#I guess I’ll go write about it now

[kitswritingden]

I loop.

Been feeling pretty down lately (personal life slowly sinking into the toilet, and god I wish that was more of a metaphor than it is), and like, on one hand it’s good, cuz I write a lot of angst and writing is one way I deal with my feelings, because it forces me to observe them and rationalise them and contextualise them within a grander narrative. I don’t believe in god or fate (I’d like some comfort please but I don’t trust the universe that way) but it helps to put it on a page and see how the words match up, and it doesn’t need to be resolved (again, angst. Conflict. Loss. Absence. Pain. Loneliness. These things don’t come from nowhere), it’s just nice to say ‘hey, people feel these things. Hello. I’m here.’

But it’s also just—I don’t spiral so much as loop. I’ve said that already. Repetition is emphasis. Writing techniques. Put it in the right order at the right time and it means more than it is. Which is so cool! And I get so excited and happy about it. Then I’m back where I started. I need to say it again. I’m trying to say something different. I loop. There’s more there. I want to reach past it and say something more. The words don’t come. I loop.

Hey. I’m tired. Hello. People is me.

[fulcrums501st]

cannot believe the amount of people who preferred having that caitvi scene instead of actual character exploration

[novelconcepts]

So not interested in other people’s reviews of my favorite things 90% of the time. I made the mistake of glancing in at some YJ reviews and they were like “Gosh, the weird unhinged show is doing some weird unhinged shit this season, huh?” “Damn, it sucks when stories about how trauma warps people and their abilities to connect with one another results in unlikeable behavior, isn’t it? 😕” Like, good goddamn, you write these for a living?? Must be hard being the smartest viewer in the room, I don’t know how you ever cope.

[tetzoro]

tweedledee and tweedledum have fully exhausted me

[solarpunkani]

Out of queue and definitely rambly but MAN

Ok last reblog (I’m on mobile so too lazy to add links) mentioned Solarpunk being more about settling down in a location whereas Lunarpunk is more nomadic and traveling on the water and such and

I

Got

A

Image in my head

Of a romance story. Or coming of age. Or both?

Of someone living in a solarpunk community along the shore, and someone living in a lunarpunk ocean nomadic community that stops by that shore and stays for a few days/weeks every time they come around. There’s always gardens and extra seats kept in storage for when they come around, warm beds to stay in, etc.

And these two people over time become close friends and maybe even fall for each other? But on top of the song and dance of ‘do I tell them, how to tell them, etc’ they have to also grapple with the fact that one of them stays put and the other is nomadic and their group only swings by once or twice a year on average (for a few weeks each but still)

And they gotta decide (once they finally confess to each other) what they’re gonna do. One person would miss home if they left with the nomads and their family and friends, and one person would miss traveling the seas and THEIR friends and family if they stayed put.

Idk if the solution would be to stay some years and travel others or what but thats ‘not 3am Ani’ to consider

Idk if this makes sense idk if this’ll seem like a good story idea and I SUCK ASS At writing romances (or having them hahaha *crying sounds*) but like

Yeah thats my braincell rn

[a-concert-just-for-me]

4 more sections to go……on this one paper……….

[uchiha-gaeshi]

I’m calling off my SI/OC fic.

[petrovna-zamo]

So jealous you love in la i bet the show was so good😭 also love that orville wears his mask everywhere lmao

It definitely has its pros and cons but living in a city where pretty much every artist performs is definitely at the top of the pro list! And it’s kinda funny when T&K reference local things like this that I just so happened to be at too lol

Honestly it was such a good show 😭 I love Tina& Amy so much and have been fans of them for forever so it was everything I expected and more. I know they’re touring through next year and hopefully they keep adding more cities so you can see them too!

Also, seeing Orville irl was so funny because the hat and mask are his disguises but it actually just makes him stand out more so the whole YouTube theater saw him come in. He also sat down like right before the show started and everyone else was already seated so there was a hush over the crowd as everyone watched him. Idk I laughed. Also also my friend was seated a few rows behind him and he blocked the view with his giant cowboy hat so she took a picture and since I was seated a few rows in front you can see the back of my head… and that’s how I technically have a picture with Orville Peck lmao

[poyitjdr]

nothing like a guy you know breaking his hand, doing jack shit about it, and being a little shit in *just* the right way that it gets you to be a little shit back and you end up laughing together

and then once you leave you remember you’ve been medically trained for this exact kinda thing for over a decade and your brain suddenly supplies a cozy lil fantasy of you bandaging him up, suddenly forcing you to realize that *fuck* you’ve got your dumb little heart involved again, haven’t you

[penitenteyeball]

Dum de dum dum

Gonna add max tags and max characters to each cause who cares

[wyrm-with-a-why]

I’m so stressed the fuck out right now :3

[niuxita21]

Pluto continues to make me feel gaslit. This can't possibly be the masterpiece everyone says it is when the writing is so convoluted and nonsensical.

[leafgorge]

fuck it

okay uhh

i guess i’ll do one of these?

100 notes: i’ll write more poems and finish my wip paintings

250 notes: i’ll try to fix my sleep schedule

500 notes: i’ll clean my shithole of a room

750 notes: i’ll tell my parents about how detrimental to my mental health they are and seek therapy and a diagnosis

1,000 notes: i’ll come out to my parents

good luck bitches

EDIT: since this is close to getting to 1k notes, i’m going to add a couple more goals :3 i’ll be updating soon on actually doing some of these that i’ve already hit

2,000 notes: i’ll try to actually start hydrating (impossible)

2,500 notes: i’ll pick up guitar again

3,000 notes: i’ll post some of my old works on here

4,000 notes: i’ll try to get prints of my artwork and sell them (get my work published!!)

5,000 notes: i’m going to actually make a plan on how to not buckle under the weight of my own expectations

7,500 notes: i’ll try to stop starving myself

10,000 notes (final boss): i’ll try to get gender-affirming care and maybe cut my hair short (this one probably isn’t going to happen)

edit: oh my god you people terrify me what

okay umm this post has actually genuinely helped with my mental health so uhh

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.

Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.

Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”

That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.

“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.

I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”

I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”

“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”

“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”

So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.

They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,

“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”

“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.

“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”

I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.

“This is a dream,” he informed me.

“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”

“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”

“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”

“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”

“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”

“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”

“You’re job...”

“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”

And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.

First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”

And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.

Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*

[luveline]

could you write bau!reader x aaron, reader is pregnant and baby is so restless and kicking a lot as reader is at her desk working and aaron is the only one who can calm baby down

ty for requesting <3 pregnant!reader, 1k

“Woh,” you mumble, almost clipping your head on your desk as you lean forward. “Oh, my gosh.” 

“What’s wrong, mama?” 

You wave your free hand weakly at Derek, the other to your bump. “Nothing’s wrong, handsome.” 

Derek laughs warmly and stands from his chair. “I don’t believe you. Come on, tell me what’s wrong. Or I’ll go get the big man and he can force it out of you himself.” 

Hotch’s never forced anything out of you, but he has kissed a confession from you before. He could do it again easily. 

You right yourself as the baby’s rampant kicking makes you feel as though you’ll pee your pants. “Derek, there’s some crazy stuff happening inside of me right now.” 

He smiles at you fondly. “I bet there is.” 

“She’s kicking the shit out of me.” Sitting up, your back twinges and relaxes, the weight of your baby bump spreading out. You’re very pregnant and the baby is extremely active. She kicks pretty much 24/7 these last few days, and it’s driving you crazy. “Do you wanna feel?” 

Derek presents his hand for feeling. You stand up, and Derek lays a hand across your bump. You don’t have to move it anywhere: the second he touches you, he can no doubt feel the baby’s aggressiveness. She’s aiming her little feet almost like she knows where your most fragile organs are. 

One rough kick has Derek taking back his hand. “She’s beating you up, mama.” 

“She hates me.” 

“She doesn’t hate you,” Spencer says, twirling in his chair to give one of his innocuous tidbits of information, “babies kick for all sorts of reasons. They kick when they’re hungry, or after you’ve just eaten because of the extra glucose shared via the placenta. Sometimes they kick because they can feel sensation through your skin.” 

Spencer stands up. You raise your brows. “You wanna feel?” you ask. 

He grins and offers his hand. You take it and place it against the baby’s restless feet, smiling at Spencer’s smile, a little enchanted by how fascinated he seems. At Spencer’s touch, she starts to kick quickly like she had been with Derek, and eventually you have to move his hand in the hopes she’ll stop. She slows, but the occasional stretch pokes at your stomach. You can see the distension of her limb even through your shirt. 

“She’s really going for it today,” you say. “Maybe I had too much brown sugar in my oatmeal.” 

“You know babies can tell the difference between hands?” Spencer asks. 

“I sort of guessed,” you say distractedly, rubbing at the baby’s kicking with the crest of your palm. “She doesn’t act like this with Hotch.” 

“Good to know he has that effect on everyone,” Derek says with a laugh. 

“I might go and ask him to make her stop. I’m gonna need a change of clothes if she doesn’t.” 

Derek laughs again, full-bellied, his arm wrapping around your shoulders in a pitying hug. “Aw, sweetheart, you’ll be okay. Just two more months and this will all be over.” 

“Well, you never know. The longest overdue pregnancy in human history was almost a hundred days, that’s more than an extra three months.” 

“Spencer!” you say, not truly shouting, but your volume escaping you as the horror of a year long pregnancy sinks in. “Don’t jinx me.” 

Your loud voice, or perhaps Derek’s roaring laughter, draws the attention of JJ and Hotch, who appear from the depths of his office with matching curious expressions. JJ begins down the steps to the bullpen, while Hotch stays at the balcony waiting for an explanation. 

“Baby Hotchner’s giving it large,” Derek says, rubbing your upper arm. 

“She won’t stop,” you complain, relieved to see your stern husband. “Can you come and set her straight?” 

You aren’t always so quick to complain to him, but this is too much. It feels as though she’s about to start doing spin kinks against your spine —it’s honestly the most she’s ever moved. When you were just a few weeks pregnant you’d longed for her to wriggle and show you a sign that she could feel you, but now you’d appreciate a few minutes of calm. 

Hotch follows JJ down obligingly, and he, surrounded by your curious coworkers and colleagues, without any hesitation (but certainly some care), slips his hand under your blouse to feel at his baby’s sharp kicking. He presses against what might be a foot for a few moments, his smile barely hidden, his palm warm. 

“She really is giving it large,” he says, the deep softness of his voice like a signal. 

The baby’s kicks soften, until, barely ten seconds later, they stop. Your spine ceases vibrating, and you can finally stand there without having to press your thighs together. 

“Thank you,” you say, holding Hotch’s elbow. He’s well and truly saved you. 

He rubs your stomach with his thumb. His dark eyes stay set on your bump. “You’re welcome.” 

“I guess baby just missed her dad,” JJ says. 

You look at Spencer. He doesn’t say anything. “No correction?” you ask. 

“No,” he says, pouting that you’d ask. “Either she missed the sound of his voice, or your reaction to seeing him has calmed her down. That’s not a big difference.” 

“It’s both, I think,” you say, paused by a big yawn. 

“Are you tired?” Hotch asks. 

“Urgently.” You let yourself sag forward toward him, gesturing for Spencer, Derek and JJ to look away. “Thanks for your help, boys, but I need something no one else can give me.” You collapse into Hotch’s chest for a hug. 

The bump is very much in the way, but he reacts accordingly, ushering your chest to his, cheek pressed gently to your forehead. “She’s exhausted you,” he teases under his breath. 

“She really has.” 

“I love how she settles with me,” he says, rubbing your back for a long, slow handful of seconds, before he pulls away enough to grin at you. “But I suppose she gets that from her mother.” 

“You’re very calming.” 

“So I’ve been told.”