#holy shit have i really been working on it this long

[ariatwang]

I'm from what I've taken to calling a ghost city.

The population peaked in 1960 and since then it's just slowly...disintegrated is the best word I can think of. We have half the population now that we did then. All the companies and factories and plants up and left and took the jobs and the money and the people with them. Probably half the buildings you'll see are abandoned and there are old forgotten, run-down train tracks lying across most of the bigger roads because we were a major train depot during the Civil War but we haven't had much use for them since them. (What used to be the primary depot then is now our farmer's market, though, and they kept all of the original building so it still looks the part, which is cool.) It's silent in a very particular way.

Also, every single one of the old old buildings, which is most of them, is very very haunted. I'm not BSing, I know from experience because I've worked in a lot of them and possibly the most haunted is drumroll please, my middle and high school. I've got stories, man. You don't live here and not believe in ghosts. You'll get laughed at like you would get laughed at elsewhere for insisting that they're real.

It is a fucking weird way to grow up. You watch all the cities in the country's population lines climb higher year after year when the censuses come out while yours is slowly falling. You see pictures from the heyday of the 50s and early 60s of the theaters and streets that look so very familiar because you've walked down them at night when it's so quiet you can hear each individual breath you take and those same streets are packed with people so tight their shoulders touch, and you think, holy shit, is that really the same place I'm from? The same one where just 2/3 of the physical city is inhabited? It's kind of unnerving for a kid to realize that her city, her hometown, is actively dying right in front of her, and has been and will be her whole life.

I've never lived anywhere else so I don't know anything else. The house I grew up in had an overgrown pine tree completely covering the front of it so that you can't even see it from the street, a back deck almost completely rotted away by the time we sold it, mold in the attic that made the ceiling sag, and a kitchen floor that was actively trying to cave in below us for as long as I can remember. You have to walk like a ballerina. I taught myself to fix it to the extent I could, which was not a lot, with a can of caulk and painter's tape when I was about ten. That's pretty close to the standard for around here. Point is, I don't have a notion of home that's founded on forward motion. It really got to me for a long time.

But a ghost city like this, the thing is, it attracts the photographers and the historians and the independent journalists. They want to write down the ghost stories and photograph the pictures of decay, which they find to be full of meaning and wonder. I've talked to a few of them and they always hang on to every word I have to say about this place I've grown up.

They take pictures of the secluded houses with the plants overtaking the foundation and the windows broken and the boards missing, stolen by God knows what, rain or hustlers or time.

I, a lifelong native, am still processing the gift that comes naturally to the ghost city's version of tourists: to look what seems to have just taken a breath and then never exhaled and see the colors of memory, the preservation of life in the last breath you can still see the place holding instead of the fingerprints of death in the ending of the thing.

[sunny-knight]

What Kind Of Monster Was He?

A @forgettable-au fan (colored) animatic

MINOR BLOOD WARNING!

*Was he the kind to do too much, or not enough?

…OK, SO WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS-

I had planned to finish this into a full fledged animation, but a lot of the parts I did end up finishing just didnt live up to what I imagined…I waited for more motivation to happen, but it just didnt so HERES THE COLORED ANIMATIC CAUSE IM REALLLY HAPPY WITH WHAT I HAVE and ive sat on posting this for like a 2 weeks 😭 which is an eternity in my time

Im gonna post the unfinished “finished” part on my side account @o-sunny-day though! and probably have people yell at me cause it actually isnt that bad AND IT TOTALLY ISNT I just… art. You get it. ENOUGH YAPPING! ITS TIME TO YAP!

except not yet, MORE BACKGROUND INFO HUCDHUC- but its background info on explaining the lore…

The explaining is much less expansive than in Dear My Dear just because I didnt work on it long enough to think every bit of it through. This is just a clean, nicer looking, and colored version of the very first storyboard.

I usually think about and put more effort into the little stuff while making the FINISHED bits since ive had so much more time to think about that in all the preppin n sketching.

BUT I liked the explaining format I did for Dear My Dear so im sticking with it!

The main idea for this was to do a study of Wingdings’ character from what we’ve been given, mainly focusing in on the expectations he puts on himself because holy shit the lyrics for this works so stupidly well it makes me mad LOOK AT THIS???

its ridiculous. i love it. I didnt know Jack Stauber helped write Forgettable AU???? woww!!! ANYWHO thats the gist of it, not much context is needed past that. Onto the sillies!!!! (per usual excuse the shitty quality of the pngs idk why Tumblr does that-)

Did you know love? Will you rest in peace?

Wingdings and Sans holding hands as kids, before turning to a casket like appearance for adult WD. The flowers hes holding are pretty important too, Marigolds to represent grief, Lilys, new life, and Forget Me Nots for this lovely little line I found when looking up good flowers to use-

“a promise to always remember” ….stop that.

That actually also has a double meaning in this case too. 1, ofc the forgetting of Wingdings. But ALSO Wingdings forgetting something himself. Forgetting who he is. Almost like a Zuko ATLA situation.

Did you have a family?

Who knows where theyre parents are, but this is HAPPY TIME and we’re gonna assume they were so awesome and very kind but had to leave or went to a farm in the sky for whatever reason.

The colors here I had a lot of fun with. Their parents had warm colors but the boys have cold, still with warm accents. Its said they more or less raised each other being very independent as shown in the second part with them running out the door by themselves.

How was the view from the shelf? Did you ever believe in yourself?

Before, we started with the beginnings. The good things, the only thing Wingdings cares to even recall. Now we’re seeing his life really start to turn upside down- making first contact with The Player :D

He’s hesitant to reach out, but is intrigued, before getting a rushing revelation of his reality and how it isnt “real”

Rather than feeling crushing existential dread, he more feels pressured to be BETTER, to figure a solution, to do something. Thats what white represents here

WHAT KIND OF MILK WERE YOU?

We then switch to more examples of how Wingdings is taking this pressure (not well) The soft tones of yellow that were shown before, turn to way brighter, intensifying that feeling that he should be fine, he should be happy, drowning in success of being the Royal Scientist.

But he just desperately wants to just go back to a time of nice coldness.

The warm vs cold tones in this I had so much fun with, coldness is supposed to represent hostility usually, while warm is nice and happy. (same with Black and white. Scary, relieving,) But these points often contradict each other, its hard to tell what you’re feeling vs what you’re supposed to be feeling. Just like Wingdings!

WHAT KIND OF LIFE DID YOU LIVE THROUGH?

The white lab coats, the expectations, theyre on all of them. But Wingdings has essentially become his expectations.

He questions what life he wants to live, one being himself and alone (speaking in wingdings) or not himself and with company (speaking in a “normal” font) Still, he frames it in past tense as he believes theres no going back now, based on what he knows.

“One of the last happy moments they had together” stop that. (i cant find a link to when that was said but I know it was once, about them taking a photo together….)

DID YOUR LIFE RUN RICH WITH CALCIUM?

Calcium….bonesss :3 Hehehehdhehfhehehheheheh still dont know why he has holes in his hands so we’re movin on

DID THEY LAUGH AT YOU OR DID YOU LAUGH AT THEM?

Compared to the childhood Wingdings remembered, heres the sadder, bleaker, more realistic version. He always thought they were laughing at him but… maybe they werent.

DAIRY BELOVED. YOUR DAYS ARE GONE,

It doesnt matter now though. Because in the NOW, Wingdings has become consumed by his expectations of himself, seeing this has the “only option” to do the only thing that he feels will give his life meaning and purpose, establishing connection with THE PLAYER

But the grocery list goes on…

And yet life continues on without him, and his room is transformed into a more livable space now that someone is…living in it. Always hurts so much making the differences between Wingdings and Papyrus’ room. It feels like making something out of the man Wingdings COULD HAVE been. Because honestly thats just what Papyrus is,

Thank you to my bestie @fruitytrip for helping me with all of my art in general but especially the storyboarding on this :3 <3

[capquinn]

Hihi can we please have a sneak peek of the exfwb to lovers fix you mentioned you were working on I'm so excited to read it🥹🥹

you can have a whole 1.6k sneak peek bc i love u all and the canucks continue to make us feel miserable and also bc this is my fave scene thus far in the fic. enjoy jealous quinny <3

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The party hums around him, all laughter and low conversations mingling with the soft thrum of music echoing off the lake. The sunset paints the horizon in burnt orange and purple, but Quinn can’t focus on anything except you. And not in the way he normally does, with the familiar warmth of having you close — no, this was different. This is sharp and biting, twisting low in his stomach like a knot he can’t untangle.

Because you’re smiling at someone else.

“Man, you’re not even listening,” Trevor says, nudging Quinn’s shoulder with a beer bottle.

 Quinn blinks, dragging his eyes away from you for a second too long, his lips pressing into a tight line. Trevor follows his gaze, his brow quirking when he sees where Quinn’s attention has been stuck.

“Wait,” Trevor starts, leaning in slightly with a grin. “Is that — holy shit, is she flirting with that guy?” His voice is half amused, half incredulous, but all it does is tighten the knot in Quinn’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Quinn mutters, turning the bottle in his hand.

“Oh, come on. That’s definitely flirting,” Trevor continues, the grin widening. “That’s Jack’s buddy, isn’t it? Guy’s got no shot, though, right? She’s—”

“Can you not?” Quinn interrupts, his voice sharper than he means it to be. Trevor’s grin falters, and he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to… whatever this is,” Trevor says, backing off with a shrug, though his gaze lingers on Quinn for a moment, a flicker of curiosity in his expression before he wanders off.

Quinn leans back against the deck railing, his beer growing warm in his hand as he watches you from across the yard. The guy is leaning in just a little too close, his laugh too loud, his hand brushing yours in a way that makes Quinn’s jaw tighten. You don’t pull away. Worse, you laugh back, tilting your head like whatever he’s saying is the funniest thing you’ve heard all night.

It isn’t the first time Quinn has seen you flirt with someone — it comes with the territory of being friends, or whatever the hell you are. But this time, it feels different. He hates how easily the guy makes you laugh, how he is saying all the right things, drawing you in with that stupid, effortless charm. This isn’t supposed to bother him. You aren’t his. Not anymore — not that you ever really were. 

And God, it does. It burns.

He tells himself he doesn’t have the right to feel this way. You’d made it clear — things are over, the line between friendship and something more firmly redrawn. You’d both agreed, hadn’t you? Yet here he is, standing in the shadow of his own deck, practically vibrating with the urge to march over there and put an end to it.

“Yo, Quinn!” Jack’s voice cuts through his haze, light with curiosity. Quinn forces himself to glance away, focusing on his brother as he approaches. “What’re you staring at?”

“Nothing,” he says too quickly, his voice tight. Jack follows his line of sight, and when he spots you, his brows lift in surprise.

“Oh,” Jack says, drawing the word out. “She’s been talking to him all night. He’s a good guy, you know. Smart, funny—”

“Yeah, great,” Quinn cuts him off, his tone clipped and final.

Jack frowns, his curiosity clearly piqued but deciding not to push. Instead, he launches into a long-winded tangent about the game they played the last time they were at the lake house, his hands gesturing animatedly as he recounts some ridiculous move Luke pulled off on the dock that ended with everyone soaked.

Quinn takes a long sip of his beer, the bitterness doing little to distract him from the pang in his chest. He glances away, forcing himself to look anywhere but at you, to shove the jealousy down somewhere deep and immovable, like he always does when it comes to you. The laughter of his brothers, the flicker of the string lights overhead, even the waves lapping gently at the dock. But his gaze finds its way back to you, time and time again, like gravity has shifted to centre solely on you.

And then it happens.

Your hand drifts to the guy’s arm, light as a whisper, a touch so casual it might seem accidental to anyone else. But not to Quinn. He knows you — knows the quiet intention behind every gesture you make. He sees the way your fingers linger, your thumb brushing just barely over the fabric of his sleeve, like you’re testing the waters, letting this guy know he has your attention. 

And the guy? He notices immediately. His grin stretches wider, his posture straightens like he’s just hit the jackpot, and suddenly, he’s leaning in closer, his laugh dropping an octave, smooth and practiced. Quinn doesn’t need to hear the words to know exactly what’s being said, the way the guy’s body language shifts — open, inviting, cocky. It’s infuriating.

Quinn feels his stomach twist, a sharp, ugly pang of jealousy curling low and hot in his chest. His grip tightens around the neck of his beer, the glass growing slippery in his hand as his jaw sets hard. He can feel it — the heat rising under his skin, the bitter taste of resentment burning the back of his throat. This is ridiculous, he tells himself.  But knowing that doesn’t stop the burning, twisting ache that flares every time the guy’s hand comes dangerously close to yours.

But it’s useless. His attention snaps back, drawn as if you’re tethered together by some inviolable string, to the way you’re standing just a little too close, the way you laugh too easily at whatever idiotic joke the guy has just told.

Quinn’s chest tightens, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the neck of his beer, each beat an outlet for the frustration coiling tighter in his chest. He tells himself to let it go, to shove the jealousy down deep where he’s buried everything else about you — the feelings he’s not supposed to have anymore. But then your hand lingers again, this time softer, your fingertips grazing over the guy’s skin, and something inside him snaps. His pulse spikes, his jaw clenches, and the bitter taste of jealousy rises, unrelenting.

He feels unmoored, a storm building just beneath his ribcage, and no amount of deep breathing is enough to calm it. His instincts scream at him to move, to intervene, to shatter the moment unfolding in front of him. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Instead, he stays rooted to the spot, his beer warm in his hand, his eyes betraying him as they keep flicking back to you.

When the guy leans in closer, his laugh low and confident, it’s too much. Quinn’s shoulders go rigid, and he turns sharply, retreating into the house under the pretence of grabbing another beer. 

“Be right back,” he mutters, back already turned before anyone can question him.

He strides into the kitchen, the cool air brushing against his face as he yanks the fridge door open. His hand rests on the edge of the door, fingers tapping absently as he stares into the shelves without really seeing anything. The chill against his skin does little to temper the heat crawling up his neck or the way his pulse still pounds in his ears.

The sound of the back door creaking open is followed by familiar footsteps, and moments later, Jack appears in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and concern.

“You good?” Jack asks, his tone light but pointed, a faint thread of amusement weaving through it.

Quinn doesn’t look up, his jaw tightening as he keeps his focus on the rows of condiments.

Jack’s watching him, brows raised, waiting for a response. But Quinn doesn’t have one — not one he can say out loud, anyway. He can’t tell his brother what’s gnawing at him because no one ever knew. No one knew about the late nights, the secret glances, the way you and Quinn blurred every line until you were both too tangled to see where friendship ended and something else began, until the only thing clear was how much it hurt when you walked away.

Not even Jack.

So instead of spilling what’s really on his mind, he shrugs, feigning nonchalance that feels like it might crack under the weight of his frustration. 

“Just tired,” he mutters, tipping the warm beer to his lips like it’s a shield. He doesn’t meet Jack’s eyes, hoping the excuse is enough to deflect.

Jack leans back, the edge of the counter catching his hip, and his brows lift slightly, skeptical but willing to let it go. 

“Alright,” he says after a moment, his tone light but not entirely without weight. There’s something knowing in it, a brotherly intuition that Quinn wishes wasn’t so sharp. 

“But, you know,” Jack adds, his voice easy but edged with meaning, “you don’t have to be so tough all the time. If something’s up, you can just say it.”

Quinn exhales, a quiet, frustrated sound that doesn’t quite pass for a laugh. But he doesn’t answer, his eyes flicking toward the back door. He doesn’t need to talk — what good would it do? Explaining any of it would mean peeling back layers he’s spent months trying to bury. Layers of wanting you, missing you, resenting the way you could move on so easily when he couldn’t.

The knot in his chest twists tighter as he catches another faint ripple of laughter from the yard, your laughter, and he can’t help but wonder if you’re as carefree as you seem, or if it’s just another thing you’re better at pretending. Because if anyone knew how to pretend, it was Quinn. And right now, he’s pretending it doesn’t tear him apart to see you looking at someone else the way he wishes you’d still look at him.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Darry's in the kitchen, makin' dinner again since Soda is banned from the stove for the foreseeable future. What compelled the kid to dump half a shaker of pepper into spaghetti, Darry will never know. But he doesn't mind, really. He's got one of their ma's old cookbooks on the counter and is piece mailin' together a casserole both Steve and Two-Bit had raved over last month.

Dallas sits at the table, arms folded and scowlin' hard. Darry had to chase him into the kitchen five separate times before he managed to set the table without driftin' back to the TV to watch a western. Darry's sure they've all seen it three times.

If I go back into that kitchen and those places still aren't set you're gonna be sittin' in there until I'm well 'n done cookin'. Dallas had immediately jumped back up and vanished through the door but Darry was followin' though. Maybe he was a tough hood everywhere else, but inside the Curtis home, he was just another one of Darry's rowdy kid brothers.

To his credit, he hadn't put up too much of a fuss so when he started leanin' to see the movie through the door Darry pretended he didn't notice. He only cleared his throat warningly when he started reachin' fallin' out of his chair levels of tilitin'. Every time Dallas would straighten back up and shoot Darry his meanest glare, proppin' his elbows on the table 'n pickin' at the peelin' paint.

At some point, Pony detangled himself from Soda on the couch and disappeared down the hall, returnin' with a notebook to sit across from Dallas. He glanced up at Darry before he plopped down 'n Darry nodded his approval. Sometimes he'd make them sit alone when they were in trouble, specifically Soda and Two since they were Darry's most rambunctious. Pony would distract Soda but him 'n Dallas enjoyed just sittin' in the quiet. It reminded Darry of how Johnny 'n Pony had been. His heart gives a sharp little ache and he shakes the thought from his head.

Greif had an odd way of sneakin' up on him.

Pony picks up his pencil and Dallas nearly falls out of his chair for how hard he's leanin'. Darry doesn't bother clearin' his throat, just knocks him up the back of his head gently and Dallas scowls hard and leans back.

He's not sure how much time passes, not very long. He finishes the casserole and slides it into the oven to cook. He sighs, listens to Two and Steve as they wrestle in the living room, waitin' to see if they'll knock it off themselves before they break somethin' or not. Apparently, the sigh he lets out it enough for Soda to kick them both in the ribs and they reluctantly separate.

Since Dallas has put up the minimal amount of huffin' 'n moanin' he opts to release him until dinner. Before he can open his mouth he catches a glimpse of a sketch Pony has his nose an inch away from. He's got his brow all furrowed and he's bitin' his lip hard enough to leave marks like he always does when he's focused.

"Holy shit, kiddo." He hadn't meant to comment but even just the edge of the portrait he's workin' on is an utter work of art. Pony jerks up and slams the notebook closed. He always was oddly shy about his work. Darry doesn't push it, he doesn't want Pony to feel like he's pryin'.

Dallas, however, doesn't share Darry's values of privacy. He watches as Steve disappears into his room without askin' 'n thinks maybe none of them do. He rolls his eyes again. Dallas, suddenly payin' attention again, reaches over 'n snatches the notebook out of Pony's hands, openin' it to the page Pony had been workin' in. Whatever smart shit he'd been about to say dies in his throat.

"Holy fuck, Pony." The sketch is nearly finished, clearly set from Pony's view of the kitchen, Dallas framed neatly in the middle, scowlin'. It's so accurate it could have been a photo, one of a spread of Dallas. In all of them, his eyes are bright and angry or dull and aggitated. He's either scowlin' or frownin'. In one particular sketch he's barin' his teeth so his silver one shines lime he does when hes truly hacked off. Darry looks between Dallas 'n the drawin' Pony's just added, notin' how he had lovingly managed to capture the singular fair freckle on Dallas' throat, the way his hair curled against the back of his neck, the set of his eyes as he peered through the door.

When Darry looks back at his kid brother Pony is bright red. Darry snaps out of it first and realizes both he 'n Dallas are just starin' at him.

"Pony, that's amazin'. Really, honey." Pony looks down at the table, still clearly embarrassed.

"It's just a sketch." He scuffs his toe on the tile and runs his hand up his neck in a way Darry knows he picked up from him. "It's not done, yet." Pony wasn't particularly good with praise. He looks up at Dallas who's still just starin' at the page. Dallas runs a finger along the high bones of his face recreated in lead.

"Is... is that how you-"

"Sorry! It's really not that good. I just like to... I dunno... I like to sketch you when you're angry. You just look tuff when you're scowlin' 'n all. That's all. It's not done." He finishes lamely, the flush creepin' down his neck when Dallas doesn't say anythin' else. The silence hangs for a long moment.

"I didn't know I looked like that. When I was mad 'n all." Dallas finally says. He runs a finger over his drawn brow as if he could smooth out the furrow. He shakes his head hard. "Sorry kid, that's tuff as hell. It's a real good drawin'."

Pony ducks his head again 'n Dallas runs the back of his hand over his eyes. "Do you... mind if I keep it?" Pony's eyes go all wide like he wasn't expectin' the question.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. It's you after all." Dallas rips the drawin' carefully out of the book and folds it gently in half, gettin' up and vanishin' down the hall to the room he shares with Pony 'n Soda. He ruffles Pony's hair as he passes, gently squeezin' his shoulder.

The second Dallas is gone Pony drops his forehead to the table. "D'you think I upset him?" Darry presses a kiss to his hair and pats him on the back softly.

"Nah, kiddo. I don't think he's upset." But Darry isn't sure exactly how to read that boy. Not nearly as well as he can read the rest of them. "He just needs a minute."

Dinner is a subdued affair despite Soda and Two's best efforts. As Darry expected, both Two and Steve nearly go to blows over the final servin' 'n only back down once Darry promises to make it again next week. Dallas says next to nothin' which makes Pony squirm around every thirty seconds.

When Two's finished lickin' the bowl, Darry shoos them all out, unsurprised to find Dallas silently startin' to collect up the plates and dump them into the sink. He wasn't like his brother's in that regard. When the other's wanted Darry's attention they would simply ask for it. Dallas refused to bruise his ego. He'd find an excuse to catch Darry as he ran to the grocery store or mowed the lawn or did the dishes. Darry didn't mind waitin' for him to decide to say whatever was on his mind.

"I didn't know the kid saw me as such an... angry person." He dumped another armful of dishes and silently picked up the dish towel as Darry started washin'.

Darry hmm-ed vaguely and handed Dallas a plate. He knew the kid wouldn't listen to him if he denied it, despite knowin' better.

"Pony just likes to capture people's emotions. You remember that time he drew Soda after he'd fallen and broken his wrist? Soda had nearly lost his damn mind at how pathetic he looked in that. He might've jumped Pony if it hadn't been such a good drawin'." Darry chuckles lightly but Dallas just gives a weak smile 'n returns the plate to the cabinet.

"Maybe... yeah." Between the two of them, the sink is empty in fifteen minutes and Dallas disappears down the hall to take a shower. He had a late night chore to run at Buck's, somethin' to do with an upcomin' pony race they had comin' up.

Darry see's Dallas out, extractin' a promise to go straight there 'n back, checkin' to make sure he had his blade though he almost certainly didn't need to. He shoos Two out of his armchair and collapses down, only half payin' attention to whatever's on.

"Darry?" Pony was still bein' more uncharacteristically quiet than usual.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Can I go to bed early?" Darry turns his head to get a good look at the kid. He doesn't think Pony has ever asked to bed early a day in his life. Usually, he was the one fit to be tied every night when Darry tried to get them all to bed.

"Sure honey, all ok?" Pony nods his head and Darry crooks a finger. When he's close enough Darry presses a kiss to his forehead. Pony doesn't fight it and leans into Darry's shoulder for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine. G'night Darry."

"Night, kiddo."

It doesn't take long for the rest of the gang to decide they're tired. Soda crashes on the sofa against Steve's shoulder and Steve hauls him up and dumps him in bed. Two promised his ma he'd go home and Steve swears he'll be fine at his. Darry reluctantly doesn't put up a fight. He drops kisses to both their heads and reminds them the door is always unlocked.

Once the house is nearly empty he straightens up the few things out of place and drags himself to his room for the night. He's a heavy sleeper and he's exhausted enough to fall asleep right there in the hall but his body won't let him even dream of passin' out before all his brothers are home where they're supposed to be.

He counts on Dallas bein' back in an hour give or take and flips on the bedside light. He cracks the book on the nightstand Ponyboy recommended to him months ago. Pony had read it in one afternoon but Darry was draggin' through it five minutes here 'n there when he had the time.

Half an hour later he hears the door to Pony, Dallas, 'n Soda's room creak open but doesn't think much of it. He hears light steps pad down the hall 'n correctly assumes it to be Pony. Seconds later the door opens 'n closes again.

By the alarm clock beside the bed, it's another forty-five minutes before Dallas comes in. The walls are paper thin, so he can distinctly hear Dally kick his shoes off at the door and continue into the kitchen. He pauses there oddly long but Darry doesn't get up to interrupt.

It takes another ten minutes for Darry to hear the kid in the hall. He sniffs hard and Darry recognizes the sound of him rubbin' the back of his sleeve across his face. It breaks his heart but he leaves him be. Of all of them Dallas was the most fiercely protective over his ego and privacy. If it were anyone else, Darry wouldn't let that stop him from comfortin' him. But he knew the kid would get him if he needed it. He figured Dallas could see the light under the door 'n would know Darry was awake if he decided to come in.

Darry waits another fifteen minutes before he gets up to check on them. When he eases open the door Soda is sprawled out in one bed and Dallas is wrapped tightly around Pony in the other. Darry smiles fondly and goes to shut the door before he catches the paper clutched in Dallas' hand.

Darry slinks quietly across the floor to get a better look. He recognizes Pony's careful, controlled pencil markin'. The drawin' is one of his favorite Polaroids of Dallas, his smile wide and uncontrolled. Darry remembers the exact moment it was taken, his hair blown back from his forehead as Soda had taken a turn far too fast for Darry's likin'. Dallas had howled and stuck his whole head out the window and grinned.

Darry smiles fondly at the memory and catches the corner where Pony's written a note in his neat, loopy hand writin'.

I don't see you as angry. I see you as Dallas. My brother. (who just happens to look tuff when he scowls)

[curaetheintrovert]

In order: moved into the apartment I bought(!!) just a few weeks before the new year.

Switched teams and location at my workplace and am so much happier where I am now.

Stopped needing therapy(!!!)

Painted my bedroom ceiling with my mum, it's so pretty now.

Got a second cat (my psychologist had a big influence in this lmao. I sent him a picture when I got the cat)

After months of trial and keeping them apart the cats get along!

I ripped out some panelling in my kitchen doorway and found there used to be a sliding door between the walls, so I'm working on putting that back!

One of my colleagues who is also an actual friend wasn't doing well for a long time and she's been doing so much better and that makes me happy. She deserves happiness and to feel good.

I realized I have more self-respect than I initially thought. I went on a date with a guy who then ignored my message about a second date for past the initial date I suggested to meet up again. So instead of sitting around waiting I just blocked him because I deserve someone who makes time and space for me.

I had a positive experience with a GP who listened to my symptoms, took it seriously, figured out what was wrong and got me what I needed. Not a word of "but Ur fat".

A student got me a Christmas present!? And a card!? I just about perished on the spot it is so sweet. 🥺😭🥰

My sister got engaged!?

Christmas was super laid back and nice

I managed to make it to 32! (Seriously with my mental health issues over the past years that's not just a "oh it's my birthday" but a "holy shit despite all the efforts of my personal demons I am still here. Take that, stupid demons."

New year's eve in my new place was super nice. Fireworks only really started at about 11pm and my cats weren't scared. <3

And of course a lot of things went wrong this year too, but ah man, fuck that.

hey honest question, did anybody have GOOD stuff happen to them in 2024? cause it was really bad for me and for most people i know, so it would be nice to hear about anything that's been going WELL for any of you. even if it's small stuff. just to know there's light out there.

[somefishycat]

WIP Wednesday 1/1/2025

Staying caught up so far, possibly because the WIPs I got the most requests for (particularly 5 Years, which I started publishing this weekend!) are also the ones my brain wants to write right now. Sentences and Bead Flapjack under cut:

marble wall 2 for @balthazarusrex @skarabrae-stone

Hunter points to something in a large box. Luz picks a dark piece of cloth out of it, holding it pinched between two fingers like something gross. She says something Gus can't hear, and Hunter responds. Gus leaves them to whatever that's about. They'll tell him later, if it's important. He needs to shop for himself!

marble wall 3 for @oriharaizayadividesintoslytherin

She leads the way back to the living room, looking behind her several times to see that everyone is following. She stops at the body lying on the floor, staring down at it for a long moment. “Okay, so, I know you said you wanted to go directly in the ground, and I respect that, but can I make a suggestion?”

ones left behind for @eriquin @catboy-jupiter @zyrafowe-sny @sweetbeanma @aparticularbandit

@tamsinswriting

Eber crawls forward, trying to reach the beast's face without being torn to shreds. It's flatter than most avians; Eda does not have a beak like many feathered demons do. She does, quite clearly, have a full set of teeth. Several sets of teeth? Sharp. He hooks an arm around her neck. The feathers are long and thick here, nearly as long as flight feathers. Pulling them out would hurt her. Eber tries to be gentle, but, well. Holding a beast’s head still when they're trying to kill you is difficult to do gently. “You're okay,” Raine says. “Just drink this. We're trying to help you.” The beast jerks her head away again, and several long feathers fall out, some of them still ending in tiny droplets of blood. Shit. This isn't going to work. Eber tries to back away from the sharp teeth, and— Her eyes. Her eyes catch the light and reflect it back at him, pupils huge like a nocturnal creature in the dark.

5 Years for @wizisbored @kalira @whimsicalmeerkat @sarosthewizarddude @twyrewolf

@auburnlaughter @asha10100101010 @nonbinary-octopus

JUICE: hi dr cass i have questions … CASS: You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that. What do you want to know? JUICE: uh you said i'm supposed to explore how will i know what to do i don't think i know very much … CASS: Maybe you're not aware of it yet, but I promise you, everything you need to know is all in your brain already. Thousands of people worked very hard for more than a decade to make sure you were fully prepared for this mission. We’ll still be here to help as much as we can, of course, but you’ve noticed how long it takes to communicate with Earth. At some point you'll have to make decisions on your own. You’ll do fine. You passed all the tests years ago. [Article: Juice aces Callisto flyby test] JUICE: huh i don't really remember that very well like the information is there if i think about it. like part of me remembers zoomin through space past callisto but its like fragmented and weird like i was there and i didn't know why and i didn't think anything was wrong even though i knew it was impossible i wasn't awake then is that what dreaming is like? i guess if i could literally do it in my sleep it'll be fine next question: why? why jupiter … [Cass infodumps about icy moons and their potential for life] JUICE: holy SHIT you're a nerd

Bead Flapjack for @tildeathiwillwrite @stonemaskedtaliesin

Before and after photos, as usual. I... should probably have been using some sort of form to work around this whole time, I don't know how I feel about the shape of that crest now, but oh well. I think I just need a few more rows before I can split it into two points.

[amelia-yap]

AUEGH

[toxooz]

been binging tf outa Avatar the last airbender bc ive been puking my EVERLOVIN guts out since yesterday and hear me out

[b4kuch1n]

the legends speak of it as a kind of enthrallment: the life ended by the tiger is tied to the tiger. in this way there is a line of souls following the beast, for no reason except to show that they were killed. that they could be saved - if only the beast would die [...] in the dark of the wood you see it walk, shadow to shadow, followed by loss after loss after loss, a tail trailing seemingly into the deep death of night [...]

[lucky-clover-gazette]

vent

did not expect kissing and realizing i’m lowkey dating a guy to send me down an existential spiral of reminding me that i have only one life to live and then i am going to die without living any other different lives

[yamsgarden]

Just some more Still Wakes the Deep blah blah, but omg having just been diagnosed Diabetes type 1 myself recently, it makes me only love and feel for Roy 10X more...

This shit is litteraly poison, but so does the food we eat with how much sugar there is in ugh OTL

Never thought in a million year I had DT1, I had 0 symptoms and am in pretty good shape, but then suddenly, organs are starting to hurt really badly out of nowhere...

Don't wait too long poeple and check with your doctors even if there's ''nothing'' T0T and to all Diabetic ppl out there, keep on fighting 💪✨

[feral-teeth]

Floridada

Spommy week 2024 - prompt “Florida”

Enjoy the drabble i made for the prompt a few week ago when I first heard of spommy week and got inspired by the prompt for the second day - Florida! Hope this gets me out of my writing posting hiatus to post something silly - maybe this could become something more one day!

I was inspired by @funeralroast to post this! And thank you to the creators of this and the rarepair smosh server for everything and for inspiring me everyday <33

“What are you doing here?” Spencer gasps as the hot chocolate cup that was warming up his hands in the hot weather flips back all over him.

Tommy gasps. “Oh shit! Im so sorry! mean… wait what are you doing here?” He recognizes those eyes anywhere.

They were both visiting their small town that they grew up in for the annual Christmas in summer jingle jangle stockings and crazy fun times fairytale lighting nighttime Christmas tree hanging stockings and hanging wreaths ball Christmastime but not actually Christmas because its summer jingle ball jangle ball Christmas bulb bash thats actually not during the winter because its more fun to have Christmas in the summer as well, but we also have Christmas during the usual time in the winter, so its more fun that way and we get more of the Christmas spirit all year round.. festival ball bash and they would never miss it.

Until both Tommy and Spencer decided to move out to the big city of LA and New York, both big seperate worlds that decided that they could work there instead of help out at their family farms against their seperate parents better interest.

The apple sauce farm and the chicken coop farm, the first owned by the Bowe family and the second by the Agnew family.

They didn’t really know why they separately decided to get on a plane and make their way all the way back to their family home, but they did.

Maybe it was the way Tommy’s mother’s voice sounded different. Older. Sadder than last year when he couldn’t make it. She wasn't trying to hide her disappointment this time.

It was the same for Spencer. His father had called him with a gruff voice, begging him to come back in his own cold way.

“We miss you son. The chickens miss you.” Which was weird for an Agnew, so he was on the next plane over.

His father had cancer, and didnt know how to tell him. So he didnt. His mother had to tell him. Over a zoom call. How sterile.

“Oh so youre here for the…” they both repeat the dumb long ass title in synch for the event that they were pulled back into celebrating because it was a bad omen to not say it every time you mention it or else a bad Christmas. Or something. So they would always say the entire thing, no matter how much time they had to wait, or if they were ever running late somewhere. Like all of those dumb Hallmark movie titles.

[valkyurii]

writing about my elden ring oc has been my comfort thing for the last two years but since this dlc i genuinely can’t bring myself to enjoy it anymore. miquella, the haligtree and even malenia feel so different to me now

[thompsborn]

me looking at the still unfinished hb2 first chapter and the deadline that i gave myself (two more days):

[houseofwolvess]

ive been putting off learning the drums for like forever but i think i might start very soon

[gibbearish]

btw similar to the whole "if you try adderall at a party and it calms you down, get an adhd test" thing, if at some point in your life you try microdosing shrooms with a friend and end up feeling like a functional person for the first time in your life, get tested for depression. like yeah hallucinogens come with elation so youre probably gonna have some "this is the best ive ever felt in my life" vibes regardless, but like. if that in and of itself feels like finally breathing in for the first time in years, thats for sure a sign that something is up with your ability to process serotonin most of the time. feeling better than ever before should be a nice bonus, not a crushing weight off your chest