#author background

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

My mind is a mess and my heart is hurting.

So it’s been a while since I’ve felt this way…

Today my mother (who adopted my younger brother and I back in 2007) stopped by to help me with some things and I happened to leave out an unfinished project. She looked at it, questioned it, then proceeded to laugh when I explained that I’ve been experimenting with mixing different hued eyeshadows.

The woman laughed, not chuckled, and said, “Oh, (name).”

Like you’ve known me practically my whole life and yet you’re still acting like my interests surprise you. That and you’re belittling them. Ever since the adoption it’s felt as though she doesn’t understand me.

I was diagnosed with anxiety, PTSD (from multiple forms of childhood abuse), a bunch of physical stuff was discovered, depression, and ADHD after the adoption. Counselors and pills were shoved down my throat practically because I wasn’t “normal” and lived about a decade in the mind fog. College was where I weaned myself off the pills and started being my own person.

Been clean of them since 2014. Never have I considered retaking them or seeking another counselor. Not once.

Parents acted like they had no idea who I was.

Sometimes they still do.

When young I had great interests in beadwork, hand sewing, baking deserts, drawing, and other activities. At one point I wanted to be a police officer, other times a massage therapist or personal stylist. Anything that crossed my path with I dove into headfirst for a while then eventually migrated once satisfied with the knowledge/experience I’d gained or accomplished.

Back then, as form of punishments, they would take away my books and donate them to the local library. Living the way I had been before required me to develop tendencies they didn’t approve of (lying or scavenging for survival for example). Books were my sole prized possession that helped me get away from it all and they confessed that my attachment to the books when taking them away left them bewildered because I’d hyperventilated and had several panic attacks upon them taking away each volume from my shelf.

I have Hyperfixation Tendancies, meaning I jump from project to project a lot and burn myself out many times when I get stuck with one for too long. Currently I just got done with sewing patches for onesies and felt a curiosity towards depotting eyeshadow. I’ve had beading, lotion/perfume making, cooking, writing, and several other projects that my hubby has witnessed.

He was alone when my mom laughed at the current project, I wasn’t in the room and he feels as though he should have spoken up against her. I appreciate him wanting to support me when I’m not able to but it hurts knowing that she still doesn’t understand or want to understand the person I really am.

[auden-dahn]

"D-Don't worry about me! Focus on helping the little one, okay?" 🌠 panel redraw of @laikascomet

[fluentisonus]

I've said this before but valjean's view of the bishop throughout the book gets me so bad because like. he knew him for what, a day maybe? and it absolutely had a vast & profound & positive impact on him. but then he goes on to spend the whole book comparing himself to his idealized vision of the bishop & finding himself wanting & feeling guilty and miserable about every petty or selfish thought that crosses his mind. but it's so fucked up because like we as the readers know the bishop better! we've read the whole first book and we know he came from a privileged & wealthy background, that he was a rake when he was young, it wasn't til he was in his 40s or 50s to have some sort of change of heart & become a priest (a similar age to valjean when he met him!), that he has moments that seriously shake him, that he has some dubious politics left over, that he still has moments of pettiness he has to work through on the page (his initial approach to the member of the convention, e.g.). and also he's just kind of a weird old guy (affectionate). and like this is not to criticize the bishop, I think he's a genuinely really good guy, just that while the bishop has a realistic view of himself & his past ("he described himself with a smile, an ex-sinner,"), valjean is not getting any of this except maybe like. what would be mentioned in the newspaper when the bishop died. so his whole view of him is of this one shining moment where he changed his life and he feels he doesn't live up to that. which is sad! because the bishop understood him more than he realized & wouldn't have wanted him to feel that way

[fictionadventurer]

I think I underestimated how cool it is that Little House books are a "woman remembers her childhood" children's classic by an author from a working-class and rural background. Most working-class books of the genre have urban settings, and most rural girlhood classics come from a family that's in a fairly stable community--maybe not rich, but comfortable enough that they don't have to worry about whether they'll make it through a winter.

Laura Ingalls grew up dirt poor in a family that knew how to grow or build or hunt or make everything that they needed, because they had to. Yet when she grew up, she got into a position where she could publish about it. Which is pretty astounding, because people in her situation are usually too busy doing the farmwork to write about it--they don't have connections to the publishing industry. Yet she did, so we get to hear from someone who knows that farm and small-town setting intimately, and not because she grew up and and ran off to the city as soon as she could escape, but because she still lives it and loves it and advocates for it.

She knows the details of that life and loves it. Like, she genuinely cares about raising the chickens, not as a housewife's hobby, but as an important source of meat, eggs and money for the family. It's grounded, earthy, sensible, but also romantic, because she while she's doing farm work or house work she's noticing the little moments of beauty or thinking about the big issues of life. But it took a long series of coincidences to get this ordinary farm wife into a position of wanting to write, being able to write, and having a national audience for her writing, so I just want to appreciate how amazing it is that it happened.

[hallasammal]

>"You're... a ghost?"

"... I am, aren't I...? Sure. Kind of. And this tree is my grave. Let's say that."

(So, then...)

>"Whose ghost are you?"

Isatmonth entry 5. Ghost

I thought about drawing the actual ghosts or MDP, but this line has been living rent free in my head since my first playthrough. Though, i think the direction i ended up going is pretty vague...

[fuctacles]

Eddie, begrudgingly: Dustin's older brother is kinda fine :/

I had a craving for best friend's older brother AU so I wrote some but it's not my forte I'm out of ideas so that might be it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Edit: jokes on me I guess [Part II] [Part III]

Eddie was about to knock on his freshman friend’s door when there was a loud commotion on the other side and the door opened by itself. A guy, probably around his age, nearly ran into him in his haste to leave the house. He startled, taking Eddie in. And then taking a double take, the way Eddie was used to people doing at the sight of him.

“Who are you?” the guy asked, scrunching his nose and not meeting Eddie’s eyes.

He felt his hackles rise, venom building in his throat and ready to spit. He wasn’t expecting this on a Saturday on his friend’s doorstep, but he guessed this was the kind of town where you just couldn’t wear your battle vest in peace anywhere. His upper lip twitched ready to form a snarl, when suddenly the guy's features softened, a spark of recognition lighting up his eyes.

“Wait. Let me guess. Eddie?”

Eddie faltered, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He frowned.

“Yeah?”

The guy's face warmed up with a smile, and Eddie was not ready for that kind of emotional rollercoaster this early in the morning.

“Dustin’s stories do not do you justice,” he says for some reason, eyeing him again. Eddie wants to shrivel up and hide. What the fuck was happening. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” he said, stepping to the side to invite him in. “I have to go to work, so you two be good, okay?” he says before waving a cheery goodbye and closing the door, disappearing just as abruptly as he showed up in front of Eddie. The inside of the house suddenly seemed dull.

Another ray of sunshine peeked from the kitchen, toothy grin and hazelnut curls.

“So you’ve met Steve!” Dustin grinned in place of a greeting.

Eddie gawked at him.

“That,” he pointed at the closed door. The sound of a car leaving the curb tickled his ears. “Was Steve?!”

“The adopted brother Steve? The Star Wars fan Steve? The badass older brother Steve?”

“Yes, all that,” Dustin nodded enthusiastically.

“I thought he was, like, 16!” Eddie flailed and it sounded like a petulant whine even to his ears. He winced.

Dustin frowned at him like he was being stupid. Eddie didn’t like that gaze, but unfortunately at this point, he was getting used to it. His younger friend leaned on the kitchen door frame watching Eddie toe off his shoes.

“He’s 19. What gave you that impression?”

Eddie frowned at his scuffed Reeboks. He nudged them with his toe to line up, looking for an answer.

“The adopted part, I think? He’s almost an adult, who adopts that old?”

He knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as he said it. He looked up at Dustin, whose face twisted uncomfortably.

“Shit, sorry man. I didn’t mean-”

Dusting clicked his tongue impatiently, interrupting him.

“It’s fine. This is an unconventional arrangement,” he said in that way when you heard something repeatedly. “I can tell you more, but after we make that character sheet, okay?”

Eddie nodded, eager to abandon his social faux pas. The Henderson’s were an unconventional unit, and that’s what he loved about them, at least from the stories Dustin shared. The guy was a little freak, just like Eddie, so it checked out his family was just as unconventional. So was Eddie’s after all.

The parallels made him warm up inside, the familiar need to protect his younger friends flaring up.

“Deal,” he nodded, following his friend inside the kitchen, where notebooks and DnD manuals already littered the table.

A couple of hours, two coffees and an unsolved argument about the intricacies of multiclassing later, they decided to take a break and Eddie could finally feast his eyes on the family photos on display. He stood in front of the newest one standing front and centre on the mantle. Steve was smiling shyly to the camera while Claudia Henderson had her arms around his shoulders and Dustin was grinning wide from his other side, hair ruffled by the older boy's hand.

“How long he has been living here?”

Dustin’s head popped out of the kitchen where he was rummaging for snacks.

“About a year. Remember the Starcourt fire?”

“Yeah?” Eddie frowned, taken aback by the seemingly unrelated question.

“Well, he’s been there and-” the boy frowned, fully stepping into the living room and crossing his arms. “Shit, Mom says I shouldn’t be babbling it around. That it’s Steve's story to tell.”

Eddie hummed, cocking his head.

“Your mom is very smart.”

Dustin unwrapped his arms, clenching his hands together.

“I guess I could tell you I mean who are you gonna tell? You just-”

Eddie raised both his hands, stopping him.

“Dude, he interrupted with all the disapproval his drug dealing nonconformist self could muster. “She’s right and that would be breaking your brother’s trust.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Dustin gulped, looking adequately ashamed at proposing the idea. “You’re right., he nodded.

This lasted about half a second because nobody could stop Henderson from being an egocentric know-it-all and since he was wrong he was now going to overcompensate for it. Of that, Eddie could be sure.

“We can go to his workplace and you could ask him!”

Eddie raised his hands again.

“Hold your horses Henderson, we’re not harassing your brother at work.” The boy was actually pouting, the little shit. “I am not that determined to hear it. I’ll just catch him another time I visit.”

That was the wrong thing to say because he wasn’t planning on being a recurring guest initially. Or maybe it was the right thing to say since Dustin positively beamed at the implication.

Maybe it was because the kid’s presence has been a good influence on him as well.

Also, while the story of Steve’s adoption didn’t seem that interesting before, the idea of a mall fire being somehow involved raised questions that were now itching the back of Eddie’s tongue. He had to ask them at some point.

*

“There’s this guy,” Eddie starts one day during lunch break. 

“Oh-ho,” Gareth murmurs with disdain, the crumbs from his sandwich falling from his lips.

“Not like that,” Eddie glowered at him, slapping against his arm. Even though it was kinda like that. “He’s picking up Henderson after Hellfire today and if we run into him, I want you guys to be civil.”

“We’re always civil,” Jeff frowns at Eddie’s backhanded accusations.

“Yeah, especially when you guys are mooning after Mrs. Wheeler.”

The comment raised a wave of loud protests from his friends.

“I am just saying-”

“You’re just saying that guy is hot and we shouldn’t ogle him?” Gareth, the worst friend he has, raised his eyebrow.

“No, I’m just-”

“You calling dibs, Munson?” John the Traitor, the Backstabber, joined in. Johned in, if you will.

‘No!” Eddie protested, maybe a little too loud. A couple of heads turned but when they saw the ruckus was coming from the freaks table, they quickly lost interest. “He’s the worst. A hunk of jock with stupid hair but!” He rose a finger. “He’s Henderson’s family. And what do we do with family members in Hellfire?”

“Lure in.”

“Lull into a fake sense of security.”

“Cast charm person.”

“Exactly,” he smirked, pointing his finger at each of them in approval. “This case is no different.”

“It feels different,” Gareth murmured under his breath, earning himself another smack on the shoulder.

*

Eddie wrapped up the session and was giving out experience points to his players when a soft knock interrupted his counting. He frowned at the door.

“Speak ‘friend’ and enter!” he hollered to his sheep’s utter glee. He grinned at them.

Dead silence was all the response he got, so he assumed whatever normie was bugging them got discouraged. But then, Henderson was turning around in his seat, yelling at the door.

“It’s from Lord of the Rings! You know this one!”

There was a shuffle on the other side where apparently, Steve came already to pick up his brother.

“Oh! Um… Melon? Was that it?”

“You may enter!” Eddie commanded with a grin straining at his cheeks. Dustin was doing a good job educating his jock brother, apparently. 

The guy pushed the door open, taking in the table full of teenagers. He waved hesitantly.

“You guys finishing up?”

“I’m handing out points, we need just a few minutes,” Eddie waved his hand. “And it’s Mellon.”

Steve frowned.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sure you did,” Eddie cocked his head condescendingly, ignoring the eyes of Corroded Coffin members staring at him. “Now sit and wait,” he gratuitously offered, snapping his fingers and pointing at a nearby bench, like Henderson’s older brother was some kind of dog.

To his surprise, he nodded shortly and obeyed, sitting down and watching him expectantly. Eddie took it as his cue to proceed. He coughed to gather his sheep's attention and went back to his meticulous calculations.

*

“That didn’t look like Charm Person to me,” Gareth hissed as soon as the younger members of Hellfire had left.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, throwing him a look while he stuffed his campaign notes into his bag.

“You told us to be nice, but you ordered him around like he was one of the kids,” Jeff pointed out, arms crossing.

“I did not”

“You totally did.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he straightened up.

“What is this? Mutiny? Among my own kin? Ungrateful little herd I had nurtured on my own breast-”

He was interrupted by a cacophony of grossed out noises.

“Spare us the imagery, please.”

Eddie huffed indignantly, closing his bag.

“Then quit yapping. It was a singular lapse of judgement on my part,” he said with finality, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Without looking back, he walked off, hand raised in a goodbye, “Toodles, bitches.”

And he was gone.

Gareth sighed.

“Man, I love Eddie, but sometimes…” John cut himself off, shaking his head. 

“Yeah.”

*

Eddie’s been on the fence about it for some time now. But the time was ticking and he did say more than once that ‘86 was gonna be his year, so maybe it was time to pocket his ego and make some calls.

Some very, very humiliating calls.

Sighing deeply he imagined himself going to the woods and digging up a deep hole. There he imaginary buried his pride, made a fancy map to find it later, hopefully in time for his graduation, and finally dragged himself back home and in front of his phone. Next to it, he tacked on a list of numbers of all his newest sheepies in case of emergencies. Like Hellfire scheduling.

He sighed once more, slumping dramatically before dialling the first of the numbers. As he listened to the dial tone, he squared his shoulders, decided a more confident pose was in order. He was now a man of action, taking his fate in his own hands. His pride was buried deeply in the darkest corners of the forest and only a courageous-

“Har- Henderson residence, this is Steve speaking.”

Eddie’s mind went blank, completely thrown off. Who was he calling again? What for?

“Hello?”

“Is this how you pick up the phone? Did I get the wrong house? Is this the British Queen?”

“... Eddie? Is that you?”

Busted.

“What gave me away?”

“Ah, only the dramatic nonsensical ramblings.” Steve answered, amusement in his voice. 

“Thank you, I pride myself in those.” No pride! Pride is buried deep in the putrid soil of a forgotten battlefield! “But I’m here for the superior Henderson, please and thank you.” Ah yes, the Charm Person again. Somebody could think Eddie buried his Charisma along with the pride.

“Sorry, Claudia is at work right now.”

Eddie scrunched his nose, confused, the gleeful tilt to the voice in his ear irking him. Then he remembered the mom. A staple in most households.

“Har, har, Steven. The smart one.”

“Please never call him that to his face,” the man said with a resigned sigh.

“There wouldn’t be enough space in the room for both our egos if I did.”

Steve laughed then, softly and genuinely, before calling out for his younger brother.

After a loud rattle, Dustin’s lispy voice finally reached Eddie’s trailer.

“What's up?”  

The man braced himself for what he was about to request.

“I need your help with an assignment.”

*

The door opened before he could even knock. Again.

“I thought I told you not to inflate his ego.”

“No, you told me not to call him smart. It is merely a by-product of my desperate attempts at graduating,” Eddie shrugged matter-of-factly. “Besides, I don’t respond to the likes of you.” He punctuated his words by seizing the guy up before brushing past him inside the Henderson’s house.

“The likes of- Excuse me?!”

Eddie was skipping towards Dustin’s room.

“Hey big guy I’m here for my tutoring!” he announced himself, standing in the open door to his friend’s room, who quickly beckons him inside. Steve’s heavy steps follow and soon he’s the one standing in the door frame, arms crossed, while Eddie bounces on Dustin’s bed.

“What do you mean the likes of me?” he asks, almost pouting. 

“Mainstream,” offered Dustin, shuffling through stuff on his desk.

“Jocks,” added Eddie, still bouncing with glee, hair following up and down.

“Normies.”

“Pop listeners.”

“Mom friends.”

“Conformists.”

“Okay, I get it!” Steve threw his hands in the air, stopping the list that probably wouldn’t come to an end otherwise. “You’re the cool guys, have fun having your cool stuff,” he huffed angrily, grabbing the doorknob. Before he closed the door he threw one seething glance at Dustin. “Do not. Ask me for snacks,” he hissed before slamming the door shut.

Eddie flipped back on the bed, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Man, your brother is so easy to rile up,” he chuckled gleefully.

“Right?! He’s so bitchy,” Dusting turned around towards him, signature smile in place. Eddie hollered.

“He is!”

Alas, a slap of palms interrupted his delightful trashing around.

“I believe we have some physics to cover?”

Eddie groaned. Right. He didn’t come here to bother the older Henderson. Booo.

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

[mxtxfanatic]

Complex characters are cool and all, but if all you’re gonna do is cry about how the antagonist you’ve imprinted on is “secretly a hero” simply because they were written with as much care and complexity as the story’s actual heroes, then do you even deserve complex characters? Can you handle them?

[just-illegal]

spoilers for the last case of aa3

[abrielarnold]

Not quite understanding, Knives declares with pride, “All in Haven are mine.”   Blaze chokes on his beer and coughs it down.  Knives blinks innocently as he drinks the last of his fourth beer before saying, still high on alcohol and pianos, “I am theirs as well.”

Love and Violence by @thelightningstreak continues to impress. It's so so delightful throughout and some of the recent chapters have been especially gut punchy. (Have I cried? Yes.)

[postcard-from-the-past]

"Madame Delait pruning roses"

She was a French bearded lady from Thaon-les-Vosges, Lorraine region of eastern France. She run a local pub with her husband in the town and used to shave regularly until 1900.

In 1901, she visited the carnival of Nancy with her husband and saw a bearded woman there. Upon returning to the town, one of the regulars in the pub offered her 500 Francs (roughly 5k USD in today's money) if she let her beard grow. Even though she never get the money, she kept the beard and renamed the pub to Le Café de La Femme à Barbe, "The café of the Bearded Woman".

She became a kind of celebrity, by selling postcards and photographs (in relatively feminine settings at the beginning, later she even got a special permission from the authorities to wear men's clothes at her leisure, which was illegal at the time). She also toured in Europe and became even more famous during WW1 when she joined the Red-Cross and became the mascot of the Poilu (French infantrymen with lower class background).

French vintage postcard, mailed in 1937 to Paris

[sinnbaddie]

Kakagai week day 3: Collectables

(Kakashi loves a collection🔞)

NSFW under cut

[were-wolverine]

the ‘zuko apologist’ to ‘damian wayne apologist’ pipeline is real

[guardianspirits13]

No cause all the cast promo shots for the pjo show look like this:

…and I am EATING IT UP

We all know Leah is the real main character here ✨

[doctorsiren]

Another AU commission for Armando, the author of the Defense Attorney Iris fic on fanfic.net! The fic can be found here:

I tried to emulate the style of AA sprites (mainly Investigations) and I’m happy with the result :)

[rottmnt-residuum]

Greetings! Just wanted pop in with a quick question that’s been kinda bothering me for a while, hah. (It’s fine if your too busy to reply or have already replied to a similar ask, feel free to ignore if you have 👍🏼)

Ban and their brother, what species are they?

Ban to me looks mostly like a Maned wolf type yōkai, especially with they’re long, skinnier limbs and fur that resembles a sort of mane?

(Your character designs and personalities have me in a chokehold, I just love a good character design 🙏🏼)

Good luck in your move btw, I know how stressful they are. 💀 As always, make sure to drink water and sleep!

They're both an Irish wolf-hound mutt! Finn's dog is their mutation source :)

Here's the sculpt of Finn co-author did for reference when I was rise-ifying them

[drabsyo]

bro wake up new animagus project chapter just dropped!!!

i adore the The Animagus Project by sleepingontheway :''))

🟢The Animagus Project by sleepingontheway

Summary: What on earth was McGonagall thinking? Hermione had never worked with Daphne Greengrass. She had never spoken to Daphne Greengrass. They had shared classes for over five years now, and tonight might be the first time Hermione had ever even heard her voice. ___________________________________________ In which Hermione is tasked with completing a long, complicated project with Daphne Greengrass: enigma.

for @sleepingontheway! thank you for writing and sharing The Animagus Project <3 when i first read the fic, i was OBSESSED. Here's something I've been working on in honor of your fic :>