#i cannot write essays

[moonsblack]

my 8 page essay is done. am i proud of it?? no!! but i’m glad it’s over!!

[astrolavas]

thinking about the... potential clawthorne woodcarving mentorship.

+ bonus cuz also thinking abt how if hunter ever met dell's palisman and got reminded of flapjack, he'd probably feel bad abt making that association cuz he knows what it's like to be seen only as someone's different version (even though the bird wouldn't mind much so lol)

[blackkatdraws2]

An unfortunate intruder. [Blank Scripts AU]

The Parable is a living organism. Similar to a tree in a way.

Unless an individual is registered as a Guest [or an Actor in Stanley's case], the Parable will begin to digest anything organic that enters inside of it.

Food will clip through the Parable until they fully 'despawn'.

Permission to enter can only be granted by The Narrator [Black].

The woman found here snuck inside and got digested by the Parable.

[courtrecord]

honestly i hate how that “maybe the curtains are just blue” post has become shorthand for anti-intellectualism and shit bc as someone who has an utter passion for media analysis now, I WAS THAT PERSON IN HIGH SCHOOL ENGLISH CLASS.

english class never taught me how to analyze stories, it taught me how to remember what things the teacher said were “symbolism” and how to take quizzes where we had to match a quote to the character who said it. i didn’t give a shit about any of it, bc literally why should i. it was bullshit.

there’s this idea online that people are forgetting or rejecting what they learned in english class when they’re bad at media analysis, and maybe that’s a little bit true, but i think the much bigger problem is they never learned it in the first place. cinemasins & “maybe the curtains are just blue” aren’t convincing people to abandon an intellectualism they already had, they’re filling a void.

when all you learn in high school is to write on the test “blue = depression”, why is it surprising that so many people don’t give a shit about the curtains.

[excelsior9173]

god. vessel talking about jaws (kerrang interview)

and saying “you don’t know someone until you have seen them destroy something”

I AM CHEWING THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE I AM SO ABNORMAL ABOUT THIS

[runwhileyoucan]

I got a lot of inspiration from @bread-sheeran and their Omori + moral orel drawings so please check her art out too!

[gjdraws]

Not pictured: Dief mad at being shunted to the foot of the bed. Set vaguely around either Pizzas & Promises or They Eat Horses, DOn't They - whichever you like!

Directly inspired by @otpin-arts very cute piece here:

https://www.tumblr.com/otpin-arts/765624888689131520/got-to-mid-s1-rewatch-ray-deserves-a-break-after?source=share

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

---------------------------------------------------------

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro

[writtenbylenora]

when are studios gonna realize that animated adaptions of books are the WAY TO GO

[h4zardousch3micals]

Me on my way to piss off every side of the cccc fandom at once: have you considered that they're all just trying to do what they think is right in their own way and fucking everything up because they're hurting and they all deserve sympathy

[b0tsbby]

Please reblog if you’re a fan of or can somewhat accept Stampede knives AND you don’t think he is in love with his brother

There’s five of us but we should know each other I think.

[kayatoastkkat]

hey Lanyon did you know the Nile is a river in Egypt-

OKAY BUT YES YES YES FINALLY THE ANGST THE REVEAL LANYON'S REACTION EEEEEEEEEEE-

I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT HE'S HORRIFIED HE'S NOT TAKING IT WELL AT ALLLLL YES YES YEESSSSSS

oh yeah I know this panel was previewed a few days back but the ABSOLUTE GUILT ON HIS FACE. THE GUILT FROM JEKYLL. THE WAY HE REFUSES TO LOOK UP BECAUSE HE KNOWS WHATEVER LANYON'S EXPRESSION IS IT HE WON'T WANT TO SEE IT AAAAAAAAAA-

the disgust and horror on Lanyon's face too- augh.

Lanyon you're so ungrateful with your 2 for 1 boyfriend deal smh 🙄🙄 /j /j

denial 😀👍🎉

I love that he's spent so long believing Jekyll to be an innocent cinnamon roll that could do no wrong that now with proof that Jekyll's far off the deep end in his mad science his first instinct is to blame Frankenstein and the Lodgers. The way that he believes Jekyll would never act on such an experiment out of his own free will. it hurts so much and I absolutely love it. the Jekyll that Lanyon sees through rose-tinted glasses shattered to the ground revealing what he really is facing him right now.

finally. Jekyll. JEKYLL BEING HONEST. HE'S ADMITTING YES HE FUCKED UP AND HE MEANT TO FUCK UP. again, I feel like it's so that Lanyon doesn't take it out on the Lodgers and cuts their funding or something but also…the fact that maybe. just maybe he feels that after running away from Lanyon this morning. he felt that Lanyon already hates him. that he feels with the reveal out he truly has no way to salvage their relationship anymore so he might as well go all out- admit that it was all him and him alone and he kept it secret from everyone.

oooooh my god I cannot WAIT to see how they plan to talk this out AAAAAAAA

[rooolt]

and if I said for the first three seasons of cobra kai Eli Moskowitz harbors a devastating, almost hero-worshippy crush on Miguel Diaz that he refuses to admit to himself and it impacts a series of his motivations, especially regarding the way he treats Sam in s2&3

[afurtivecake]

It's easy to get the impression that Tetsuji never cared enough to rein in Riko's behaviour and temper but I think it's the opposite. I think Riko grew up constantly being told stuff like, "You have to learn to control your temper" and, "Is that any way to behave?" by Tetsuji. I think Tetsuji would have even disciplined him harshly every time he was caught acting out of anger. But all that is coming from Tetsuji - the man who would beat a kid if they displeased him in any way. How can you ever really take to heart the words of someone who demonstrates the exact opposite of what they preach? How are you supposed to not learn that the real lesson is, "Become the one who has all the power over everyone else and you will never have to suffer criticism for how you behave ever again."

[nemurian]

@bigboobyhalo Your sacrifices have been accepted by the great Dapper. I'm so sorry but I don't think you'll be getting them back anytime soon. Or ever.

[rovermcfly]

you know it may have started as me just putting on the old shipping goggles, but the more poirot books I read the more convinced I am that poirot is canonically in love with hastings and intentionally written that way. I think there really is intentional gaycoding happening, and I think a lot of things that get glossed over are actually intended to be meaningful. the gaycoding I think is fairly obvious when you read, and a lot of it is also shrouded in the "foreigner" thing, but those two frequently go hand-in-hand in literature anyway. but I think especially the being in love with hastings thing is so easily dismissed but I don't think actually requires making any leaps in interpretation, I believe that is the intended text.

I'm trying to imagine myself as an author, growing up surrounded by artists, starting to write books in the 20s. And I decide, maybe not immediately but fairly soon, that my main character is the kind of gay man I have encountered a couple of times now, or perhaps a combination of a few. A dandy, always dramatic, a francophone who dials up the foreignness for show, an impossibly vain man, an eternal bachelor who lives with another man, an eternal bachelor whose other half left him for a heterosexual marriage, an eternal bachelor whose heart is irreparably broken in a world where he can't be openly gay and the inability to show his feelings has left him lonely and sad.

I think it IS hugely significant that poirot says hastings' absence, even just for 1 1/2 years, has left him a lonely old man, that he says he wanted to go to south america to live near hastings, that hastings is the only one he told about the chocolate box, that he cannot help but embrace and kiss hastings, that he seeks the physical contact with hastings constantly either in the form of hugs or adjusting ties or brushing down each other's clothes, that in hastings' absence he becomes depressed and spends the whole time thinking about him and what he'd say or do if he was there, that he canonically reads sherlock holmes and thinks it's the most brilliant writing in the world because watson reminds him of hastings, that he gets distraught over the idea of hastings getting hurt, that he'd risk his own life for hastings, that he kills, once, for hastings.

when I read some of the poirot stories, there is no doubt in my mind that I am reading about a gay man, who loved this one man more than anyone. he can't hide that he's different and can't always hide his feelings, but he convinces the world that these are quirks, part of his foreignness, just eccentricity. and I believe fully that that is the man who was put on that page in the first place.