#i am so new to the whole writing thing

[mo0nchhild]

i picked up writing an old short story i found on my computer recently and now i'm in desperate need of music/playlists

like what do y'all listen to while writing? recommendations are greatly appreciated

[iizuumi]

Guess Narumi isn't getting any paperwork done ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[satanstruemistress]

This is, without exaggeration, the most horrific thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

[soupandsorcery]

A letter, written in a de Riva cipher and sealed after the fall of Weisshaupt, delivered to The Cantori Diamond one week after the disappearance of Nicolo de Riva into the Fade

Viago:

I've got a joke for you. Two Crows and a Warden walk into Weisshaupt and almost don't make it back out again. There's not really a punchline, actually. Just an Archdemon and a giant fucking face in the clouds. Weisshaupt was probably the scariest thing that's ever happened to me, and there were a lot of times when I thought I wasn't going to make it out of there. That made me start thinking about my life and things I wished I'd done and said. Which made me start thinking about you.

I know we don't do emotions or talking about feelings or whatever it is normal families do, but I'm just going to say this. If you end up reading it, then I'm probably dead anyway, so you can't scowl at me.

Thank you. I could go down the whole list of the whys, but let's just say I owe a lot to House de Riva—and to you. I wouldn't have made it this far without your help and your weird way of showing your faith in me. I figured out a while ago that you're hard on me because you want me to live up to my potential or whatever. And I tried, Viago. I really did. I saw this contract through as well as I could for as long as I could, and I tried to be a credit to my training. To you. Ask Lucanis if you don't believe me. It kept me going when I didn't think I could, imagining the look on your face if I gave up. So thanks for being a bossy nag too. I guess most good older brothers are, and I know there aren't that many good older brothers in our line of work.

Take care of Teia. Tell her I love her and she's always been the best of the Talons. Let her take care of you sometimes too. You deserve it.

Love you, Viago. Sorry I never said it to your face.

—Nico

[topaziraphale]

"Stop saying Crowley won't help Aziraphale in S3 he'd go back to him in a HEARTBEAT and nothing would stop him" I get it no one likes the idea of Crowley being bitter after what happened for a long period of time but like can we at least acknowledge that he's currently going through probably the most emotional pain in his life since falling? Can we agree that he's opened his heart entirely - something you couldn't pay him to do unless the world is literally ending and he's desperate - to Aziraphale, and got shot down? Can we understand that he did it AGAIN only to lose Aziraphale again? Not that what Aziraphale did isn't without Crowley's own shortcomings (hiding the truth of Heaven's cruelty from him) but like,,,,

The appeal here isn't Scorned Crowley Doesn't Love Aziraphale Anymore, or Never Wants To Help Him Again, the appeal here is Crowley learning enough self respect to not just walk back right to Aziraphale like nothing happened after Aziraphale has had a pattern of consistently refusing him. Going years ping-ponging between "We're not friends I don't even know him" to "That's what friends are for right?" and "We're friends, why would you even say anything?" and "Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon!"

Like I get it, Crowley is a heartbreakingly forgiving person. Of course he's gonna forgive Aziraphale, I'll be surprised if he didn't forgive him by the time he walked out the bookshop door, but gdi he could at least grant himself the luxury of being at least a little irritated for longer than however long it takes to make a globe and some books float and angrily cry out to God in his flat. But due to the change of pace and dynamic that is establishing part of the conflict for Season 3, I just really like the idea of him for ONCE prioritizing himself and being like "Okay, fine. We'll get back at it when you're ready, then," instead of just taking Aziraphale back like his words and actions meant nothing to him, when clearly they have an effect on him.

What is Aziraphale going to learn if Crowley just accepts what he did so quickly, like he always has the entire time they've been friends? Idk maybe I'm just projecting too much darkness on their dynamic but I mean, if the pattern of Aziraphale pushing Crowley away/disrespecting him one day and then being fine with his friendship the next + Crowley never stopping to be like "Hey, that's not cool, at least give me a little credit" or smth was fine all along and will continue to be fine in the future, then why, after 6,000 years of being friends and loving this demon, can Aziraphale still not accept that Crowley is just fine the way he is, and instead got excited to promote him to an angel in a heartbeat once the opportunity presented itself? You can't blame all of it on Heaven when Aziraphale has demonstrated his free will/defiance to Heaven so many times. Or, I don't know, I guess maybe we can? Maybe I'm just craving too much angst to the point where I'm letting it cloud my analysis of canon. Idk.

[intramoon]

Just my thoughts on InZoi (that no one asked for) ...

I am not a cynic but I am skeptical of any new "life simulation" games. And that's not to say I don't want The Sims to have a competitor, I think EA needs a competitor for The Sims. For the price tag of The Sims, EA needs pressure on them to address their complacency (with game content, the growing issues with paid content, etc). InZoi is far from that. At face value, I think the gameplay is unimpressive. I can understand why people are drawn to an in-depth, hyperrealistic character creation but to what end? The inclusion of AI, even if just for primarly patterns/textures, is an increasingly slippery slope. It's just for patterns ... for now, but how will AI provide shortcuts for the company in the future? That's one of my concerns and I think it's a bit shady for the company to have this feature. Any kind of AI generation has significant environmental impacts and contributes to art theft/the distribution of AI that has burdened the art community. I struggle to find a justifiable reason for the game having AI because I don’t think there is one. If you consider the computer that is needed to run a game with graphics like InZoi, the game isn’t accessible to people with “lower-end”/older PCs. An issue The Sims team had to address with the Sims 4 ie. the change in graphics and the game no longer being open world. I like that more people can play The Sims without needing a PC that is worth thousands of dollars. I keep seeing the comparison of InZoi to GTAV NPCs. As someone who has spent a lot of time playing with friends on GTAV FiveM servers, even those servers have better gameplay than I’ve seen with InZoi. Not to be funny but InZoi reminds me of those invasive 3D p*rn game ads.

The other aspect of InZoi that bothers me a little (maybe a lot) is the stark difference in how “regular” simmers are reacting to InZoi versus how some content creators/custom content creators are reacting. It’s a little frustrating for the people, even if through EA’s allotted 21-day early accesses, who make hundreds if not thousands of dollars off the community aren’t acknowledging let alone addressing the glaring concerns users have about InZoi. It seems many of them are going to brush these concerns aside for the opportunity to mod for the game (a game to me that doesn’t seem to value artists' work) and worse case scenario will jump ship to InZoi if Simblr takes issue with it.

It’s … interesting.

[zarvasace]

aaaahhh I'm a little nervous to say, but I spent a few hours today casually recording myself reading several of my Shatterproof fics aloud. I added the audio players to the tops of the fics—so far it's just #1-#6—so if you're interested, go check them out. :) I'm so very not professional, and mess up sometimes, but I have some experience reading aloud and performing in casual settings! I hope it feels kind of like we're sitting in a bedroom or car and just vibing.

Shatterproof on AO3

For those that are not aware, Shatterproof is a rather large Linked Universe AU fanfic series (currently 156k words over 63 works), focused on fluff and occasional light angst. The AU is nothing too dramatic, just each of the Links (and many of the supporting characters) has a physical disability. It's a passion project of mine and one I go back to often. I feel that it's appropriate that a lot of these works get podfic'd. :)

(special thanks to @unexpectedstormy who (1) introduced me to the idea of podfics (2) has made several lovely ones they're so fun (3) offered a bit of advice. 💜)

[icewindandboringhorror]

Just curious what the average level of personal investment in these sorts of things is. Like, how much do people usually get into silly stuff like this their friends ask of them? etc. etc. Which I know, only surveying a small sample on a very specific website means I'm not getting an exact average idea lol, but.. curious nonetheless .. Maybe reblog for bigger sample size but also this is not very serious at all/not worth a call to action gbhjbhjb

[nekioe]

When Dream finally escapes Pandora there's something off about him. Punz doesn't notice it immediately, maybe they first excuse it as the loneliness and trauma showing it's scars. But as time goes on it gets more and more clear that something just isn't right. Something beyond the trauma. They don't know what, but something has changed, something in the core of Dream that made him, well... Dream. Its hard to explain. Escpessially since Punz isn't quite sure if he's actually right or if it could all just be explained by Dreams trauma.

There are two major thing Punz has noticed:

Dream moves in a different way. He has always been very loud and dramatic, big animated gestures. Constantly pacing and moving. Even during the wars, although maybe a little less. Now, Dream stands eerily still. And when he moves, he does it with an inhuman sort of perfect, moves at a constant speed with a supernatrual preciseness.

When he speaks, the words sound unatrual on his tongue. Punz feel like Dream's stuttering through them, forcing them out of his mouth as if he's dragging them from some far away place that might not even be part of him anymore. But Punz has never actually heard Dream stutter. His words flow seamlessly like water, tone, and pronounciation perfect. Always perfect.

It's a paradox Punz can't understand, and it's making them feel more and more insane.

This is just an idea i got for vampire c!dream after watching arcane s2 and the way Victor acted after uhm thing.. (trying not to spoil anything, even tho it's rly minor). I just think that the feeling of something being wrong or other would be nice for v!dream. Before Punz even gets to know what happened to Dream, aka loosing all of his last humanity and becoming vampire, Punz notises something being wrong. It could be explained by trauma, and some of it might be that, but they feel like something else has changed, something to do with Dream's nature. And they're not wrong🤷

[distraughtlesbian]

literally the best part of this whole stupid book iwlove weird obsessed horndogs thee villain archetype of all time. he’s so silly. “we could’ve had a life together”, he says to his lesbian ex-neighbour who he’s just shot with a crossbow bolt meanwhile her girlfriend who he’s also just shot is half dead across the room. god i love it here he said me and the bad bitch im going to fumble

[quirkle2]

who wants zombie au writing. don't answer that ur getting it anyway (1.6k words)

His shoes knock against the old flooring of the house, wood creaking under rubber soles that slide over the woodgrain. He drags them a bit, lifts his limbs up no more than he strictly has to, and they lead him to the nearest sittable surface.

The couch is old and dusty and has likely gone untouched for months, much like everything else nowadays, so he watches the thin cloud of dust billow off the cushions largely with disinterest. He collapses into the fabric heavily, feels the whole thing scoot back an inch and hit the wall behind him. The sound echoes, carried by lifeless rooms, while he unceremoniously drops his backpack to the floor by his feet.

The breath he lets out is slow and methodical and born of pent up muscles, aimed at the ceiling where he rests his neck against the back of the couch and relaxes every limb one by one. It’s a process he forces himself through, if only to rid the constant ache beneath his skin.

Slow, sweeping footsteps meander around the room in front of him, and Ritsu angles his gaze down from his craned back position to look at his brother. He wanders, like he so often does—seemingly aimless, but there’s something procedural about it that he’s convinced he just hasn’t figured out yet.

Shigeo’s empty eyes crawl along the hearth of the fireplace, explosions of ash sprayed out across the red brick. His head tilts up to trace his attention around the angular lines of the television, hung on the wall and screen grey with dust. He flits back and forth between the roundness of the bricked mantle and the sharp edges of the screen, like he’s taking notes.

Shigeo paws the television. Four lines of muck are cleared. The zombie blinks, paws at it again with dusty, curious fingers. Ritsu watches him make a mess of the television screen in silence, blinking tiredly.

He almost closes his eyes, but he fights against the urge and moves his fingers down his lap to reach for his bag. His middle hooks around the loop at the top and he lugs it up and into his lap, where he unzips it and peers into the shadowy contents.

Ritsu fishes out the water bottles. He finds the one with the messy R scribbled along the cap in sharpie and takes a big swig of it. It’s warm going down, constantly insulated in a bag of old, sweaty clothes. He feels like he can taste the odor in it, but it clears the grain in his throat from stomping all over dirt roads today, so he’s still grateful.

He holds out the one labeled S to Shigeo. “Thirsty?”

Shigeo looks at him from where he’s crouched down to the floor now, inspecting the soot along the hearth. Unfortunately, he sees handprints in the black already, and when his brother reaches a hand out to take it, his palm is covered in soot.

He lets him have his fun and settles his own bottle back in the mess of tangled clothes and rolls of bandages. Ritsu rakes his fingers through their stock with no real purpose—he knows exactly what’s in here, and none of it is useful.

They’d been searching all day; Ritsu doesn’t really know how far they’d walked, but it had to be a lot of miles. In and out of stores, up and down empty houses, weaving between warehouses—they didn’t really stop for a break. Not when Ritsu can hear Shigeo’s stomach from here and he himself has shaking hands. They can’t afford a break.

Nothing, though. Not a single goddamn thing worth taking. A settlement must have come through here long ago and swept the highway. They’re in the countryside, where houses are spaced out acres from each other and there’s entire cow pastures between properties. And yet every house they’d seen and entered provided nothing.

Ritsu stares into the negative space in his bag where there should be supplies. His stomach cramps and if he smells another whiff of that godawful sweaty, bloody sweatshirt he still carries, he’s going to throw up bile.

He leans away from the open pouch, eyes wandering to his brother who draws… something into the soot of the hearth. His water bottle sits on the floor, abandoned and still unscrewed. Ritsu leans forward with great effort and a grunt, leaning over his bag to grab at the top of it.

It takes him two tries to get Shigeo’s attention, and one more for an answer on where the cap is. It’s then placed in his palm, covered in soot and also saliva. Ritsu swallows down the nausea that rolls up his throat and wipes it off with his frankly already disgusting sleeve, and screws it back on.

He leans back again, succumbing to the urge to let his eyes rest, and he listens to the very subtle swipe of his brother’s hands across brick. There’s birds outside, chirping, and even though it’s still very much a common occurrence, Ritsu cannot help but feel nostalgic about it.

If he ignores the awful hum of silence, and the distinct lack of an electric thrum throughout the walls, and the fact that this is a stranger’s couch and not his, he can almost imagine normalcy. He can almost say this feels like those quiet moments after school, when he settles on the couch and scrolls through his phone in a house that only holds him and his brother because their parents simply aren’t home yet.

He can almost hear the creak of wood from Shigeo walking around his room upstairs. He can almost tap his fingers on the couch cushions to the pattern of his brother making his way down the steps. He can almost hear the fridge opening, and the sound of milk being poured into glass.

Almost. But Ritsu listens to sharp silence instead, and he tries not to think too hard.

He drifts for a while, feels himself truly sink into the couch and let the cushions claim him, and he thinks about nothings because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose it. He carefully sifts through the nothingness of his mind, through the passing thoughts that have no bearing, and he focuses on that, on the lack of substance. His head is too full of things that have too much substance.

He misses boredom. He tells himself he misses boredom—the complete insubstantiality of it—because if he lets himself think of what he really misses, it’ll drive him insane.

The cushions move, and Ritsu peels his eyes open and lets himself get pulled from liminal mindspace. The cotton in his head recedes, and he blinks, and then he’s swiveling his head to look at his brother who sits in the cushion right next to him.

His hands and the cuffs of his hoodie are smothered in black. Shigeo sits hunched, gaze still wandering even when there’s not much decoration in this house to look at. He studies the off-white walls, the chips in the paint, the holes drilled in where there maybe used to be photos hung.

Ritsu gazes at him quietly, chest instinctively rising and falling to match his brother’s rhythm. He watches the expansion there, under his hoodie, in the subtlety of the folds and the way they warp over the movement. It’s slightly quicker than what he’s used to, but Ritsu knows his brother’s heart rate is much slower. He’s felt it before. He’s listened to it before, with his ear against a chest.

Ritsu’s attention moves to his eyes, and the heavy bags underneath them, and the paleness of his pupils and the ghostlight of him underneath that. He stares into them, looks for stray, familiar thoughts that might enter his head. Looks for old memories that might shine through in the form of recognition when he sees furniture layouts, and candy wrappers, and ads for soda.

Ritsu looks for it all the time, that glint of familiarity. And he finds it, sometimes. And really, he thinks that’s keeping him going more than food ever will.

Shigeo turns his head, and looks at him. Sometimes, when his brother looks at him, there’s not much there. No substance, no anything. And Ritsu finds it a bit evil that he craves silence in his own head, and yet noise in Shigeo’s, and often times it is the other way around.

His brother looks at him now, though, with that comforting recognition. That growth of the pupils, that softening of the hard edges of his face where unknown stressors have gotten to him. Ritsu wonders what zombies get stressed out. He figures it’s the same deal with humans, considering they’re largely alike.

Ritsu wonders if Shigeo knows he’s sick. He wishes he could ask him. He wishes for a lot of things. Silence in his own head is one of them.

Ritsu swivels his head away and stares at the ceiling, if only to force the thoughts to pause. He studies the popcorn ridges above them, traces the peaks with his gaze. It calms him, gives him something to focus on. He looks for patterns in the shadows they make.

Shigeo shifts next to him. And then he shimmies down, settles into the cushions, and plops his head right down on Ritsu’s shoulder.

Static roars in his mind and his heart stammers. Ritsu swallows the lump in his throat but that just makes it bigger, so he clamps his mouth shut and breathes carefully through his nose.

The tears cut through the grime on his face. He plops his own head down against his brother’s, and lives in the noise.

[luv-again]

honestly ?? amy in cryptic castle is so funny to me bc she's pretty much her cheery self the whole time but also has the undertone of, 'gee fucking whizz i am sick of this shit'

like ??? the way she talks abt the black arms and eggman's robots and eggman himself when he appears in the egg breaker boss ? hilarious

she is so done

[al-luviec]

still haven't moved on from zane in this episode (aka I hit tag limit again and am unhappy about it)

[danzainosolitude]

Once again I read fanfiction that seems to have been precisely written to deal psychic damage to me.

[figofswords]

anybody remember the stephanie brown essay I was working on under a research grant fully last summer? yeah it’s not done yet it super needs to be done and I’ve been avoiding working on it for weeks. someone tell me to just do it already

[bleaksqueak]

Insomnia is letting up off and on, but I'm still super jelly brained from it case in point, I want to continue back with posting WIPs for the aired pages, but I can't remember what page I left off on now lmao (guess I'll have to dig through my blog to check... eesh. at least it's decently organized by tags?) Not a result of goo brain, really, but equally "AUGH" is that I let my screen protector go for too long without replacing it and now it's slick as snot and I don't have a replacement handy to put on it. This isn't a resulting consequence of goo brain but it does mean I'm going to be trying to draw without any traction while I'm already loopy. Good times ahead!