#pls reblog i want people to see it

[alesodiabo666]

miku bizkit's style!!!!!!!!!!! :O

[bamsara]

I think that one thing people fail to understand is that unsolicited literary criticism coming from an online stranger who is reading with no knowledge of what the authors intended goal is, is not going to be received the same as say: the authors beta reader or friends who know what the authors intended goal and has the sufficient knowledge and input to help the author reach that desired outcome.

"But I'm only trying to be helpful" How do I know you have the knowledge and literary skill for you to be able to actaully do that when we don't know each other and you are essentially a stranger to me? Are you applying this criticism based out of personal biased experience and desire to see the story or characterization be driven in another direction or tweaked, or do you know the author's intentions for the character? If the story is incomplete, are you basing your criticism of a character on the incomplete narration with only partial information available of them or are you building up a report until the story's completion? Did the author provide you with the information needed to make a fully informed criticism?

Have you discussed with the author what their plans are or are you assuming them based off the narration, especially if the narration is proven or implied to be unreliable or missing key points of the plot? Are you unbiased enough to help them reach their desired outcome for the characters and story regardless of your personal feelings towards the characters/antagonists and setting? Can you handle being told your specific input isn't wanted because you're a reader and/or have no written anything relating to their genre or topic? Do you understand and respect that the author's personal experiences might influence their writing and make it different than how you would have done it personally? Do you understand if an author only wants input from a specific demographic relating to their story?

If it's for fanfiction or other hobby media, are you holding a free hobby to a professional standard? Are you trying to give criticism because you feel like the author has produced 'subpar job performance' of their fic? Are you viewing their work as a personal intimate outlet or something that must conform with mass media? Are you applying rules and guidelines when the fic is shared for simple sharing sake? Is your criticism worded appropriately and focused on the parts where the author has requested input on rather than a general dismissal and or disapproval?

Have you put yourself in a place where you assumed you have the input needed for the story to evolve better, or have you asked what the author needs and what they're having trouble with? Can you handle having your criticism rejected if the author decides their story doesn't need the change and not take it as a personal offense against your character? Are you crossing that boundary because you think you are doing the author a favor? Are you trying to be helpful, or do you just want to be?

I think sometimes when people hear authors go 'please don't give me unsolicited writing advice or criticism' they automatically chalk it up to 'this author doesn't want ANY constructive feedback on their stuff at all' and not "i already have trusted individuals who will help me with my writing goals and- hey i don't know you like that, please stop acting so overly familiar with me'

[iholli]

me when all my selfships are very popularly shipped with other characters (I hate canon sharing)

[kirks-slutty-torn-shirt]

gulp.

thinking of naming this one "flow"

[sandushengshou]

Xuan Lu | Divine Destiny

[milkvast]

norm norrm

[novastaronline]

here we go I finished @0glitched0-1out1 :D

the song in the second and last pic is called Unhealthy Obsession is anyone wants to listen to it

my lil baby Umbra is there 🫶

[worthyourweightinfanfiction]

Idk if it needs saying but “why is someone in their 20s hanging out with teenagers” is valid but “why is someone in their 30s hanging out with people in their 20s” isn’t the same. There’s nowhere near the level of power imbalance, plus single/childfree people in their 30s find most of their friends disappear once they get married or have kids. I’ve seen this happen to 2 of my older siblings and my brother ended up depressed and alone rather than hang out with the 24-28 year olds he used to play sports with because he doesn’t want to be the “weird old guy”. We’re all already too isolated, we don’t need these extra barriers.

[pishuswindow]

Robo-Cat

New design - old design

She changed a lot in 3 [ or 4 ] years!

[shystrangercowboy]

Just wanna know because I feel like I've gotten better and I'll probably get a drawing tablet. I don't have one now.

[honabi]

// cw: FANTUBE

i love adding eyelashes on fan C:

[jessicatredes]

The town square was packed tight with people, corralled this way and that by Peacekeepers, dependent if you could be reaped or not.  Livestock or spectator.  Children moved slowly through the lines, fingers pricked and papers blotted with blood.  The southern sun already high in the sky, clothes specifically worn for the reaping showing signs of sweat and dirt already.  Banners with the Capitol emblem shifted with the soft summer wind.  While the nearby processing plants were closed for the holiday, the smell of leather still lingered in the air.

The front of the Justice Building had been transformed into a makeshift stage.  Several sets of chairs lined the outside of the building, each separated by a tall vase filled with native bluegrass and wild flowers.  Two glass bowls sat on either side of a microphone.  Thousands of slips of paper filled them, each adorned with a child’s name in identical print.  A small tapestry hung over the stands the bowls were on, embroidered with a cow skull and Ad multos annos; a wish for a long life.

Once the area had become claustrophobic and the cameras were rolling, the mayor’s family and living victors emerged from the building.  All look defeated, except for the woman following up the rear in a gaudy, bright outfit.  A pantsuit in deep navy, with what looked like tinsel running through the fabric, matched the woman’s hair, pulled into a high ponytail.  

“Sit! Sit!  We’re beginning soon everyone!”  The woman fretted, flocking between the two sides of the stage. “Everyone!  Good posture and big smiles!” 

Cordelia Poverly, Capitol Escort assigned to District 10 for a second year in a row.  Her anxious behavior was probably due to her opening year as an escort ending within the first ten minutes of the game.  Two twelve year olds reaped, killed in the immediate bloodbath.   In an interview alongside their mentors, Cordelia chirped that not all debuts were stellar; no indication of remorse for the dead.

Another handful of minutes passed before the Justice Building’s belltower rung out ten times, signaling the hour and start of the reaping.  The Capitol woman threw her ponytail over her shoulder, a bright smile on her face before stepping up to the microphone. 

“Welcome, welcome!  What a glorious morning to celebrate the start of the 68th Hunger Games,” She paused for a small clap, looking back at the others on the stage.  They followed suit, though less enthusiastically, before she continued.  “As we all know, the Hunger Games are a solemn reminder, brought forward by the Treaty of Treason, to never repeat the Dark Days.”

The many screens dotted around the square, presently broadcasting Cordelia’s introduction, flickered to a film all were familiar with.  Scenes of war and disarray, narrated by President Coriolanus Snow, shifted to peaceful clips.  Prosperity.  Joy.  Families together and clear skies.  As it came to an end, the screens switched back to Cordelia.

“Wonderful,” She sang. “And now, before selecting our brave tributes, let’s remember our living victor’s who proudly represented District 10 in prior games.”  

Turning slightly, she faced half to the crowd, half to the right of the stage.  Six chairs lined this side, with four occupied.  Two instead had a small card embossed with the district’s emblem.  Cordelia listed off the living, clapping as each briefly stood and waved to the crowd. 

“Falabella Hackett, 43rd Hunger Games… Colter Barlowe, 39th Hunger Games… Lusitano Whitlock, 27th Hunger Games… Valencia Camacho, 22nd Hunger Games…

“Fantastic! Now,” Cordelia said, turning back to the front and clasping her hands together.  “For the main event.”

The tinseled woman moved away from the microphone, standing behind the bowl on the right side of the stage.  She slipped her hand in.  Dug around the slips.  Pulled a lone paper out.  Moved back to the center.  All this done while the spectators looked on, holding hands and breath.  The late morning sun baking the already restless crowd.      

“For our brave young lady…” Cordelia paused long enough for a true hush to fall over the district.  “Marlo Hackett!”

There was a second of stillness as the name settled over the crowd, creeping across their minds.  The last name, just briefly said moments before, began to register.  Hackett.  Prior victor.  A startling and hysteric cry was let out on stage.  Falabella attempted to stifle her outburst, hand covering her mouth as she turned away from the cameras that would be focusing closely on her.  

In the last rows of the pack of children, a small girl, only thirteen, stepped out.  She looked pale.  Wiped the sweat from her brow as the sun continued to beat down on her.  She half-tripped, caught by another girl before they released her just as fast, like they’d somehow be reaped as well.  Eventually she staggered up the stairs.  Ushered by Cordelia to her spot on the stage.  Marlo looked to her mother, tears streaking her cheeks.  

“What a reaction from our latest victor,” Cordelia said, placing her hands over her heart in faux pity. “As always, after a tribute has been selected, a volunteer may step forward.  Do we have any valiant girls in the crowd?”

A beat.  Stifled crying was all that could be heard at first, little Marlo rubbing her eyes constantly.  Another.  Falabella racked with sobs.  Cordelia surveyed the crowd, preparing to move on to the boys.  Then, before she could speak, only a few rows away from the stage, a single hand raised.

“I’ll volunteer,” a seventeen year old called.  Her eyes briefly met with Falabella’s, before looking back to the Capitol woman.  The front rows parted.  Staggered away, confusion on their faces. Volunteer? This was a girl from one of the community homes.  No relation to the Hacketts, and little to no reason she’d feel the need to replace Marlo.  No reason to sign herself to certain death.  

The teenager walked forward, back straight and head high.  She reached the top of the stairs.  Her vision felt tunneled despite her attempted confidence, sunspots dancing in her eyes.  She copied Marlo, wiping the sweat from her face in an attempt to look more put together.  During this, Falabella had rushed to Marlo, yanking her daughter away from the front and back towards her chair.  Clutched her to her midsection.

“Lovely, I don’t believe District 10 has had a volunteer in several years!” Cordelia said, pulling the new tribute towards the microphone.  “Please, introduce yourself.” 

The girl cleared her throat.  Eyes danced to the cameras closest to her, ignoring the harrowed faces across from her.  A cold dread seeped into her.  The reality of what she’d done sinking in.  She stepped closer to the microphone, voice not betraying her nerves.

“Sutherland Acosta.” 

[purpleshadow-star]

I have come to realize that there is not a universal opinion on this, so now I'm curious.

[the-writing-moth]

more sneak peeks

"The gods were not happy with the entry, It happened in some century. The gods were not happy with this manner, So they had to make a clamor."

[trans-axolotl3]

just realized this blog also doesn't have the people blocked i need blocked...that's actually such a problem!!! i don't remember people's urls but there are like. four blogs that i had blocked from my old stalker and i do not want them to find me again <3 like i cannot deal with that again.