#nonedit

[apparently-artless]

i think it's quite amusing how the dish was shown using namari's perspective. before tasting it, she thought it wouldn't taste good and even thought of eating the stew as a form of punishment. right after tasting it, only then did the stew become vibrant in her eyes.

[scenic-gaming]

The Moltammerville Warrior

...the peerless Boulder champion...

...upholding justice and peace once again!

[thecensusbureau]

It's hard to look at really.

Every time they pass by each floor, they'd have to watch their footing in order not to move the bodies of people Cucurucho once knew.

People.

That was the problem.

None of them were people.

Osito, the workers that lay on the ground, the ones that employed them, and even the residents that stormed in and ruined everything.

Mostly everything. At least to Cucurucho.

It nearly steps in a puddle of oil. It mutters an apology for almost doing so. The silent counter in its head ticks everytime it registers the body count.

140... 141... 142...

And so forth. And it's always the same number every time.

374. Every time.

The former Bureau doesn't really know why it bothers to do rounds whenever they leave the office. It's... depressing really.

Maybe one round, it'd find a body less. Maybe one round, it'd find all of them suddenly up and about, back to working condition. Maybe one round, it'd find every one of them reaching out and crying for help.

But it never does.

They round the corner, careful as always to not accidentally move the state the bodies were left in when the residents had come by. There was no doubt in any way who had done this.

The workers most likely weren't even hostile. Most of them were probably just running. Running away in fear and in survival, but none of that had mattered. They had died anyway. They were probably toyed with, killed for fun and for the satisfaction of being in the right.

The residents weren't.

Come to think of it, Cucurucho possibly didn't register the oil slick stains on the clothing of the residents. The liquid dripping from each of their claws, teeth, and weapons. The supposed saviours.

They were supposed to do the right thing.

They were supposed to save people.

They were supposed to be good.

But that's the fucking thing.

Again, and again, it never fucking changes. That—

None of them

were ever

People.

They were just machines, they were just worker drones forced to do whatever the higher bids of them, they were the Island's enemies, they were computers relaying information back to the client, they weren't fucking people.

But it just doesn't make sense— Osito has seen time and time again how much these workers strive and interact.

It has seen them care for each other more than any resident has ever done, it has seen them brimming with different personalities and something close to being alive, it has seen them have wants and needs but they never said anything, because they weren't seen by others to even be worthy enough to have those things.

It loved them. It loved them.

And this ticked off Cucurucho. Everything was unfair, and unkind, and even if the world and its programming were screaming at how this was the way it was supposed to be then so be it.

But Bureau, it'd hear, not all of the residents are bad. Some of them are kind and caring and this was just a different story on their end!

If Cucurucho was forced to wipe out another island, the story would never change even though the tables were flipped. One side was always going to be the monsters, and the other the machines forced to be monsters.

And it didn't want to be a monster.

Not anymore.

[monochromatic-ahhhh]

GOOGLE FORMS IS GONNA GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK

[still2021]

[gobgapplasticbag]

#nonedited #landscapephotography #duskscapes #cloudcollector #cloudlovers #darksoon (at Balcony Thailand) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClbB2qehJC_/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[scarletsaphire]

Valerie thought she was strong. She had to be, for everything she's been through. Her strength is put to the test when she finds Danny Fenton bleeding out from a ghost attack.

[@duchi-nesten has promised to draw any and all smooches I write until Sunday. This is one of them. Expect a crap ton of nonedited shipping content over the next few days.]

If the past two years had proven anything to Valerie, it was that she was strong. She’d thought she was before, when her mother had died. It had been hard; of course it had been hard, how could it not be? But even then, she’d had her dad, and her friends, as fake as they ended up being. Valerie remembered being 10 years old, clutching a teddy bear she hadn’t looked at in years. Her mother had made the dress it worse by hand, stitched with Valerie peering over the table. She remembered tears staining the faded doll, washing away the last remaining scent of her mother. The doll was still sitting on her dresser, a little worse for wear, but remembered fondly.

And then ghosts started attacking, and her daddy lost his job, and all of her friends left her, and she had to start a second job on top of the mantle of protecting the city. It had been harder than anything she’d ever done before. She barely remembered the early weeks of it, everything a blur of exhaustion and blind fury. She had been too tired to cry, during most of it. Too tired and angry and busy to do anything but keep marching on.

Valerie had thought she’d been strong then. She had been, of course. She’d never dare think that she wasn’t. But as hard as it was at the time, she’d still managed to make friends. She managed to find a boyfriend, and Danny had been so sweet and understanding, never prying when she said she had to bail on their dates, never angry when she didn’t return calls or texts. And her father had still been there for her, even if he never had the energy to offer much besides a tired smile and a microwave meal ready to be preheated whenever she stumbled home after a late night shift at Nasty Burger (or a late ghost fight, but he didn’t know that.)

And then the ghosts got worse, and Valerie could barely breathe around everything she had to do to keep up with them, and Danny had still been so kind, so sweet, so patient through it all. But he was too close to it, and he was too close to being hurt, and she couldn’t be part of it. She wouldn’t. So she had broken up with him, citing a lack of time with work. And still, still he’d been so understanding. She could see it in his eyes, so bright and blue and rimmed with tears he wouldn’t let fall, but he still hadn’t gotten mad at her. He had offered a smile, and a hug, and they had parted ways.

Valerie hadn’t let herself cry then. She didn’t deserve to cry, not over her own decision. It was necessary to protect Danny. She’d rather see him safe and happy with someone else than to see him hurt, or worse.

She never could decide, in the late nights where she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering, what that worse was. She knew it involved dying, but would it be worse to die and be gone forever? Or would it be worse to become a ghost? A creature with your face and your voice, but stripped of everything that made you you?

She hadn’t expected to need to know the answer so soon. Even in the darkest moments, she’d thought that even if she did, it would be her on the ground, her bleeding out, her body going cold. She had expected to be the one faced with the reality of becoming a ghost, with the horrors that it would bring. She hadn’t expected to be on the other side. She hadn’t expected to find Danny on the ground after her ghost fight gone wild; she hadn’t known he was there, hadn’t known that anyone was there besides her, Phantom, and the newest ghost filth that had dragged its way onto this side of reality. She wasn’t entirely sure what it had wanted; talking with the things was more Phantom’s speed than hers. She just knew that at some point Phantom had taken a hit and had gone to lick his wounds somewhere else, and she was left to do the cleanup.

She was lucky to have found Danny in the first place. It was dark, and quiet, and he hadn’t made a noise when he had gotten hit. He wasn’t making any noises now, either, not even the sound of breath escaping through his nose. That wasn’t good. That was the exact opposite of good.

Valerie didn’t hesitate as she took off her suit with a thought, the metal disappearing to wherever it went when she wasn’t using it. She didn’t care about keeping her identity secret, not when it could cost her Danny. Her hands were shaking when they reached to his shoulder, coming back drenched with a viscous liquid only slightly warmer than the air around her.

“No, no no no no,” she whispered under her breath, grabbing at his wrist to try and find a pulse. Nothing, but that could have been the fact that her hands felt like lead, that they weren’t cooperating with her. She hoped it was just that. Valerie leaned forward, pressing her ear against Danny’s chest, listening with baited breath. It took far too long for her to hear it, far too long of having her hair become matted with blood, but finally, after what felt like an eternity, she heard it. A soft, slow, rhythmic thumping noise coming from Danny’s chest. Even quieter, underneath it, she could hear a soft whir, a vibration she could barely pick up.

Valerie could not remember crying since her mother had died. She was strong, had been hardened over the years of hardship after hardship, of things that would have crushed someone else. She had not cried during any of those. Valerie Gray cried, burying her head into Danny’s chest, as relief and anxiety and regret flooded her. She sobbed even as she sent out an emergency signal through her Red Huntress suit, a signal she rarely ever had to use. It would alert the emergency response teams that there was a victim of a ghost attack, that it was her reporting it.

She sobbed until she felt a hand carding through her hair, weak and unsteady, but so soft. She looked up suddenly, meeting piercing blue eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness. “What’s wrong?��� Danny said, voice just as soft and weak as his hand in her hair was.

She wiped away her tears as quickly as she could, only succeeding in dragging blood across her cheeks. One hand quickly went behind Danny’s head to try and support him, the other holding tightly onto his. “I thought,” her voice broke, vocal cords run ragged from her crying. “I thought you were dead.” It came out as little more than a whisper.

She hadn’t expected Danny to laugh. She hadn’t expected his laugh to sound like wind whipping through the eaves on a cold winter's day, to sound like a device powering on, to sound like the whistle of a distant bird call. “Well, you’re not exactly wrong with that.” Her grip tightened in his hand, the relief she had felt earlier disappearing, replaced by a sudden ice cold terror.

“Danny. What do you mean,” Her voice was not that of Valerie Gray, but of the Red Huntress. If he was saying what she thought he was saying, than she needed to be Huntress right now. It didn’t matter if the thing wore Danny’s face, spoke with his voice. If it was saying that Danny was dead, then… She didn’t know what she’d do. She never knew what she would do, if a ghost came at her wearing the face of someone she loved.

“I meant to tell you ages ago.” He wasn’t looking at her, eyes trained upwards on the sky. The stars reflected in his pupils. “I was just scared, I guess. You always hated me so much, and by the time you finally started to change your mind, it was too late, yknow?” He laughed again, and this time it was a human sound that came out of his mouth. “I wouldn’t be telling you now, if it wasn’t for the blood loss. Isn’t that sad?”

A part of Valerie relaxed. If what Danny was saying was true, it couldn’t be about him dying. She had seen him only earlier today, as alive and well as always. He couldn’t be dead; whatever it was, it had to be something else. It had to be. “Danny, its ok. Like you said, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re not thinking straight. I called the paramedics, they’ll be here soon, you just-”

Danny sat straight up, cutting her off as she let out a surprised yelp. “Of course you called them…” Danny mumbled, pressing his head into his hands. “I have to go.” He started trying to get up, but Valerie pulled him straight back down to the ground.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not!” she hissed. “You have a gash so deep I could probably see bone, you need to go to the hospital.”

“I’ve had worse,” he said, before scrunching his eyes closed and shaking his head slightly. “That’s not going to help. Um.”

“What do you mean, you’ve had worse?” It took everything in her power to not scream out the words.

Danny took a deep breath, eyes still closed as he spoke. “I really, really didn’t want you to find out this way. I was kind of hoping you’d never find out.” Danny opened his eyes and met hers. She felt her whole body freeze, her breath caught in her lungs, a mangled scream barely able to pass her lips, as she took in his glowing green eyes. “I know you hate me. I know you’re probably seeing red.” His laughter this time was that of a waterfall crashing against rocks, of ice cracking under pressure, or branches snapping from the cold. It didn’t hold any mirth, and joy. “But please. You understand it, at least a little.” A flash of light, a blink of her eyes, and sitting where Danny had been was Phantom, shoulder bleeding green from the wound he had gotten in the ghost fight. “You can kick my ass as much as you want later. All I ask is that you don’t tell anyone.”

Valerie couldn’t move her tongue to talk. Even if she could, she wouldn’t be able to find the words. Distantly, a part of her mind was having a eureka moment. This was why Danny had always been so understanding, this was why Danny had always been so patient, because he had been doing it too. He had been doing it longer than she had, more often than she had. She had fought against him. She had shot him. It was a miracle he hadn’t dumped her first.

That part of her brain was drowned out by the majority that was focusing solely on the fact that Danny Fenton was dead. Had been dead for years, since at least the first appearance of Phantom. And no one had noticed. Not her, not his parents, not his best friends. No one had noticed.

The sounds of the ambulance cut through her thoughts. Valerie watched as Danny’s face grew panicked, as he grabbed her fingers and gently lowered them to her lap. “I have to go,” he said, and she recognized that face. How could she have missed it earlier, when Phantom was wearing the same expression Danny had when she broke up with him? Green eyes rimmed with tears, a sad smile on his lips. “I’m so-”

She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in, slamming her lips against his. It was a messy kiss, the exact opposite of romantic. Blood, tears, and ectoplasm dampened both of their lips, and their noses bumped into each other awkwardly, but Valerie didn’t care. She pulled away almost as quickly as she had kissed him. “You aren’t forgiven. Not by a long shot,” she said. “You have a lot of explaining to do, and I’m probably going to take you up on that offer to kick your ass. But I won’t tell anyone.”

This time, Phantom-Danny’s eyes couldn’t hold back the tears. “Thank you,” he said with a watery smile, and then he was gone, just as she was bathed in the red and blue lights of the ambulance.

[poughkeepsies]

hello loves of my life my bestest friends if any of yall have nonedited screencaps from 7x04 can I get the links to use for a photoedit and also definitely credit you

[infernalmellifera]

🫶MIRAGE MONDAY: ANE GAL VER.🫶

a nonedited mirage monday because work has been a lot this week sorry!!

+ parapara velfarre 2000 under the cut (im not a parapara kind of gal, i just love this song and dance)!!!!

[apparently-artless]

laios truly gets it (◕‿◕)♡

[burnkastel]

I love you systems with problematic introjects I love you systems creating 'unpalatable' art I love you systems who feel ostracized from system spaces due to their introjects i love you systems with complex trauma that is understood through art

[sunsetagain]

Comic update: before working on the epilogue I spent two days on fixing all the bugs i’ve noticed in Eclipse of Sybil and reuploading those renewed pages (except the noneditable all in one post). But contents in reblogs can’t be updated. So if you noticed anything confusing in reblogs, please check the source to read revision.

[entityupdates]

The ending of Destructive Interference is very close so I’m thinking about what I want to do next. The main plan in my head right now is to take a break from Zoroark Ingo and finish another fic Ive been working on. I’d originally intended to post this one right after Masking ended but I didn’t because I didn’t like the ending I had planned so I ended up doing some crazy shit with it so I think you guys will like that.

I have a list of Masking stuff I want to do and I thought about just posting the list but I don’t think I will. When DI finishes, I’ll probably ask what you guys want to see like I did for Masking. You guys wanted a sequel to Masking and I sort of planned one out but I’m not super passionate about it and I don’t want to force it.

The list has sequel stuff but also more spin-off/au type of things. A lot of them could work as oneshots or short installments so even if I do take a break I’d probably still be doing something.

My concern with taking a break is that I will lose interest but I am very busy irl so I am making myself not write more fanfic for the next couple weeks anyway, we’ll see how I feel later.

Oh and like I’ve said before, I think future multichaps will only get posted when they’re completed. I don’t like that I posted DI while it was a wip, I always regret doing that.

I’m thinking about rereading Masking though. I haven’t read one of my own fics for nonediting purposes in over 5 years. I feel like it’d be good for future writing, I might do some tumblr posts if I do.

[whatimthinkingaboutrightnow]

honestly it is a bit weird to me how insanely stale all these editorials and photocollections coming from bts members are. i guess the point is that the value is they themselves, stripped down to a raw/nonedited version and not overshadowed by another’s vision or visuals that hide them. but its so conservative. boring, stale, nondescript. maybe the aim is to hide that they are millionaire superstars (”look, they are just men, just like you and i.”) but imo the simple target driven photography only highlights that. "these men are so huge they are beyond the need for art direction!" guess i just miss gd. ”no one can be gd” is true but at the same time i totally didn’t expect that his influence wouldn’t be seen at all in just a few years later... there’s no iconic looks nor high art or fashion.

it's truly sad how kpop becoming the mainliner for korea's soft power made the government's grip on it (and bts) so tight (both literally but also there seems to be a whole panopticon vibe going on). Kpop used to be so wild and fun, now it's so painfully aware of its place as not only an established late-capitalistic media industry (aka it runs on mediocrity. apparently also k-beauty is becoming increasingly homogenic and stale) but also as an upholder of conservative values.

[corneliaavenue-ao3]

What’s the coolest harmless thing you learned while writing a fanfic?

I'm very new to writing. I still have a lot to learn.

But I think reading my work outloud makes me realize when something doesn't flow as well as I think it does in my head. So taking time to go back and sit with the fic has been helpful in improving my writing. I have a habit of finishing a fic and then wanting to share it almost immediately (hence why I love drunk prompts because yall don't seem to mind my nonedited rambley self that wants to post things as soon as they are written).

[mattys-hs-edits]

yeah hi