#Tell me that isn't good
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idledreams4 · 5 months ago
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y'all my graduation is tomorrow
I'm about to be done with highschool 0-0
Where did the time go...
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inkskinned · 1 month ago
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we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.
"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."
i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.
you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"
i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.
what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.
i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.
"don't make a big deal about this," you said.
this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.
"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.
you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."
the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.
afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."
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akanemnon · 9 months ago
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Sorry, Noelle... They're a little slow on the uptake.
FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT
MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)
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canisalbus · 1 year ago
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✦ Trick or treat ✦
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krazieka2 · 4 months ago
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Here's a big old Fire Emblem Search & Find I did for the FE3H Masquerade Zine! Find the Golden Deer, but see if you can't find the rest of the students as well! For the ultimate challenge, see if you can't name every character! (Disclaimer two characters are NPCs with no names)
#double bonus can you identify the 2 or 3 fe3h characters that AREN'T in the scene?#i say 2 or 3 but i probably forgot more :( im using you people to check my work#fe3h#carrying over my posts from twitter choo chooooo#fireemblem#im not going to tag everyone but you're welcome too! good luck!!#instead let me tell you about the mini narratives i came up with while drawing this#soren is waiting for Ike to get back with food#seteth just noticed flayn dancing WITH A BOY from afar#rhea was supposed to sing but got superseded (she's okay with it actually)#monica and ferdinand are trying to start a dance off with edelgard and hubert (its not working)#Ashe stepped on Annette's toes and is freaking out. Lorenz is trying to give pointers but it's only sort of helping#balthus absolutely stole some of the betting pool money. i think i forgot to ink the coins falling out of his hands! dang#metody and shahid are going to become great friends and have a wirlwind romance before one betrays the other in a cutthroat fashion#Lysithea left a single cake slice on the table and Miklan is just happy to have gotten his before she showed up#ike and leopold had a flex off#Gilbert is stuck between young lovers this isn't a narrative i just think it's funny#oh and of course Sylvain managing to piss off Sera Charlotte and Maribelle while Felix ignored him and Ingrid looks on#that's supposed to be roy not eliwood btw i forgot to color his headband so it's basically eliwood#that's all i can think of rn but if you played#thank you!!! i hope you had fun#this was SO much fun to make thank you to the mods for facilitating me#haha this post has been up for 20 minutes and people are already pointing out so many characters I forgot. ur keeping me humble
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mbohjeezart · 5 months ago
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[ WIP ]
Bring a goat to a courthouse...
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happywitchesofnewdi · 1 month ago
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It's too late, Mugi. I'm afraid he's already been influenced.
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teddybeartoji · 9 months ago
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it's not often you get to see a sleepy suguru.
it's not like he's not tired – he's fucking exhausted; the dreams just don't seem to like him all that much. but he's usually toughing it out, trying to seem as composed and put-together as possible. the dark skin underneath his eyes betray him, though.
so you don't really know why today is different. is he just more tired? have all of the sleepless hours caught up with him? or is it just you; could it be that your body is the most comfortable place to rest his heavy head? or is it your perfume that's soothing him to sleep?
or is it the fingers in his hair?
he doesn't really let others play with his hair too ofter either. satoru and shoko had been the only exceptions but that was before you came along. satoru uses his hair as a stim, something to play with when he's bored. suguru has taught him manners though – a few slaps against satoru's fingers and chest to remind him to be more careful. and shoko is just more likely to brush a strand from his eyes or help him tie them up in a half-assed bun whenever his own hands are full with whatever.
you like playing with hair, always have and always will. it's relaxing and it's fun and it's calming and you love it. when you first met suguru, his hair was the second thing you noticed about him (his keen purple eyes being the first). an irresistible itch burned in your fingertips everytime you saw him, everytime he wore his hair down. it just looked so pretty and soft.
he takes very good care of his hair, you know that much. specific shampoos and conditioners, masks and all – he's all in. and nobody bats an eye. not that they should but satoru definitely gets made fun of because of his stupidly expensive collection of figurines and shoko gets teased for her silly mug shelf – and yet, neither of them ever comment on the bottles and tubs of fancy products that lay on his bathroom counter.
his hair also smells good. the compliment always hangs on the tip of your tongue but stays hidden in fear of coming off too weird. too creepy. but he doesn smell good. even with closed eyes and ears and you'd find him in a crowd. you wonder whether he knows that.
as you grew closer and closer, the now scorching itch only doubled in need. you never did gather the strenght to outwardly ask him – if you could play with his hair? if you could caress it? comb through it? it was an accident.
a simple gloomy friday afternoon: you're both lazing on your couch, staring at the screen. it's funny – you find yourself muffling your already quiet bursts of laughter, suguru alongside you. he's sitting close by, closer than usual. you don't ask him about it.
he asked to come over; something-something about being sick of his own apartment. you understand that, so you tell him that your home is his home (you'd tell him that even if you didn't understand). you hear the faint smile when he thanks you over the phone.
even when he looks like he hasn't slept in months – he looks good. you can tell he's overexaggerating his smile a bit but don't say anything about it, rewarding him with a grin of your own. his eyes flick to your lips and how they curve and he thinks about how warm it feels to look at you. maybe he's not exaggerating anymore.
your arms open wide, inviting him into you and he obliges, as always. he smells good. as always.
his hands lock behind your back and your behind his neck. your hearts meet and they greet each other with a fastened beat, eager to be in sync – to feel each other again.
he pulls back and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. he's not doing it anymore and you're happy to relieve him even if it's for mere moments.
he's wearing a sweather and his hair is down. he has lip gloss on; you try to think whether he's more of a mint guy or more of a shea guy. it remains a mystery.
and now you're on the couch with two cups of warm tea waiting for you on the small table. he smells good. he's so close. he snickers at the screen and you can't take your eyes off of him. it's the same small crinkle of the eyes and the faintest pink tint on his cheeks.
you know he knows that you're looking at him. you've been told to have a staring problem and he's just an observant guy. it's a terrible match. or a perfect one.
he doesn't say anything though; instead he leans his head back and little to the side against the headrest (he's even closer now) and you find yourself shifting an inch aswell. perhaps magnets are involved? the iron in your blood pulling you together?
no, that can't be. you'd have to be polar opposites for that to work. warm-blooded and cold-blooded? would that work? you're getting too poetic and he's looking at you now.
it's an accident. it slips out on its own. you smell good. caught off guard by your own comment, you're about to apologize when a hand on your thigh almost makes you suffocate on the words stuck in your throat.
he laughs and it feels so good. he thanks you. he means it, you see it in his tired eyes. he likes the way you blush.
turning his focus back to the tv, you try to collect yourself. a deep breath in and a deep one out and a deep one in and a de—
a weight on your shoulder. he smells so good. he's so close. you peek down, curious as to whether this is a dream or not. but suguru's head is in fact laid on your body, sinking a bit more into you by the second. a deep breath in and a deep one out.
seeking for a more comfortable position, you snuggle closer to him. it's hard to focus but you're making it your sole mission to make him feel safe. your arm curls around his body, his shoulder, and rests right by a flock of his hair.
his cheek is now smushed against the top of your chest and the weight of love doesn't seem as bad as everyone keeps telling you. his hand finds a place around your waist; loosely – as if he's the one who's afraid to scare you off. silly.
his breath against you feels right and the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. so you do what you always do when you get nervous – completely on their own, your fingers caress his hair. just smoothing over it at first but before you know it, they're combing through a strand and twirling the ends between themselves.
you wanna apologize, again, but the soft little grunt that emits from the man keeps you from doing so.
don't stop.
+ this is for @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat just bc it feels right
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wearecrowley · 1 year ago
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royalarchivist · 24 days ago
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Cellbit: Ordem Paranormal 🔥
Roier: Enigma do Medo 🔥🔥🔥
In honor of today's Ordem Paranormal news, here's a little compilation of some classic "Enigma do Medo" moments with Roier and Cellbit.
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deoidesign · 3 months ago
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"what do hands mean about a character?"
Their hands mean they love eachother
(webcomic)
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inkskinned · 1 year ago
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME#there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing#and the writing is what i need to be doing#writeblr#this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to#edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol#i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means#i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong#i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse#i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO#i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness#and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it#im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us#i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer#and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work#even if it means being miserable#but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.
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moongothic · 3 months ago
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Madoka is the promise you won't turn from a child, full of hopes and dreams and the wish to save the world, into a bitter adult who just wants to hurt others and ruin people's lives
Madoka promised to be there for you to remind you of the person you wanted to be and to stop you from becoming what you sought to destroy
Madoka made that promise and became the very embodiment of it
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rogueddie · 1 year ago
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s2 au where steve tries to find an empty classroom he can hide away in after his falling out with tommy and carol, trying to stay out of sight, only to stumble in on eddie, getting everything ready for hellfire that evening.
eddie takes pity, pointing to the table shoved into the corner, telling steve he can eat there if he wants bc eddies gonna be too busy to pay attention anyway. steve is relieved, trying to stay turned away to hide his bruises. but eddie cant help himself- he starts talking, asking questions, joking around. and steve slowly opens up.
steve learns the hellfire schedule so he and eddie can keep having their talks. they quickly become great friends but neither realize that there's no real reason for them to be sneaking around or hiding... not yet anyway.
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6okuto · 3 months ago
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🧺 #24: "sitting together for a road trip" with kenma for @dira333 from my fruits basket ! :3
dira this is so good for a friends to lovers plot..
akaashi’s volunteered to drive for this next portion of the trip, so kuroo and bokuto are free to click through a dozen songs to sing along to. they’re loud, and sometimes wrong which earns a snort or remark from you and kenma behind them. but their spirits are high and no teasing keeps their attention for long– not with another catchy pre-chorus coming up.
kenma shoots you a sidelong glance. between your seats, there’s a blanket with a bag of snacks nestled in the middle. you feel his gaze and turn to look at him, and he says…something, but his friends are still singing, and you can’t quite hear.
you furrow your brows and he sighs (not forgetting to frown at the back of kuroo’s head as if it would deter him) before leaning in closer. you mirror his movement, and you’re close enough you could bump foreheads if you wanted.
“sorry.”
“for what?”
“...seriously?”
you quietly laugh. “it’s okay, this has been fun.”
“we haven’t even gotten to where we’re staying yet.”
“so?”
kenma blinks at you, looks between your smile and the three others ahead of you. “...okay. but if they get too loud, tell me and we can kick the back of their seats together.” and he smiles for maybe the third time since the karaoke session started when you laugh and agree.
and !! at some point he catches you watching him game, so you both lean over the blanket and snacks again so you can get a better view. but it gets a little uncomfortable, and you’re both shifting every few minutes to avoid bags of chips and a box of cereal from jabbing your side. so at the next rest stop, you switch places with the blanket and move to sit beside him instead—
“if that’s okay with you? or i can hold the snacks if you still wanna grab them.” you offer.
but kenma shakes his head and reassures you, “no, it’s okay, this is a lot easier anyway.”
and sitting next to each other is nothing out of the ordinary—you’ve done this plenty of times out of the confines of a van’s backseats. but it’s a few hours in and you’re getting sleepy, and you register too late (and barely at all) that the pillow you had against the window is no longer in reach, so your head falls the only other direction there is,
right onto kenma’s shoulder.
and despite being so so close to hitting a new high score after dozens of attempts, he can only be glad he had his earphones in so the others didn’t hear the “game over” that follows embarrassingly fast afterward.
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tropicalcontinental · 30 days ago
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Human fear is the window to the soul or whatever ://
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