#nobody reads these

[chelldoscocaine]

christening my new sketchbook with top surgery whizzer. need to practice muscle stuff more this is just the beginning im going to be so annoying about this

[ninjnerd-anaklusmos]

Smoke was coming off my jacket

And I left a long trail of ashes

...

My wings are frayed

And what's left of my halo's black

Lucky for me

Your kind of heaven's been to hell and back

The moonlight made her look ethereal, like she was otherworldly. A beautiful celestial being, made out of love and compassion, faithfully kind down to her bones. He felt his lip curl as he watched her breath evenly leave her sleeping form, envy curling tightly in his gut. The moonlight made him look hellish, his eyes glowing in the darkness. It shone on him, highlighting the difference between his skin and hers, riddled with scars, as hers was smooth and unmarred by pain. He felt seen; all of his flaws and weaknesses were obvious. A broken creature, made of flames and fangs, malicious and ready to rampage. Workshopped together out of a corpse and the desperate hope of a brother, he was made to destroy, hurt, and burn. Natsu looked away.

[eltanin0]

so how do you draw like "reference sheets" for characters. Like i've drawn stuff and laid it out how i assume it might, but i dont thinks it's correct. i also cant help but think of it as cringe, like maybe it's because it's mine but i look at it and just think, "look at this cringe thing this person came up with that doesnt fit in and is just a very clear fan insert." idk also im intoxicated. not doing great. anyway, i dont know how to format this but i should get it out my mind. better than keeping it in my head, altho i doubt i'm ever gonna make a campaign out of it. i have a fair amount thought out of it. involving the 2 oc's i've made.

[mizuganei]

i miss the aesthetic i wish i had the time and motivation lolz

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[shroomiethefrogwhisperer]

sitting outside on a tree swing getting eaten by mosquitos with bad internet and an ac unit in the neighbors yard

and also the sounds of something flimsy hitting wood and my brother weed whacking

I love lazy Mondays

[a-drabble-a-dray]

Veilsmoke, Case 1: The Rogue Poisoner. Part 7

“I…”

Anchra’s hand reached for the handle once more. Slowly, she cracked open the door.

“...I couldn’t.” She confessed, eventually, before slipping through the exit and shutting it behind her.

“You couldn– Wait!” Lake called out, trying to reach for her, yet only grasping at air.

They stepped forward, hesitating as soon as they went to open the door.

Standing alone in the dark, they’d discovered, wasn’t as terrifying as they thought originally. It was easier to relax with no one else around, despite the risk of being unaccompanied in an unfamiliar, potentially hostile place.

They couldn’t hear Anchra through the door. It was only their breathing, and the faint ticking that barely rose above it. Lake, standing still, began to feel the aching in their muscles, slowly beginning to stretch and loosen up after all the stress left them tense for hours.

The factory had been difficult to navigate, though not impossible. Their odds of making it out likely wouldn’t be any higher with company.

“But…”

Lake sighed, leaning against the door. The discovery of the disfigured corpse felt like it had been so long ago, but the memory of it still had their stomach turn. It only made them more bewildered over the perpetrator.

Things didn’t add up with Anchra– Not without a motive. The cruelty on display with the previous victims simply did not match her actions.

Lake opened the door, wondering how deep a rabbit hole should go.

They didn’t expect the ticking, louder now, to be joined by the buzzing of fluorescent lamps, nevermind the trickle of running water. The air seemed far colder on the other side of the door– The harshest shift between different factory sections so far.

The lamps certainly helped the whiplash as well. The whole environment shifted harshly from rusted steel to cold, lusterless aluminum– A fact Lake took a moment to notice, waiting for their eyes to adapt to the proper lighting, even if half the storage room they’d found themself in had faulty lights.

From the abandoned corridor, Lake had stepped into a maze of shelves and racks, all blanketed in the same metallic white. Even the contents of the shelves, at least the few sparse items they found while wandering the aisles, were all metal sheets, empty cans, and other such items.

Lake paused, quickly looking over their path. They’d begun walking towards the sound of water– And opposite the ticking– and needed to ensure they wouldn’t get lost. Luckily, going along the wall instead of delving between the shelves would likely lead to the same place with no possibility of getting lost.

Lake’s steps became a little more lively as they noticed the streaming sound getting louder. Their foot nearly slipping, however, forced them to temper their enthusiasm. The floor actually seemed different as they approached the sound, with a smoother, shinier metal gradually overtaking the matte-finish aluminum that consumed the rest of the area.

Finally, Lake saw the end of the room. The corner’s ceiling broke open into the levels above – At the center of the hole, then, a stream of water trickled down, cascading gently, if noisily, down into a pool lined with the same chrome from before.

The layers visible through the hole in the ceiling were as rusty as the corridor Lake had to traverse. Correspondingly, the water was tinged a dull brown with rust and dirt.

“...Oh.” Lake sighed, feet slipping a little as they sunk, dejected, to their knees. Even if they felt fine at first, the sound of water echoing from afar had left them particularly…

“...Thirsty?”

“Waah!” Lake nearly jumped out of their skin – And into the pool – at the voice from behind.

Predictably, its source simply raised an eyebrow in mild disappointment, holding a pair of empty cans in her good hand.

“If so, find something sharp.” Anchra instructed, setting the cans down on a nearby shelf.

“S-Sharp? Like what…?” Lake blinked, looking up at her, hesitant to say any of the things on their mind.

“I don’t know. My feet hurt.” She huffed as she sank to the ground, sitting down by her improvised containers. “Good luck.”

Lake looked up at her. A second of their eyes locking together was all Lake needed to know they weren’t ready to actually speak with her.

“...I’ll, um, look around.” They nodded, slowly pushing themself back up to their feet. The task itself seemed difficult enough that they would have plenty else to think about.

As Lake stepped away, looking out into the expanse of shelves, they managed to pause and attempt to force out a question. “A-About what you said, um, a little bit ago…”

“I didn’t say anything.” The response came in quickly. It didn’t quite cut Lake off, considering they likely wouldn’t be able to finish the question. “You didn’t hear anything, either.”

“...Right.” Lake let out a small sigh, anxiety substituted by something closer to frustration.

The fading sound of water, at least, offered a constant reminder of their distance to the spring. As it grew quieter, Lake’s thoughts strayed away from the confrontation they seemed unable to spark, instead retreating into practical concerns.

Despite the variety of objects lining the shelves, nothing seemed sharp. Knives, blades, and other useful implements were nowhere to be found– Though, they imagined Anchra wouldn’t need help if they were.

Eventually, the specific aisle Lake was following found its end. The ceiling had collapsed, leaving the shelves around it as piles of broken, twisted metal flanking the rubble that blocked the path. Lake prepared to turn back, mentally routing another way ahead.

...Oh.

Sheepishly turning back around, they began looking over the scrap scattered around the cave-in. Few of the pieces held any kind of edge– One, however, seemed almost perfect, even vaguely knife-shaped.

About a minute of trying to tear it clean from the attached support, however, left Lake only with sore hands and disappointment. The piece of metal certainly didn’t help, sitting a little too low to comfortably grab.

Instead, Lake placed their foot, careful to not cut their leg on the exposed metal. Stomping with all their strength led to minimal, if existent, results.

...What does she want, anyway?

Stomp.

Why help her?

Stomp.

She doesn’t care, does she?

Stomp.

All of this is just…

Stomp.

Why are you doing this to yourself?

Lake blinked. The piece of metal had long since broken off, and now sat in a dent made in its shape.

With a long, slow, deliberate sigh, they reached down to pick up the improvised knife. The lightest touch to its tip was, doubtlessly, painful. Luckily, it hadn’t drawn blood.

Lake sighed once more, and began making their way back. Anchra would surely be expecting them.

A minute later, the sigh coming out of their lips turned to more of a groan.

...Or not.

“...How’d you fall asleep so fast?” Lake whispered, unable to bring themself to wake her up. Setting the vaguely-requested ‘something sharp’ near her, they found a dry spot near the spring to sit and wait for Anchra to wake up.

The air was cold, and the dripping water loud. She wouldn’t be out for long. Lake, after giving up on finding a comfortable way to sit on cold metal, instead simply found solace in the warmth from their jacket. It was dirty, and smelled of rust, but it was warm. The warmth felt nice on their skin.

It was so, so warm.

—

“Wake up. Hey.”

“Mmh…?” Lake groaned, hugging their knees, not bothering to open their eyes. “I’m… Not asleep.”

“Fine.”

Her voice stopped calling out. They were awake, of course. It was simply very warm to sit there.

“Dodge.”

“Mm…? Dodge what?”

Lake’s eyes fluttered open– Only to shoot wide at the stabbing cold. Anchra simply sat there, as if her stoic face didn’t drip vindictive smugness. The container in her hand still dripped cold, rust-colored from her assault. The chill soaked through their clothes, water dripping down their face.

“Why?!”

“I thought you’d dodge.” She shrugged. “You said you were awake.”

“I…” Lake blinked, slowly realizing their own claims of ‘not being asleep’ might have been exaggerated. “Y-Yeah, okay. Fine.”

Anchra, wordlessly, flipped the can she’d just used bottoms-up and set it on the ground. Reaching to the side, she picked up the scrap Lake discovered, finding a steady grip on it.

“Let’s see.” She held the can steady with her foot, scratching a straight line– Visible, yet not deep enough to pierce the metal– across the flat bottom of the can. “...Good enough. Thanks, Lake.”

“O-Oh, um…” Lake couldn’t help but blush, still getting their bearings after waking up. They hadn’t been sleeping long enough to be sore, so that was a relief. “T-Thanks.”

“I’m mainly thankful for waking up. Figured you might choke me.” She shrugged. Her efforts at scratching something more complex into the metal, however, were foiled by the can slipping from her improvised grip.

Lake quickly scooted over, kneeling down and actually holding the can steady for her. “I-I… I couldn’t do that.”

“You don’t have to help.” She grumbled, though it didn’t stop her from actually making use of their aid. Surprisingly dexterously, Anchra carved out a small crescent moon near the edge of the surface; on the opposite edge, she added a circle with a dot in its center.

“...A sun?” Lake wondered, out loud. The resulting small hesitation in Anchra’s work almost startled them.

“...For stability.” She explained, using the straighter edge of the makeshift chisel to test the alignment of the symbols. “Turns out, there was one advantage to all the repetitive work.”

She proceeded with drawing a triangle, pointed towards the moon. Then, for some reason, a male symbol.

The lines following that didn’t seem to form a clear pattern, despite their source’s strict concentration and soft grumbling. A minute later, however, even Lake could see the flow in the design connecting the original symbols when overlooking the whole thing.

Anchra leaned back, raising up the can and inspecting it against the lights overhead.

“Good enough.”

“S-So, um, what–”

Lake’s question was interrupted, quickly, by the other can being planted on the ground. A second later, they realized it was their cue to assume their position again.

The second time around definitely felt faster. Anchra seemed more confident in her free-handing, and had the previous diagram to use as reference. The end product was roughly identical, even if the roughness itself had been lessened.

After a cursory inspection, she flipped the can top-up once more, and scooped up the dirty water, filling the container to the brim.

One look from her, and a twitch of her broken arm, later, and Lake quickly followed suit, holding the contaminated drink up.

Anchra closed her eyes, head nudging to the side as if trying to hear something. A second later, a small smirk came to her face.

“Cheers.”

A small, yet notable spark of light bounced off as she clinked the two cans together.

“This…” Lake blinked, looking into the can. Though nothing seemed to be happening, they could feel a small degree of movement from the container. “...D-Did, uh, you do something?”

“Doing things is for laboratories.” She countered. “But I happen to remember a basic purification array.”

“O-Oh, um…” Lake began, before squeaking as a thick, vaguely-orange, tar-like substance dripped out from the bottom of their can.

“Don’t let that get on your shoes.” She commented, holding her own can far to the side. “It’s…”

“...All the rust and dirt, filtered out.” Lake completed, before their confidence quickly crumbled at Anchra’s amused look. “...R-Right…?”

“Has anyone told you?” She blinked. “That you��re smarter than you look?”

“...Yeah.” They sighed, annoyed at receiving the same backhanded compliment twice in one day. “Is… I-Is this what alchemy is?”

“...The really basic kind.” She nodded.

A moment passed in silence, before Anchra briefly set her can down. Struggling to pull down the sleeve on her good arm, she eventually managed to reveal a white marking– More of an inlay than a tattoo– in the vague shape of a claw.

“Alchemists,” she began with a sigh, “come from Ark Paracelsus. Most do, at least.”

“A-And, you do, too?” Lake nodded along.

“Unfortunately.” She grimaced. “I thought joining meant I could do something better than rot. Maybe achieve something.”

“But…?” Lake listened attentively, seeing her get increasingly more aggravated.

“I didn’t expect to pass their culling. I expected less they’d make me into a tool after–”

She interrupted herself, the shake of her tightening grip spilling some water onto her hand.

“It’s… Bad.” She sighed. “It’s terrible. Immoral. Nepotistic. Infuriating.”

“S-So… You left?”

“I ran.” She corrected. “They call it ‘debt’. It’s slavery.”

“B-But…” Lake sighed, finding the words. “Here, you…”

A drop of impurity fell from the cups.

“Rubedo.”

“H-Huh?” They blinked.

“Nobody knows how to make it.” She explained, glancing at the mark on her arm. “But it comes from failed brandings. ...Or so the rumor says.”

Lake followed her gaze to the white, curled mark that seemed to grip her forearm.

...Oh. It’s the same.

What little skin the corpse still had, carried the same symbols.

“It’s…” They grit their teeth. “W-What do you want?”

She remained silent.

“To ‘achieve something’, like you said? Or to have status when you go back to the other alchemists?” They huffed. “Is it worth killing innocent people to achieve that?!”

“Yes.” She replied, flatly. “Immortality, by definition, is worth the sacrifice.”

[the-knightswind-case]

I hate that I keep whining about it.

[marbicontent]

S4-14

[ffverr]

How to read X-Men?

For the dear X-Men fans that came in through 97 (or the movies) and are confused as to where to start the comics! Don't let the internet fool you, there is only one way and it is by starting with Giant size X-Men #1 (1975). No I am not kidding, it truly is the only right way to get the full story😭 (unless you want to go ALL THE WAY to 1963, I don't necessarily think it's that vital)

This is me trying to keep ppl from making the same mistake I did, starting with wheadon's astonishing X-Men ☠️

Here is a very useful pic of what to read next 💞 good luck!

This is to get ALL the context and major story arcs still referenced today. So I believe it to be vital for the other eras. (I don't know how you can fully understand jean and Scott's relationship today without having read inferno or dark phoenix for example)

Now, If you just wanna read for one specific character, that's a different story! Character specific reading guides that concentrate on the important issues across time exist! Look for those they're very useful <3

Guide made by: https://www.reddit.com/r/xmen/s/z1xNhqPXtv

https://www.reddit.com/r/comicbooks/s/ChkpOJbXED

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[arimiadev]

*non-vn gaming journalists constantly foaming at the mouth to assert how much they hate visual novels*

(this is for a review of tsukihime)

[stealingpotatoes]

WHY IS EVERY SINGLE PIECE OF ART IVE EVER DONE ON PINTEREST AND WHY DOES PINTEREST KEEP RECOMMENDING ME MY OWN ART

[the-raindeer-king]

Honestly, you should've known better. Soap was never one to take a joke and drop it, and joke like this? You should've know he'd take it and run with it. You just never thought it'd go this far.

Someone had brought cupcakes, the kind that come with those gaudy plastic rings meant for little kids. You and Soap had ended up with the same ring on top of your cupcakes.

"Oh, hey. They're the same. Guess we're married now."

It was a joke. Something you had laughed off, before ducking out of the break room, missing the way Soap's eyes followed you. Missing the way he stared at you, something dark and hungry in those baby blues.

The next morning, Soap's waiting at your desk with flowers and a coffee. He gives you a bright smile, watching you as you take the flowers with a smile.

"Oh, my favorite! How'd you know?"

"I know all yer favorites. Part of bein' a good husband, aye?"

That makes you pause, coffee halfway to your lips. Husband? It takes you a second to realize he's referring to the joke you made yesterday, and you give him a sheepish smile, shaking your head.

"Johnny, that was a joke. I wasn't -"

"I've got to go. But I'll get ye later. Make a proper wife of ye before the day's over," he promises, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

You don't even have a chance to argue. And when he shows up with Ghost at the end of the day, all you can think to ask is why Ghost is there.

"Johnny said you needed a witness," is Ghost's reply.

[theophagie]

I thought I was losing it but no, kh1 Sora's fast swimming animation really does change after you've been to Atlantica. It's a small detail, but also a cute and smart one 🥺

[lazylittledragon]

cringe culture needs to die because when i was 17 i printed out the entire player's handbook and monster manual with my unlimited school printing credit and also wore a black velvet cape the first time i ever DMed and somehow still thought i was too cool for dnd novels. who tf did i think i was fooling