#because i AM in love with them!!!!!!!!

[arainesque]

in trust, i let you feel

authors note:

RAMBLES. this is the definition of a ramble. all in one, just out there, i've barely read it through, just posting for the person who may want it. ???? My new take on a writers-block. Tumblr allows rambles doesn't it. (Fluffy and mildly dramatic.)

word count: 895

Matty knew it was bad, he did. He didn’t need the constant nudges of reminder as if he’d slip up if didn’t remember. As if people thought he didn’t know. As much as he wished he wasn’t part of the collective conscious of the world, he was. He knew, and he was aware. And they weren’t even an entity in the first place, really, his addiction and his devotion. They were on two completely different planes, entirely separated. He couldn’t forget it no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t stop, either. Because they weren’t the same and his brain wasn’t a simple mechanism. The human brain just isn’t.

Multiple things can be true at once, no matter how contradictory it seems. No matter how frustrating the notion is.

It’s sorted through so many algorithms that you get dizzy with it. Left to rely on the feeling instead of the thought. Because it becomes intrinsic at some point. The beauty of biology.

And he loves George.

And he loves the drugs.

It isn’t one or the other. Really.

How can you decide when there’s an infinite amount of opportunities. An infinite amount of right decisions. Because right isn’t objective, and everything is stupid.

But he loves George.

Oh, he loves George.

His heart wouldn’t forget how to beat around him if he didn’t.

It wouldn’t turn into this stupid, fragile, trembling thing inside of his chest. Stuttering and racing at the sound of his voice. Stopping completely at the mere sight of his dark eyes, just drinking them in as if in some sort of trance. Yet, he’d never been more thankful to be sober.

The more you know, the more you know that you know nothing.

But George’s chest is so smooth beneath the palm of his hand, and if nothing matters then how can that matter so much. It all matters just that bit too much.

“Here.” George says, pressing Matty’s hand firmer to his sternum. “It’s not beating right.”

It isn’t. It’s too quick, like the fluttering of a hummingbird's wings beneath Matty’s hand. But it’s George and it’s alive. A rabbit's heart. Rhythmical and forceful and fast.

“It’s perfect.” Matty found himself whispering against the skin of George’s chest, pushing his hand down even firmer just to feel the responding skip in the otherwise steady tempo. Causing chaos. Arrhythmia.

George let him. Unbelievably.

“It can’t behave around you.” George spoke, his voice lacing the air in a dreamlike texture that shouldn’t have been of this world, but it was, and it’s beautiful. George’s hand pressed his own even closer to his chest. The next inhale was deep and crisp beneath Matty’s ear. “It’s always been sensitive to you.”

Matty closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on each point where their bodies were connected, touching. His leg slung over George’s hip, his hipbone grazing George’s abdomen and the sheer weight of George’s hand on top of his own. Letting him feel things he couldn’t explain with words.

Words weren’t ever enough, were they?

“Mine too.” Matty whispered, sober, vulnerable.

“It doesn’t like being listened to.” George nearly-whispered. A quiet confession. The ghost of a breath making the curls on top of Matty’s head move just a little bit. Just enough for a crazy person to notice, and he noticed.

A heartbeat. Two. Speeding up. A staccato.

“I know.” Matty said, shifting a little so that the violent sloshing sounds of George’s blood rushing through the valves of his heart softened a little, so his ear landed a little closer to the bottom of his clavicle. “Why do you let me?”

It stuttered beneath Matty’s ear, beating even quicker. Sickly. If he didn’t know.

“It loves you.”

Thundering. Matty getting breathless along with the pace of it.

“Do you?” Matty questioned, slinging his leg just that bit further over George’s hip. Letting his lips graze over that one mole on his chest.

“Yes.” No room for objections in the conviction of his voice. “You know I do.”

“Yeah.” Matty said, against the ever-smooth skin of George’s chest. Against the heartbeat steadily pushing up against his sternum, threatening his line of sight. The proof of life he couldn’t stop himself from marveling at. The fundamental pace of the person he knew and loved and needed. The pace he had full control of no matter if he wanted to or not. But he did, want to. “I love you.”

George’s heart trembled beneath his palm, against the shell of his ear. Because he cared and the words did hit him where they needed to. Matty was aware of that. He never had to doubt George’s interpretations of his utterances. Never had to doubt George’s feelings for him, really. Not when his pulse had always stuttered nervously around him.

Mirroring his own.

“I love you.”

Not I love you more. I love you differently.

Loving drugs and loving George weren’t the same.

George loved him back.

George was so, so much better.

With his beating (pounding) heart. So obviously affected and there. Fluttery and fragile and vulnerable. A heart he trusted Matty with. Something to give him purpose.

Maybe it wasn’t so difficult at all. Anything. 

Maybe it was just George’s life beneath the palm of his hand.

His "I love you." Against the top of his head.

Maybe just his skin against his own.

[sadclowncentral]

a beautiful man with long black hair dressed in all white sat next to me on the train back from denmark. i complimented his outfit, and he asked me where the train was going. after i told him, he then pointed at my shirt which says 'catastrophe' and said "oh i know a lot about those." and laughed uproariously.

and then he asked me "do you know about norse mythology?" and i said yes a bit because i read the edda a decade ago, and he said "i met fenrir in denmark" and i said that's probably not good if fenrir is walking around. and he said "oh don't worry about it, vithar will take care of it" and i replied oh but that's ragnarøk, that's still pretty bad for us mortals is it not? and he grinned at me like i said something incredibly funny. and then he ignored me for the rest of the train ride?

[canonkiller]

god I fuckign love ocs. my characters. my friend's characters. the characters of mutuals ive never spoken to. the characters of artists ive followed and maybe spoken to a little more. the characters of complete strangers I see in passing and think "aw that's cool". if you have ten fans I am one if you have one fan it is me etc etc. I love you

[skeleton-squid-boy]

you have GOT to remember when watching the new doctor who that the question is not is this good. doctor who is only ever actually 'good' once a season at most. THE ONLY QUESTION IS is it fun, camp, and has aliens. also remember the worst doctor who showrunner is always the current doctor who showrunner. now go watch the new episodes as god intended like you're ten years old and still remember how to experience joy and whimsy.

[urgentkettle]

[hilacopter]

tbh ryoko kui cooked with this one why is this the funniest image I have ever seen

[oof-i-did-it-agaaiiin]

Beautiful from Ordinary Days

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[holographings]

it do be that damn phone

crawling on my knees thanking assad zaman for making minecraft ipad baby armand go cannon

[gatoburr0]

The divine, one of a kind bride and the ugly ass groom.

[inkskinned]

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.

[soldrawss]

Something something 16yo 2k12 Mikey gets sucked into a portal and sent into the RISE universe and ends up helping raise the RISE kiddos AU

[drulalovescas]

Why do this??? Why show us that Dean wanted out?? That Dean thought about quitting hunting. Retiring. That Dean wanted to LIVE. When you intended from the get go to impale him on a rusty rebar. Because "it was always gonna end like this." Because "it was supposed to end like this, right?" Because Dean „HAD TO DIE?????” What do you mean Dean would never stop hunting when you’ve literally showed us he wanted to???? What do you mean Dean wanted to die hunting when he literally said he DIDN'T??

[zebratimw]

"All those empty rooms

We could have been anywhere, anywhere else

Instead, I made a bed with apathy

My heart knew the weight

Ten years worth of dust and neglect

We made our peace with weariness and let it be..."

(Song: The Moon will Sing by the Crane Wives)

[starry-bi-sky]

don't you want to be a cult leader? - danyal al ghul au

this is mostly a joke post but i thought it was funny and had to share so--

his first mistake was, obviously, inheriting his father's inability to see an injustice and stand still. -- actually, danyal's first mistake was his lair being so big. a mountainous island with a large temple in the center resembling his old home in Nanda Parbat? With sprawling foliage and rivers and streams and waterfalls galore? What was he going to do with all that space? Let it go to waste? He had plants there! Native trees of the ghost zone growing from the soil! He couldn't let it all be left unchecked!

So naturally after helping a fellow teenage assassin ghost -- who he later learns is named Akihiko, -- from Walker of all people, he sent them over to hang low at his lair until it was safe enough for them to wander around the Zone. Walker couldn't get through Danyal's astrofield if his life depended on it, and trust him -- he's tried. Danny was clearing out debris from his stupid transport vans for weeks.

Honestly it wasn't so bad, he and Aki really quickly became fast friends and Danny loves having a sparring partner close to his level again -- he hasn't had this much fun fighting since he left the League. Aki was very dedicated and levelheaded, the both of them clicked really well because of it.

Nonono, the real trouble began after Danyal met some long-passed League members and allowed them to come join his island as well. Apparently they had made a few enemies of the zone, and maybe Danyal still felt some loyalty to the League. He couldn't just let them be left to rot. Their zealotry could be overlooked so long as they kept it contained and helped him take care of his island.

And it.. snowballs from there? He meets a teen squire aptly calling himself Ambroise -- whether that was his living name or not is yet to be seen -- who died during feudal france, who is just about as dramatic and passionate as every french stereotype makes them out to be. He calls Danyal "my moon and great muse" -- which is both flattering and little uncomfortable, but Danyal's grown up in the League as the Grandson of the Demon Head, he is used to mild worship. he passes it off as nothing more, nothing less. -- and while his energy is overwhelming on the worst of days, he helps Danny draw out of his shell more in ways that Sam and Tucker still struggle with.

Him and Aki butt heads a lot, but the two seem to hold the other in at least some positive regard, so Danny doesn't worry too much about them fighting while he's gone. It only becomes a mild issue when Aki also begins calling Danny "my moon". It's a little sweet, so Danyal brushes it off.

Then he takes in a troupe of ghosts some time after he defeats Pariah Dark and they begin calling him "great one" just as the yetis do in the far frozen. This is where he meets the twins -- a pair of sibling ghosts who call themselves Trixie and Missy (short for Trick and Mislead) -- who aren't quite as passionate as Ambroise but more energetic than Aki. Eventually they also start calling Danyal "my moon" and attach themselves to his hip, even within the living. They like to hide in his shadow and cause trouble for the rest of the students. He makes sure they don't hurt anyone.

He's pretty sure Aki is jealous, same with Ambroise, but he can't be too certain other than the fact that they become much more lingering (re: clingy) whenever he visits the island.. Something he's trying to do much more often these days due to the increasing amount of people living there now. Since when did he become so popular?

Then there's Pēnelópeia from the Greater Athens, who ran away from home and joined his Island after he ran into her while she was being chased by Skulker -- and he's pretty sure the reason was because of her chimeric appearance. Her strange eyes and mismatched wings and lion's tail and talons. She assimilates into his friend group very easily, she gets along well with Ambroise and Trixie and Danny usually finds the three of them climbing the trees to pluck the most fruit from the top. They can fly and he knows it, but they prefer to climb.

Then finally there's silent poet Akkara who comes from ancient mesopotamia, who gets along most with Aki -- which is no surprise there considering their similar personality dispositions. he watches Aki and Danyal fight each other and leaves comments on this or that that he notices. He writes Danyal poems on clay tablets and leaves them by his room.

They're one big mismatched group of outcasts, and Danny's got the other ghosts on his island to tend to, because they're living on his island and he wants to be hospitable even if he struggles with that. But he spends the most of his time with them.

Sam and Tucker are making fun of him. Tucker jokingly tells him 'careful Danny, at this rate you're gonna start a cult'. Danny really wishes he had taken that joke more seriously.

He just. keeps. collecting people. Wayward souls lost in the zone, looking for shelter or refuge from something or other -- whether that be another hostile ghost, or a past afterlife, or just a purpose. Danyal finds them, he takes them in, offers them a place on his island until they are ready to leave. Many seldom do. He's not complaining -- he has the space, and it feels like it's only ever growing.

His close friends, his "inner circle" as he's heard the others call them, keep insistently calling him "my moon". He starts calling them his stars, because then it only feels fair. They're his stars, this is his constellation. It becomes a thing; little star halos begin forming behind their heads, picking them out from the rest. He loves them so much, it's hard to place. Sam and Tucker are also his stars, but they reside in the living realm, they're his tie to Life. Meanwhile, his friends here know what it's like to be dead, and sometimes its nice to relate.

Those living on his island keep calling him "Great One" and he's beginning to notice zealotry in their care for his island. He really, deeply appreciates it. His close friends gain nicknames -- as his stars, it's only natural for him to pick them out from the cluster in the skies. Akihiko, his Sirius and bright star. Trix and Missy, Castor and Pollux, the twins and troublemakers. Ambroise, his zealous Antares and close friend. Penelopeia, chimeric and loyal Vega. And Akkara, his Arcturus and strength.

It's ridiculous how long it takes for him to notice; he is, of course, a deadly trained assassin. He is meant to be observant -- and normally he is! But somehow this becomes a blind spot. One that becomes too big to be dealt with by the time he realizes it.

He should've noticed when Aki, his Sirius, stood beside him one day while Danyal looked over his island and saw the sprawling spirits carrying on about their afterlife and bowing to him as they saw him, and said: "I looked down into the depths when I met you; I couldn't measure it." They aren't one for flowing prose, it took him so off guard he was silent for over a minute before he finally spoke.

Danyal should've recognized devotion for what it is, and yet he didn't. He should've recognized it when Antares began spouting praises about him, crowing about his radiance and resplendence to the heavens. He just brushed it off as Ambroise being Ambroise. He should've recognized it when Trix and Missy nearly broke Dash's leg after he knocked Danyal's books out of his hands, he excused it as them being protective. Of them coming from times where such violence may have been customary -- after all, that's what he used to be like. What he was still like, sometimes, when his emotions nearly got the better of him.

He should've noticed it when the people living on his island followed his word like gospel, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. When his friends gifted him a shawl with the moon phases delicately embroidered into it, with silver, shimmering thread and moving stars lovingly stitched into it. Their constellations seen clear as day in the dark fabric. When he found small shrines dedicated to him -- but they lacked any image of him beyond stones carved to look like moons, so he ignored it. When the religious imagery began popping up.

He really, really should've noticed it when a bunch of cultists accidentally summoned Antares, and Antares had turned to him when he arrived and called them heretics. But he was so centered on the fact that they had kidnapped one of his stars, that he hadn't paid much attention to what Ambroise had said.

Sages say that faith is blind, they should also say faith in you is even blinder.

It really only hits him one afternoon while he's sitting in Sam's room studying with Tucker, Missy and Trixie lounging at his feet, Aki sat on his right, Penelopeia braiding his hair, Ambroise draped against him, and Akkara lurking over him. Its one of the rare few times they're all in one room together.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. He looks up from his textbook. "Oh Ancients," he says in no amounting shock. Everyone looks up to him.

"I've become my grandfather."

[nouverx]

The Cannibal Overlords 💀