#wordssss

[sassmar]

find a word game!

eeee this game looks fun yay i'll play :) tysm for the tag @pancakehouse ! <3<3

the rules are simple - find the word (or something close enough) in a fic (WIP, published, whatever) and share the excerpt it’s in. 

words I was given: cherry, sofa, blink, kiss

your words: fire, night, soft, drown

-

cherry // from poppies in october (r/s)

He remembers visiting Remus the summer after sixth year, mid-July, when this thing of theirs felt so achingly palpable, yet fragile, too—a spun-glass bauble snatching and refracting the clean light between them.  A flurry of question marks catching in their fringe like fresh flakes of snow.  Ripe, unbitten cherries under each of their tongues. 

-

sofa // from white sheets, in the closet (r/s)

Remus’s mother has bridge on Thursdays, and his father ministers to the sick, so the two of them have run of the Lupin household well into the evening before Sirius has to skedaddle. It’s a cramped little house in a modest part of town, bauble-bright aluminum Christmas tree standing sentinel in one corner of the living room, a worn-out old Gibson upright occupying another corner near the shabby floral sofa. Decent enough, all told, but you don’t look around and get the impression that Pastor Lupin’s been skimming the collections basket.

-

blink // also from white sheets ^^

His fist collides like a brick with Sirius’s face.  Sirius’s vision blurs and he tastes slick hot tin in his mouth.  Someone—Remus—grabs him by the arm.  He blinks, steadies himself, balls his right fist and gets ready to blindly swing while the world swims in and out of focus—

-

kiss // oooh please like imma have a fic without this word !! from poppies in october ^^

They sleep together in the bed, because Sirius insists and in the absolute best way possible Remus hasn’t an ounce of fight left in him to argue, and the next morning Sirius cooks them omelets while Remus pours them tea and then pulls a face when Sirius dumps, like, four fucking tablespoons of sugar into his cup. But when Sirius kisses him over the table, mouth hot and slow and four-tablespoons sweet, Remus honestly doesn’t mind.

man i was so close to being a tease & posting the one and only snippet i could find where i used "kiss" like ...... metaphorically or whatever ...... but alas. actual kissing no teasing okurr !!!

-

ummm yeah so like i think my a lotta my beloved mutuals maybe already got tagged ?? so just like ignore this if i'm double tagging you @squidgilator @broomsticks @heart-axe @shipsnsails @mkaugust <3

[crymeariveronceagain]

things that stick out to me extra much while reading Orwell's 1984

im not very far along atm but its been such a mind boggler of a read

Emmanuel Goldenstein is a very interesting name choice. Especially for the hated enemy of the Party who stands for everything they detest.

The Ministry of Love does executions, the Ministry of Peace concerns itself with war.

Newspeak is masterfully done. It's straight up a brilliant motif, which communicates a theme that resonates throughout the entire story, so far. The concept that changing words to mean different things or have different connotations changes how you think about it. In the appendix section on Newspeak, in my copy of the book, it talks about how the words "Communist International" require the person speaking to take their time, to know what the words mean, to see them as an entirely different thing than "Comintern", as the Newspeak word is. The whole point of it is that "Comintern" does not let you think about "Communist International". It signifies nothing in particular, in your brain, unless you let it, whereas "Communist International" denotes something horrifyingly obvious.

Paranoia. As such a quiet, normal thing. The idea that everyone you know would turn on you at the drop of a hat, that you need to be perfect so that no one will think about reporting you, that kids are rewarded and hailed for turning in their parents--- it's just such a lovely symbol of complete and abject terror and it makes my author brain light off fireworks.

[life-is-pending]

"nah lol i dont really remember that" (it was one of my core memories and i think about it all the time, your hands around mine)

[cheolhub]

Hey, hi, hello, yo, wsp, I just discovered In my Dreams by RV nd i'm going crazy. The song is so good omdd, literally busted an ear nut -🥧

hi hello hey ive never heard it 🤭 i have been on a kpop high 🤣🤣🤣 these r literally my top songs

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 18, 2021 11:00 p.m. local night market

🎵 🎵 🎵

[sracha]

fan art I made of summer and raven making out and dying in a glue trap together.

[bloodyknuckles]

if i wrote like an au for twisters would anyoneeee read it. Anyone.

[distortedclouds]

Listen, I know it's shit but.... Kudos to her sitting her ass down and actually writing words on the page. Gotta respect that

[soosdraws]

The way you draw Jason Todd is so lesbian I have a crush

lmao THANK YOU! i try my best <3

[lillybearrie]

Me when this shot specifically

When Something Turns to Nothing

"Wait" Venear stops short and turns around "have we met before?"

A memory resurfaces having been clawing it's way out of the box Icarixis had shoved it into along with all the others like it this whole time

"I wish we could have been... something"

it recites like it did the last time Venear left them and before Icarixis could shove those thoughts back into the box they came from Ven shakes his head and apologizes to the ethereal entity before them "you just seem like the kinda person I'd wanna know" and gods above this was going to be so much harder than they thought

Ven has basically requested his own execution and Icarus was granting it because this was his choice not theirs

"been...something"

and they're supposed to be the quixis who doesn't interven not like Midas did but gods they can't stand to look at that friendly smile free of judgment and nothing short of genuine but lacking that spark of familiarity behind it

"something"

"Yeah..."

and suddenly everything is all to much and they turn around but once their back is to the portal they can't make themself turn back

they bite the inside of their lip and squeeze their eyes shut for a moment taking a breath because gods damn it they are not going to cry

"see you around"

and just like that Ven is gone again and Icarus let him go again because that's what he wanted again and they didn't have the strength to watch him leave... again

and if a few tears trail down the newest Quixis's face well there's not anyone here to say anything about it so maybe... just maybe they took a little while longer to start their usual rounds that day

[the-lonelyshepherd]

i’m going to explode everyone in the lottie matthews tag

[saturatedsinset]

index card exercises!

here's all 20 of the indexercises i did yesterday :) i'm putting only the transcriptions here, because the pictures all look the same, and i'll include everything i did, including ones i already posted in answers to asks just so i have em all in one place.

stroke

‘stroke’ as in cat, stroke as in pet, stroke as in innuendo, stroke as in medical event, and it could be any or all or none, jack’s knees sore from carpet and stress and work, the gentle pressure of a hand petting, slooowly, stroking - there it is again - his heart aflutter and sometimes he can’t tell whether his stomach churns with butterflies or foreboding or nausea, the room quiet for hours at a time, and they’ve never told him not to speak unless spoken to but there’s a weight in the air that makes him keep his mouth

hypothesis

the scientific method. Laughable. Hypothesis, test, reflect, report. Hubristic to think we must be slaves to empiricism. the world is so much more than the sum of its parts, its processes, the dissection of the worm that keeps moving. my professor once told me: excavation is an act of destruction. to learn about the past we must destroy it. i once told my professor: excavation is an act of destruction. a scientist to a theatre major, all my anger spilling out over this - HOW DARE YOU THINK THIS IS METAPHORICAL? but we are all made of

sorry

it isn’t enough, and it never will be. the chair shot heard round the world, whatever they’re calling it now. the inescapable knowledge that even if he could go back he wouldn’t. seth’s sorry. seth wishes he was sorry. seth wakes up rotten and he still wouldn’t change it. what was it Cena says, sometime in the future? you almost ruined seth rollins, you drove dean ambrose out of the company… but it wasn’t about Roman, except for all the ways that it was. I’m sorry, he says. it’s true and it isn’t. hit me back, he says. he means it

follow

wherever you go, i will follow - he says - quietly - maybe you both know it’s a lie already - maybe he doesn’t want to dishonor truth - so brazenly - i wouldn’t ask that of you - you say - you have more to do - here - so much more - and he smiles - his eyes glitter - maybe tears - maybe laughter - he’s begging you to ask - and you can’t - and you won’t - and you both know it - wherever you go, i will follow - he says - a plea - a lie - a prayer - this is your home - you say - but he - doesn’t agree - he wilts - as he says - you are my home

step

into this, into me, toward life, toward the next step - Emilie Autumn says, one foot in front of the other foot. a step turns into a yard, a yard turns into a mile, and eventually you don’t know whether you’re running toward something or away from it. Full circle, flat circle. it ends up the same. the house is too big, and it swallows you, feet-first. the house knows you want to run away. the house is too small, and it shrinks in on you, suffocates you, inch by agonizing inch. where are you going? the house asks. you’d understand if you could

nostalgia

the moments you miss aren’t the ones you want to go back to. there’s all of the clichés, a cruel mistress, a lie, the feeling of missing home, and they capture something, but not enough. Nostalgia is a ghost. Nostalgia is a haunting. There are the ghosts of the past, our memories; there are the ghosts of the future, of dead futures, of things we’ve given up on or can no longer dream of - nostalgia is somewhere in between. a dead present. nostalgia is a personal kind of prelapsarianism. there is no call to action, just

discuss

“We need to talk,” Dean says, except he doesn’t need to, because they already know. seth already knows. he always thinks he’s being subtle, Dean, and sometimes he is, but mostly he’s the most straightforward guy Seth's ever met. he’s leaving. they know it. why insist on dealing the final blow himself? it’s what Seth would do, of course, but Seth’s always thought Dean’s better than him. known it. (except.) “I’m out,” Dean says, and what can Seth say to that? Dean knows all the reasons he should stay. but he knows all the reasons he

bittersweet

the first thought: Blood. the first sin: blood. there’s chocolate, of course, coffee, there’s the wrench in Adam’s heart whenever she touches the wall of a sleeping stadium. But blood brings power, something tangible, the stickiness of it drying on her face as she tastes it between her teeth. She misses too many people to count. that’s bittersweet too, thorns in the meadows by the creek ready to gouge whoever she brings down next. swerve is down there with her, maybe buried, maybe snoring. she hasn’t been exploring her own head as much lately.

midnight

I shall wear midnight, she says. Tiffany Aching. I never liked her books much, or at least I liked the other Discworld books more. But now the story changes: the shepherd’s crown. the last book he published before he died, more than a decade ago. I’ve still never read it. I can’t bring myself to. the back cover closes a part of my life that I’m not ready to leave yet. I shall wear midnight. It’s partially about death, did you know? there’s a door. if you walk through it, it disappears. But there is a ways back. But there is a way back. But

cylinder

A graduated cylinder is a magic wand, and other such nonsense. science is basically magic. magic is science advanced beyond our understanding. it’s an appealing thought, something beautiful about it, poetic - we are all connected; that which you think is incomprehensible is able to be learned, and that which you think is impossible may one day become possible. maybe it will. irritating little aphorism it is for now, though: you will not cast a spell. you will pu mentos in diet coke, and it will make an explosion, and a poet will call it magic. maybe i’m just a

sunshower

there are shadows. texas death. gritted teeth. the satisfaction that comes with tapping out the untouchable moxley. he doesn’t hate her, she can see that much; there’s a distance, a kind of mourning, in his eyes when he looks at her now. hypocrite, she thinks; he was always telling her she needed to get sharper. now he’s cut himself on her. maybe he should be used to that by now. it’s almost cute, how they all got scared of her once she paid off all her debts. now, adam knows exactly what she’s owed. maybe a decade around the bucks does have its

wait

stories are easy: the wanting, the waiting, and the catharsis. does he get what he wants? maybe. maybe not. but he never stops wanting. does orpheus want eurydice? does he want to sing? is he caught, paralyzed, in a single moment of eternal wait? the chair swings. orpheus turns. and in the split second before impact, a whole universe. the pendulum will always swing. orpheus will always look back. the chair will always bend around a brother’s back. the tragedy is this: we are all waiting, hungry, certain. we all want to hear the chair hit the spine. there is no

city

the city breathes. not in the way you think, millions of bodies inhaling as one - no, the city itself, its towers and chimneys, its thousand windows - the city breathes. the city hungers. the city coughs, and becomes angry. what feeds a city? the city feeds itself, its own kind of vicious cycle, blood spilled on streets, blood hosed down into drains, smoke rising as the city spreads. the city poisons. the city heals. a corner store on every block, a dozen tiny interactions a day, a cat mewing at a street corner. the city does not protect its

fish

“Why’s fish different?” Dean asks, muffled by the crunch of the pretzel stick as he scoops more mashed potatoes onto the bitten end. Roman looks kind of pale, barely poking at his own salmon. (plain salmon, boiled in the bag. Heresy, in Dean’s opinion.) Seth huffs, like this a conversation he’s even fuckin’ involved with. “He’s not even vegetarian, Dean,” Seth whines, annoyingly, like Dean ain’t just exercising his natural curiosity. “Why don’t you ask, like, Bryan?” Dean rolls his eyes, finishing his pretzel stick. Delicious. Creamy and crunchy. “Bryan don’t eat fuckin’ fish 

penitentiary

penitentiary. penitent - there’s something implied in the word, a remorse, a repentance - a prison, in a word, conceived as a place to feel guilt. the prison as an industrial-scale confession booth. protestantism engraved into the fabric of society. is this productive? does it matter? what results is the penitentiary designed to produce? Guilt, fear, ostracism - the prison is a receptacle. the prison is a depository. there is no citation. I see the word itself. penitent. thoughtful. are we to take Declan’s Corrective as instructive? the truth does not reside

diagonal

across the ring, pillar to post, buckle to buckle, you always take the hypotenuse. it feels strange to even think it now, ingrained as it is in matt’s body. there are parts of wrestling he still thinks about, but it’s not often this one. maybe he’s still avoiding thinking about who’s in the other corner, betrayal staining even the one thing he always knows. ibushi, standing where matt should be, where They should be - they’d touched again and suddenly matt was invisible. and here kenny is, pretending to play peacemaker even now. if you really didn’t want to

mustard

“c’mon,” mox jeers, throwing an elbow at the air as a demonstration. “put a little mustard on it, get real nasty.” he punctuates it with a grin - sometimes the kid still looks a little terrified that mox is gonna take a bite outta him for real. nervous like you get around a mean dog. mox guesses he can’t really blame him, on account of the biting he gave him to get here. still, nothin’ wrong with a little reassurance. Bryan’s grinning, ‘cause he’s a pervert and annoying to boot, but his lordship is nodding

elaborate

it all seems a bit elaborate, pages and pages of maps, plans, agreements. all they really need is a wedding, but adam does so love to feel cunning, christian thinks with a fond roll of his eyes. names of guards they can trust. maps of the castle they’ve been visiting every year since the girls were barely eight - a decade, now. “very good,” christian says aloud, indulgent, a little pat to adam’s shoulder so he knows it’s sarcastic. “and the rest of them? the king? i’m sure you’ve hidden a dossier around here somewhere…” adam huffs, only just, christian knows,

nightmare + cody

what nick says is: it’s not good for kenny. cody learned the hard way, not too long ago - he touches his cheek absently - there are things about the bucks he doesn’t know. secret weapons. cody flinches when he thinks about trying to find them. (again.) silence as nick looks at him evenly the ghost of a smile on matt’s lips. cody doesn’t know what they’re not saying. the table between them feels like a chasm. it feels like that locker room. cold. nick’s eyes are cold, too. it’s not good for kenny. why hitch your wagon to kenny? cody thinks

devour

the desert will devour you, if you aren’t careful. Dean knows it by now, and Rome’s known it his whole damn life, but prettyboy still has those big wide eyes that he don’t know how to shade from the sun right. have to find him some shades soon. prettyboy - seth - had been upfront enough about not havin’ a real plan when he’d snuck out. dean isn’t sure why they took him in, sometimes, what they saw in him that let them know he’d make it. But he’d brought the city-desert out here. the underground, those little jump drives of music they can barely manage to get through the speakers

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

once i learn how to phrase my thoughts it's all over for everyone

[cowplushies]

AUGH it drives me nuts when people don't communicate that I'm seemingly doing something wrong and ignores everything I'm saying just to silently still be showing I'm doing something wrong

[22-b]

please dont let me make my middle name a cat breed 👍

[trenchcoat-full-of-snails]

I am going to get better at art. One incredibly painful drawing at a time,,,