#and i'm trying to read the dark tower series by stephen king because the gunslinger was fan-fucking-tastic

[coeurdelapin]

i feel terrible for dropping off the internet planet for so long, but my seizures have gotten worse and i've been in and out of the hospital (even hospitals outside of my city). i miss talking to all of my friends online, but with everything that's been happening i've had to change so much about my life, and it's taking a while to adjust.

i just wanted to pop in and say that i miss all of you!

[graysongraysoff]

🎈🤲 💌 :’)

fic writer emoji asks

🎈describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? does it change?

so have you ever read a stephen king book? if you have, that's it, that's the style, i stole it from him, lol. when i went back to reread the dark tower books a couple years ago and i got to the first like mini-chapter of the gunslinger i was like. fuck dude. you read a series at a formative enough time and you'll steal an entire writing style from it, lol.

i feel (i hope!!!!) like my writing style changes, if subtly, from fandom to fandom, though, bc i try really hard to emulate the vibe of whatever piece i'm riffing off of. to go back to jill's ask, i think that's why i used to get so many compliments on my trc fics - i dedicated a lot of effort to mimicking maggie stiefvater's style as best i could, and that really resonated with folks; more than once people told me "this feels like it could be a chapter of one of the books!" and i am very big-headed about that and will brag about it until i die, probably.

🤲what do YOU get out of writing?

difficult to say lately, if i'm being honest!!!!!

in overanalyzing it over the past few months, though, here's where i'm at for the moment: i think there are two main kinds of fic that i write. the first is the kind i write mostly for me, when a piece of media is making my brain go brrr and i just want to play with it, regardless of whether anyone else on earth cares about it at all. the second is the more i guess "fandommy" kind, when it's more of, like, an offering. it's me putting something out into the world and going TALK TO ME ABOUT THIS!!!!!! BE EXCITED ABOUT THIS WITH ME!!!!! WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHO ARE EXCITED ABOUT THIS AT????? COME HERE AND BE MY FRIEND!!!!!!!

i get a lot more out of the first kind than the second kind.

when i'm writing fic just because something makes my brain go brrr, i'm like perfectly content playing by myself in my little sandbox, and it's just kind of a bonus if people end up engaging with it.

when i'm writing fic because something makes my brain go brrr and i want people to care about it with me, well, that can leave me feeling pretty hollow and awful when i post something and it gets a lukewarm response, which is like. nine times out of ten, lol.

i haven't figured out how to feel less bad when i post a fic that i want people to care about and it gets a handful of kudos and no comments, but. the first step is identifying the problem, haha, right?

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

you wanna read some? of course you do.

“Why did you bring me here?” Dazai asked. His voice was empty of emotion, as if he had cried it all out at the bar earlier.

Oda didn’t answer. Instead he nudged Dazai’s hand with the glass of water he’d fetched until the boy sullenly pushed himself up into a sitting position and wrapped his fingers around it.

“I’m not the kind of person you want knowing where you live,” Dazai pressed. “Why should I let you live after I told you my plan for the boss?”

Oda smiled wryly down at him, but he only nodded at the glass. “Drink that.”

Dazai made a face but obediently brought the glass to his lips and began to sip. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again, quietly. “You don’t have to take care of me,” he said. “That’s how you end up like Chuuya.” He stared down at his bandaged reflection in the surface of the water. “It’s not worth it.”

Something clenched around Oda’s heart. “Dazai.”

Dazai looked up, and Oda could think of no excuse, no logical reason for a boy so young to look so tired.

“What happened to Chuuya isn’t your fault,” Oda said.

Dazai smiled one of his insincere smiles, one that didn’t quite reach his one exposed eye.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he said. “Maybe I wanted it to be. I always told him I’d kill him someday. I’ve got a whole list of ways I could do it, too.”

Oda sighed. “Dazai…”

“You still haven’t answered me,” Dazai cut across with steel in his voice. “Why did you bring me here? Why are you doing this?”

Oda blinked down at him steadily. He wondered if Dazai really didn’t know or if he just wanted to hear him say it. He was the kind of kid who seemed to know everything, but there was something wild and searching in his one unbandaged eye.

“Because I care what happens to you,” Oda answered him finally.

ben parksandrec voice it's about the platonic intimacy between a surrogate father and his surrogate son

[isaacapatow]

@reneebrxndxn

"--okay, how's this one then?" Ike leaned his head back on the cot pillow, waving his right hand around in the air. "A walker, Ermano, and David walk into a bar, and the bartender says--"

"You should try not to move around," Renee said, sitting at the side of the bed where his left hand was lying. "Debriding is painful and it's more painful for you because you can't tolerate narcotics."

"Right, because I'm an addict, no need to soften it up. So short of you knocking me out with a two-by-four -- which I know is tempting for you--" Ike lifted his chin in a jerk as Renee smirked, "--I'm distracting myself. And it works best for me to talk to distract myself." He let his head thump back down again as she began cutting away, tiny slivers of non-viable flesh, and said threadily to the ceiling, "...and the bartender, he says, he says..." Ike's eyes pinched shut, his lips compressing into silence. "He says what, Ike?" Renee prompted, and Ike eased his eyes open again.

"How many down?" he asked, and Renee had just started to say she didn't get it, the punchline made no sense, when he continued. "How many will I have left?"

She paused, then started up again. "Two of them will have to go entirely. Your ring and middle finger. And the first joint of your thumb."

Ike grunted. Then he said, "That's not so bad, I guess. Dada-chick, dada-chum." He caught the way Renee was looking at him and said, "You never read The Dark Tower? Stephen King? I loved that series. The main guy, the Gunslinger, these lobster monsters bite off and eat some of his fingers. It's an epic. Based on some old--" Ike clenched his teeth, cords in his neck straining, and then continued, "--some moldy old poem, Roland to the Tower or something."

"I'm surprised you're letting me tend to you," Renee said, after he'd trailed off and was just lying there, mouth in a steep downturn as she finished her work. "I thought you hated me. You fired me as your doctor."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Ike said. "The bartender, he says, 'hey, we don't serve zombies here!' and Ermano goes, 'that's okay, we just want a round of beer'."

"That's a terrible joke," Renee said. Ike said, "I know," and shut his eyes.

ao3 ficlet meme