#key words one day

[vezinas]

scribble

[buwheal]

Hey, Spamton.

I don't know how to word this without it coming off as possibly condescending, but...

Hang in there, man. If the heaven you're after is out there, im sure the angels are rooting for ya.

@bleedingbonemarrow + like four anons.

[rubberbandgirlme]

welcome back i can't stop talking about a "green-themed man" and mc's curse, here's what happened in previous episodes: part i, part ii. i was wrong about a couple of things there, but i'm gonna taunt you and reveal it in my next post 😋

anyway let's talk about how leander's protective magic works!! observation #1: when mc touches him for the first time, we see him conjuring a protective (?) spell:

but it doesn't happen the second time??? he just flexes his fingers, and that's it (on the screenshot).

i have a few possible explanations, whichever is up to your liking:

the protective spell is still there: he doesn't need to cast it twice, and it's kind of long acting — plausible, depends on how the magic works in ts universe;

the description of magic is just omitted, but still implied by leander flexing his fingers — the most feasible explanation;

he does cast the spell for the first time, but doesn't do it for the second — questionable, why wouldn't he? he couldn't have forgotten about it (slides before the second touching scene confirm it). the curse can't hurt him anymore? he has it under control (for now?)? i call this possibility questionable because that's kind of galaxy brain storytelling, but who knows right? i find this detail quite fascinating 👀

the spell wasn't protective at all, it was just some trick to manipulate mc into revealing the curse's nature — while i personally don't buy it, i felt the need to point it out, considering leander-is-already-dead theories — the spell would be like a poultice for a dead man, as they say in my native tongue 😈

observation #2: we see a flash of magic across his palm only. does it protect his whole body or just a part of it? looks like the latter is not true, since mc is freely touching his forearm and his face, but i feel the need to point it out as well .

anyways what do you think about this 👁

[tswwwit]

Have you ever thought of writing your own boon?

Ok, hear me out, but I find your writing style so much more "grabbing" than most modern books I read. I can't really put it into words, but the way the characters act, how they harmonize the way there are (hidden) emotions, little tiny details, foreshadowing, and also a bit of comedy, makes your writing feel so much more attention grabbing, intriguing, and alive. While recently re-reading Faking It, I stumbled upon how much your writing has improved over the years. Thumbs up for you that's impressive!!

(Don't ask me what exactly I mean by all of this, please. English isn't my first language, and I don't have my way with words the way you do. I just got the urge to write this since I had bad luck with the books I read recently, and they just appeared so dull to me. If you have good book recs please share a few. I'm desperate. (Literally, ANYTHING will do.)

ANYWAY

If you ever publish a book, I'm sure a lot of people would buy it.

Thank you for all your kind words!

I figure since I'm not going to stop writing anytime soon, at some point a book is inevitable! But it'd be quite a ways off, as I don't have a concept that really compels me at the moment. If I ever set out on the stormy seas of that particular project, I'll be sure to obnoxiously advertise it to you all.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OH ARTHUR BENNETT.. such a gorgeous and intriguing character. terribly burdened by a GRUESOME set of crimes, his light suffocated by a HEAVY century of GUILT. so tragic, so dark and broody, and yet PAINFULLY awkward in any social setting ever

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I am exhausted, good heavens.

[dremiruu]

ok theres some apple white discourse on here lately so as the self appointed biggest apple white defender i'm just gonna include parts of an unfinished essay i have sitting in my drafts and leave it at that

[flufflecat]

Today I got to have an entire 3 message long dm convo with Alex Hirsch. I am never getting over this high.

[snezus-christ-risen]

Sneezing during a manicure, with hands otherwise occupied, forcing the sneezer to improvise on how to cover fast or else risk sneezing on their manicurist.

[syn4k]

I WON'T ANNOUNCE MY SHEER DESCENT BUT HOLY FUCK THERE WILL BE SIGNS

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 1 / 31 * RED-LETTER DATE 」

“Hey Doc? I wanna ask you something.” 

Emmett doesn’t pop his head through the doorway to acknowledge his friend, too focused on topping off one of the mugs of hot chocolate with a generous helping of marshmallows, but he does shout, “Of course, Marty,” into the air. “You know you don’t have to ask. Let me bring Verne his cup and then you’ll have my undivided attention.”

Marty makes a vague noise that many years of friendship has taught Emmett means sure thing, Doc, and it takes him barely three minutes to drop off the hot chocolate to Verne, who smiled like it was Christmas morning when he saw the mountain of marshmallows floating at the top, and join Marty in the living room, carrying the tray with their own drinks. He passes one of them off to Marty who accepts with a smile and a nod and then takes a seat opposite him, fixing him with an expectant look.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

Marty’s eyes immediately drift to the shelf, where Emmett and Clara’s small assortment of family photos sit, arranged in elegant wooden frames. In the centre is a black and white photo that has started to yellow around the edges, looking paradoxically fragile and yet able to withstand even the most rigorous tests of time, holding onto that frozen memory for all eternity. Emmett turns his head to follow Marty’s attention, his eyes alighting on the single photo he expects will be the topic of their conversation.

Ah. Out of all of them, there is only one Marty was never able to be present for.

For once, Emmett manages to look perfectly natural in a photograph, even dressed to the nines in a sharp suit. His smile stretches from ear-to-ear, making him look at least ten years younger, and though his face is angled away from the camera, his eyes are bright and alive, brimming with love and warmth. Marty could even imagine the photographer trying to get Emmett’s attention, demanding he look at him for the photo, only for every single word to go in one ear and straight out the other when Clara was standing beside him, smiling, the picture of radiance as she regards her husband with the same fond warmth. Her wedding dress was no more intricate than any of the outfits Marty had seen her wear during his few days in the Nineteenth Century, yet it seemed to be made for her and her alone, perfectly tailored and somehow able to put even the outfits of royalty to shame.

If Clara was the sun, Emmett was the moon that revolved around her. In that single moment, forever frozen in time, they were the only two people on Earth. 

“I had been wanting to ask for a while, but–”

“No, no, of course. You didn’t get the chance to see it, and I’m sorry for that, so I’d be happy to fill you in on the details.”

Marty curls his fingers around the warm mug, shuffling somewhat in his seat, and Emmett waits patiently, noting each one of Marty’s nervous habits as they arise. There are a hundred and one things Marty wants to say, Emmett can see them written across his body, written into every small movement, and, equal and opposite, there are a thousand things Emmett wants to say in return, things he makes an effort to hold back until Marty speaks first.

“I’m happy for you two, Doc–really, I am. Clara’s–well, Clara’s amazing. And I’ve never seen you so happy before. I was afraid that–” Marty shakes his head, his eyes focused on the photographs. “When I first saw the picture, I was…” He forces a laugh, but there’s no humour in it and Emmett would know that self-depreciatory tone anywhere. 

“It’s stupid, I know. I didn’t realise it at first, but I was jealous. Can you believe that, Doc? My best friend is happy, he’s got a family for Christ’s sake, and I was too busy at first being afraid that now you’re–you’re just gonna forget me because you’ve got Clara and the boys and the house and there wouldn’t be a place for me.”

Emmett’s eyes widen despite knowing the blow was coming and before he can open his mouth, allow the words that have been building up on his tongue to break free, Marty shakes his head and continues, reinforcing the wall and keeping the words at bay just a little longer.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Doc. I already said I know it’s stupid but I couldn’t help feeling that way. And I should have asked you about your wedding and everything a lot longer ago but I-I just couldn’t. And that’s fucking stupid, right? I want to know because I couldn’t be there for you and you’ve always been there for me.”

Marty’s words are a blade driven straight through his chest, each word twisting that razor-sharp blade a little more. He can’t help the pang of guilt he feels echoing in his ribcage, scraping against the bars of a prison he will not allow it to escape from, not now. This conversation was a long time coming–he’d almost expected it sooner rather than later, but he knew better than to push, knowing Marty would open up when he was ready–but no amount of anticipation could have prepared him for the blow that hearing it put to words would strike.

The Time Machine’s destruction had not been an accident. Everything had been carefully orchestrated to prevent any further corruption of the timestream, to spare himself the temptation–the broken heart–of trying to go back against all rational, scientific thought.

Ultimately, Marty couldn’t stay in the Nineteenth Century, not if he wanted to live a normal life, not if he wanted to be happy. And he couldn’t allow Marty to become another unsolved disappearance, leaving the McFlys to wonder and agonise over their youngest son who vanished from the face of the Earth without a trace.

Emmett may not have planned to stay, but even he couldn’t predict Clara’s intervention. 

Life had to go on, even under extreme or difficult circumstances. There was only one choice available, then.

Still, Emmett doesn’t hesitate.

“Marty, I could never forget you. Whether we’re in the same time period or separated across the timestream, you will always be my best friend. And I will never stop caring about you. I know things have been busy lately, both for you and for me, what with your college courses and the boys’ schooling and Clara’s acclimation to the Twentieth Century and making the necessary repairs on the house–” Emmett stops himself before he runs off the entire list of seemingly infinitely-growing projects on his list. 

“The point is, nothing is going to change that. And I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel neglected or unwanted at any point, because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Marty nods, finally pulling his eyes away from the photo to take a good long look at his best friend. 

“I know, Doc. God, I know. You must think I’m an asshole.” 

“You’re not an asshole. Far from it.”

Marty actually smiles at that, swirling his hot chocolate carefully in the cup. “So… You’ll still tell me about your wedding day?”

“Of course I will, Marty.” Emmett pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression working its way over his face. Then, he smiles, almost conspiratorially as he recalls something of particular note. “The minister certainly wasn’t pleased when we changed until death do us part to something a little more fitting–until the end of time—”

@bttfdoctober

[theoptimisticdaydreamer]

Make it make sense that "rudimentary" finish on a showstopper went home instead of someone whose showstopper was 1) RAW 2) underbaked 4) had fewer and less unique flavors - some you could not even taste because again... the entire thing was raw 5) significantly less intricately plaited (which was a skill you had to demonstrate) 6) and on the nitpicking aspect of finesse, absolutely lacked finesse and art because it was a word and not an image and half of the display was inedible 7) came absolutely last in the technical because they left out a key ingredient that made their bun not even rise or taste right.

You are telling me bland flavor on a signature and a "rudimentary" appearance on a showstopper along with a texture that "just needed more" was WORSE THAN THAT?!

I am calling robbery. I am calling bullshit.

This is Paul and Prue looking at the implicit rule that you judge each week independently and launching it into space.

This is favoritism my friend.

This is blatant bias and should be eliminated from the show already-- it has been fourteen seasons!

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Number of stories I would like to write: Many.

Number of stories I find myself able to write: Zero.

[theflyingfeeling]

Eleventh Day of Gift-Giving: Encouraging Words

Prompt: “I’ve always admired your strength.”

Surpriiiiiiiise! 🥰 I just thought today's prompts were more suitable for J/J than Olli/Allu (at least in the context of the main story), so here's a little peek at the terror twins dynamic. To not make this completely random, it's set in the same universe as the story from Day 8 with the sleeping pod snuggles 💕 So they're still stuck at the airport and Joel's not having a great time, but thankfully Joonas is there for him 🥺

Thank you & hugs & kisses to @kraeuterhexchen for the gorgeous banner! 🤩

✨

~

Joonas stared after Olli and Aleksi as they practically skipped away hand in hand, suddenly not looking half as tired and bored as they had a moment ago, slouching on the sofa next to Joonas. It didn’t take great intellectual efforts even from him to assume the two of them were going to do a little more than just sleep. 

With Niko and Tommi having excused themselves to the bar and Santeri and the rest of the crew either browsing their phones, listening to music on their headphones, or just sitting still with their eyes closed as a definite warning to not disturb their peace, Joonas was left to follow Joel with his eyes as the man stomped around the lounge. Joel's brows were knit together in a frown and his arms were crossed over his chest as if to comfort himself. His blow-dried hair waved in the rhythm of his brisk steps, framing his stern expression. Anyone else looking at him would’ve said Joel was just pissed off, but Joonas? He knew better.

After a few more rounds of anxious pacing Joel stopped to stare out the large windows of the lounge into the grey fog that had fallen over the airport. Even from afar, Joonas could see Joel’s reflection on the window glass, could see his muscles tense, his grip on his own arms tightening. When Joel crouched down on the floor to bury his face in his hands, Joonas was already on his way to him.

He made sure not to alarm Joel as he sat down beside him. Only when he was sure Joel had become aware of his presence, he laid his hand on Joel’s now shivering shoulder.

“Hey.”

“I can’t do this shit anymore,” a small, muffled voice said. 

Joonas started moving his hand down and up again on Joel’s back but stayed quiet, giving Joel the space to keep talking if he wished to.

“Joonas, I can’t do this. I just can’t. I’ve slept maybe ten minutes in the past two days and we still won’t be home for hours. I can’t do this, I’m just not strong enough.”

The words made Joonas shuffle closer to make sure Joel (and only Joel) could hear him.

“I know this sucks. It really does. But hell, that’s the biggest bullshit I’ve heard all year. Joel, you’re the strongest person I know.”

“Shut the fuck up, Porko,” Joel wailed, his voice even smaller than earlier. 

“I’m not just saying it, you know. Joel, you’re so fucking strong. Way stronger than me. I’ve always admired that about you, to be honest. I don’t think I say that enough.”

Joel stayed still, and Joonas could hear him taking deep breaths in and out, as if trying to find the rhythm of Joonas’ hand petting his back.

“What I mean is that if you’ve been strong enough to survive all that shit you’ve been through in your life, you’ll get through this one delayed flight, even though right now it feels like you can’t. I promise it won’t be long ‘til we take off.”

Joonas didn’t stop running his palm along Joel’s spine even when the man stopped to hold his breath, like he was evaluating Joonas’ words. After a few more seconds, he suddenly relaxed his entire composure and slumped against Joonas, almost melting in his arms, boneless and heavy against Joonas’ chest. Joonas was quick to wrap his arms around him to keep him from falling on the floor.

To keep him safe.

“I just want to get home.”

“I know,” Joonas whispered in his hair. “I’ll take you home.” 

Even though, Joonas added in his mind, to me, home is wherever I get to hold you in my arms.

[sen-ya]

AHG I LIVE LOVE for your art

Allways an anon but allways happy when You answer me

Thank you!! 🥺🥺 you can always come off anon and say hi if ya want!!

[stickyvoidpaper]

anyone know some native american //charokee (specifically) character design/ cultural resources? I'm trying to make some cherokee coded (it's a sci-fi wold build, so, not exactly cherokee) people. though they live in an area with other native american coded areas so anything adjacent will be helpful!