#i just keep reminding myself

[andillwriteyouatragedy]

[fookinstevienicks]

it is 80F. with 85% humidity. at 9 pm. it is barely MAY summer is going to KILL ME

[trekkiesagainstchastity]

It doesn't matter if that fic has been in your drafts for years and is now self-indulgent to the point of parody. If Steven Moffatt is allowed to do it professionally, you are allowed to do it for fun.

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[turtle-ier]

going to bed at 9.30 :((((( because i need to wake up at 5am :(((((((( to get a train to london :(((((((((((((

[nicktoonsunite]

summore misc NU doodles

[apollos-olives]

my love for palestine is stronger than my hatred for zionists. my love for palestine is stronger than my hatred for zionists. my love for palestine is stronger than my hatred for zionists.

[heybaetae]

maknae line + gestures of love 🫰🏼💋🫶🏼🌹🤟🏼 happy birthday @jkvjimin! ♡

[even-disco-baby]

THOUGHT GAINED: INFERNAL ENGINES

PROBLEM

The world is ending. You know it, your neighbor knows it, the dealer knows it, the jailer knows it, the king and all his men know it. All one has to do is look around to see it— the future is curdling into something pale and incorporeal. The infernal machine that is this stupid world is going to blow, sooner rather than later. So what are you doing? Why are you still here? Why is anyone still here?

SOLUTION

You are doing the only thing worth doing. You are living. *Why,* you ask? Try and remember now. Remember your mother’s hand on your shoulder. Remember the taste of a fresh catch. Remember the times when you were kind to the dogs in the valley and they did not bare their teeth. Remember the weight of a child on your shoulders. Remember the stars throwing their light against the wall of sodium and smog. Remember singing until your throat was raw. Remember crying just as loudly and publicly, and the gentleness with which someone opened your curled fist and pressed a handkerchief into your palm. Crying, laughing, running, eating, screaming, haunting, loving, fighting, fighting, fighting. The fight fuels you, and you fuel the fight. You run yourself ragged just for a chance to keep running. You never stop. You cannot stop. The world depends on it. *You* are the infernal engine. You are the world. And, simply put: you want to live.

[crystalpallette]

so I finished side order recently

[sleepnoises]

today i volunteered at a historic home gut rehab the local habitat for humanity is doing and got to scooch around in the crawlspace and cut bits of wood and use a nailgun. at one point the Head Guy asked if i knew how to use a table saw and i said "yes but not with confidence" and actually? i do know how to use a table saw with confidence. but confidence that the table saw hates its users and thirsts for blood

[kindlythevoid]

I have read Fellowship of the Ring more times than I have cared to keep count and every time I read Boromir’s, well, possession for lack of a better word, I have read it in fear, in discomfort, in horror, indifferently.

This was, I think, the first time I read it in pity. I looked at all the plans Boromir was making, how he would save his beloved city, how obstinate he was in his belief that the men of Minas Tirith would not be corrupted when wielding the Ring against Sauron —and I felt sad. He’s waving his hands and hollering and part of him is desperate just for the Ring, of course he is, he’s been traveling beside it with no hope for months, but he’s also desperate for hope. He’s desperate for a chance to save his people, save his brother, save his city.

Moreover, every time he calls out the Elves or the Wizards, you have to remember that he doesn’t know them. All he knows is that he traveled almost a full year to get their advice and they send him on, in his eyes, a hopeless venture. The one hope they give him is Aragorn, who promises to return and help save Minas Tirith with him, but even that all changes once Gandalf dies. They come to Lothlorien and of course it’s a welcome break, but they cannot, or maybe in Boromir’s eyes will not, help his people. And once they leave, Aragorn assumes his role as leader of the Fellowship in Gandalf’s stead more permanently and suddenly even that one, brief, uncertain hope of his is gone. Aragorn will follow Frodo. And it’s almost certain that Frodo will not go to Minas Tirith.

So is it any wonder, really, that tired, desperate, hopeless Boromir, out of his realm, out of his depth, already hanging by a thread when he joins the Fellowship and having been gnawed on by the Ring for months upon months afterwards, finally snaps once it’s clear that he will have to return home empty-handed and almost certain that somewhere far away Sauron is capturing the Ring and killing the companions that he had bonded with? Of course part of the Ring is making him lust for power, but it’s also his only “reliable” (in his mind) source of hope left to save his city.

And so I read Boromir’s (intelligent and thought out, mind you) raving and I don’t feel scared for Frodo, not after reading it so many times and knowing what ultimately happens, but sorrow for Boromir.

[skitskatdacat63]

Okay now where's the Seb teddy bear so I can make them kiss each other!?

+

[notbecauseofvictories]

I went to see an opera about the jazz age and then, while biking back home, stopped dead to listen to some performers at a street fair sing "Dust in the Wind"---at least, before they lurched into a laughing "Happy Birthday" at the crowd's request. I pedaled the rest of the way home singing to myself, so actually, everything in the world is wonderful and good. I can't believe my brain repeatedly tricks me into thinking otherwise.

[basalting]

shares part of my angsty fic with no context

Bruce didn't give a speech at his parents funeral. Alfred had offered it to him, crouched at the threshold of his parents wardrobe, peering through the trousers and dresses and long coats Bruce had hidden himself in.

In those days Bruce often hid in his parents wardrobe. He'd been a people-shy child, had often spent dinners and events hidden in his mothers skirts or clutching his fathers pant leg. Martha used to gently tug his hair, tell him to 'go say hello bumblebee' and always welcomed him back to the shelter of her skirts with a laugh and a cloud of rich perfume. Thomas used to haul him up by his jacket, tuck him under his arm like a football and gently squish him until Bruce was laughing too hard to be shy.

Years later Bruce will remember the texture of his fathers favourite dress pants clenched under his hands better than the sound of his fathers voice.

So Bruce hides in the wardrobe, pretending that it's just another boring dinner and he's safe in the shadow between his parents.

[mykashg]

You know for comedians, you're all a little out of touch.

HACKS Season 3, Episode 4 "Join the Club"