#I need to get back to writing regularly

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

The lake is on fire. It glows with colors that shift from deep orange to golden. The water is near calm, shifting in small waves that only enhance the glint and glitter of the reflected sunset.

Rhett steps onto the porch. His eyes struggle to adjust to the rage of lights as he comes out of the darkness of their cabin. Half-blinded he thrusts his arm out, offering the cold bottle of water to Link who he knows is sitting on his usual seat. Familiar fingers wrap around his and accept the drink. Topo Chico, of course.

"It's pretty tonight," Link says. He says it every night and every night Rhett sits next to him, grunting as his old joints creak, and agrees.

Link's drink snaps open and fizzes. Rhett gets back his vision just in time to watch Link's Adam's apple to bob as he swallow deep. Warmth diffuses Rhett's core. He smiles.

"Beautiful." Rhett's voice is low, teasing. Link huffs in mock-annoyance. He slaps Rhett's knee.

"Shut it," he orders half-heartedly, a small smile giving him away. Rhett rests his hand on top of Link's.

"Not 'til the day I die," he says, resolute. Link harumphs. Their fingers tangle together. The sun keeps setting. The old cabin creaks as the temperature drops and the wood settles for a cold night. But they won't be cold. Not when they have each other.

[mokulule]

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 4

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

A sunbeam from the crack in the curtains hit his eyes and he turned over burying his face in his pillow. Belatedly Jason registered that it was at least afternoon because the windows faced west, but it didn’t really matter. He was much too warm, and comfortable to get up. He drifted - things were good. He dreamt of a low rumble in the distance, barely on the edge of his hearing, easing the tightness, turning him liquid.

It was another half hour before he awoke properly, registering his bedroom around him dimly lit by the single sunbeam. He yawned and stretched before getting up. He felt loose and relaxed and as he opened the dark curtains he was greeted by one of Gotham’s rare days of sunshine. A smile tugged on his lips and for a moment he stood there in the sun, letting the warmth soak into his skin. He wasn’t in any hurry.

Down in the street someone held the door open for another whose arms were full of groceries, smiles were exchanged and the person moved on. The sounds of kids playing on the nearby playground reached his ears when he opened the window to air out the room. Somewhere someone practiced the trombone and they weren’t half bad.

Peace settled in his bones, these were his people. Even Crime Alley shone from its good side.

Stretching again, he walked into the kitchen and started rooting around his fridge in search of ingredients for breakfast.

There was a thought nagging at the back of his mind as he cracked three eggs in a bowl, added a small dollop of sour creme and some salt. He paused, musing, something he’d forgotten… He hummed thoughtfully, trying to grasp at the thought, but it just didn’t seem that important and with a shrug he took out a pan turning it on medium heat. On the way to the fridge, he popped two pieces of toast in the toaster. Unlike whatever was nagging he knew he had forgotten the butter - a small piece went into the pan and he left the rest out so he could butter the toast. He rinsed a handful of small tomatoes he set them aside on a plate.

Something happened yesterday, he finally decided, as he walked back over to the open window and cut off a few stalks from the chives plant by the window sill. He paused there for a moment listening; a saxophone had joined the trombone and they were now playing sweet jazz with each other from across the road through open windows. A small crowd had gathered below to listen. Amused, Jason wondered if more musicians would be lured out.

Sizzling from the pan, drew him back to the kitchen.

He set aside the chives, quickly whisked the egg mixture together and poured it in the pan. Grabbing a spatula from the drawer he absently flipped it in his hand as he watched the eggs. Judging the pan had adjusted to the cold eggs he turned the heat on low and scraped across the pan in long smooth moves, freeing the already cooked eggs and allowing the still liquid mixture to sink to the pan.

The toast popped up from the toaster, and it was a matter of moments before he had them buttered and were stirring the eggs again. They had solidified now but were still glistening slightly when he transferred them on top of the bread. He quickly chopped the chives and sprinkled them on top.

Looking at his handiwork he nodded in satisfaction. Time to eat.



A glass of orange juice in one hand and plate and utensils in another he moved to the table. He cut off the first bite of egg on toast and close his eyes in pleasure: Crunchy toast, smooth eggs wiith a hint of salt and just a bit of sharpness from the chives.

It felt like ages since he’d just allowed himself to enjoy the moment like this. It wasn’t like he didn’t cook normally it was one of the things, along with reading, he still enjoyed despite everything. He was always just so busy, always so angry.

Like a click in a lock he suddenly realized what he was forgetting. The pits, the Ghost, the cave and Bruce asking him to stay. The thought was an ache in his chest and he set the fork down rubbing his forehead. He wanted… he wasn’t sure what he wanted. For the longest time he’d convinced himself he was agreeing to working with the bats because it was easier, they’d get less in his way like that. He’d told himself he barely tolerated them. Now, with the pits calmed or whatever they were, he found himself inexplicably fond:

DIck’s persistence even when Jason pushed him away, he always had so much hope, despite Jason giving him absolutely no reason to. Tim who he’d had so much misplaced anger towards, who was so smart, and yet so stupid. Damian, the absolute brat, who behind the arrogant facade cared so much about his family and friends, but was so afraid of rejection.

Bruce was… Bruce was complicated. The pits hadn’t invented his resentment, he had been so hurt to find out the Joker had gone free, that he’d been replaced, that he’d meant so little to Bruce - to his Dad. But without the pits to stoke the resentment, he was just left with this tired old ache. Lashing out had never helped him and he was just exhausted by the constant fighting. He wanted his dad. Not Batman, Bruce, the Dad who would drink his tea in the library while he was reading just to be in the same room with him. The embarrassing proud Dad who would brag about Jason’s grades in the same breath he would brag about Jason nearly stealing the tires of his car the first time they met.

He still had the hurt and the anger, but the longing far outweighed that. He rubbed at his moist eyes. The realization hurt, because he really didn’t know how long this effect lasted or if this realization would stick once the Pits were back - it was just too much to hope this was permanent.

Jason never had that kind of luck.

He needed to talk to the Ghost, but he never appeared so soon again after a theft. For a moment his thoughts dwelled on the device they’d recovered yesterday, some kind of calibrator, if he took it, maybe he could lure him out… but the thought was dismissed almost immediately, even if he took it, he’d have no way of informing the guy he had it.

They really knew next to nothing about the guy.

Jason sighed, and looked down at his now cold breakfast. He started eating again, starvation was something he would never forget and he was not about to waste food. Dwelling on his family, the pits and the ghost, wasn’t getting him anywhere.

It was distressingly easy to push the thoughts aside instead of obsessing with no angry whisper in his ear. Was this how normal people dealt with emotions? Without everything having to be a fight? As easy as deciding he’d dwell on it later when he could actually do something about it?

Helpless laughter bubbled up in his chest. This was so dangerous; it was way too easy to get used to.

next Masterpost for subscription

I feel I need to apologize for the lack of Danny again, but Jason kinda took over and had some more angst to deal with. I promise, next time we’ll get back to Danny’s misery!

[bigmammallama5]

Finally, I have managed to write something again. It’s no joke when they say your physical health impacts your mental health and that you really shouldn’t push it when you aren’t well lmao. Dealing with body hurty this past near year has really made me desperately miss writing (and drawing, and goofing off in fandom in general). I’m still not quite better, but I’m getting there and hopefully will be back to normal soon (whatever my new normal will be). I still have many WIPS I want to get back to working on, but I come bearing a gift of a short oneshot to start. Thank you to all of you who are leaving kudos and comments on my fic, I’ll do my best to go through and answer some of you soon. <3

For @stnballoon, for being a wonderful and supportive human being not just to me but also to the supercorp fandom. I’m so grateful for you and your kind and patient positivity. I owe you so much more than this little gift.

Based off of an ask stnballoon sent me about the unfortunate perils of co-opted words having odd interpretations in business meetings. Please excuse any errors, I am... quite rusty after seven months.

[youssefguedira]

K or N for Joe and/or Nicky

K. On the edge of consciousness.

Yusuf wakes slowly, so slowly that he can’t see and isn’t even sure he can open his eyes, only half-sure he still has eyes, and that’s how he knows there’s something very, very wrong. He can’t move, can’t hear, can’t even smell anything. He doesn’t remember exactly what happened to him, but every part of him is burning, and he’s fairly sure the weird aching sensation in his head is his skull knitting itself back together, which. He really, really didn’t need to know what that feels like. 

There’s a scraping in his chest when he breathes in, but at least he’s breathing. 

Where is he? He could be anywhere. He could be in the middle of the street, could have been dragged away from the fighting from someone who had seen him breathing through a wound that should have killed him immediately. When he wakes, what will he find? Will they have taken his weapon? How long has he been dead? 

Will Nicolò be able to find him, if they are separated? Will he even try?

Slowly but steadily, he starts to hear something: a high pitched whistling that sounds like it’s coming from deep inside his own head. The darkness begins to lift, leaving flickering amber lights across his vision, and a shadow in front of him. 

There’s a voice, too, one that sharpens into words as Yusuf’s hearing begins to return. He doesn’t understand their meaning, but the cadence of them and the voice itself is familiar. 

“Are you awake?” Nicolò asks softly, switching to Arabic. 

Yusuf tries to make a sound in response. Whether it’s audible he doesn’t know, because the only noise he can really make is a rasping exhale, but Nicolò hushes him anyway.

“Do not… you can be slow,” Nicolò says. He’s more comfortable with the sounds of the language now, but still doesn’t always string sentences together well. “We are safe. I am here.”

He’s made aware of where his hand is by the feeling of Nicolò reaching for it. Yusuf manages to make an actual sound this time, but still can’t form words. Nicolò squeezes his hand gently. 

“I am here,” he says again. 

Eventually, Yusuf’s skull seems to piece itself back together fully, and his vision sharpens, letting him see that they’re backed into the corner of the two remaining intact walls of a house ravaged by fire, Nicolò crouched in front of him with his sword in hand. There’s a trail of blood leading to where Yusuf is lying now, and a section of the room that has collapsed. He can piece together enough. Nicolò would have had to drag him over here.

This time, he manages to make a sound, even if he can’t quite form words. Nicolò looks down at him over his shoulder, and there is blood on his face and in his hair, and only then does Yusuf notice the bodies in the room. 

“Okay?” Nicolò asks. 

Yusuf manages to nod, and it sends a spike of pain along his spine. Nicolò turns slightly to look at him properly. 

“You are almost done, I think,” he says. “You did not… you were asleep for a long time. I did not know if…”

“Nicolò,” Yusuf finally manages, hoarse.

“Rest,” Nicolò says. “I am here.”

(letter asks)

[acetier]

massive, self-indulgent elden ring art dump feat. varré and my tarnished, torin

he’s a lonely man of faith who finds himself slowly becoming disillusioned in said faith and succumbing to the Local Bad Influence (varré)

also wish you could bring your terrible little war surgeon with you when you become elden lord ,’:^)

[todayisafridaynight]

yakuza oc but its just a dude that works at poppo

[gleeksfreaksandwannabes]

Ok, we’re back!

I dragged myself out of my other hyperfixations to bring you chapter 33, aka “Dean bumps into the very last person he thought he’d see and asks Jack the million dollar question”!

I really like where these next few chapters go guys, they were tough to write but I think I needed to take this little detour with Dean, just for my own sanity! Thanks again for all your love on this story, it means so much that people are reading my silly little fix it!

[heartscrypt]

Jamie, don't worry. Just like you, I've been thinking about JamiAzu and I, too, have not been able to create any content.

The best thing to do is to chew them in your head until something manifests on your canvas or paper. Alternatively, you can use this ask as an opportunity to talk about them. (I would love to hear your scenarios and headcanons because you understand them like I do.)

oh my god ok OKAY so. i had this fic idea rolling around in my head and the premise was basically like. the aftermath of twst events that didn't feature jamil or azul really heavily / only had small cameos but it was just jamil n azul reflecting (and maybe bonding) afterwards.

this whole thing was inspired by azul getting rejected by eliza in the phantom bride event LOL bc i thought jamil would get a kick out of it. i wanted to cover more events like wish upon a star (which i might talk about in a later post) or harveston or port fest but the phantom bride part i have like. Fully mapped out.

i only have this excerpt because. i lost motivation but if anyone wants to take this fic concept and do it justice they can :3 id just like to be tagged and credited

full outline is under the read more because God it is long. sorry. its also kind of incomprehensible because im incomprehensible about these two

but the ficlet for the first event, phantom bride, was going to take place a few hours after where the event canonically ends. jamil finds out azul got sooo rejected and laughs at him under his breath for a bit. says its because eliza could sense that he was fake as fuck all the time. azul gets frustrated and flustered bc the guy he wants so bad is currently mocking him for having NOOOO game. he's like "yeah well. you didn't participate b/c of kalim so you don't know what impossible standards she had"

jamils still used to deflecting when it comes to his competence so he'd dismissively say that of course he wouldn't have been a suitable candidate to woo the ghost even if kalim was guaranteed to not be involved. he's not that kind of guy. azul's Jamil Bullshit radar is ACTIVATED. he immediately insists that jamil absolutely Could've swayed eliza into wearing the ring and starts praising all of jamil's qualities with such a Genuine belief in jamil's abilities until jamil is the flustered one trying to beat azul's compliments off of him with a stick.

this part is really funny to me because in my head there's a scene before where jamil is telling azul that his approach failed because he always came off as disingenuous. and then here in this scene azul's so genuine that jamil's taken aback and in his head he's like "if he approached eliza the way he's approaching me NOW there's no way he would've failed." and then he promptly refuses to think about the implications of that thought for the rest of the fic. lol

anyways through the power of lovebombing and a few appeals to jamil's competitive side, azul goads jamil into demonstrating how he would've approached eliza to get the ghost sealing ring on her finger. jamil's pretending to be a suitor. one of jamil's rings (he's a jewelry guy no way he doesn't have a few rings) plays the role of the ghost sealing ring. and of course azul is the Substitute Eliza in their little pretend scenario so we get. these two indirectly flirting with each other in the weirdest fucking way possible. roleplay.

also there's a funny bit of azul mimicking something eliza actually did mid-scenario and jamil breaking out of character to be like "No Way ok Time out no way you aren't fucking with me right now" and azul responding like "no she really did say that" and jamil getting the most longsuffering expression on his face before slipping back into his princely character.

azul enjoys being the one "chased" by jamil for a change but he's always cognizant of the facade jamil's wearing while playing the role of eliza's prince. knows that that's just as much Not the true jamil as the "dutiful servant" jamil was, and is in return so totally lovestruck by how GOOD jamil is at being manipulative. not even swooned by the princely way jamils acting. he's falling head over heels for the fact that he KNOWS jamil is acting and in reality could not care less and yet is able to pull off such a convincing display. because azul's fucking crazy and his taste in men actually sucks so bad he sees all the red flags in jamil as fun little collectibles. he's mentally like "its so frustratingly attractive when he says something with that little smirk smile and we both know he's lying straight to my face but i cant call him out on it." GIRL. YOU ARE SO FAILCRINGE

on jamils end of things. yes he is pretending to be a "prince" for "eliza" but he's also hyperaware that this is azul pretending to be eliza for the sake of the scenario so. he gets a little sneaky. a little underhanded. starts doing and saying things that are targeted to catch Specifically azul off guard so azul gets flustered and breaks character for a split second. this is solely to fuck with azul and has Noooo other reason behind it (nevermind the fact that there is a giddy feeling jamil gets when he's able to crack the facade azul wears to see the real, vulnerable azul hiding underneath).

they go back and forth for a while, jamil pushing forward relentlessly while azul pulls away but always stays close (a complete reversal of their usual dynamic). but then jamil says something that's so completely him and definitely not part of the facade and azul forgets himself for a moment, forgets that they're playing pretend. lets his guard down completely. from jamils perspective, this startles him a little because he wasn't expecting it and he certainly wasn't expecting for azul to seem so convincingly enamored by him (it's because azul actually is but like jamil's kind of operating under the assumption that azul is incredibly fake all the time) and he REALLY doesn't know what to do with the realization that he likes the way azul is looking at him right now a lot more than he probably should like attention coming from someone he supposedly hates.

so he panics internally, shoves the ring onto azul's finger while azul is distracted, and tells him he can stop acting now because jamil proved his point that he Could've gotten the ring on eliza. azul snaps out of it and is like "ah. Yes. Acting. I'm so good at it Wouldn't you agree jamil" (hes pretending his inner monologue rn doesn't mainly consist of distressed dramatic bitch wailing and screaming. hes embarrassed abt being so vulnerable when they're both supposed to be acting he wants to crawl into an octopus pot and never come out). jamil's reply is smth like "yeah yeah whatever of course you're used to acting b/c you're a fraud" (his inner monologue also sounds like distressed screaming btw. less dramatic and more Full of dread and horror). moment of awkward silence where they just aren't looking at each other but azul's hand is still in jamil's (since jamil had to take his hand to put the ring on). worst handholding experience ever. 0/10

jamil breaks the silence. "i prefer it when you're not acting". on the surface its just a casual dig at azul's role at eliza but like THE WAY he says it. means something more. azul picks up on that, thinks back to all the times during the scene where jamil got him to break character for a second, the smug satisfaction on his face when azul sputtered or faltered. his first conclusion is "he wants me so bad" because he's delusional but then he reels it back a little and only says "i prefer your true self as well." jamil knows what THAT means well enough. he's starting to get suspicions that their dynamic isn't just "guy who is trying to exploit someone he sees as an opportunity x guy who fucking hates him because the other guy is a slimeball". he isn't sold on azul's intentions being all that pure though. he needs to bide his time, hang back and see whether this moment was a fluke.

they r still holding hands btw. neither of them has pulled away yet. jamil's the first to look down and Acknowledge it, silently swiping his thumb over the ring on azul's finger. drops the other's hand. says very nonchalantly that azul is going to keep the ring. azuls like "? haha i couldn't Possibly keep this. it's your ring". jamil smirks. says "keep it as a consolation prize. and a reminder of how badly you embarrassed yourself today". looks up through his eyelashes to watch for a reaction. azuls head nearly explodes. jamil knows in his gut that once azul recovers he's going to be Fucking Insufferable for the next few weeks flaunting that ring around everywhere and playing up the bond between himself and jamil but as he leaves, he can't find himself caring all that much about that as long as the other Does wear the ring.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

It's so nice to have this tiny little selection of WIPs to prioritize. Really helps me to keep my focus where it should be.

Wait, what's this?

IT'S A LONG-ABANDONED WIP WITH A STEEL CHAIR!!

[antiquepearlss]

Man, feeling a long lasting friendship that means the world to you and has kept you going for years, slowly dissipate; and just sitting there unsure whether or not to hold onto it or let it go; is a whole other type of pain.

It’s like being in a pool of water that’s gradually getting cooler and cooler which is just so slightly painful, but you want to stay in because it might get warmer. And you’ve already gotten used to the temperature, even if it hurts. Getting out is scary.

[ceaselessbasher]

"I haven't used my bullet journal in a while, that's why I feel like I've lost control of my life. If I start using it again, everything will be great once more." ← confusing the symptom with the disease like a ding dong

[windor-truffle]

a compilation of Asbel canonically being an angsty little bitch:

[htonl-writes]

i've been thinking about what my problem is with epithets, because i definitely have a problem with them, which is why i basically never use them. an epithet, if you don't know the fancy words we use to refer to other words, is basically a descriptor that's used as a stand-in for a name or pronoun. the classic fandom example is "the bluenette", although maybe that was more widespread ten years ago. or maybe i just read different fic now.

anyway, my problem with epithets comes down to how i think of POV writing. i write almost exclusively in limited third person, which means i use names and pronouns and descriptors like we're all just standing there watching what's happening like a movie, but i pick on character to be the POV character and describe them from the inside - how their own body feels rather than how it looks, what they notice about the world around them rather than what's actually there - and i don't use any information in narration that they don't have.

that bit about describing what the POV character notices about the world rather than what's actually there is where this comes from. when i write in limited third person, i think of it as giving the reader a glimpse into the POV character's thoughts, just phrased in a slightly more viewer-friendly manner. if the POV character doesn't actually think of another character in a specific way, then i don't use it as an epithet. it actually breaks my immersion when other authors don't follow this rule - i have a way of turning my analytical writer brain off when i'm reading so i can enjoy it regardless of how skilled the author is, but some things i can't turn off, like noticing misspellings or accidental usage of the wrong word, and epithets. apparently.

using star wars as an example, and i promise i'm not vagueing any author or fic in particular: if a jedi who's known obi-wan all his life is talking to him, and the narration is using limited third person with the other jedi as the POV character, the use of epithets like "the red-haired man" or "the shorter man" jars me out of the story. epithets that describe physical traits can be useful to the reader, but if it isn't the first time the characters are meeting, they're unlikely to be focused on each other's appearance. in the above scenario, i might use epithets like "the youngster" (since this jedi is older than obi-wan and knew him when he was little), "the [jedi] master" (since this jedi is likely either proud or jealous of obi-wan's accomplishment in becoming a master at such a young age), or "the general" (i'm sure all the jedi have feelings about becoming generals).

but like i said, i mostly don't use epithets at all. the narrative purpose i use them for is different than what i think most people use them for - that is to say, distinguishing between who's saying/doing what in a scene, without overuse of names or pronouns. i get where people are coming from with this, but i actually don't think it's possible to overuse names and pronouns. i mean, it's definitely possible to overuse pronouns alone, causing your readers to lose track of who's doing what; but pronouns combined with names, i don't think you can overuse. it's just like the word "said", as opposed to other dialogue tags - it communicates the minimum amount of information, and it's usually "invisible" to the readers, in that they absorb the information it contains and move on without paying any more attention to it. pronouns and names do the same, and readers also tend to kind of skip over them in favor of the more interesting parts of the sentence.

instead, i use epithets to communicate something about the POV character, and about the character they're interacting with. how does the POV character think about the character they're interacting with? are they affectionate? derogatory? creepily attentive? respectful? do they not even see this person as a person, but instead as a piece of moving furniture? and the subject of the epithet - how are they acting? is there an unusual element to their appearance? in that same scenario from earlier, the other jedi might use the epithet "youngster" for obi-wan if the context of the interaction is the jedi temple and obi-wan is relaxed and smiling, but they might use the epithet "general" instead if the context is a battle and obi-wan is giving orders and adjusting his armor.

it's a really small thing, on the whole, how an author uses epithets. i really, genuinely do not hold it against a fanfic author if they're using epithets in a way i don't agree with; maybe they're less skilled at writing than me, or they have less experience, or they're more experienced and better than me and they're going for a specific effect. i am so serious about fanfic being a space for people to explore without judgement, no matter if they're exploring a story or world, an emotion or trauma, or something else entirely. i just. i just have Opinions. about writing. because i'm a writer. it happens.

[artemistorm]

Today I am a sloth. Very slow moving. Very tired. Stayed up too late watching my brother play TotK for the first time, which was fun!

[rollercoasterwords]

I hope I don't cross any boundaries here, but I was going through your substack and you're like, so smart??? I wanna give your brain a like congratulatory smooch for the hard work and like, wire our skulls together like I'm a phone and you're a charger etc etc yk?

(I swear this is not parasocial bs it's just me trying to compliment someone)

hope you're having a good week!!

lol thank u love the phone charger imagery <3 so happy u enjoyed ur time on my substack xoxo

[darkworkcourier]

I love your writing too and I understand those peoples need to have more of it. But writers aren’t puppets. People can’t just be like “dance monkey dance” and expect them to produce work like fuck. It makes me so mad when people are like “I’m disappointed” “why can’t you write faster or more or updated” like fuck people. They will when they can and you just have to deal. They’re not a mass producing company. They’re doing this on their own time for their own enjoyment and want to share their work with us FOR FREE. Be grateful they do it at all.

Just give them support and tell them why you like their work. Don’t demand more (unless it’s obviously a joke or you have that rapport with them). God dammit. I’m so sick of scrolling through peoples blogs and seeing these asinine anons.

Thank you for sharing your talent and you take your time. You can’t pour from an empty cup and everyone else can wait ❤️

thank you so much. ❤️❤️❤️like legit, this means so much to me.