#I really ought to write more of that

[ao3-shenanigans]

I don’t honestly know if this is a very good idea or not and I need a second opinion (or more) but I don’t know anyone irl to talk to about this sooo—

I write a lotttt of poetry and I’ve begun pondering if I should post some of my poetry on AO3. I know that AO3 is mainly used for fanfiction and stuff of that nature but I want to put this writing out there somewhere and I don’t know anymore lol. Please give me your honest opinion— love your posts btw!!

I don’t know how big of an audience there is for poetry on Ao3, but I’ll say two things-

1) one of my first and favorite fics *ever* is a collection of Lord of the Rings poems and it’s very near and dear to me

2) if you feel comfortable sharing your writing with us and the world- go for it! You never know what might happen! (Who knows, one might become someone’s special favorite)

[chiropteracupola]

today I am drawing the silly video game men again, tomorrow who can say what will happen!

[tootditoot]

*approaches running, stumbling multiple times*

HE- HEY! I see you are one of Geuretea's moots! My name is Pork Milk! I'm Geuretea's sona and I have been entrusted to deliver the train tickets to Mootland to all of you. Mootland is a place where all your ocs can have some fun and relax! ;D (and OF COURSE is not just an excuse to draw my moots' ocs).

If you want, choose max. 2 of your ocs (or your sona) to enjoy the train trip.

BYE! :D

*gives you the tickets and runs away so fast he disappears*

"I say Guccant, when was the last time I took you to a field trip that didn't start with us being sunk on a row boat?"

*Sacabambaspis noises*

"Hmm... Galloping? I fail to see a herd of horses outside, must be the train chuffing..."

(This is a bonus sketch because I needed a reason to draw a locomotive hehe)

[jichanxo]

sooooo... *twirls her hair* how many asks should i send until kuwagami art. jk as well. the real question will be: does it happen often that someone else’s art inspires you? in fandom spaces specifically

well you see it’s like a loyalty card program, every 10 asks or so you get a complimentary kuwagami

just kidding you can just breathe in my direction and I’ll be tempted to draw them. kuwagami blast! (you've caught me on a... just okay art day lol)

(people still like kabedons, right?)

anyway for my actual answer: in terms of direct inspiration, it doesn't really happen much? the last two times i did art directly based on someone else's work is probably this one from this fic, and also that time i drew art of someone else's judgment au. oh! and there's that moriohpsycho art based on this comic! (filthyguts' work is so very. hgngngghh. very good.) nothing else really comes to mind, and when i think of the other things i've been into recently there hasn't been as much opportunity for that to happen...

flex and herds = strong fixation but lmao. almost nobody else made stuff about them. nobody is surprised umineko = surprisingly i don't read much umineko fanfiction? and in terms of illustration, i certainly picked up imagery and indirect inspiration but nothing concrete enough for me to give an example... now that i think about it, i did once draw andromalius from redaction/sunny, but that was years ago, and also mostly because i was acquainted with the writer. ...i don't have that artwork on hand right now death note = didn't really get involved with the fandom + i enjoyed my own ideas well enough! ...i can't recall if i drew long-hair-L art before or after seeing other artists do it. and as for everything else the same kind of reasoning applies. didn't really get involved with the fandom or wasn't really compelled to make art in response to stuff i saw, or i just don't remember anymore.

buuuuuuut if we're opening this up to just... pulling ideas from other people? then yeah, all the time, though that kind of goes without saying when you have a creative hobby. ...it's probably going to be hard to come up with examples of this since it's more ambiguous.

there's uhhhhhh... kuwana listens to nickelback which was a @/four-white-trees invention, wasn't it? (EDIT: and @/overdevelopedglasses!) (not tagging in this post so he doesn't feel obligated to read my big ass ask responses 💀) as of writing this, it's not posted but i did end up making kuwagami art based on a nickelback song so. yknow. there's that LMAO

for sawashiro and arakawa, i do sometimes go reference @/todayisafridaynight 's art to help me with my own. ("how did he draw this part of the suit? oh, like that huh? hmm" <- this kind of thing)

and um. i'm not trying to pander to you (at least not this time), but genuinely it's one of the few examples that come to mind at this moment. but when i was writing my first kuwagami fic, i could feel the influence of the ever-changing on my brain... was turning over some of your ideas there...

you remember this? (you even pointed it out in your comment on my fic, and i should've said something then, but whatever i'm saying it now)

that was absolutely because of this

(obligatory poke at anybody else reading this post that you can read passthroughtime's fic here.)

so, um. yeah. not really sure what else to add to that. pretty self evident i think. (i'm always talking about the ever-changing but i don't think i can overstate the impression it left on me at the time)

anyhow there aren't really any other examples off the top of my head! these are all recent examples so they're not so difficult to recall, but there are probably others i've forgotten...

[fishermcn]

scorned be the sea's daughters.

Beneath their feet the wooden vessels hum and groan with the din of their quarries' songs, and the gathered Fishermen steady their footing and test the tautness of their ropes, waiting with bated breaths for the tension to break and their hunt to begin in earnest. Hours spent not paddling nor steering but drifting on waters flowing to the whim of the Queen Below, the tainted riverways as much a slave to Her will as the raging sea from which She first dredged Herself from. Nary a breath out of turn is exhaled, nor a twitch of the muscle save for gripping ever more tightly the rigging tying the ragged band of hunters to one another, for all it takes for their quarry to sense them would be an errant ripple... so late is the hour of night and so dark is the evening without the moon that it'd been impossible to say when it was that they've arrived, the shores of the great lake out of sight even as they take to finally stirring the waters with oars to assume positions and lure out their prey.

With such obvious baiting, they were not left waiting for long. The first man is dragged from the boat with a scream he can see but not hear, eyes bulging with terror and mouth agape as he disappears beneath the surface without so much as a splash. The second flails at the touch of clawed hands, lashing out with a shout that's choked with pain, then water as his head cracks against the boatside before joining the first beneath the dark depths. Another joins him, then two more as the beasts seize from amongst the ragged band most unwitting consorts, before their brethren respond-- knives are drawn and flint retrieved, and the midnight's shadows are chased away with the grinding of sparks into torchlight. They flare to life almost at once, illuminating the waters within their wide, loose circle only enough to see the distorted forms writhing just beneath as they dart to and fro. A chorus of their own rises to war with the siren's song, a hail of hellfire unleashed from the iron maws of blunderbusses and rifles, and their prey shake the timbers beneath their feet in rage and pain as their blood paints the water crimson.

Their wooden vessels groan with the sudden swell of the dread song from just below the surface, the brackish waters churning furiously with the fury they've willfully roused, and Samuel Whist breathes in time to every kick of the rifle. Even deafened by beeswax, even with the press of frantic bodies and the trembling of the rowboat, his aim strikes true time and again-- steady, breathe, release, and a Daughter bares pearlescent fangs in a snarl now forever frozen. Steady, breathe, release, and the scales of another are torn like wet paper as a bullet pierces her heart and keeps her from seizing another Fisherman.

Another bullet, another jerk of the rifle, another slain Daughter of the Queen Below, before the waters to his left erupt with sudden violence, hooked claws only just failing to maul his arm but shredding the firearm as though it's mere kindling. In the guttering torchlight her face might've been the picture of beauty, high cheekbones and full lips... yet they part to reveal a maw of shark's teeth to match the cruelty of her blackened eyes as she slithers aboard, and for the cry of the dread song that pours over them from her throat there could be no mistaking her for anything but a monster. Beside him, Grime clutches his head as tears of blood pours from his ruined eyes and Wren slumps forward without so much as a gurgle in death, and Sam's own ears scream from the strain even with the beeswax.

She lunges then, murderous melody still upon her cruel lips, and Sam lashes out with the edge of his saw-toothed knife even as he reaches for the pistol on Wren's corpse. Her spined tail lashes with the force of a rogue wave, flinging Grime into the hungry waters with the muffled snapping of bones and nearly capsizing the rowboat as her claws savage the prow, screaming in rage as a bullet punches a hole clean through her shoulder. Blood and sapphire scales scatter across the boat as another two shots bloody the beast before the Daughter closes the distance, and Sam only just manages to avoid getting his head taken off by her fierce jaws, the pistol knocked from his hand from the sheer strength of her. Another rake of her claws goes just wide of gutting him as he slashes in kind with his own blade, furious red lines drawn across his stomach with sickening ease even as the teeth on his knife wrenches another wail from the Daughter as it flays open hideous wounds along her side.

No way out, though. Her grip is iron as the Daughter seizes Sam on the next swing, wrenching his shoulder out of place before slamming him into the floor of the vessel, the howl of pain in his throat choked to death as the wind's driven from his lungs. Her expression shifts to something more harrowing than hatred as the curtain of her sodden hair obscures any sign or sight of hope, abyssal eyes almost demure in their hunger even as her jaws part and claws clench even tighter where they've bitten into his thin shoulders... before jerking, suddenly, confusion the last thing passing across the beast's face before slumping overtop of him as the thunder of another gunshot peals out faintly.

Wheezing, coughing, Sam scarcely has the strength to shove her off of him nor the moment to try before another boat bumps into his own none-too gently. A rough kick to the Daughter frees him up to take a shuddering wheeze of air before a familiar pair of hands, as calloused and rough as his own, all but heave him back onto his feet and into her chest.

"Carline." His voice is a harsh rasp, and the round of coughing that strikes him probably kills the already quiet affection in his voice.

"Sam." There's relief and concern and about a hundred other things all balled up and gummed up just beneath her thin layer of snark, thankfully. "Little too fresh with me, aren't you?"

"Shut up." He doesn't quite lean into her, but it's a near thing as the minutes pass, his breathing steadying and the coughing fit he'd been fighting tooth and nail dying back down. With a quick squeeze of her hand, he steps back, scanning the remaining vessels and the now calming waters shrewdly even as he starts rooting about for his knife. "Lose anyone?"

"Grim, Hook." He hears more than sees the slight shrug to her shoulders.

"Anyone important?"

"Nah, just bastards. You?"

"Grime... and Wren." He lets a frustrated sigh hiss through his teeth, soot-stained fingers smearing with blood as he tears a rag from Wren's cloak to cover up the corpse's empty eye sockets. "Stupid fuck. Told'm not to skimp on th'wax." His hands linger over Wren's pockets before crossing the dead man's hands over his chest with a shake of the head.

"Shit. Stupid bastard."

Sam feels her fingers just tangle in the tangled mess of his hair as Carline crouches beside him, shoulders just touching. He soaks it in, lets it and the sorrow linger long enough to ache, before shunting it back into its box to deal with later as what little Wren had to his name finds its way onto his person. "Blackhart still kickin'?"

There's a sudden, raucous cheer that echoes across the lake, led by a particularly loud and familiar roar. The dark green of Carline's eyes seem to gleam, the crow's feet accompanying her dry grin making her seem all the more amused. "Seems so."

Sam doesn't even bother giving voice to his thoughts, his flinty eyes saying more black oaths than he possibly could in a single breath as he follows Carline onto her markedly more intact rowboat, the morning light only just signaling the arrival of the day through the thick cover of clouds. With a rope lashed to the old ship, it isn't long before the two of them are paddling properly to join in the supposed success of another hunt.

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 6!!!

[charliethomascoxuniverse]

I can’t believe S2 of Kin is over already!! 😮💨

I’m going to miss seeing Mikey every week so much...!!! 😭😭😭

Man, but I’m going to miss seeing this sweet handsome face every week...❤️🥺🥺🥺

[coincasual]

you ever just be doing something and suddenly it’s like you got bonked on the head and you have 10 fic ideas and it’s a race against time to get them all out on paper/typed out before they just disappear

[flameswallower]

a recurring problem in my life is that i would like to be (and, more important to me than i wish it was, be seen as) a moral or virtuous person, but i absolutely do not have the skillset or amount of selflessness it would take to pull this off.

to be honest, the most success i've had with this dilemma is in convincing myself to let go of the idea that "a particularly moral person" is something it's important for me to be. however, it's difficult-- both the part of myself that has a well-developed (or over-developed) conscience and the part of myself that doesn't & that is driven overwhelmingly by whim, appetite, boredom, and joie de vivre are prominent, and they often struggle for control over what i do. the former also isn't very good at understanding the difference between something that's (say) harmful to others if you do it, and something that people will get upset at you for doing but that is actually benign and they just need to remove the stick from their ass, mind their own business, and get over themselves. i don't want to be hurting people, but i also don't want to be letting stuff like "my neighbor jumped to the conclusion that i was a burglar because she didn't recognize me and i was climbing up the interior wall of our apartment complex's garden space to get a better look at a bird" guide my behavior. (i also don't want my sometimes delusionally outsize sense of being personally responsible for and able to influence or prevent things ranging from other people's health problems to natural disasters to be guiding my behavior.)

connected: i find politics astoundingly boring, and in a better world i wouldn't really have political positions or be engaged in life in that way at all. i'd just make stuff and explore.

[seagullcharmer]

save me npc character design..........

[unproduciblesmackdown]

relevant twitter meme wins wahooo

[retributory]

opened up bg3 for the first time in forever in anticipation of all the new stuff and damn. i forgot how much wyll makes me giggle. whatever gorgeous

[forcedhesitation]

so I didn't know that if you even so much as trigger the waypoint for waukeen's rest and leave....florrick dies and you lose your chance to learn that duke ravengard is alive.

what's interesting about this is that although wyll is understandably upset at the possibility that his father could be dead, he is more openly resentful of his father exiling him in this unfolding of events.

the way he delivers some of these lines carries a slight tone of disdain I've not heard before, when he'd spoken of his father in corydalis' campaign, where the party saved florrick.

[kitkatt0430]

Talk Shop Tuesday: What's one goal that you're working towards and what steps are you taking to try to achieve that goal? Why is this goal something you want to achieve? <3 -@fieldsofview

So my main goal this year is to have fewer Works In progress - both on the small level of unpublished fics/chapters and the bigger level of chaptered fics/series.

This is to a.) clean up my WiP folder(s) on my computer, try to move stuff that's been sitting there for a long time into the done pile and b.) to close out some of my unfinished works on Ao3 so that I can celebrate them being done!!! Or at least having made progress on them, which is still worth celebrating. I've got a number of WiPs right now and a strong desire to cut down on them, so that's why I set this goal.

The new Arrow Redux series that I started this year has actually been in service of this goal despite technically being a new series on Ao3. It's a WiP that's been sitting in my folders for several years now so it's been good to actually not only make progress on it but to be three fics in posting-wise with a bit written for the fourth fic. This is one that I had a lot of scattered notes for in addition to random scenes written for it (though not all actually work anymore) but it's definitely nice to get that sense of accomplishment at finishing pieces of this series instead of the "meh" feeling of closing the document unfinished once more.

It is admittedly a bit of a vague goal in many ways since I'm not specifying specific WiPs and series, but sometimes if I push too hard on one thing then I wind up burning out fast because I'm trying too hard. But considering I finally got the third part of Thaw completed (thus finally closing out the series) and made progress on two other open series, I think I'm doing pretty good at achieving my overall goal for the year.

Steps I'm taking towards this goal are

trying not to start new WiPs that I know I can't finish in a week or two which I've been surprisingly successful at

I don't open my fic files with the goal of completing them, just at adding to them. Often if I approach it with the 'i just want a little progress, don't have to finish yet' attitude then I wind up getting back into the groove of things more easily after re-reading what's there so far. And then it does wind up finished after all.

I do want to make progress on my older unfinished fics/series the most, so I'm also re-reading what I have so far. It's the best way to remind myself of what happened and where it's been headed... and sometimes also to realize that maybe it needs to move in a new direction. Once I've refreshed myself on what's there, it's a lot easier to move forward on what isn't.

[bucketofdrugs]

Me;

Drafts;

Me;

Drafts;

Me; Okay, but I'm home sick, what if I just watch the show one more time...

[bareknucklebots]

Just a couple of snippets from the Hyperblaze mess I have been on and off working on. Not sure if it will actually get finished, so just enjoy them as little bits.

“Get up.” All Hypershock could do in response was wheeze, rolling over onto his back as he stared up at the ceiling. He could taste blood, likely seeping onto his tongue from his busted lip, or maybe even a tooth it was hard to tell. His world was spinning around him with that last hit he took, and all he could even hope to focus on was the man slowly circling around him, and the sound of the referee counting him out.

“Did you hear me? Get up!” Sawblaze spat, eyes locked on where Hypershock was laid out before him, beaten and bloodied but grinning all the same. Hypershock was fucking with him no doubt, throwing the damn fight because Sawblaze knew that there was more fight left in him. It’d be all over too fast, too soon if Hypershock went down now and didn’t get back to his feet and get himself back in this damn match. “I know you’re not done...”

Thankfully, much to Sawblaze’s relief, Hypershock gave a weak laugh and rolled himself over again, this time pushing himself up onto his hands and knees as the countdown continued. Sawblaze took half a step back, waiting to see if he could actually get back to his feet, or if he’d finally knocked something loose in that big dumb head of his. The count gets low, but before the match can be called, Hypershock pushes himself back up, stumbling just a little before getting his fists up in front of him. When he flashed Sawblaze the best winning smile he could muster right then, his teeth were stained with blood. He looked ridiculous. Hypershock always looked ridiculous.

“Good.” Sawblaze huffed, catching his breath for half a second before he motioned for Hypershock to come at him with everything he had left.

* * *

“Up,” Sawblaze muttered, staring down at Hypershock as he leaned over him. He slipped his hand down, resting his palm against Hypershock’s throat, pushing up on his chin to make him tilt his head back and look up at him. “Get up.”

Hypershock’s eyes were wide, locked on the man standing in front of him like he couldn’t believe what was happening. Maybe Sawblaze really had knocked something in his head loose with that final hit? Maybe he was just finally going crazy. Maybe he was reading far too much into what Sawblaze was saying, how he was touching him. Looking at him. The stunned expression on Hypershock’s face slowly melted into confusion, brows furrowing and the beaming smile that he’d been wearing since the two stumbled out of the ring finally turned to a frown.

“Wha-”

“You heard me, get up, Hypershock.” Sawblaze cut him off with a commanding tone, eyes narrowed as he gripped Hypershock’s throat, just enough to pull him up, but not so much to actually cut off his breath. Hypershock followed his hand beautifully, scrambling to his feet at Sawblaze’s order. As soon as he was standing, Sawblaze gabbed Hypershock’s shirt with his other hand to pull him around, turning and shoving him back against the lockers with a loud clatter.

“Awe, hey c’mon ‘Blaze!” Hypershock said with a bit of a nervous laughter, holding his hands up in a defensive manner. “You already won the fight, what else do you want?”

You. Just you.

“An apology would be nice.” Sawblaze said instead, keeping his hand placed firmly over Hypershock’s  throat, though he didn’t press into it. “That was a cheap fucking shot there at the end.”

“You should have floored me when you had the chance then.” Hypershock said lowly, breath hitching as Sawblaze stepped closer. So close. “Never going to win the tournament if you don’t go in for the kill now and again.”

“Big talk for the guy who lost today’s fight.” Sawblaze said.

“No apologies.” Hypershock said firmly, but as he spoke, his eyes darted down for just a split second, landing on Sawblaze’s lips before he locked eyes with him once more. “I’ll kiss your booboo better for you though, if you’d like?”