#this isn't going to work

[kybercrystals94]

First Brothers

Read here on Ao3!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 6 | Prompt 6: This isn’t going to work. 

Rated: G | Words: 720 | Summary: Rex and Fives have a conversation about past brothers. | Character Focus: Rex, Fives, Echo 

“This isn’t going to work.” 

“Humor me.”

Fives sniffs at the steaming beverage and makes a face. “Ugh, why does it smell like that?” 

“Just drink it,” Rex says, patience wearing thin.

Fives takes a tiny sip. “It tastes worse than it smells!” 

“Maker, Fives! Drink it before I pour it down your throat myself!”

Fives glowers at the offending concoction a moment before he pushes it away, the glass bottom of the thick mug grating across the tabletop. “Captain, you can threaten me all you like, but I’m not drinking that. It’s disgusting.” 

“It’s kriffing Sapir Tea, Fives! It’s supposed to be soothing.”

“Well, I don’t feel very soothed with you yelling at me,” Fives grumbles. He pokes the mug of tea further in Rex’s direction. “You drink it. You seem to need it more than I do.” 

Rex glares at him, but takes the mug anyway, gripping it in both hands. The warmth against his palms reminds him of rainy nights on Kamino before he was deployed for active duty. A lifetime ago, sitting with his batchmates, speculating what the promised war might be like. He’d been so naive back then. All of them had. Flash training taught them everything and nothing. The stain of a brother’s blood on shiny, white armor was a lesson they’d not prepared for in the sterile environment of Kamino. 

Rex turns the mug in his hands. “I’m not yelling at you,” he mutters at Fives. 

Fives leans forward, folding his arms on the table. “I beg to differ,” he says, but Rex sees the mirth in the eyes identical to his own. “Did you call me down here just to bully me into drinking your weird boiled leaf brew?”

Rex sighs and decides to rip the bacta patch off. “When you mentioned you’ve been having trouble sleeping,” he admits, “I thought you might want to talk about it.” 

Fives groans, dropping his forehead to his arms. “Ah, c’mon, Rex. I’m fine. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“It’s been a year.” 

“I know.”

Rex brings the mug up and sips at the scalding tea, waiting. 

Fives doesn’t lift his head but a sigh sifts through the barrier like a hiss. “What do you want me to say, Rex? We lose brothers everyday. Good brothers. It’s the only sure thing in this war.” 

“It is,” Rex agrees. 

Fives sits up, rubs a heavy hand across his eyes. “Echo isn’t more important than any of them.” The ARC keeps his sharp gaze focused on the wall past Rex’s shoulder, not meeting his eye. 

“I never said he was.” Rex puts down his mug. “But he was one of your first brothers. That means something.” 

Fives’ expression softens at that. “I’m the last Domino,” he says, then chuckles bitterly and adds, “I always thought Echo would be.”

“Why?” Rex asks. 

Fives shrugs, but doesn’t explain further. He changes the subject instead, finally looking at Rex again. “I bet Echo would like your kriffing tea.” 

“That’s because Echo had taste,” Rex says. 

Fives barks out a laugh. “You’re talking about the man who read and memorized regulation manuals during his downtime.” 

Rex chuckles. “I didn’t know he memorized them.” 

Fives scoffs. “Oh, yeah. He was worse about it when we were cadets. Between parroting regulations and orders, he more than earned his name.” 

“That’s why his name was Echo?” 

“He tried to make us stop, but that just made the name more compelling.” 

The floodgates open, and Fives regales Rex with stories about his brothers, the ones Rex had and hadn’t met…and the one Rex had known well enough to feel his absence like a reverberating wound. Rex finishes his tea, but he and his little brother reminisce long into the night. 

|<<>>|<<>>|<<>>|<<>>|<<>>|<<>>|

“What’s this?” Echo asks.

Rex glances up from an intercepted report he’s been pouring over. Echo is examining Rex’s tin of Sapir Tea, turning it over in his hand. Echo doesn’t wait for an answer before he opens the lid and sniffs at the contents inside. “Smells good,” he comments, almost to himself. 

Rex grins. “Tastes better. Make us both a cup, will you?”

The last Domino smiles at him. “Sure thing, sir,” he says, even though Rex has told him repeatedly, like an echo, that he’s not a captain anymore. 

But old habits die hard. 

END

I can't believe we are already 6 days into April! I feel like it just started!! See below for links to all our stories thus far!

Prompts Completed:

@the-little-moment (1. Homesick / 4. Longing)

@just-here-with-my-thoughts (2. Frozen / 5. Self Surgery)

KyberCrystal94 (3. Broken Hearted / 6. This isn't going to work)

✨Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!✨

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb

[nyamadermont]

This Isn't Going to Work

Angstpril 2024: Day 6 (1368 words)

“Lin, this isn’t going to work. I only have a couple of days in the city and I can’t predict when the baby will come. If you can’t take a day or two off to spend with me, I’ll just stay on the Island and not interrupt your schedule.”

“But Kya, I want to see you. It’s been months, and I miss you. We’ve been planning this raid for six months. I would risk my officers’ lives if I just took vacation time right now. Never mind what the council would say.”

“Oh, don’t bring my brother into this, Lin,” Kya groused.

Lin scoffed. “Your brother would be mad at me, but more for making you unavailable. He’s been on my back for three years to take a vacation.”

“Tenzin and I agree on something other than the fact he’s lucky Pema puts up with him.”

Lin froze.

Through a clenched jaw, she managed to respond. “No, I’m sorry, Kya. You’re right. This visit isn’t going to work out.”

click

***

Lin frowned at the timetables and weather charts spread out over Katara’s dining table. She was nearly in tears as she said, “Kya, this isn’t going to work. I have been gone for two weeks already. I’ve got to get Saikahn back to his usual duties. This election is in two months, and I have security to work out across the city.” She dropped her face in her hands. “I want to stay.”

Kya reached over and pulled one hand away and gave it a kiss.

“Lin, dear, you hate it here.”

Lin scoffed.

“I don’t hate you,” she muttered so softly Kya nearly missed it.

Kya kissed Lin’s hand again before settling her cheek into Lin’s palm.

“I don’t hate you, too.”

Their eyes met and they laughed.

Kya sighed.

“Well, if this isn’t going to work, you’d best pack. You know what Tenzin is like when he’s decided a problem is not going to fix itself. I’m sure he is going to have Korra on a meditation regime like none we’ve ever seen before.”

There was no laughter over the fate of two benders going home without their bending.

The door nearly broke from its hinges as Mako came bursting into the room. “Chief! Korra’s back! Everything is going to work out!”

***

“This isn’t going to work. We should just go home,” Lin growled, her stomach churning. Her feet were encased in soggy leather rather than her standard uniform boots. Everywhere, the riotous green growth was oppressive in its pervasiveness. They could only see so far ahead before yet another tree turned them aside from their best guess of a path.

The earth under her feet was saturated, and the water blurred her seismic sense. Kya, meanwhile, seemed almost to tiptoe through the reeds and rushes.

Lin paused a moment to admire the one spark of beauty in this spirits-forsaken swamp.

Except, of course, the spirits had not forsaken this awful place. They had both had visions the night before, and Lin was embarrassed by what Kya had heard.

“Lin, I have a good feeling. I bet Toph is just past that tree over there. Trust me.”

The cackling laugh seemed to come from everywhere but above them.

“Trust? Kya, you should know better than that. Lin won’t trust her own two feet.”

The tiny, wizened form of Lin’s mother emerged from behind the very tree Kya had indicated. 

“Hey, Chief.”

Lin shook her head and sighed. “Hey, Chief.” 

A few minutes’ worth of backtracking brought them to Toph’s small abode. She negligently raised two stools for sitting, then returned to her own reclining seat.

Kya’s stomach gurgled, so she started opening their pack. “Toph, we brought some food with us. We thought you might like something other than wet mushrooms. We just need a little larger fire to cook everything.”

“That isn’t going to work. The swamp and I have an arrangement, and that fire doesn’t get any bigger. It’s either good enough, or it’s not.”

***

Kya was perplexed by the instructions in the note in her hand. Lin told her to arrive at a very specific hour at the delivery entrance to the Republic City History Museum, and to wait for her.

After a short wait, she began to regret dismissing the cab, because she didn’t see anywhere to sit and wait for her wife. The shadows were shifting, and Kya had other things she wanted to do other than watch the birds flit about the alleyway.

Just as she was about to give up and leave, a police van pulled up and parked next to the dock. Lin exited the passenger side, bent over to speak to the driver, then walked to the cargo doors at the back. Her hand was hidden by the open doors, until she backed up and a large crate floated out and settled on the ground behind the vehicle. Kya presumed there was something metal inside that she was bending.

Lin closed the doors to the van and tapped the back twice. The officer put the sato into gear and drove away. 

Lin bent the crate up onto the dock, then walked over to where Kya was waiting with an arched eyebrow and crossed arms.

“You were very specific, Lin. Why have I been waiting here so long?”

Lin had the decency to look slightly abashed. “The people we are here to meet got caught in traffic and couldn’t let us in on time. I’m sorry.”

With a wave, Kya dismissed the concerns, and leaned over to give Lin a kiss.

Kya was fascinated to get to see the back offices and storage areas of the museum. Even as the child of dignitaries, she had never gotten to see the parts of the museum where all the work was done. It seemed to be a busy place, even on a day when they were closed to the public.

She waited in the chair she was led to while Lin managed the crate under the direction of one of the curators. She rummaged through her bag for a book until she remembered having finished her last one from her last trip to the library. A glance around the room found very little to distract her, so she settled on the floor to meditate.

“Kya, dear. We’re ready.”

Kya was prepared with her side-eye for Lin, who somehow did not seem surprised. Or put off in the slightest.

She was almost smug.

Kya frowned, but got up from the floor to follow Lin.

They emerged from the employee areas into the main visitor gallery. Hand in hand, they walked through an open doorway with the phrase “The Story of Our City” marked out in a cheerful red overhead.

It had been years since the last time Kya had brought the niblings, so she could see a few places where things had been updated and rearranged. Lin took a turn Kya didn’t recognize, only to be confronted with a larger-than-life statue of Toph. Which thankfully was not the size of the statue at headquarters.

Lin guided her through a small hall dedicated to the police force from its establishment under the original council through the rise of the triads, the terror of Yakone, the two chiefs after Toph, to Lin’s own promotion to the top job. There was a memorial wall for those killed in the line of duty, whether in what Lin called the ‘quiet years’ or specific historic moments like the Equalist Uprising.

“Kya, darling. Close your eyes, please.”

Kya looked at Lin first, but slowly and deliberately closed her eyes, and wrapped her arm around Lin’s elbow. It was only about another twenty steps before Lin asked her to stop and turn around. She heard a click that sounded like a storage case closing.

“Open your eyes.”

Behind a glass case, a dressmaker’s form supported one of Lin’s uniforms. The plaque overhead read, “Chief Lin Beifong served Republic City for forty years before retiring in the twenty-fourth year of the Korra Era.”

Kya blinked. “Retired?” She looked at Lin in confusion.

“Retired." Lin pointed at the uniform. "This isn’t going to work.”

She smiled at Kya.

“Ever again.”

[foofsterwriting]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Artful Dodger (TV 2023) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jack "Artful Dodger" Dawkins/Belle Fox, Jack "Artful Dodger" Dawkins & Norbert Fagin Characters: Jack "Artful Dodger" Dawkins, Belle Fox, Norbert Fagin Additional Tags: Prison, prison break - Freeform, Unplanned Pregnancy, Angst, Angstpril, Fagin is there Summary:

“I’m going to get you out of here. I'm talking to my parents about it.” Belle announces. Jack feels his heart sink. He doesn't want her to waste her time on something that won't work. He knows the disdain her mother has for him and she controls her father.

Belle says she will get Jack out of prison, and she is true to her word.

[katwritesshit]

angstpril '24 day 6 — this isn't going to work

really short and also really bad but i wanted to post SOMETHING for angstpril

Word Count : idk couldnt be assed to check

——————————☆——————————

"This isn't going to work!" Zena cried, tears flowing down her cheeks. "We're never going to get him back!"

"Zena..." Mirko reached out to place a hand on her shoulder, but she grabbed his wrist.

"No!" She said. "I don't want to hear your bullshit about how 'we can do this' and 'everything'll be fine' because we can't!"

She took a shallow, shaky breath and continued.

"We can't do this! These people have power, and influence, and money, and we're just- we're just some losers! Some stupid losers who couldn't even get back home without losing someone..."

She went quiet and stared down at her hands tucked in her lap. A moment passed and Mirko laid his hand on hers.

"I can't say for sure this is going to work, Zena." He rubbed his thumb against her palm soothingly. "But what I can say for certain is that we'll all try as hard as we can to make it."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

——————————☆——————————

Wow! That was bad! But it's something i guess

[writerbythewater-blog]

Prompt: this isn’t going to work

Date: April 6th

Bella looked around the empty house, because it was empty in a way. It lacked any sign that her father had lived here with her mother. Everything was how her mother wanted it to be with little hints that Bella had grown up, but the school photos along the fire place did little to show her father. Every where she looked she saw her mother touch. The poorly painted cabinets. The mix matched blinds. The only room to have changed was her own, and that was only because her father wanted to show he was trying.

Bella sighed walking around the house looking for any hint of her father outside of the wall of fishing gear in the shed. She didn't manage, and honestly she hated how her mother decorated the house. She'd been living here for a week and finally felt settled enough to try making a life here, but maybe she should start by making sure her father had one.

Grabbing her key she went to her truck. Her father was already at work, so if she wanted to talk to him she would have to go there. The truck roared to life and she drove to the police station. Parking she walked inside no longer bothered by the nonstop rain of the town. The lady at the desk pointed her towards her fathers office, and she walked in without knocking. Her father looked up from the paperwork he was doing and seemed surprised to see her but happy too.

"Bells! What brings you here?"

"This isn't going to work dad," she saw his face start to fall and rushed before he got the wrong idea. "The house hasn't changed since mom decorated it, and it feels wrong. I can't even tell you live there half the time. It feels like mom is going to walk though the door at any minute." Honestly that was the main problem she had. It was hard to feel like you left home if home seemed to have followed you.

"Oh," his voice was soft but he didn't seem too upset. "If you want we can go to the store and get new stuff. What were you thinking?"

"New paint for one. The color mom chose was cute at one point I'm sure, but it chipped and fading. Also the blinds don't even match."

"I guess the paint could use a touch up, and yeah they don't."

"We could also bring your fishing gear inside. Unless you like having in the shed."

His face lite up. "That sounds great!"

"Perfect." Bella smiled. "When do you get off?"

"I can leave soon as I finish this. Want to ride together in my car or yours. Which ever gets left we can just come back for."

"The truck would have more space. We just need a tarp."

Her father nodded as he went back to the paperwork. "Can you tell Mary that I'm going to head at soon?"

"The lady at the desk?"

He nodded so she went to let Mary know. Of course as soon as Mary heard Bella would be waiting she had her sit and wait with her. She spent the time showing Bella photo's of her grandchildren and telling her and the things they did in school. Mary seemed like a very proud grandmother. She also kept giving Bella cookies she brought in that she baked at home. They were very good cookies, and Bella couldn't tell the lady no. When her father came out of the office he found her eating cookies and cooing over baby photos. He got roped into it too.

When they finally pulled away Mary gave them a little box with more cookies, and patted Bella's head before letting them go. Her father smiled rushing the two of them out to the truck, and taking Bella's keys. She didn't mind him driving. He knew where they were going better than her anyway. The drive was quite as was the shopping. They chose colors together and got what they would need to hang her fathers gear. It was nice. Nothing like the crazy trips she took with her mother. Bella might not be sure about Forks yet, but she was sure about living with her dad.

[ancientdramaqueengodess]

First time that i saw you, i was so happy not because you were beautiful. I thought at last i did it. I found someone to think about when i listen to old love songs.

Last night moon looked so pretty and i was listening to an old love song. I tried my best to think of you. But i couldn't.

So i thought of moon, my silly little plants and my cat.

I don't what's this love everybody's talking about. I know i've felt it somewhere along the way. So i'm starting to think love's just another name for death. It comes once a life time and after that nobody knows what is going to happen.

[fanfictasia]

Angstpril Day 6

This Isn’t Going To Work

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from The Sith Strike Back

He Force-throws Maul back into the wall, spinning to deal with the Mandalorians while he still can. Several of them start shooting but then one of them activates their flame thrower. He can’t block it with his lightsaber and it catches him entirely by surprise. He jolts back, throwing up a Force shield, but barely fast enough to stop it.

Sparks are crackling across the sleeve of his robe. He can feel the heat of the fire, on his robes and in the fire he’s deflecting. His robes are about to catch fire and all he can remember is Mustafar.  

All he can remember is being trapped there, helpless and unable to move. Unable to – to anything.

And all the pain that followed, and –

All he can see around him is the slopes of Mustafar, not the room surrounding him. He needs to get out. To be able to breathe. He lashes out blindly, wildly with the Force.

Thinks he feels a few lives disappearing into the Force. He can feel Maul’s rapidly retreating Force presence and that’s enough to start breaking him out of his haze of panic. A little. He feels shaky and like he’s going to fall, and he still can’t breathe and what if Mustafar is about to happen all over again. He’s in the past. He’s –

Force.

What is wrong with him?

Maul is getting away and he’s standing here panicking about absolutely nothing.

Trying to make himself move, throwing him into a flight response is at least something. Even if it still feels like the walls are closing in on him and then everything is going to turn red again, and –

Not like he doesn’t deserve for it to happen.

That’s exactly why he’s so terrified of it happening again.

He’s trying to track Maul through the halls now, but he’s losing track of him entirely. Vader skids to a stop, struggling to catch his breath past the panic building in his throat. With the immediate enemy gone, the panic is rushing back full force again.

This isn’t working.

It’s insane. What’s wrong with him?

“General!”

He looks up, to see Rex running up, concern burning in his eyes. “We dealt with the Mandalorians we found and came to find you.”

Stop thinking about it. Just stop.

“I lost Maul,” he rasps, “But he was here.” It was such a stupid slip up. Not something he can let happen again. More of his boys are going to die because of that. What is wrong with him? Maybe the suit is good for some things – at least it keeps him focused becuase the pain is too distracting to let anything else distract him.

[descendinginto-madness]

this isn't going to work.

word count: 561

content warnings: n/a

summary: a difference in opinions.

author's notes: emile and mieszko again :3 and this is certainly not the last time they'll show up in this challenge because dhdjdjfj they're my pookies i like them a lot

“Don’t even try to start with me again.”

Emile looks at Mieszko with a frown, arms crossed on their chest. He sighs quietly, looking at them, not without some worry. They haven’t been doing too well lately, and would probably be best for them if they didn’t end up straining themself because they got too riled up. That’s why, when he speaks, he does his best to remain calm - it seems to annoy them further, but he still hopes the two of them will be able to avoid another argument this way. 

“We’ve talked about this,” he replies, and they roll their eyes. He could say something about this, but he holds back. Not this time, and probably not today; there will be better opportunities to tease them about their somewhat childish behavior. “I understand how you feel, but–”

“You don't understand shit,” they hiss, and his eyes widen slightly at how aggressive their voice is, but he quickly recollects himself - and besides, it’s not like he can really blame Emile for acting this way towards him, either. He knows it’s a sensitive topic for them, even if he doesn’t know all the details, and… His choice of words might not have been the luckiest one. 

“Alright. Maybe I don’t. Sorry,” he apologizes. “But I'm also not asking you to put your blind trust in an Aeon, or to start following any of their paths. I'm just saying that, maybe, seeking help from someone with Abundance powers may be a good idea.”

Emile frowns.

“How can you be so sure that it would work?” they ask. He can hear they’re still annoyed, but at the same time, they sound just a tiny bit less angry - definitely not enough for him to be sure they won't snap at him again, but… it's something. 

“And how can you be so sure that it won't?” he asks back, and they realize they might not have an answer to that. “We already know that regular medicine will only help you with your symptoms…”

“But a regular healer won't remove all that Stellaron shit from my body either,” they add. “No one can, there's— you know that it's integrated with it at this point. I doubt anything can help here,” they say, sounding almost tired. 

“Maybe an Emanator could—”

“The Aeons didn't give a flying fuck about me or Eden my entire life, though.”

“And that's supposed to make the healer's power not work?” He can't help but smile just so slightly at this thought, even though it's not really appropriate right now. “I can assure you it won't be the case.”

“Oh shut up, will you?” They look up as if, despite their attitude towards Aeons, they were seeking help from some higher force above, but he can tell that, finally, it's more of their regular ‘I’m-so-tired-of-you’ kind of annoyance.

“Okay, okay,” Mieszko raises his hands in front of himself in a defensive manner, his smile widening a bit. “I’m sorry. But please, try to be at least a little less angry at everything once we land, alright?”

For a moment, Emile looks like they want to say something, but ultimately, they only sigh heavily. 

“Fine.” they say, and Mieszko is relieved to hear that; at the same time, though… 

He’s pretty sure that this will not be the last conversation they have about this.

divider by @/cafekitsune

[nemaliwrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Ayasato Kimiko | Morgan Fey & Miyanagi Chinami | Dahlia Hawthorne, Ayame | Iris & Miyanagi Chinami | Dahlia Hawthorne Characters: Miyanagi Chinami | Dahlia Hawthorne, Ayasato Kimiko | Morgan Fey, Ayame | Iris (Gyakuten Saiban), Miyanagi Chinami | Dahlia Hawthorne's Father, Miyanagi Yuuki | Valerie Hawthorne, Onamida Michiru | Terry Fawles, Nonda Kikuzou | Doug Swallow, Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Ayasato Chihiro | Mia Fey Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Rappaccini's Daughter Fusion, Poison, Poisoning, Child Abuse, Dubious Morality, Angst and Tragedy, Morgan Fey's Bad Parenting, Murder, Manipulation, Power Dynamics, Identity Issues, Canon Relationships Series: Part 6 of Angstpril 2024 Summary:

"You might not have spiritual power," says Mother, "but in some ways, you are stronger. What good is channeling ghosts if you may become one yourself at any moment? But if you yourself are poison, then you are protected from it. It is offense and defense at once, sword and shield put together.”

She looks between the two of them; it is obvious, Dahlia thinks, which one of her daughters is the sword and which is the shield.

--

Dahlia is poison. This is not a good thing.

Written for Day 6 of @chaos-company‘s Angstpril - prompt: this isn’t going to work

[blogger360ncislarules]

Pig tries to prove to Pigita that he's not a 'mommy's boy'.

@chaos-company

[ribbittrobbit]

these kids are incredibly stressed out

[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.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The musical episode.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[shivunin]

Because I have just seen this specific thing for the second time, I would like to say:

If I reblog your art, I do not expect you to reblog (or share!) my fic in return

If I comment on your fic, I do not expect you to comment on (or read!) mine in return

My enjoyment of anyone's work does not come with strings or expectations

My friendship is not a bill that you will have to pay later

That's it!

[krysmcscience]

Narilambs your goat

Get adopted, idiot