#it conveys what i wanted in it so idk

[daryslaytonramblings]

a helping hand

[hinamie]

subject, specimen, spectacle;

should i say that you're dead?

[sholmeser]

anyone else losing it kinda

[starryeyed-seer]

me: I'm not a bat

Mr pages: (stuffing novels under its robe): I must abscond

[dipndops]

✧˖°. there is only one truth .˖°✧

[shinjaeha]

thinking about how gyu ho was quite literally the light and love of young's life. how when they first meet, he's the one that presses that bottle to his mouth and asks if he's okay when young gets knocked down. how he travels all that way to young's apartment just to put his curtains up for him when he sees how the light bothers him when he sleeps. how he's the metaphorical ray of sunlight on young's face coming through the gap in those very curtains when he's counting all his moles.

how he's always smoothing out the crease between young's eyebrows when he's worried, like he's trying to smooth away his troubles. how his acceptance of kylie is so easy and simple bc he knows that it's something that young has opened up and trusted him with. something that he's never told another soul about, and it's understandably something painful for young to be so vulnerable about. how he tells young that he's still the same person with or without kylie. everything about gyu ho is a balm. the way he soothes and reassures. the way he loves.

that scene when they're kissing in the club for the last time encapsulates the very essence of their relationship imo. young doubting and constantly asking what happens if they argue again once they're back home, and gyu ho answering him so easily and honestly with "then we'll make up!" over and over again bc it really IS that simple for him. simple in a way that it's not for young who is never able to get past the doubt and insecurity of it all.

[okitanoniisan]

no one can reach my level of petty hating about the stupid english title

[lifeisourcause]

make the mistake of engaging with my coworker when she said she just finished watching severance and that it made her mad. So I asked why it made her mad and ooh YOU GUESSED IT. she hates innie mark and hates helly and hates helena and thinks imark should’ve walked through the Death Door with gemma because “that’s his WIFE”. she also thinks that mark and gemma are just going to back to exactly how they were before and be happy and married with no consequences from the events of the last two seasons. And also she thinks that helena and mark weren’t flirting at zufu. Like girl what. what show are you watching. do you even like shows. do you even like stories narratives characters etc. i think it’s possible that you are in fact not a fan of fiction…..

[jerreeeeeee]

hm. struck all of a sudden with the urge to write a candlenights fic. i don’t think i really have the time for that but its. really strong.

[skunkes]

I'm tearing thru this sketchbook i did 19 pages this month

[ollylotl]

I WANT TO HEAR YOUR DAKOTA N VYNCENT THOUGHTS SO BAD please tell me about them.....

oooh dakota and vyncent…, where do i start. i warn you i don't normally do like. character analysis writing type posts? so please excuse if it's bad.

they have perhaps the most strained relationship out of the prime defenders. but that's not necessarily a bad thing. it's really compelling. they're very similar but also very different at the same time. and maybe this is why they can sort of grate against each other sometimes, but is also why they are such good friends who can rely on each other.

vyncent grew up living a life that, while not necessarily comfortable, he was familiar with. he was happy and he had a support system in the greats and his parents. that got ripped away from him very suddenly and he got dropped in the deep end of a world entirely unfamiliar. meanwhile dakota (from after his parents death onwards) had a very difficult childhood. he spent many years without a support system - his parents gone, his aunt struggling herself and not able to care for him as he needs. but he's had time to learn to deal with that. rockfall/new haven is where he's grown up, and he knows it like the back of his hand. so they're both struggling but like in opposite ways? where vyncent has been okay for most of his life but now he hasn't had a chance to adjust, while dakota's been going through it for longer but that means he's been able to adjust and is familiar with the rules of this world.

they also have opposite ways of coping with bad things / tackling their problems. dakota shuts down. vyncent lashes out. dakota is determined to never take a life. vyncent comes from a world where fighting to the death is normal. dakota not only trusts, but idolises heroes. vyncent has been nothing but let down by them and doesn't trust them at all.

i think about that scene in season 1 so much where they're at mark's house, and tide has been taken, and dakota's just shut down. vyncent starts yelling at him because he's lost everything he had in this world and can't afford to just stop like that. it's just the perfect example of how their opposite experiences and coping mechanisms cause them to clash.

more extremely, when william gets killed. dakota completely breaks down, while vyncent starts attacking even more furiously. then vyncent is like. almost pleading (? you could say? not sure if thats the word) with dakota to just get up and fight because he can't do this alone. he can't do this without dakota. he couldn't have done any of this without dakota.

but in perhaps the more simple ways, they're quite alike. they're the epitome of dumb teenage boys. i mean, they'll just break into a duet on the train. they goof off together - the shopping cart race, that one scene in the gym in season one.

so. like. they lean on each other. they both don't have much to rely on. but they have each other. i think vyncent was probably, even if its a large part subconsicous, feeling betrayed when dakota left over the s1-2 timeskip. likewise how dakota felt betrayed over the bino and mark thing / mal amulet / belltech, etc. etc. but they stick together. no matter what they go through they get out of it, and they get out of it together.

so. okay apologies for taking so long to say so little. essentially what i like most about dakota and vyncent's friendship is that duality of relying on each other both out of necessity and because they're the only ones who really get each other, and also having the energy of like. "hey bro how many slices of pizza can i fit in my mouth at once. hey bro bet you cant backflip off of this building. hey bro let's do a karaoke duet of breaking free from high school musical"

as vyncent himself said in late season 2. they're brothers. (falls over and sobs)

[apollo-just-ice]

The funniest and saddest thing perhaps is how captivated I have been by Skaði/Njörðr lately…

Yeah. Njörðr from Feh and his… presumably existing wife that isn’t even in Feh in any shape way or form atm.

I mean I’ve taken what can be learnt from Norse mythology and have made her into my own character, basically, but still…

I am working on a fic rn but man. Who is gonna get this except me? It’s crazy. But I am having fun with it soooooo. Hopefully that’ll be enough <3

[dramarants]

Wanting more homoeroticism in the tension between the show’s leads as the narrative introduces greater intimacy and higher stakes between them, especially in a landscape that lacks queer representation who isn’t a villain or dies within one or two episodes, but also recognizing that core values/motivation for these characters lie in their relationships with one of two major female characters in an on screen sausage fest where the only other woman is a morally reprehensible femme fatale and erasing and/or vilifying female leads in favor of conventionally attractive males is a common practice observed in fandoms that’s rooted in misogyny and justified under the guise of rejecting heteronormativity, thinly veiled double standards, or claiming the woman is simply not interesting enough and not wanting to bolster that mindset

[randomwriteronline]

"Pohatu - fancy seeing you here."

Nokama smiles a little more when the Toa turns to her. He sits slightly hunched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, powerful legs swinging idly in the emptiness that divides the rocky wall from a plummet into the ocean, completely unafraid; the unusual shape of his Kakama Nuva greets her wordlessly.

"I hope I did not bother you," she continues gently: "You seem so caught up in your thoughts, these days..."

A comfortable silence follows the pause she allows to hang.

For a moment a sense of dread creeps along her spine, around her arms, ensnaring her neck: Pohatu, whose voice rattles the mountains, stares at her eerily quiet with a terrifyingly blank gaze and a lack of emotion in his expression.

But he blinks, and his eyes widen, and he says: "What?" as he leans his head forward. "I'm sorry Turaga, I was not listening."

She exhales, amused, as the broken tension allows her shoulders to sag a little: "I only mentioned that you seem very distracted as of late - even during Vakama's tales."

"Ah," he replies with a slightly embarrassed laugh: "I guess my head likes to be in Lewa's domain far more than my feet do in Onua's."

Nokama laughs with him: "May I?" she asks.

He gestures to his side amiably, inviting her to sit with him: "Of course, of course."

It's surprising how little he's worried. Even her head starts to spin from vertigo when she dares to look down at the swirling waters, and she is the furthest thing from the infamous Po-Matoran hydrophobia; yet he sits there without the barest hint of concern despite knowing very well he would sink to the depths of the ocean horribly easily.

Pohatu looks again to the horizon.

He's unusually unreadable.

"I've spoken with the Mahi of Po-Koro, on one of my visits," she tells him - her Rau's abilities have already been unmasked by now, so it's less strange than it could be - "They've told me you quite love to pamper them, more than the Hapaka."

His laugh vibrates out of him, but she notices he does not smile as wide as the sound would imply when he simply shrugs: "I like horns."

They've told her that, too.

"What troubles you, Toa of Stone?"

He glances back at her: "Nothing."

"Yet your mind is so often elsewhere, and you almost don't look like yourself. I've come to know you, Pohatu - I wish to help, if I can."

Nokama's gentle worry makes him sigh deeply: "You're as good a teacher as Toa Lhikan thought, Turaga," he replies with a heavy tone. "Very attentive."

She looks to her feet: "Vhisola was proof otherwise," she mutters.

Pohatu tilts his head: "Then it just means you've gotten better."

The Turaga smiles: "You're always too kind."

He does not reply to that.

His fingers sink into the stone of the precipice to rip a chunk out of the cliff like it's nothing; he tosses the rock from palm to palm absentmindedly, neck craned back to look at the sky.

"I'm just thinking of Po-Metru."

Curiosity, then. "It's only natural," she soothes him: "Your siblings wonder about Metru Nui too. Gali has asked me about Ga-Metru and the Great Temple quite a lot in the past few days. I'm certain Onewa will not be too shy to answer your questions."

She watches him pull one knee up to lean his chin on it: "I don't have many, to be honest - not about the city."

"Really?"

A shrug: "Turaga Vakama is very good at descriptions."

"Ah... Yes, he is, isn't he."

The Toa does not smile back at her; he keeps looking further away into the endless sky, as if to pull on the rest of the ocean with his mind until the other side of the island appears on the horizon.

"What is it, then?" Nokama nudges him. "What doubts take hold of your focus?"

He does not answer immediately.

The rock falls back in his hand perfectly each time he juggles it.

He does so halfheartedly, distractedly - in the same way he sits at the Amaja circle and looks at her brother speak as though he could see right past him, through him.

"The Matoran come from there," he finally says.

She nods.

At last, his strange nearly impersonal gaze returns upon her mask.

"Do you know where we come from?"

It takes her a moment to understand who he speaks of: "You come from the canisters," she answers, because that is nothing if the truth. "You come from the sea."

"The sea bears life - the sea bore us," he says under his breath at that, as though he is repeating a memory. It sounds a lot like Gali.

She nods: "That is as much as we Turaga know."

"And nothing else?" he insists. His words don't hold any desperation, but there is something in them she can't explain with any other term. "Did we have anything before that?"

"No, nothing. Nothing that we know of."

"You were Matoran. You became Toa. Do you not remember us?"

"No - you were never in Metru Nui. We never could have met you there, not even as Matoran."

"It remains we must have been Matoran. Isn't that right?"

His tone is... It strikes her enough to make her stagger before she can offer a response.

He sounds like...

He sounds like them, in a way.

He sounds like he is testing her - to see if he can trigger a specific reaction from her.

His tone is somewhat methodical, scientific, like a researcher interrogating a subject to observe the effects of whatever he's administered them; it is that of calculated questions that one already knows the answer to. His mask is unreadable, incomprehensible - not for a blank anonimity but instead an overwhelming amount of minuscule tells and signs that muddle the waters of his emotions, obscuring them within their own cacophonic confusion.

If only she too knew the answer.

If only (she assumes) he had not forgotten it.

"I imagine as much," Nokama finally replies. "But you six are special, Pohatu."

"You were chosen by Mata Nui himself," he interrupts her. The kindness in his voice is nearly an afterthought, but he masks that fact well. "I would say you too are not necessarily as ordinary a bunch as any Gukko flock might be in Le-Wahi."

She chuckles despite the strange atmosphere: "Oh," and then she laughs, and she laughs some more, bent over herself to try and stifle the giggles that bubble in her chest, "Oh, be careful not to say that in front of Tamaru or Kongu, lest you want a very angry lecture on how the Gukko force is so very different from their wild siblings."

Pohatu's smile is lukewarm.

The Turaga recomposes herself quickly when she takes in his lack of amusement: "But you are different," she insists. "You are something more than what we were or could have hoped to be."

"That sort of thing doesn't spring out of the ocean from nowhere."

"That sort of thing is what legends and prophecies are made of. Your arrival was foretold in stars that cannot be rewritten; you came to aid us, delivered upon our shores by the elements themselves; you battled against the Great Spirit's most insidious, terrible enemies, and defeated them. You are special. And perhaps you had no need of a Toa Stone to become who you are."

The reply she gets is a silent stare.

The rock creaks from within the Toa's grip.

If she were looking at it she'd notice the liquid manner it behaves.

"It's a sad idea," he finally says, "To be born only to fight."

The Toa protect, for that is their duty; the Matoran create, for that is their destiny.

Her hand lays on his arm with a kind, humid pressure.

"I may very well be wrong," Nokama reassures him now. "I've told you, not even we Turaga know much."

"You know prophecies."

"Those can only get us so far. And they can't see the past."

"I wish they could," Pohatu says with a focused gaze.

His eyes are locked onto her own.

"I will pray the Great Spirit to bring you answers soon, Toa of Stone," she promises - because what else can she do? How else can she reply to the perfectly still stare that seems to pass through her, carving holes within her head with the precision of a sculptor? "So that you and your siblings will never have to feel as you do now again."

He does not move.

Then, at last, his head tilts with a tired, relieved smile.

"Thank you, Turaga," he tells her earnestly. "I hope so too."

Nokama grins back at him, so gentle, so sweet - so glad that the disquieting spell is over and the Toa is once again fully himself.

She raises herself from her seat with a bit of a struggle, helped upright by his powerful arm. Another burst of vertigo makes her sway for a moment as she catches sight of the long fall into the waters, head feeling light before she imperiously shakes the sensation out of it: there is nothing to fear, the cliff won't fall. Even Pohatu has gone back to swinging his legs in the nothingness with the carefree movements of a Matoran dangling from a jungle vine, and if he is not afraid then she has no reason to be either.

He does not move to follow her.

"I shall return to Ga-Koro now," she tells him: "Soon enough we'll have to carry the boats to Kini Nui, and I ought to make sure they're nearing completion."

"Call Taipu when you need to move them, if my brother is too busy listening to stories - I'm sure he'll be happy to help," he suggests.

Her smile confirms that his poison is mistaken for a lighthearted jab: "A good idea. I will ask Whenua to send him to us, if he is not busy enough already and wishes to lend us a hand. You should be off too, listening to stories like your siblings, should you not?"

Head thrown back and legs stiffened, the Toa whines like an annoyed child: "But Turaga," he exaggerates his whimpering drawl to kick a laugh out of her shoulders, "I don't wanna!"

"Neither do I want to go fetch Nixie out of her observatory for the eleventh time today, but duty call us all the same."

He huffs and pouts dejectedly as his body slumps on himself in a comical manner; his furrowed brow clears into a simple smile as Nokama hiccups chuckle after chuckle at his stellar performance.

"There's still a little while," he bargains with her.

"And will you be at Kini Nui on time?"

"Am I ever late?"

No, she can't argue with that. Her eyes shine with affection as she lays them on him again.

"Alright," she pretends to concede with a sigh, as though she were doing him a big favor. His grin amuses her to no end. "But make sure to be there."

He places a hand on his heartlight: "I will be."

"And try to focus, as best as you can."

"I will try my hardest. I just need to clear my head a little more, and then I'll be the most captive audience Turaga Vakama has ever had."

"I'm certain you will. I hope the sea brings you solace, Pohatu."

"Thank you, Turaga. Goodbye."

She does not see his cheerfulness drop in an instant as soon as her back tells him she will not turn to look at him again, smile flattening, eyelids drooping, eyes hardening. He watches her until she disappears from view with a face devoid of love and a sizzling in his heartlight that almost makes him feel sick; the stone in his hand squeezes through his fingers like putty, slithers between them, takes a slug-like shape as it coils around his digits squirming like a worm emerging from a fresh tomb into a summer downpour, before he lets it collects itself in his palm once more.

He crushes it gently and looks down only when he opens his palm again. It looks like a Kane-Ra bull. He tries again: this one is a Makika. A Fikou. A Dikapi. A Tunnel Stalker. A Husi. A Fusa.

A Turaga with their mask shattered.

Without a word he presses the rock with both hands to somewhat shape it back into a proper sphere, carefully, taking his time.

He kicks it as far into the ocean as he can. His eyes follow its trajectory until the distance turns it far too small for him to distinguish it against the flickering gleams of the waves in which it no doubt sinks. He continues to look at the calm waters, legs swinging idly much like branches in a light breeze.

The sea bears life, Gali said; the sea bore us.

Pohatu looks into the cradle of his siblings' rebirth thoughtlessly, quietly, hating it as much as he hates them for not swallowing them whole.

[barghest-land]

another night of wondering how people see my art and what it truly means to them. do they see it as just some "pretty aesthetic pictures" or it has some kind of meaning to them? do they remember this when they close the browser and turn off the computer, or it exists only when they're looking at the post? does it cause any emotions, or do people admire only technique and skills? the level of skills doesn't matter much to me, by the way. it's always something else that is there. something that makes me stay, follow someone, and think about their art when i go to sleep or when i look at something and it reminds me of them. of how they think, how they chose colors and lines to tell something through it. and often i'm afraid that i don't have that. i wan't chasing after being better technically and having higher skills, but it happens anyway, i'm forced to constantly jump over my head bc of my job. and on the one hand i'm grateful for that, on another - that's where i'm losing a part of the soul, i think, if i can phrase it that way. creating art has always been a way to communicate since i'm bad with words, and now i feel like i'm slowly losing the only way to speak. it feels like i speak a language no one else knows and it's terrifying. or i'm just being completely delusional and i shouldn't think about things when it's 5am

[eightspringdays]

Just saw a TikTok complaining about fanfics that didn't have "enough dialogue" because "reading more than three sentences" was hard.

I'm not against heavy dialogue-oriented fics; they are fun, but... that's a script. You want to read a fucking script, hope you know that. A writer isn't "bad" because they are... you know, writing. Just say it isn't your thing and move on, but categorize something as "bad" because you lack the ability to fucking read... ain't the author's problem; it seems like a "you" one.