#just a thing i wrote

[chobit92]

Ghosts: About Last Night

So my sister has been watching this yet again and I kinda wrote a thing. Damn. Now I have a whole fic going on in my head.

Warnings: None that I can think of just Julian being a massive perv and drunken madness.

(Mara stumbles down the hallway drunk. She swigs whiskey from a bottle. Her shirt is hanging open exposing her lacy bra. She stumbles into one of the bedrooms and puts the whiskey on the side table. She then takes her shoes and leggings off before lying down on the bed. The Captain walks in and stops dead.).

Captain: Er excuse me. These aren’t your quarters.

Mara: Um. Evening officer.

Captain: I demand that you leave at once.

Mara: Um. You coming to bed?

Captain: Excuse me?

(She pulls her shirt open further exposing a black lacy bra which her large breasts are squashed into.).

Captain: No. No. I will not abide by this drunken debauchery. I suggest you get back to your own room.

Mara: Um.

(Her eyes have drifted closed and she remains lying where she is.).

Captain: Did you hear me? I said leave now. This is my room. You have your own room upstairs.

(She doesn’t move. The Captain sighs.).

Captain: Alison!

(He marches from the room and goes to Alison’s bedroom. She is curled up asleep next to Mike who is snoring loudly.).

Captain: Alison! Alison! Wake up now! There is an insurgent in my bedroom! You must get her out.

(Alison doesn’t wake up.).

Captain: Alison!

(The Captain sighs again and marches from the room. He returns to his room. Mara is still lying in his bed.).

Captain: Still here. Now this is really taking the biscuit. I have asked you to leave.

(He walks over to the side of the bed.).

Captain: Wake up!

(He starts to sing in her ear.).

Captain: I am the very definition of a model major general.

(Mara giggles.).

Mara: You’re cute.

Captain: I am not cute. I am a commanding officer and I have given you a direct order. Now get out!

Mara: Just come to bed handsome. It’s late.

Captain: I will not-

(Thomas walks in.).

Thomas: What’s all the shouting?

Captain: She won’t leave.

Thomas: Why is she in here?

Captain: I don’t know. But she is highly intoxicated and she has seen fit to rob me of my bed.

Thomas: Oh.

Captain: Get her out of here would you?

Thomas: How am I supposed to do that?

Captain: I don’t know.

Thomas: Mara? Mara?

Mara: Um?

(Her eyes open slightly.).

Thomas: You need to go back to your own bed.

Mara: I’m in bed. Are you sleeping here too?

Thomas: What? No. You need to go back to your own room now.

Mara: Um.

(Her eyes drift closed again. The Captain sighs in frustration. Pat walks in.).

Pat: There you are. Everything alright?

(He sees Mara lying there and frowns.).

Pat: What’s she doing in here?

Thomas: I don’t know.

Captain: She won’t leave.

Pat: Oh right. Mara this isn’t your room.

Captain: No it’s no good.

Pat: Well she’s very drunk mate. Why don’t you just go up to her room and sleep there tonight?

Captain: No. This is my room and I want to sleep here.

Pat: Well...

(Julian walks in.).

Julian: Hello. What’s going on in here then?

Captain: Oh yes that’s it. Just come on in all of you. It isn’t like I want to sleep or anything.

(Julian is eyeing Mara up. He moves around to the other side of the bed and peers down at her breasts.).

Julian: Look at those for size. Lovely pair she’s got.

Thomas: Contain yourself man! What is wrong with you?

Julian: Oh come on. Like you lot aren’t stood there gawping at her yourselves.

Pat: We weren’t actually.

Thomas: How dare you.

(Mara rolls over and the shirt lifts up revealing black lacy panties.).

Julian: Hello. Matching undies. Someone thought they were gonna get some.

(Julian chuckles. Thomas tuts.).

Thomas: I’m off to bed. I can no longer partake in this spectacle.

(Thomas leaves the room.).

Pat: Yes I should be going too. Come on Julian.

(Julian is reaching out trying to prod one of Mara’s breasts.).

Pat: Leave her alone. Come on.

Julian: Oh. Why can’t I have any fun with you?

Pat: She’s passed out drunk. It’s not right mate. Come on.

(Pat leaves the room. Julian looks at The Captain.).

Julian: You lucky sod. Wish she’d come and got into my bed.

(Julian chuckles again and leaves the room. The Captain shakes his head.).

Captain: Now I am not going to tell you again. Get out now. Go back to your own room.

(Mara fidgets and slides her arm across the bed.).

Mara: Hold me handsome.

Captain: This is ridiculous. One I can’t do that and two I really just want to go to bed. Now away with you. Come on. Enough of all this funny business.

Mara: Um.

(She doesn’t move and he sighs angrily before marching from the room. He goes downstairs and walks outside. He starts to walk across the grounds. He doesn’t get very far before he stops. He sighs and turns looking back at the house.).

Captain: Oh this is ridiculous.

(He walks back to the house and goes back up to his room. Mara is still lying there. He sighs and walks over to the other side of the bed. He lies down on his back next to her and closes his eyes. A few minutes later Mara moves and her arm goes right through him. He springs upright.).

Captain: Right that’s it.

(He gets up and leaves the room. He goes up to Mara’s attic bedroom. He sighs and looks around before lying down on the bed. He closes his eyes.).

Captain: Hm.

[vortship]

Ones and Zeros

So this is where she was holed up, a clearing in a field at the end of the world.

All simulated, as far as he knew. He followed her passed the glitched, pink cliffs, integrity crumbling with bits of exposed code. He followed her passed the colorful confetti and empty Irken uniforms that littered the empty fake streets. Only the two of them remained, but she was stalling. It seemed now she wanted to be caught.

Why? What was she getting at?

“Sorry, Dib, you really gotta understand. I wanted you to learn something.” 

Each word she spoke rippled through a field of tall grass. A damaged moon hung low in the sky, chipped away at; still a friendly shade of pink. Her silhouette looked somehow sinister in the dim light. The horns perched atop her head gave way to a foreboding shadow in the clipping grass. She was bringing the entire place down, the two of them with it.

“You’re angry! At them! I get it! So am I! But-” 

“What? No!”

The ripples grew, circles extending outward from where she stood, facing forward, purple eyes cast up at the false moon before she turned and offered only a passing glance at her opponent. Had he ever seen her angry? To be honest, he couldn’t recall. She wasn’t Zim, at the very least, she didn’t fight like him. Her suspicious behavior had managed to pass under his radar until now.

“This is your plan? You’re just trapping us all in here?” he accentuated his question with an accusatory point, and the sigh that erupted from her echoed throughout the simulated landscape.

“They’re code. Ones and zeros for me to play with. Like this-” she spread her arms out at her sides, “I wanted you to see; they’re just directives stuffed in a backpack. Some rearranging here and there and-” she giggled, “-they all fall apart!” she smiled, razor sharp teeth over thin lips,

“Yeah? I know that. I never thought of it that way maybe. If that’s how you feel, why work for Zim?” he shook his head, tone taking a turn for the curious rather than accusatory. Her grin was replaced with a pensive frown, she turned to look at him finally face only slightly illuminated by the dim, pink lighting,

“He’s not like them. I don’t mean that in a good way either.” hands clasped behind her back, she managed a bitter laugh, “Maybe I wanna see how it ends? Maybe I just like when cool, new things happen. But you know what I don’t like?”

Dib didn’t answer,

“People who aren’t any fun.”

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[cyndilou314]

today, I am doing what I want to do. today, I am doing nothing at all.

today, I appreciate all that is around me. today, I create more beauty to surround me.

today, I feel no guilt about anything I have done. today, I feel no guilt about the things I've yet to do.

today, I breathe in and absorb all the sunshine. today, I exhale negativities and release shadows.

today, I accept love from all sources. today, I put my love into all energies.

and tomorrow, I'll do it all again.

[adriles]

when we’re done with our overwhelming grief we’ll eat i guess

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

from the start !

so. . what are we ??

you’ve been katsuki’s for as long as you can remember.

sure, he had never outwardly called you his girlfriend, but when you were both seven years old, he came up to you. chest heaving slightly from running up and down the hill where he had gotten you a freshly plucked out bouquet of flowers. the roots were still clinging to them and he got dirt all over your hands from forcibly grabbing them and shoving the bouquet in them before you could even form a sentence.

“since you accepted the flowers, you’re mine now.” he mumbled, his little hands tightened into fists at his sides and chubby cheeks a cute shade of pink, staring at you as confidently as he could.

a grin grows on his face when you respond with a simple “okay !” and a bright smile. the grin on his face never disappears even as his mom scolds him for getting you both all dirty.

you were katsuki’s in middle school too, when the boys in class decided to play kiss, marry, kill and he had somehow gotten dragged into it. the girls in your class tried their best to seem uninterested, claiming the boys were being childish, but you noticed how hard some of them were straining their ears trying to hear what the guys were talking about in their own little corner of the room. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little curious as well.

katsuki was as ruthless as you’d known him to be, choosing to kill any girl that wasn’t to his liking, which ended up being all of them. much to the other boys’ chagrin, claiming he had no taste.

then your name was brought up.

at that, his eyes widened and he turned in his seat to see if you were watching. you had never turned your head away so fast in your life and you were pretty sure you heard something go “crack”.

he clicked his tongue. mumbling something about how stupid the game was before muttering out a “kiss yn, marry yn and kill that other bitch.” before getting up and stomping away, claiming he had to go to the bathroom followed closely by the whoops and hollers of his two friends behind him.

you both made eye contact when he walked out and you think you’ll never forget how red his cheeks were.

you were katsuki’s when he was the one to walk you to and from school everyday, claiming you would somehow get lost without him. you were katsuki’s when he had begrudgingly shoved homemade valentines day chocolates into your arms, mumbling something about how you had been upset nobody had gotten you anything last year, conveniently leaving out the fact he had scared off all the other guys trying to offer you anything.

you were katsuki’s when he grabbed your hand during the winter because he said you’d “end up dying of hypothermia with the way you’re chittering over there.” and you were his when you were the only person he laughed around. loud, genuine laughter that you and only you could squeeze out of him. you were katsuki’s when he randomly kissed you goodnight at your door one night and he’s been doing it ever since, and gets all pouty when you turn away from his kisses to tease him.

“are we dating ?” you had asked him. you’re both in high school now and you’re in his dorm room. your legs are on his lap and he’s got a comfortable grip on your leg, which tightens after he registers your questions “hah?” he looks utterly confused and a little insulted as he looks back at you, his entire face scrunched up in confusion. you pinch his nose and he swats at your hand.

“are we dating ? like—am i your girlfriend.” you say again and katsuki’s face scrunches up even harder. he huffs and looks back at his phone, landing a little smack on your leg still placed in his lap. “ ‘course yer my fuckin’ girlfriend.” he spits out, obviously irritated. then he looks back at you “I haven’t made it obvious ?” he says sarcastically. one of his eyebrows lifted as he pokes at your leg still very much in his lap.

you simply shrug “s’not that. it’s just because you’ve never actually asked me out before, so i was a little confused on where we stood.” you mumble. he stares at you while you speak and he stares a little longer before sighing. then he leans towards you and flicks your forehead.

“ow !”

“dumbass.” he murmurs. there’s a slight pout on his face and his cheeks are light shade of pink when he looks you in the eyes again. he grabs both your cheeks with one hand and smushes them together to push your lips out and presses multiple wet kisses onto them that have you squealing and squirming. his wet lips are pulled into a smirk when he pulls back and you try your best to at least look a little angry, you really do. but it’s useless when he looks at you like that.

“of course you’re my girlfriend” he reiterates. his smirk’s been replaced for something softer, something more sincere as he gazes at you with so much unadulterated affection it makes your head spin a little. “you’ve always been mine.” he says it in a teasing tone and his hand is still smushing your cheeks out and it hurts a little but his eyes are still the same. they’re warm and soft and so, so enamored with you and only you.

when he finally let’s go of your face and pulls you fully into his lap, you realize katsuki’s been yours for as long as you’ve been his.

you smile brightly at him but turn your nose up when he leans in to kiss you again. “i still haven’t heard what i wanna hear though, mr. bakugou.”

he rolls his eyes and pinches at your thigh as he mumbles out a “don’t call me that.” sighing, he looks at you intensely and you suddenly feel very shy.

“will you be my girlfriend, ya shitty girl ?” and he says it as a joke, you both know it is cus his lips are already forming into a smirk the second he finishes his sentence. and you’re pulling at his nose the moment you register it, but you’re both smiling hard. he laughs and you’re sure you’ll never get tired of the sound. “what’s your answer, pretty ?” he asks playfully and you pretend to really think it over just to mess with him, and giggling out a “yes!” when he suddenly pounces on you. flipping you both over and tickling you mercilessly, calling it revenge for you “taking too damn long to answer.”

you’d been katsuki’s for as long as you can remember, and you hope you can be forever.

[neptunezo]

The idea of the batkids scaring Bruce with “a new grandchild” to only show an animal is so funny to me, because imagine Bruce is so used to it that when Jason wants to introduce him to his new grandchild Bruce almost falls out of his chair when there’s an ACTUAL KID!

Dick: You’re a granddaddy now Brucie!!!

Bruce: WHAT?!? Who?? When??? How??? Actually don’t tell me how. Who is she??? When did she give birth???

Dick: What? No, meet my kid *holds up a cat* her name is biscuit and shes the love of my life!

—

Steph: Cass and I are adopting…

Bruce: Holy shit, actually???

Cass: Yes, it was a tough choice, but we want to adopt

Bruce: Do you need any help with paperwork and stuff? It’s kinda my thing. Also consider the fact that you might be too young.

Steph: Too young…?

Bruce: Yes, I mean you’re only in your 20’s, are you sure you can handle a kid?

Cass: Too young for an iguana?

—

Damian: It happened again, I have a kid.

Bruce: What do you mean AGAIN?!?

Damian: This is my second kid, duh

Bruce: Are you talking about goats?

Damian: Of course I am father

—

Tim: BRUCE YOU’RE GOING TO BE A GRANDFATHER!!!

Bruce: Tim I didn’t think I was going to have to tell you this again after the whole thing with Stephanie, but just kissing someone doesn’t get them pregnant

Tim:

Bruce: Is it a dog?

Tim: No it’s a tiger

—

Jason: I have something to tell you

Bruce(not looking up from his paperwork): Okay, what’s up?

Jason: I have a kid, I want you to meet your granddaughter

Bruce: I can’t possibly imagine what type of animal you’ve gotten, but I’d love to meet her

Jason: What the hell are you talking about?

Bruce (looking up to see an actual child): You actually have a kid????

Jason: Yeah, Roy and I thought it was time I adopted Lian

Lian: Hi Grandpa!!!

Bruce: I’m going to faint, grab me some ice will you?

[aslyran]

Visions

[basslinegrave]

pin-up

b&w originals

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[potatobugz]

objects loving objects baby!!!!

[sykloni]

Dannymay 2023

15. Full Hazmat AU & 23. Rogue Gallery

[feelo-fick]

it can't be too hard right?

it's easy not to think about things, he tells me i don't think all the time! wait...

—

a scene from a fic that i have no clue if ill finish, let alone post, but look i made fanart of my own thing that doesnt even exist :D

[wheneverfeasible]

Bullshit (part 1/3)

Now on ao3

He should probably get a new car.

He didn’t want to. He loved his car, but it wasn’t really cool, was it? Preppy cool, maybe, but not my-boyfriend-is-in-a-metal-band cool. It had certainly seen better days too.

He’d used to reprimand the kids whenever they trailed in dirt and food crumbs or spilled their milkshakes or whatever, but after he stopped doing the same to Eddie, he couldn’t really do it to them either. Besides, he didn’t want to be a stick in the mud.

It was why he’d thrown out all his Wham! and Tears for Fears cassettes, threw out anything that wasn’t Judas Priest or Iron Maiden or whatever else Eddie liked. It was why he boxed away all his brightly colored polos and now just wore the band tees that Eddie let him borrow, why he’d bought some of his own, as well as skinnier dark jeans that he knew Eddie liked the look of his ass in. He even got some bracelets like Eddie’s, and now he actually looked the part of Eddie’s boyfriend and not so much like a sore thumb when he went to all of Eddie’s shows.

The only thing he needed to change, besides his car, was his hair. He’d been putting it off the longest. He loved his car, but he loved his hair more. He didn’t make it quite as styled nowadays, but it was the last part of him that spoke of his former personality. Because he had to change, didn’t he? He knew what happened when you didn’t make your partner happy. Knew what happened when your love was bullshit and he never wanted Eddie to find him unworthy.

So he liked the things Eddie liked now, he dressed the way Eddie dressed, and he did what Eddie did. If he made Eddie happy, if he didn’t make Eddie do anything he didn’t want to do, then Eddie wouldn’t find fault in Steve. It was simple as that. He knew better now. Because Nancy had broke his heart, but losing Eddie? It would break his soul.

So he needed a new car. Maybe a van like Eddie’s, or would that be too much? A BMW was hardly metal, after all. He needed something cooler. And then…then he would change his hair.

He would need to figure out what Eddie thought was cool. Needed to figure out what Eddie liked. Should he buzz it? Should he grow it out? He didn’t know. Eddie had never brought up hair before. He didn’t know what Eddie would prefer. Maybe he could ask Jeff. He’d known Eddie the longest, after all.

Maybe he should dye it. That would look cool, right?

The others had noticed, of course. They’d commented on his new attire, the fact that he didn’t listen to his favorite music anymore, that he only seemed to be doing what Eddie wanted to do nowadays. But Eddie just looked happy whenever Steve agreed to whatever movie Eddie wanted to watch, or what to have for dinner, or what to do on Steve’s days off. That was the important part: making Eddie happy.

So Steve just brushed off their concerns, explained it away as saying that he was growing up and his interests were growing. He even played stupid Dungeons and Dragons now, always making certain he got the names correct, always doing his best to play it how Eddie would want him to play it, even if it always gave him a headache afterwards with all the numbers and words and strategizing.

He always put Eddie’s needs first, be it physically, emotionally, or even just recreationally. If Steve did that, if he was good enough, if he became exactly what his partner wanted, maybe he wouldn’t lose this. Wouldn’t lose Eddie.

Maybe, if Steve made his love good enough, Eddie wouldn’t ever say it was bullshit.

-

Now with a part two