swear

[chalkeater]

i have NOT drawn enough talk sprite redraws. Heres some warm ups!! RAAHH 🦖

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 212

“Did we just pull an Isekai?” 

“I mean, does it count if it’s practically just Ghostwriter’s usual shit, just more chaotic?” 

“Sam, this is like a game, look, we even have inventory overlays!” 

“Yeah but Tuck, I died so therefor I pulled an isekai, right?” 

“Shit, why does that make sense?” 

“Boys, perhaps actually look into your overlay there? Perhaps look at the map as well?” 

“... oh my Ancients, guys, we’re not the players, we’re going to be the bosses of this game.”

. . . 

“This is going to be so much fun guys.” 

The JL Jr team would really like it to be known that they are in fact done with Klarions shenanigans. This is literally the first day school is out for the summer for them! Who even showed him DnD and anime anyway?!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[crowsgrudge]

fionna's world being represented by a dandelion makes so much sense ... they're weeds. yet people make wishes through them, changing their whole meaning from something meant to be destroyed to something hopeful.

dandelions are also resilient and it makes sense that something associated with them would. you know. perservere despite the destruction caused by the scarab.

but ultimately i think what REALLY made me tear up over this is that dandelions are really boring plants. when you're a kid you blow on them and make your wish but they're not eyecatching or anything but still, fionna's final wish was for her old world to still exist as it was when she left it (> plain and simple. boring even).

like the moment she realized she would lose her friends, and that her friends might forget each other if the world got its magic back, she immediately decided she didn't want it and I think that ties back to the dandelion metaphor so well... like, do you really need magic to be real to find it everywhere? or can you turn something boring into something magical?

[detectivebambam]

final draft is definitely the best because we didn't get

renee and andrew fucking

jean's death

raven neil

Kevin's death

Matt's death

[aethersea]

it is funny though how kids' shows are so so so careful about death, no one's ever killed except MAYYYYBE the big bad, all those random side characters are fine, here have a quick shot of them before we leave just so you know they really did survive that 50-foot drop into a stormy sea,

and meanwhile kids' books nearly all agree that it's not an adventure until it has a body count.