#i am nervous about one thing

[james-hinchcliffe]

since i'll be at portland indycar, i'll be posting my experiences here under the first tag, the rest is a little ramble i don't think deserves to be in the main post lol

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pages from trying to keep a little sketchbook-scrapbook type thing going for two weeks lol. I gave myself specific rules in hopes they might all end up more cohesive/consistent seeming, but alas, scribbly chaos reigns, it seems

[kinokoshoujoart]

oops all rock (springtime edition)

i’ll be able to draw digitally again soon! ;w; in the meantime i’ve been scribbling a lot on paper…

could not wait for Soon, so i resorted to coloring it using the markup tool in default iphone photos app (don’t do that ever again)

[jordanswitches]

just asked the girl i've been talking to for the last three weeks to go to dinner with me and as someone who has rarely been on a first date bc people usually are too eager to fuck me to romance me, i do feel quite strongly that my heart is gonna beat out of my chest. i've literally never had this much build up before meeting someone i'm gonna have a heart attack waiting for her reply lol

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

pray for me please

[hellisntreal]

a confession of the only error that remains to a Fool: faith.

(Mr Barleycorn and The Halved for @moonstruck-stormy)

[spotaus]

Hi guys, this is usually what a doodle page ends up looking like <3 (oh, and @ancha-aus thought you might like this! Not writing but certainly fuel to my fire lol-)

This one is New Age filled!!! (Close-ups abd Lore beneath the cut!)

1) Night and Cross!

Night is actually very clingy once he's a teen. He doesn't usually realize it, but around the castle he'll snake to be closer to his Knights so long as there's no one he needs to keep his composure infront of is nearby. Cross is the one who's not used to physical touch (when it's not Ink ofc) so Night in his personal bubble makes his heart melt but also scares tf out of him <3

2) Error and Night's Meeting!

Error was carrying his whole life on his back and trying not to get arrested for unintentional property damage at this point, so when he saw the chance to get back at his brother and prove he was strong enough? Yeah, he got that on chance instantly. And was VERY smug when Nightmare chose him. (Also, Error is wearing gloves, so less Haphephobia)

3) Dream and Blue designs!

I think these are good tentative designs! Dream probably has a more regal fit, but he likes to play up that rugged exile look- He's inspired by Archers, while Blue takes on that classic Knightly-vibe. Their equipment is mostly stolen from Night's troops or brought with them from Blue's home kingdom.

Also, Dream is approx Killer's height at this point, shorter than Cross and *much* shorter than Apple!Nightmare. (Hc that Skeletons tend to be tinier in stature thanks to weird monster beauty standards. Horror and Geno's fam are outliers.)

4) Horror and Dust designs!

Horror is naturally a very *large* monster. He's very malnourished when Nightmare meets him, but by the time he's a Knight Nightmare has made sure that's no longer the case. He actually loves comfy, simple clothes, but to play up the whole 'strong mysterious' bit he wears a more barbaric Knight's garb. He doesn't mind acting scary, it's more fun that way :]. Dust is very very small, and envies horror sometimes for his size, but his tiny stature let's him control his body and move a lot quicker. He's very much based on a rogue, and usually covers the lower part of his face w/ a black cloth, and the upper part w/ his hood or mask. Dust only removes both to bathe, eat, or relax in a safe location. (Ignore that I can't draw the stupid gaster blaster lmao-)

These last two were space-fillers, but Cross and his Borzoi (Windmill, otherwise known as Milly (Killer named her-)) and really bad first wips of Ccino! I think Ccino was a chubby, happy toddler, but lost a lot of 'weight' (bone mass? Magic?) due to stress and pressure and bad eating habits. So it isn't until a while after the Coronation that he starts to relax abd feel safe enough to eat normal meals (Nightmare used to guilt him into eating snacks together, but as his boss (and younger brother) he can encourage it more often). By the time Killer shows he's still not quite healthy, but he's better. As more weight is lifted off his shoulders, the better he is. (That 'beauty' most people saw was a more stereotypical slimness, but Killer never stopped seeing Ccino as beautiful-) I think he never looked traditionally underweight, so no one noticed, and it was only much later that Night processed it. (And maybe it's why Dream hardly recognized him later on-)

[howtodisappearcompletelyand]

20/10 stars little guy

[whatwooshkai]

10 for smoke and mirrors? 😼

Heatwave stares at the bags he's packed.

The room is still just as full without his stuff, which doesn't make him feel any better about this. His guardians assured him that they weren't going to replace him as soon as he left, that they're done taking in sparklings, even with the extra space now.

The thought is nice, but Heatwave doesn't believe them, because he's heard that line too many times without any evidence backing it up. Which he doesn't really hold against them, he loves everyone that lives in his home, it's just...

It's not just regular jitters- sure, this is his first time leaving home, his first time alone, of course he's going to be nervous.

But he's not nervous. He's scared.

Heatwave really should bring up the strange hallucinations he’s been having with his guardians.

His tanks will oddly cramp, he’ll see things in the corners of his optics, or his visual input will suddenly become shimmery and swirly, as he watches events play out before they do.

Now, Heatwave has heard of outliers before. He’s not stupid. But he never thought…

Yet all the signs are there. He’s able to do something no one else can, or rather, something happens to him that doesn’t happen to anyone else. He overproduces coolant and runs hotter than any other mech.

He shouldn’t tell anyone. Outliers are required to be documented by the government, and Heatwave hasn’t heard too many stories of mechs being whisked away to government facilities never to be seen again, as their abilities are exhausted while the government tries to turn them into some sort of weapon.

So no, he’s not telling anyone.

“Heatwave!”

Snapdragon’s voice floats to his audials from downstairs.

“Coming!” He shouts back, leaving his stuff laid on his berth.

The living room is the center of a rare moment of peace- the sparklings are all down for naps, while the older mechs are all out and about. He can see the twins bickering quietly in the kitchen, though.

Snapdragon is standing next to the couch, while Hard Drive, his other guardian, leans on it towards her.

They’re both tall and bulky mechs, bigger than Heatwave. He hates feeling small, but it doesn’t feel so bad when he’s next to them.

“C’mere, kiddo,” Hard Drive says, grinning with badly disguised excitement. “We gotcha somethin’!”

Snapdragon produces a little box and with a grin to match Hard Drive’s, shoves it into Heatwave’s hands. “Go on, open it!” she encourages.

He does, keeping his field tight to his frame so his guardians don’t pick up on the feeling of foreboding he can’t seem to shake.

It’s a universal translator. Heatwave’s tanks drop.

“It was a while of savin’ up,” Snapdragon starts to explain, clapping her hands together with glee. “But so worth it. Our little Heatwave’s gonna be a Rescue Bot!”

Seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil, both Heatwave’s guardians sweep him up into a crushing hug.

Primus. I can’t tell them I don’t want to go now!

Heatwave worries his lip between his fangs, but returns the hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

I have to… I have to at least try.

[unclewaynemunson]

Tadaaaa here is the sequel to this post, which came from an ask that got me in a chokehold for days now so kudos to the lovely anon who sent that prompt to me! You can also read the whole thing on ao3 :)

As soon as Eddie got into the passenger seat of his Wayne's truck, he saw the whole world go blurry. He tried to blink away his tears, but it was no use – nothing ever escaped his uncle's notice anyway.

'Wanna tell me what's wrong, boy?' he asked while he started the car.

Eddie grimaced. 'You know how they say you should never meet your heroes?'

'Hm?'

'Well, I met mine. On the fucking train. Just yet.'

Wayne shot him an incredulous glance.

'What was the Black Sabbath guy doin' on a train?'

'What? No, it wasn't... No.'

'The Hobbits guy?'

'Jesus Christ, Wayne, Tolkien died like fifteen years ago, keep up.'

'You want me to keep guessin' or you gonna tell me?'

Eddie rolled his eyes.

'Yeah, no, you wouldn't guess it right anyway. It's this poet.'

'Don't think I ever heard you talk 'bout poetry before,' Wayne remarked.

And that was exactly the thing. Ronan Right had been something... private. Something between Eddie and the faceless blob in his mind that embodied Right – and maybe Jeff. Okay, and Jeff's mom. But it wasn't someone he'd talk people's ears off about on any occasion he got, like he did with plenty of other musicians or writers that he'd get all obsessive about.

Until Steve, that was. Steve, who had been casually listening to his music. Steve, who had recognized the book in his hands and effortlessly opened the floodgates of his obsession. Steve, who had said the most beautiful things about Corroded Coffin without even knowing who Eddie was. Steve, who had talked with him about their shared passions for hours. Steve, who he now somehow had to merge with Right in his mind.

Steve, who seemed so perfect that it made all of Eddie's alarm bells go off at the loudest possible volume. Because this couldn't be real. This was something straight from a disgustingly sweet romcom scenario, and if there was anything Eddie could be certain about, it was that his life was no romcom.

So during the short walk from the station to Wayne's car, Eddie's head had already come up with a dozen scenarios that were completely spiraling out of control – even though they'd all make for great songs, no doubt about that. Steve would die some kind of tragic death on his way to their first date. Steve was secretly addicted to crack. Steve was a stalkerish fan who had lied to him about being Ronan Right to get close to him. Steve would cheat on him on their wedding day.

The list of possibilities was endless and terrifying – while the list of possibilities for this having a happy ending, on the other hand, was exceptionally short.

'Was it that bad?' asked Wayne while they headed out of the city.

Usually, Eddie enjoyed amping up his dramatics to a maximum around Wayne, providing the much-needed balance to his uncle's calm and steady demeanor. But right now, Eddie felt himself deflate in his seat. He couldn't bring himself to make a show out of it.

'No,' he said, quietly. 'He was perfect.'

And Wayne must've heard it in his voice, must've picked up right away that this wasn't Eddie being dramatic, that something serious was going on here, because he gave him this look that was cutting way too deep into his heart.

'Nobody can be that perfect, you know,' Eddie continued. 'It's impossible. And he – he gave me his number. And I just know that if I call it, and we get to know each other better, I'll get crushingly disappointed sooner rather than later. Because something has to be, like, disturbingly wrong with this guy.'

Anyone else than Wayne would probably tell Eddie that he was being ridiculous, that he should get over himself and call Steve; that he should allow himself to let good things happen to him or some shit. But Wayne wasn't just anyone. Wayne was the one person who knew exactly what Eddie meant. The one person who had seen from up-close the shitshow that Eddie's life had been, who had retained a front row seat through all of it. And he had had his own fair share of misery himself, Eddie knew that much. He was too old and had gotten punched down too many times to still hold naive illusions of the possibility of good things.

So he didn't give him some bullshit advice. He merely patted Eddie's knee and turned up the radio.

---

Ever since Eddie had left Hawkins, it had become a habit of him to stay with Wayne for a couple of weeks every now and then. For all his desires to get the hell out of that town when he was younger, he still spent way too much time at his uncle's trailer. But it wasn't Hawkins that he came back for, it was uncle Wayne.

It was home. And it helped him breathe whenever the city got too intense. Helped him get detached from everything that distracted him from the shit that actually mattered. Helped him get his head right when Chicago was threatening to make him lose it.

Time seemed to move differently in Hawkins than in the city. Slower. More naturally, too, somehow. Maybe it was because of the lack of nightlife and flashing neon signs when the world was supposed to be wrapped in darkness. The fact that he could still see the stars when he stepped out of the trailer at nighttime. Maybe it was the quiet, which allowed him to actually hear himself think. Or maybe it was the predictability of it all: Wayne waking him up with a cup of coffee in the morning, the two of them sharing cigarettes on the porch, Eddie helping Wayne with some chores and then trying to write new songs until well into the night, when the world was his and his alone.

He kept reading Right almost religiously, but it was different, now. Now that he could hear Steve's voice say those words, now that he could envision the way in which the sun shone on his hair through the dirty train window and the shape of his hands clutching a walkman that had Eddie's music in it. It was all different.

After a week, Eddie had a whole album worth of songs about the deception of things that seemed perfect. He hadn't been able to write even one song about things ending well, about things working out. That wasn't his life. Things never worked out. Why would they, for a boy born in a household where the trifecta of poverty, addiction and violence was all he had ever known? In the five albums he had produced so far, he'd never experienced a lack of demons to write about.

So no, he wouldn't be calling Steve, even though he had read the number that was written down on the sleeve of his own album so often that it'd probably be impossible to ever erase it from his mind again. He'd protect himself, this time. He'd cherish the hours he got to spend with Ronan Right, the memories that were already starting to feel like a fever dream, and not let his heart break any further. Not this time. Not again.

---

'Got mail for ya.'

An envelope landed in Eddie's lap.

'What's this?'

'I dunno, 's your mail,' Wayne answered.

Eddie didn't recognize the handwriting and the Indianapolis post stamp didn't give him much of a clue either. It didn't make sense that someone would send him a letter at his uncle's place.

He frowned, roughly tore open the envelope and pulled a single sheet of paper out of it. It was neither directed at nor signed by anyone, but that wasn't necessary for Eddie to know who sent it.

'What is it, boy?' Wayne asked, a worried edge to his voice upon hearing the choked sob that freed itself from Eddie's throat.

Eddie knew that the words were only meant for him. But he and Wayne were a unit, always had been, ever since Eddie moved into Forest Hills. So he wordlessly handed the paper to his uncle, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes.

Wayne assessed the text with a wrinkled forehead, holding the paper at an arm's-length in order to read it.

'That from the boy you met on the train?'

Eddie nodded.

When his uncle looked up from the letter, Eddie caught an almost unfamiliar look in his eyes. It was soft, hopeful. Optimistic.

'You know I ain't any good with words, like you, or this – this poet,' Wayne said. 'But this...' He pressed the letter back into Eddie's hand. 'This looks like he knows you, Ed. Like he sees you. For all that you are.'

He didn't tell Eddie what to do; that wasn't his style, never had been. But what he did say kept bouncing through Eddie's head unceasingly, making him unable to sleep, unable to write, unable to think about anything else.

---

Eddie desperately wanted to say something meaningful when Steve picked up the phone. He wanted to thank him for reaching out, to apologize for being too much of a coward to call earlier – but what came out of his mouth instead was, 'How did you know where to find me?'

'Eddie, is that you?' It sounded like Steve didn't quite believe it.

'Yeah – yeah, it's me,' was the only thing he managed to get out of his mouth.

'Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped,' Steve told him. 'I just – I couldn't get you out of my head and it all felt so right, you know, like fate or some shit, so I just had to... I needed to try. And I knew your name, and that you were staying with your uncle, so I got help from some friends and they managed to find your uncle's address.'

And as if Eddie hadn't been enough of an emotional wreck over the past week, his vision got blurry with tears yet again.

'Sorry, was it – did I go too far?' Steve sounded nervous.

Eddie could perfectly envision the way he would be frowning and anxiously running a hand through his hair; as if they had already shared a whole lifetime of getting to know all about each other's mannerisms instead of a few stolen hours on a train.

He hated the idea of Steve thinking he had done something wrong when all he ever did was so fucking right, so he determinedly shook his head, then realized Steve wouldn't be able to see that, and started scraping for words.

'No, Steve, you... You're perfect. And that scared the shit out of me, because so far, my life hasn't really done perfect. Most of our songs, they're – well – creative retellings of my own shit.' Now that he started talking, the words actually came a lot easier. 'They're all real, at the core, when you peel away the layers of, like, monster slaying and fantasy imagery. Like, everything underneath all that, it's all... me. Damage, betrayal, fear, violence – all that shit is true. Life hasn't been kind to me, Steve. And I was convinced that you'd only become an addition to that long list of crap, because you seemed way too perfect. I never thought I could have something good. And you're good, Steve, you're so fucking good. So I couldn't believe it.'

A long silence ensued at the other side of the line. Then, a sigh.

Then, 'Eddie,' in the softest voice possible, like his name was something breakable. Eddie didn't remember ever having heard his name said like that.

'I think that was exactly what I heard in your songs. Why I kept listening to them. Why they inspired me so much.'

Eddie tried to swallow away the lump in his throat, suffocated by the emotions bubbling up inside of him.

'I wish I could hold you, right now.'

Eddie's breath caught. He knew exactly what he needed to do: he needed to stop running. He needed to trust that Steve could be right, for him. That Steve could be something good.

'I mean, you could come over to Hawkins and do just that, you know,' he suggested.

'D'you want me to?'

He nodded, again forgetting that Steve couldn't see him.

'Yeah, I'd like that. Probably still got half that cookie somewhere in my pocket, y'know. Maybe we could share it.'

Credit where credit is due: the line “He sees you, for all that you are” isn't mine, it's one of my favorite quotes from Schitt's Creek and I really wanted Wayne to say that to Eddie about Steve, so here we have it <3

@ My beloved 🥐 anon: I hope you like this ending, and that I came close enough to your suggestion to have Steve make Eddie a character in his next poem <3

Taglist: @kathorakiryu @goodolefashionedloverboi @undreaming-rambles @fangirlycupcake @ghouligans-central @henderdads @dolphincliffs @anglhrts @ajamlessbaby @yearningagain @vampireinthesun @xxbottlecapx @kissaphobic-kas @mad-h-w @booksandsience @obsessivlyme @ppunkpuppyy @barnes-bestgirl @capital-p-platonic​ @eddiemunsonmeltdowns @callme-keys​​

[snickerdoodlles]

some thoughts on writing humor for anyone interested;

if you want to incorporate more humor into your writing, what you really want to practice is timing. writing humor is rarely about writing an individual funny line-- you don't remember the punchline because of the line itself, you remember the punchline because of everything else that came before it. a punchline without a proper build up or proper timing is just a non-sequitur.

so, when writing a humor fic, a good thing to remember is that the punchline comes last. you can't have your funniest line at the start of your story. think of it like action-- if your first fight is the boss fight, any fight of lower stakes or difficulty that follows is going to feel lackluster in comparison. you want your story and your jokes to build to the final line, or else you'll step on the joke and lose its impact.

and this does take practice! putting the joke at the end doesn't always feel 'natural' at first, learning how to structure and build a humor story is a skill the same as learning how to do it for any other genre. personally, i'd also say humor is something that really comes out in the editing stage more than the initial drafts-- humor is very reliant on timing and rhythm, and it's hard to find and stick to a story's pacing when you're still working on the overall story structure. i mean, this sort of thing tends to go for any sort of writing, but nothing makes humor fall flat faster than wonky pacing and so (for me at least) editing is the stage where the story goes from "oh, haha" to actually funny.

(i also bring this up because fandom has a lot of jokes about not editing a finished draft before posting-- and like, totally feel you, i'm not huge on editing after i reach the end of the draft. however, i have noticed in fic circles where people will get caught up on and sometimes even discouraged by trying to be funny in the fic larva stages when the framework to be funny just isn't there yet. personally, i highlight the humor lines i'm unsure about and move on. then, when the fic's closer to 90% done or so, it's much easier to skim the overall story and cut/format/refine/etc any jokes because they're already highlighted for easy finding.)

another thing to keep in mind is that humor as a writing device is often used to release tension. i would say this is a large part of why humor often falls very naturally into scene transitions; that natural release of tension is very useful as an 'end bracket' to a scene while also setting up the audience to be freshly wound up again. this feature is useful for stories aiming for a more light-hearted tone overall, but in general stories often incorporate humor as a way of controlling a story's pacing so that the tension doesn't get too tight too fast. even if a punchline isn't your end goal, you're still building up to something and it's really helpful to edit your humorous lines by asking "does this fit with my scene/story's pacing, or is it disruptive to my buildup?"

it doesn't really matter how funny an individual line might be on its own-- if its disruptive to the story's overall flow, the joke's effect is going to come off as strained and forced. because humor is really an exercise in structure and story rhythm, the most ineffective way to study humor is to fixate on the individual jokes you remember in your favorite stories-- instead look for the threads that came before the joke that made it memorable, and then practice doing that in your own writing. usually when humor falls flat in a story, it's because either the specific joke pops out of nowhere (missing the build-up) or the joke is in the wrong spot in the story (disruptive, breaks reader immersion). sometimes the fix is as easy as reshuffling a few lines, other times it's a matter of adding more to the build up, or even cutting it altogether so that something else packs a bigger punch.

tl;dr-- i'm repeating the old adage "in comedy, timing is everything." if you want to get better at writing or incorporating humor into your stories, it's honestly more important to practice when to drop a joke than the specific wording of the joke itself.

[holland-vosijk-antari]

massive lack of sleep-induced ramble incoming:

been thinking more about the bonds between antari (from reading the telepathy between holland and ojka while osaron is in them) which makes me think about if the antari could telepathically communicate. firstly, holland would chose to Not Do That.... i can imagine a young kell who has learnt in a book that antari are meant to be able to talk across a bond and so he tries it and gets no response, he wonders if its him doing it incorrectly or if he's not strong enough yet so he keeps trying until eventually giving up. holland is very glad when he gives up because he would be trying to close his mind to the suffering he is experiencing only to be brought back to the surface by a small eager voice in his head saying "hello :) can you hear me?" and he knows if he responds whether it be kindly or harshly he will never have peace from it

on the other hand though, during agos before kell knows that lila is antari he thinks of her so often that she hers his voie in her head, lila of course has her suspicions that she may be antari but has no idea that such a connection is possible, so she considers these thoughts that sound alarmingly like kell as just a lingering attachment to him that she's desperately tried to sever. when they do figure it out though, people question how those two pirates (ahem, privateers) seem to always know what the other is thinking or what the other is about to do...

[memento-morri-writes]

More dnd writing because it's all I have but I here's a snippet from a vignette I did of Rook's past (from Zara's POV), because Rook and his mentors never fails to make me sick (/pos).

[transcript under the cut]

Taking a coin out of her pocket, she rolled it across her knuckles, back and forth. It gave her hands something to do, and prevented the urge to bite her nails, something she hadn’t done in years. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Zara began to pace as Rook’s breathing grew shakier and the color drained from his skin. Where the hells is Jay? she wondered. The room was so quiet that she could hear every tick of the small clock on her bedside table, and each one echoed in her head. How many ticks does he have left? She didn’t want to think about it.  She’d had crew members die before, of course. You don’t go as many years as a captain as she had and never lose a soul. But all the others who had died had died quickly, in combat. She’d mourned for all of them, even shed tears in private, but there was something different about watching the life drain out of a person right in front of your eyes.

[jichanxo]

aoki hip to be square fancam.... save me..... aoki save me.... [from nov/2023]

[unriding]

(early) zevie day sketchy !!!!! for u !!!!!!! ohhh how i love zevie (and moevie) !!!!! i hope you have the best best best ever day full of love bc you deserve it - truly and honestly!! you're one of the sweetest souls i've had the pleasure of knowing ... thank you for being you <3 mwah mwah xoxo

venus ?!?! i will respond to your art in my tags ( i am sorry for the length of them in advance ) but oh i love you !! i think i will queue this like 30 minutes before midnight because i am losing my mind ahsndjdjd !!! ??? venus every time i see you, i feel so .. safe ?! and so comfortable ? and happy ? i truly love this special air you have .. i love you !! i have been so happy to be your mootie … thank you for making me feel so loved 🥺 and thank you for being in my life! and thank you for being so cute and so sweet and so lovely and so — JANSNJDKD thank you!!! 🥺🥺🤍✨✨

[throughpatchesofviolet]

There are so many posts I want to make, but I feel like there's something blocking me from posting ...