#badly written

[a-drifting-mannequin]

I need to apologize in advance if I get their lore, characteristics and literally everything wrong. I haven't finished watching the whole series yet but I'm desperate to write something.

Inspired by @opheliajupiter99 on my main blog abt Kremy

Motivated by @pyrit on one particular ask I sent a while ago

Magic out of hand

Fandom: Once Upon a Witchlight (Legends of Avantris)

Pairing: Gideon Coal/Kremy Lecroux; side Grimmorning that could be perceive as platonic

Warning: Slight body horror, badly written due to not having a good grip on the lore (blame the author)

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A daring escape, one might say. The krew had barely got out of trouble with their hides intact, but they were lucky that they did. Thank the Baron, Kremy did not have the energy to put up with more trouble today.

He wouldn't blame everything on anyone in the group, not tonight, not now. It was their night out, similar to the guy's night they once had when Frost was absent. This night, however, wouldn't be described as fun to Kremy's standard. Gideon had his fun, picking up girls with relative ease while he offered to pay for their drinks in hopes of getting someone home with him. Gricko drank his senses away while rambling about something that Frost seemed to find interesting.

Those specifics weren't the reason they got in trouble. Maybe. They all went about their usual business, drinking and laughing. Kremy had been dealing cards with a few good looking folks who looked like they had their pockets lined with money. Kremy needed that, the krew needed that. What with four extra mouths to feed, not counting Gideon and himself, Kremy had to do what he was best at if no one was going to step up.

The actual reason why they got in trouble in the first place was entirely Kremy's fault, but also partly Gideon's fault. He had way too much to drink that night, the rum tasted better than he initially thought after one sip. His tricks and hands were slower, the alcohol running his system made him sloppy, and one of the guys sitting there with him managed to catch a glimpse of him slipping to exchange the cards.

The next showdown between them weren't pretty.

The enormous man had pressed Kremy up against the wall with one hand, having him dangle his feet in air before placing them on the wall he was pressed up against. The tavern had gone quiet at the display, some still chattering but all eyes were trained on him. Gideon had been a fool not to hear the telltale noises of Kremy being in trouble before it was too late. Frost didn't drink anything the whole night, yet he still had trouble helping Kremy in the first place.

When Gideon finally realized, the man had already threw a punch to Kremy's face, kicking more than a breath out of him. Soon, he met solid ground in a bad way, with a foot on his chest, a knife at his throat with silent threats being thrown his way. Frost managed to keep the rest of his goons away from Kremy, but Gideon was late to start throwing punches at the man towering over the gator. By the time they left the tavern, Kremy was in pretty rough shape.

Gricko and Frost walked ahead, muttered apologize being tossed between them, Gricko occasionally looked up at Frost with guilty eyes. Gideon insisted on staying behind to help Kremy, though the gator doesn't feel like he should be grateful. Gideon was so busy with some floozy that somehow, he forgot that his job was to protect Kremy.

Even if Gricko didn't have much involvement with the situation, he still look pretty banged up with Gricko holding his bruised up arm, taking a sharp breath in every now and then.

"Don't worry, I'm sure we still got some bananyas back at camp." Gricko reassured everyone eventually, earning a small hum from Frost and silent nods from the rest.

Kremy had his arm around Gideon's shoulder, practically being manhandled by the genasi. Gideon had a few cuts here and there, but not as roughed up as Kremy at that moment. His suit was dirty too. Damnit.

Their camp soon came into sight and they all sighed in relief. The fire had died down to flickering embers, but it didn't take long for Gideon to start it back up. Kremy settled down with a painful grunt, holding his arm while mentally questioning if there was a cut on his neck. He definitely felt blood trickling there, but was still not sure.

Torbek sat in one of the many tents they had set up, with Hootsie snuggled up against him, half asleep. Kremy assumed the reason why the fire died is because Torbek was stuck with Hootsie on him so he just refused to move. Gricko came over and smiled down at the groggy Torbek, waving a hand over his face and offering to take Hootsie from him.

"Hold still Kremy." Frost said in that monotone of his that always made Kremy want to snap at him with how calm he sounded.

Frost barely shows emotions from time to time, but today he looked more worried. He made no movements to touch Kremy, his eyes scanning over his form in a way that made Kremy uncomfortable, like someone checking you out in public. The tabaxi hummed quietly and moved to the fire without another word.

Gricko fished out a few bananyas and tossed them at Gideon, who catched them clumsily. Torbek was offered one first by Gricko himself.

If he dies one day and it was Gideon's fault, may the Baron be good to him. Of course, he knew Gideon likes to run off a whole lot of times, but today was not acceptable. He straight up left him to die, one way or another, with some pretty girls buying him drinks for the night. Kremy didn't get the attraction that Gideon felt towards girls, he never did. And with their revealing clothes and breast, Gideon acts like he's tied to a string of one sided love.

"Kremy?" Gricko asked, shaking Kremy's arm gently as to not cause more damage. "You haven't taken a bananya yet." In Gricko's palm was the bananya that he didn't took. Maybe the last one even.

Kremy sighed and mutter a thank before taking it. Peeling it wasn't a problem, but his whole body ached and protested against any movements. Nevertheless, the rest already looked healed up besides him, so with some reluctance, he peeled it and took a slow, small bite.

Gideon was already helping Frost cook something even if he knew the big genasi couldn't cook very well. Gricko gone to tending Hootsie's feathers, comforting her since he was away for a while. Torbek stay silently in the tent, eyes casting around the area like paranoia was crawling on his back. Kremy pointedly ignored any glances or questions that might come from Gideon, giving only wordless nods when Gricko asked if he was alright.

Of course he wasn't alright, anyone with eyes would see that, even the ones who weren't trying. His suit is ruined, with dirty shoe prints on the fabric. His bowtie was in tatters, torn here and there for whatever reason he didn't bothered wondering. Gideon, of course it had to be Gideon's fault that he ended up like this. But, then again, he can't say it wasn't his fault as well, he had lots to drink so he has to be the one to blame as well.

His thoughts were cut short when he took another bite, not feeling healed up but rather more pained. His muscles still ached, his heart was still pounding in his ears, his scars and bruises didn't look any better. Another thought hit him, blaming Gricko for giving him a bananya that wasn't having the effects it usually does.

Another ache, then a sharp, stinging pain like a bullet being shot through his temple made Kremy groaned in agony.

This immediately attracted the group's attention, with Gideon being the first one to come to Kremy, reaching out and cradling him in his arms. Worry painted his face, his eyes searching but nothing came up. Gricko was half way off the ground, kneeling with one knee propped up, a hand suspended in the air that seemingly tried to reach out for the gator.

"Kremy, hey man, you alright?" Gideon asked, genuinely worried for him.

Kremy was just about to brush Gideon's worries off until another sharp pain presented itself near his ribcage, making him choked out a quiet groan.

Frost checked in with Gricko, cataloging everything that Gricko told him that he had given Kremy. Frost brows knitted together at the mention of the bananya, a hand coming up to hold his chin in a way that detectives usually do.

"Gricko, did you put the same amount in like you usually do?"

[sunflowersandcherryblossoms]

Quick little thing...

Get a piece of paper and take a photo of it.

Wait about 10 minutes.

Rip the paper in half.

Go check the photo you took of the paper.

Is it still intact in the photo?

Okay...

You see how the "I broke your sword in the future and it's broken now too" is impossible, right?

That's not how time and physics work...

[dudhsd]

I don’t like how on top of giving the bitch his phone number, Fuyumi also updated Endeavor on Shoto’s relationship with Rei without their consent

[occasionallyprosie]

Have a lil ficlet

----

"Round Five"

He was eight the first time, ten the second, twelve the third, and then sixteen the fourth. He's seventeen now and he is ready for round five.

Aka, Legend runs into Ganon... again.

This is crack, this is pure, badly written crack.

Inspired by this

----

To be honest, the last thing Legend expected to see when they finally tracked down the being that was being the Shadow... he shouldn't have been surprised, but he really was when he saw a mage and they'd arrived just in time to see the mage use The Shadow to revive Ganon.

Ganon, in all his blue, pig faced not-glory, stood before them. Legend heard Four hold his breath, he saw Hyrule freeze, he noticed the other heroes tense, but he just laughed.

Ganon, freshly revived, fully revived, landed his gaze on Legend who pushed the other heroes back with the flat of his blade.

"You want to go for round five?" He called across the room, grinning.

Ganon groaned. He actually groaned and glared at the mage. "Really? That one? You had to bring that one here? I kill one hero and now I'm just cursed to be killed over and over by this brat."

"Vet?" Four hissed.

"I got this," Legend promised. "Handle that wizard guy and make sure the Shadow's dead. I call pig face."

Ganon just sighed and hefted up his huge blade. "How old this time?"

"Seventeen. Next time we'll have our ten year anniversary date," Legend replied wryly, he heard someone make a slightly scandalized noise, probably Warriors frankly, and someone else snorted and laughed, that sounded like Wind. "When will your lackey's learn that it's just not worth it to bring you back as long as I'm alive?"

"I don’t know," Ganon glared at the mage, who withered under the glare. "Sooner rather than later." He looked at the other heroes. "Wait you’re here too?!"

Four cleared his throat and waved awkwardly. "Umm, hi."

"There's only one of you this time... but--I don’t care. Let's just get the fight over with. It's not like Din ever lets me win."

"If you weren't going to destroy Hyrule in the aftermath I'd let you live," Legend said casually.

Ganon paused. "Deal."

They all stopped.

"Huh... Okay."

"Vet!"

"What?!"

"You can't agree to that!"

"I just did, deal with it. Hey can you pick apples from trees without squashing them or am I dumping you on the Gerudo?"

"They'd kill me for last time."

"Fair enough. Guess Ravio's got a new employee."

[lildoodlenoodle]

If one person likes this I will do a deep dive essay into spider noir Eyes Without A Face with my own insane takes/interpretations

[mythos70921]

Who wants me to write out an essay about why I think Elizabeth Midford is a badly written character??? I don't hate her, but I think her writing could use some work. I just might

Please don't attack me!!!!

[beardeddreamerkingdom]

The mood for today ; sit on my lap, let me run my fingers through your hair, gently petting. We can watch your favorite movie, while a heavy hand rests on your thigh, occasional gentle squeezes. Eventually, a whisper in your ear, "I need you." 

The layers of clothing fall away, fingertips gliding over skin, tracing lines and shapes, words in the made up language of our intimacy. The lips follow close behind, providing the punctuation to the story we author, setting up the next scene. 

Coming together like waves crashing below the lighthouse. Likewise, we can be each other's guide, my Virgil through the abyss, your Beatrice to the heights of empyrean. Until the waves lie still, soft and content breathing guiding our sails to Elysium.

[roguegreaser]

↳ KILL THIS GUY

I know most of the stuff I’ve posted so far is literally just about Planet Pissed BUT LEAVE ME ALOOONE I’M HYPERFIXATED AND I LOVE LITERATURE

Also spoilers for Planet Piiiiiiissed :3 FREAKING READ IT IT’S SO DAMN UNDERRATED

Can I just say that chapter nine absolutely BROKE me dude, especially the part where the masked people made their appearance and started talking mad shit ? I’ve always felt so goddamn BAD for Murderface. I get he’s portrayed as a sad sack of shit in the show but honestly it pained me to see his bandmates and fanbase just constantly shit on everything he does, even when he tried to do something somewhat decent with Knubs [The Christmas Special]

And though I’ve had a bit of trouble feeling sympathy for the other Dethklok members on behalf of the Murderface hate [excluding the times where he’d accuse them of not crediting him for things he didn’t even do for the band] I felt so fuckin awful for Nathan when I read that part along with the imagery

[NOT MY ART – SOURCED FROM @papabigtoes’s PLANET PISSED, CHAPTER 9]

LOOK AT HIM… little sad fuckin’ wet cat…

I’m glad that he’s so outright and persistent in trying to prevent Murderface from listening to the masked members but at the same time it makes me so FUCKING SADDD… in my mind the alternate ending is that the concert goes fine and Nate gets a fat NAPPP

Murderface is me irl [eyes bulge out at the MF fictive and sweats]

Is this guy Mitski? Is this guy literally Remember My Name by Mitski? [someone kill me]

[the960writers]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Writing Advice | Fantasy Writer | Tips & Resources (@schoolofplot)

From the instagram of https://www.instagram.com/schoolofplot/.

I'm linking this because it's such an interesting list of reader responses to the question "What makes a story badly written?"

[tippilo]

Crack fic written with @zeebee3!

[saintsir4n]

MORALLY GREY CHARACTERS:

PSA — characters who sexually assault others, are not morally grey. the act is morally wrong so therefore they are terrible and villains! end of and i don’t know why it needs to be said.

[badly-written-teen-poetry]

teeth (of a coyote)

my teeth hurt today

and i can’t help but think

that it was from killing

some sort of prey

[my-little-c0rner-of-the-universe]

August

In five years I see myself saying “come meet me behind the mall”

Because baby I see a future,

Just not one near,

Cus Baby I can paint a picture,

Just not now right here

(Will I be selfish to ask you to wait

But baby i fear it might just be bait

Do I dare to ask

Cus baby i can’t let this pass

Right here right now isn’t a possibility

Oh baby am I losing the probability

That is you and me

Slotted together; family)

[writeousposting]

took a writing prompt a ran w it.. havent finished, but here's the wip for now, since ive not posted anything writing yet on here.

Wip under the cut.

It was a shining day, the sun blaring down on the people of Yokohama, not quite blistering, but not gently in any way. A seemingly perfect day for Osamu.

Warmness was always her favourite; it reminded her of home. The agency.

Speaking of; she was heading there from her dorm! She was a bit (very) late, but it was a routine, at this point! Though, she was sure that Kunikida would be angry. She was a bit later than usual, to his defence.

As if on a cue, to save her from her demise of work, a strangely familiar portal opened beneath her. Strange, she could have sworn her ability nullified other’s.

It usually did! Not at the touch of the ability itself, though, hence the portal, she reasoned. Not giving herself a second to think about what to do, she clumsily fell through said portal, the yellowish glistening exterior encasing her, almost gently.

Weird.

Though, she had no time to linger and consider the feeling, as she was quickly thrown out of it, head pounding as she realised her eyes had somehow slid shut.

As she opened the lids that encased the balls inset in her skull, once thing become apparent;

She collapsed! And her head hurt! One weird thing right into another! (Though, they were likely connected.) It didn’t take long for the uncomfortable pounding of her head to lighten to a mild headache, and for her to realise she had been kidnapped.

How unfortunate.. Perhaps it was a beautiful woman willing to commit double suicide with her? (Not that she actually cared about beautiful women.)

Though… As she glanced around the place she woke in, she came to the quick realisation that it was important to get going and start figuring out on how to get out of the.. Cage she was in. She blinked. A Cage. And not just a cage, a dog crate. A roomy one, she fit it easily, but it was still built for a dog.

A wretched mutt of a creature, she thought. Thankfully for her, no dog seemed to be in sight or had been in the crate for at least some time.

Speaking of sight, a quick sweep of the room revealed a particular lack of it. There was only one, small lamp atop the crate she was being held in, just enough for her to see herself and just barely outside the crate, and not much farther.

Attempting to push herself forward, against the cage’s door, makes her deathy aware that a collar is tied tightly around her throat and bound to the bars at the back of the cage, straining at her neck as she leans towards the entrance.

The collar tightened. She leaned back towards where it was tied to evade any possible choking.

She was even chained up like a dog.

This had to of been on purpose, she thought bitterly. Someone she knew was doing this.

But who?

As if given a cue, a soft creaking of a door at the top of what Osamu assumes is stairs leading down to the - assumed - cellar she was stuck in echo’s out into her ears. She held her breath as steps slowly approached, stairs audibly straining under the weight of her captor.

She stared expectingly, waiting. It was only one set of footsteps, she could do a one v one.

However, whatever she was expecting was false - not that she knew what she was expecting - as Fyodor, the Russian terrorist, is who steps out of the dark, flicking the lights on to give the brunette a better line of sight at the rat of a man.

”Dostoevsky,” she seethed, a cough violently pushing its way out of her throat. Probably from the stale air and dust of the cellar, she thought, internal monologue bitter in every sense of the word, even the dissatisfying taste of a salty meal lingered on her tongue at the sight of the man.

Said man snickered, approaching the cage with an amused glint in his eyes. Her hands gripped a leash, pink in colour, tight enough his knuckles turned white.

The Russian bent down to the entrance of the cage, opening it slowly, movement methodical, practised, purposeful.

Osamu couldn't help but scowl disapprovingly. She had been captured by a rat, she thought angrily. She would never live this down.

Another amused noise escaped the Russian’s throat. His pale limps reached out, and Osamu quickly backed as far into the cage as she could, like a feral animal backing from the touch of a vet.

As much as she detested the cage, the crate, she despised that man even more. He could barely be considered a man at all, in her eyes. (not that she was better).

The being before her returned the sneer, before his expression returned to a neutral one. A tingle of pride shot through Osamu as that small, VERY small, victory.

However, that single moment of distraction is what got her attached to the leash in the monster’s hands and unlatched from the crate.

She would have been thankful for that, if it were not Dostoevsky at the other end of the leash.

If it were Chuuya, maybe she wouldn't mind, but the girl wasn't here, and instead that thing was, she spat to herself, mentally, of course. (she would never admit to preferring Chuuya over anyone. Over her dead fucking body).

She would crudely snapped from her thoughts as Dostoevsky harshly tugged at the leash, beckoning the detective out of the crate. With a tense sigh, Osamu followed, crawling out of the crate (if only it were large enough to stand in, she mused), and stood once she exited.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to do, as the person before her quickly shoved her to the ground, quite rudely, might she add, without a word.

A quiet yelp escaped her mouth despite herself. Her face flushed a beat red.

Dostoevsky’s lips curled upwards at the corners, “Dogs don’t stand on two legs, yknow,” she spoke smoothly, voice almost comforting at the way it sounded.

Osamu quickly slapped herself to take the thought out of her mind. Dostoevsky was not comforting, no. That was worse than admitting Chuuya was someone she valued! (which she wasn't).

It took a moment for the brunette to realise that she had been called a dog.

Well, that would explain the crate, she thought, glancing at it bitterly. She detested everything ‘dog’. And rat. But mostly dog.

Shaking her mind clear, she glared up at Dostoevsky, who seemed to be observing her with amusement.

”What,” Osama barked out, holding back a snarl. That would be too dog-like.

”Nothing,” she insisted, shaking her head gently, “Just waiting for you to be ready to go upstairs,” he added on, somehow graceful as he stood in a dirty wet cellar.

Of which Osamu was on the floor of. Pushing aside her pride, she nodded solemnly, “I’m ready,” she sighed out.

A smile graced Fyodor’s lips, “Then let’s go.” he began to walk, hand still harshly gripping the poor leash that had been latched to her via the collar unfortunately bound to her throat.

Recounting the crude way she had been shoved to the ground when standing, Osamu opted to crawl, on her hand and knees.

If she got dirty, she could simply clean it once she got out of whatever game Dostoevsky was plotting.

After a small struggle against the stairs, Osamu was lead to a living room, a large one, at that.

She supposes that the Russian was rich, which would explain the large living spaces as well as the well-executed décor.

"Stay," was the only word that left Dostoevsky's lips as he led Osamu to sit beside the couch, not on the couch, but beside it.

Osamu supposes that the man was taking the 'dog' thing overly serious. Fyodor would disappear into the kitchen, giving Osamu a chance to inspect her surroundings.

It was nice, like.. Really nice. It was old-fashioned, sure, but it was big, bigger than the Russian alone needed, thats for sure.

Osamu was stationed right beside the couch, a large piece of furniture that looked like it would squeak if you sat on it. She doubted Fyodor used it anyway, it looked way too shiny for that, almost new.

So did the coffee table, actually. The glass in the middle of it glittering brightly at Osamu. If she peered at it from above, she could probably see herself in the reflection of it! The wood was nicely furnished as well, a nice deep burgundy colour seeped into it from the finish.

She rarely cared about furniture, but she had little else to do than inspect it. And it was strange, there was a bottom compartment to the table, like most of it’s kind do, but nothing was on it aside from a single book and some candles, neatly stacked around each other.

“Neat freak,” she would mutter to herself, letting her gaze scan across the room for something. What she was looking for, exactly? She wasn't sure. A way out, perhaps?

There was a fire place. A nice brick one, too, real, unlike most nowadays, being fake flames pushed onto a heater. She supposes she can give Fyodor that, at least. There was a picture atop it, like some old manors used to do with the head of the house; but this wasnt a portrait. It was.. Well, maybe a portrait, but it was a dog. A brown one with brown eyes and bandages wrapped around it.

It looks like her as a dog. A shiver sent down her spine at that thought.

It had to of been a coincidence, right?

Right?

…

She wasnt allotted any more time to ponder over the coincidences of the picture, as Dostoevsky waltzed back into the room, a confident timbre to his posture, amused. Entertained, even.

End of WIP.

[leresq]

I don't know if The Amazing World of Gumball started it, but it is certainly the epitome of children's absurdist television shows. Because of that blue cat a third of all kids shows are exactly the same; complete and total chaos, bizarre character designs. It's not funny! It's so weird because it doesn't even rely on absurdism 75% of the time, everything is just normal except there's a cupcake that walks around or something.

[mini-starfruit]

I love how, as election season comes up, I get to see essentially mindless election discourse float across my dash. Voting for genocide, voting against genocide, voting for the guy who listens to reason, voting for the guy who isnt a cryptofascist—its so silly.

I live in New York, so my perspective is definitely influenced by that, but like. The MIC is going to exist no matter what you vote for. The parties will support the genocide no matter what. Thats not what its about on our end, "our" meaning american "leftists". Voting is not a chance to do no wrong, a chance to make some deontologically ethical action; it is one of many chances to wield the miniscule amount of political agency afforded to you as a citizen. You can use that agency to *not* vote, but unless youre forming a concerted anti-voting bloc (which do exist!!), not voting isnt a signal of any kind. It doesnt say anything, it doesnt indicate anything meaningful to the halls of power. They already know theyre failing to capture the american left, and they dont care. Leftism is anathema to their establishment.

Moreover, voting does not turn you into some sort of branded individual. You can vote and then turn right back around and throw bricks at cops or organise local support systems. These things are not mutually exclusive.

So, what does voting do? Its a ballot cast for a guy to be in the office. What does the guy do in the office, then? He appoints members of the cabinet and supreme court, and effects policy. I don't know about you, but I would like people moderately more left in cabinet positions (because that stuff DOES matter, to the domestic US, to countries economically involved (euphemism) (read: every country) with the US.)

The duopoly sucks!! I dont want neoliberals to be in charge. Unfortunately, they will be, and exercising your influence over them does not curse you forever to be incapable of resisting them in other political avenues. When did understanding your actions via their consequences fall out of vogue?