#I'm writing it anyway
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grabyoursaintsandpray · 6 months ago
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Anyway I'm hyper fixating again but I was daydreaming and my brain started spinning out thinking about season 2 and how Maggie is obviously going to go back to rescue Negan.
We know he doesn't want to be rescued because he's doing this all for her, he's trying to protect her and her son but he can't tell her because he knows if she learns The Dama is threatening Hershel, she'll go to war.
He'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe and the only way to make her leave, to get her to safety and not look at the situation any closer is to pretend that he wants this, that he loves it.
He has to be the monster. He has to break both their hearts.
- Season 2 has the potential for so much delicious angst and I am absolutely here for it.
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katsuki-king-of-twinks · 7 months ago
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I'm writing a poem..
((It's reeeally bad....))
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mimikoflamemaker · 1 year ago
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Well it looks like October is a 10 year anniversary of JoO presence online - if we count the time in was on FF.Net. Longer perhaph but we will scratch the time when i first posted it there and got so many negative comments about language and grammar (justified btw - it was quite awful back then) that I deleted the whole thing.
And then reposted it. It was 2013.
Thus JoO had been online for 10 years.
I feel like this calls for some kind of celebration, but I don't have idea as to what it should be just yet
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loufuckers · 5 months ago
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wait so apparently some people get mad if someone else writes fanfiction based on headcanons they shared on tumblr??? so now i got to ask
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neptunym · 2 months ago
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weirdos
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tarabyte3 · 8 months ago
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Hey fanfiction writers: If no one's ever told you this before, it's not just fanfiction.
It's something you spent hours, days, maybe even months on, pouring your heart out onto a page because you were so full of passion and thoughts about a story or characters, you felt like you were going to explode if you didn't get it out. Maybe you lost sleep because your mind was racing with ideas or you forgot to eat or drink water because you were so focused. Maybe your back aches from being hunched over for so long, unmoving. Maybe you even felt like you were going a little feral because you were so excited about what you were creating, or were frustrated when you got stuck. Either way, you put your heart, mind, soul, and body into making something.
It's okay to want people to read it, and it's okay if you're disappointed that they don't or it doesn't get as much of a reaction as you were hoping for. Humans are social creatures. Sure, we write for ourselves, but we also share because the joy of doing so is just as powerful as the joy of the process. Of having created something.
We all experience that joy and that disappointment, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
So it's okay. It's not just fanfiction.
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wardingshout · 10 months ago
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Zelda goes mushroom girl
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andsewingishalfthebattle · 7 months ago
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Novice sewing pattern: Cut out shapes. Line up the little triangles on the edges. Stitch edges together. We've also included step-by-step assembly instructions with illustrations.
Novice knitting pattern: yOU MUSt uNDerstANd thE SECret cOdE CO67 (73, 87, 93) BO44 (63, 76, 90) 28 (32, 34) slip first pw repeat 7x K to end *kl (pl) 42 * until 13" (13, 13, 15) join new at 30 pl for 17 rows ssk 27 k2tog mattress lengthwise BO and sacrifice a goat to the knitting gods. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT "INSTRUCTIONS," I JUST GAVE THEM TO YOU
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astralleywright · 1 year ago
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spent like an hour trying to find a post abt the disparity of origin companion's content in bg3 and couldn't so, hey, this fucking sucks
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posting this with absolutely no context
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interpolationz · 11 months ago
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dalien over here saving me from art block
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line art + my lovely collection of references
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@danielhowell @amazingphil
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legayllyblonde · 4 months ago
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drawing i made for a narumitsu fic i’ve been writing for the past couple months! it’s 29k words of phoenix tackling his hardest case yet: getting edgeworth to agree to a pet name. completely finished & uploaded, T-rating, established relationship… link’s here if you're interested, if not, enjoy the sillies!
for venturing under the cut, i reward thee with the title card & section break illustrations! my favorites are the origami family and the popcorn pigeon :P
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and finally... tigerworth...
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nikoisme · 7 months ago
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The constant temptation and promise of everything and nothing in the odyssey. The sirens promise odysseus to know, and the lotus eaters promise him to forget. He could be an immortal, and he could be a beggar. Be known, and be a stranger. He could be alive, and he could be dead. He could be odysseus, and he could be nobody. And the man of many ways tries to be a little bit of everything.
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quadrantadvisor · 3 days ago
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Thinking about DP x DC Jason Todd being a revenant again. Here's my scenario. Jason gets called that by some ghost. He's like "what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He's heard the term before but he doesn't know any actual lore. He googles it. He scrolls past the Leonardo DiCaprio bear movie. He opens the wiki. Sees the words "animated corpse" and gets a chill diwn his spine. He starts reading the first section.
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He closes Wikipedia.
That night he has a nightmare that his family buried him, again, this time with precautions. He wakes up in his own grave, full of stones, too heavy to move, to scream.
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benevolenterrancy · 26 days ago
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Scholarly peak is catching up on recent literature
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solarmorrigan · 19 days ago
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The Witch and The Carpenter
For the @steddie-spooktober day 23 prompt: Witch Rated: T | Words: 2862 | CW: None | Tags: fantasy AU, witch!Eddie Munson, carpenter!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington gets migraines, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington needs a hug, they're perfect for each other hugs all around Divider credit: @saradika
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Eddie hears about the new carpenter within hours of his rolling into town – of course he does; any witch worth their salt knows exactly what’s going on in their town at all times (it’s hard not to, when you’re the one providing the potions and charms that help everyone else keep their secrets).
His name is Steve, and he’s come with hopes of filling the hole left when Benny, the previous town carpenter, had died without an heir to his business. People say that he seems hardworking and capable, that he’s strong and handsome, that he’s friendly enough, but that there’s something a little distant about him – a little lonely (though the older ladies who give Eddie gossip do tend to romanticize at times).
Eddie doesn’t expect to meet him as soon as he does, but before even his first week in town is out, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep, looking at once earnest and wary, and just as handsome as the gossip had said.
(Not that that last bit has any bearing on anything.)
“People in town say you’re the one to see for remedies,” Steve says when Eddie gets the door open.
“People in town say a lot of things,” Eddie replies. “But in this case, they’re right. Come on in.”
Inside, Eddie finds out that Steve is seeking a remedy for headaches. But not just any headaches; these seem to be full-body affairs that can keep Steve down for days at a time. He gets dizzy, nauseous, is bothered by any noise, and even candlelight can be too bright for his eyes.
Eddie mixes him up something strong, gives him strict instructions on how it’s to be taken, and then moves on to the matter of payment.
At that, Steve begins to look sheepish.
“I’ve only just set up my business. I… don’t have much money yet,” he admits. “I was hoping you might be willing to do a trade.”
Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “And what do you have to trade that you think might interest me?”
“Your door?” Steve offers.
“…what about my door?” Eddie asks after a long moment of confused silence.
“It sticks. You were having trouble getting it closed earlier. I could fix that,” Steve says.
And it’s true – Eddie’s front door does stick. So does the back door. The shutters often refuse to open or shut properly, and the porch sags a little, and there’s a leak in the roof when it rains hard enough. While Eddie is the best in the business when it comes to working magic, he’s not so handy with home repairs.
(It doesn’t particularly help that witches exist in an odd sort of social limbo. Every town needs one—this is generally acknowledged as truth—but no one particularly wants them around. Eddie lives a little ways away from town, up against the forest line, where it’s easy to ignore him and his shabby house unless someone needs something from him. No one has ever exactly been chomping at the bit to come help him fix the place up.)
Eddie shouldn’t say yes. He often trades goods and services, but he doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t know if he’s reliable, doesn’t even know if his work is any good – but something in him wants to agree, anyway.
Maybe it’s the earnestness of his offer, or the hope in his expression that he’s clearly trying to quash, or maybe Eddie’s just a sucker for a pretty face, but eventually he finds he can’t say anything but, “Okay, sure.”
“Thank you,” Steve sighs as he accepts the potion. “How would tomorrow work for you?”
Still not entirely sure he expects Steve to show up, Eddie says that tomorrow is fine. If he doesn’t show, if he thinks he can fleece a witch and continue living peacefully in town, he’ll quickly find out otherwise. And if he does come back – well, it would be nice to have a door that doesn’t stick anymore.
“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks before he leaves.
“Red,” Eddie answers, one brow raised in a question that Steve doesn’t answer.
“Red.” Steve nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The next day, Steve is back bright and early with a bag of tools and a pot of paint. He tells Eddie not to mind him, he’ll just get to work and try to stay out of Eddie’s way, but Eddie can’t help but watch as Steve inspects the door hinges, the frame, and then not only trims the door down, but sands and paints it, too.
Red: Eddie’s favorite color.
Anyway, it isn’t Eddie’s fault for getting distracted. There’s an unfairly attractive man doing manual labor in front of his house, what’s he supposed to do?
Eventually, though, Eddie does force himself to look away. He shouldn’t get attached to things he knows he can’t have. He’s the witch; he’s in the background of everyone else’s story, he doesn’t get to have one of his own – especially not with someone like Steve.
And that’s fine, Eddie had accepted that long ago. He likes being able to help people, and it’s sort of the only thing he’s any good at. He won’t deny that it stings sometimes, the way people talk about witches—about him—but what should he care about what other people think?
In any case, it doesn’t matter, because once Steve finishes with the door, it’s unlikely the two of them will cross paths again any time soon.
Steve finishes the door (it now opens and closes smooth as butter) and goes home.
And comes back the next week.
“Finished what I gave you already?” Eddie asks.
Steve shrugs. “Stress always makes the headaches worse, and with travelling and setting up shop…”
Eddie nods, pursing his lips in thought. “I could make you a bigger batch, but it would cost you more.”
“I can fix those shutters.” Steve nods towards the windows. “And you mentioned something about the back door?”
“You’re going to neglect your real customers, spending all your time fixing up my house,” Eddie teases.
“I can make the time,” Steve says, smiling at Eddie. “I think it’s worth it.”
Eddie has to turn away again, reminding himself that Steve is talking about the medicine, not him.
He fixes up a bigger batch of that same strong potion he’d made the previous week (“I’ve never had anything work so well,” Steve had practically gushed. “It was more than worth my work.”) and Steve comes back the next afternoon to start work on the back door.
They talk more this time, when Steve takes breaks, when Eddie is between tasks and brings him cool water to drink, and Eddie finds that Steve is funny and sweet, and catty and sharp, and a bigger gossip than even Eddie himself. And he reminds himself, again and again, that Steve is not for him. This isn’t how the story goes.
Witches don’t get nice things.
(And that’s fine. Eddie is fine with it. He’s fine.)
They do, however, get increasingly nice houses, apparently. Or at least Eddie does. Steve paints the back door red, too, and then gets to work fixing the shutters. Those, to Eddie’s bemusement, he paints a buttery, golden yellow.
“They don’t exactly scream ‘witch’s cottage’,” Eddie points out.
Steve only shrugs. “It’s my favorite color,” he says, flashing a grin at Eddie. “Besides, I think they go with the doors.”
Eddie doesn’t argue.
It goes on like this. Eddie brews medicine for Steve’s headaches, and Steve finds things around the house to work on. He fixes the leak in the roof, the creaky porch steps, the drawer in the kitchen that will never stay closed; his business picks up in town, but he always makes time for Eddie.
As much as he can, at least.
“I’ve got a few big orders built up,” he says apologetically one afternoon as he collects his medicine from Eddie. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time to get to the cabinets like I said I would, but I can pay you–”
“Nah.” Eddie waves Steve’s offer away before he can pull out any coins. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”
Eddie doesn’t do tabs.
Steve looks skeptical. “If you’re sure…”
“Of course I am. And if, for some reason, you welch on our deal,” Eddie gives Steve a sharp grin, “I do know where you live.”
“You should come visit, then,” Steve says.
Eddie falters. “What?”
“If you want to, I mean.” Steve shrugs, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Just– if I can’t make it out here, maybe you could come see me, instead.”
And again, he’s so earnest, trying so hard not to look too hopeful, that Eddie can’t say anything but, “Alright, I will.”
The way Steve lights up at that is worth just about anything he could have Eddie do.
Eddie tries to remind himself of this as he ventures into town the next week.
He doesn’t go into the town proper very often; he grows a lot of what he needs and trades for a lot of the rest of it with customers; he’s a rare enough sight that some people stare, and whisper, and Eddie does his best to hold his head up high and walk without a care.
And if he pulls faces at some of the more egregious offenders, causing them to gasp and scurry away, scandalized, well – Eddie is allowed his simple pleasures.
Anyway, Steve is all smiles when he finds Eddie at his door, and that’s the most important thing. He ushers him through the shop (a large, warm space that smells of wood shavings and sweet smoke, just as Eddie’s come to associate with Steve) and into the living space above. He serves Eddie tea and cake with a studied nonchalance that says he doesn’t want Eddie to realize how excited he is.
How excited he is to see Eddie.
Eddie searches for anything else to focus on before he does something ridiculous, like act on the rising warm feeling in his chest. He finds it, oddly, in Steve’s eyes.
“Have you been sleeping?” Eddie asks him; the shadows beneath his eyes look almost like bruises.
Steve shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”
His hands are shaking, Eddie realizes, as he pours the tea for the both of them. Steve must notice Eddie noticing, because he folds his hands back into his lap with a little huff.
“Happens sometimes,” he says brusquely. “More annoying than anything. Carpenters are supposed to have steady hands.”
(Eddie wonders sometimes what must have happened to Steve, but he’s seen some of the scars that adorn his body, has seen the faraway look that gets into his eyes from time to time, and he thinks he knows. Steve has the bearing of a soldier, and the eyes of a man too kind to have ever been made to fight for a king who doesn’t give a damn about him.)
Taking the hint, Eddie changes the subject, but the thought of Steve’s shaking hands follows him home. All those tools, all those sharp things he works with – maybe Steve isn’t his, not his to worry over or to care of, but Eddie decides he’s damn well going to do it anyway.
The next time Steve comes by, Eddie slips him an extra packet along with his usual potion.
“You brew it like tea,” Eddie says to Steve’s confused glance. “Should help steady your hands, when you need it.”
Steve stares down at the packet for several silent seconds. “You didn’t have to–”
“But I wanted to.”
Shaking his head, Steve looks back up at Eddie. “How can I–”
Eddie waves him off before the question is fully formed. “Let’s say it’s on the house, for my best customer.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Steve says, not without amusement.
“Then how about my favorite customer?” Eddie offers.
Steve is smiling now. “Are you allowed to have favorites?”
“I’m the witch,” Eddie reminds him with a smirk. “I can do whatever I want.”
And so it goes.
And so it might have continued going, if it hadn’t been for the night Steve turns up at Eddie’s door well after dark, looking grey and haggard and haunted.
Eddie ushers him in, sits him down, makes him some tea, and tries to get some words out of him.
“Do you make anything to help people sleep?” is what Steve finally asks.
“I can,” Eddie says slowly, watching Steve carefully.
Steve drops his face into his hands, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “I just– I just want to sleep. I don’t want to dream, just for one night,” he says, so low that Eddie has to strain to catch all the words. “Just once.”
Eddie weighs his options. He knows how to make an elixir for a deep, dreamless sleep; he won’t deny that he’s used it himself, when certain memories had become too much, but that’s exactly how he knows that it hits hard and fast. It can be disorienting – maybe even a little dangerous, if you don’t know what you’re doing.
“I can make something for you,” Eddie says, “but only if you stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back home in the dark, it isn’t safe.”
“I don’t… I don’t want to impose,” Steve says, as if he could ever be an imposition to Eddie.
“I’d feel better knowing you’re here,” Eddie says, and that seems to break Steve’s resolve.
By the time Eddie finishes the elixir, Steve is barely awake in his seat. He doesn’t even argue when Eddie leads him to his own bed, lays him down, and tells him to drink.
He’s out like a light in minutes.
Eddie closes the bedroom door and sets himself up in a chair by the fire, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time.
He wakes in the morning to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He follows the smell and coffee and sizzling bacon to find Steve there, flitting around the room, cooking.
“Hey.” Steve smiles, broad and true, when he sees Eddie in the doorway. “I was going to come wake you soon, breakfast is almost ready.”
Eddie blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s the one who took the sleeping elixir, because he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing: Steve, happy and sleep-rumpled, using his kitchen to cook breakfast like it’s familiar to him, like it’s something he does every day, smiling at Eddie like he’s the final piece missing from the morning.
“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for what you did last night,” Steve says, determinedly poking at the bacon in the pan. “I can’t– I can’t tell you how much I needed that. How much it helped. But I figured I could at least start by making you breakfast.”
Eddie watches him cook, and feels like his heart is about to crack, because for some reason he’s getting this taste of what life could be like, but he doesn’t get to keep it.
This isn’t for him.
(And Eddie wants to be fine, but he isn’t. He isn’t.)
Something must show on his face, because when Steve looks up at him, his own expression falls into a concerned frown. He forgets all about the bacon and moves over to Eddie, arms outstretched to place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, so invested, so concerned, that Eddie feels like he might lose his mind.
“This isn’t right,” Eddie manages, and Steve only looks more upset.
“Should I– should I not have done this? Did you want me to go, or–”
“I never want you to go!” Eddie blurts. “I always want you here, but this—this morning, breakfast, you—I don’t get to have this. It’s – it’s not right.”
Steve’s expression softens, eyes warming with understanding. “You can have it, if you want,” he says softly. “You can have me. You always could have. Since the beginning.”
Eddie shakes his head. “This isn’t… this isn’t how the story goes.”
“Then let’s write a new one,” Steve says.
There isn’t anything Eddie can think to say to that, but that’s alright, because that means his mouth is unoccupied when Steve leans in to kiss him.
Steve never has to trade anything for his medicine ever again, after that, nor does he have to come over to fetch it – he’s already there. Eddie’s house becomes the nicest in town, what with his live-in carpenter, and all. It’s painted in bright colors, and it draws people in, and makes them want to stay just a little longer, exchange pleasantries just a little more, and get to know Eddie just a little bit better.
Steve keeps his workshop in town, goes there every morning, and returns to Eddie at night. They start their days with breakfast together, and they end them in bed, pressed together like spoons in a drawer, and with every day that passes by, Eddie believes, more and more, that maybe this is something he gets to have.
Maybe this is something he gets to keep.
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