#this is a little more abstract than I usually write but I like it a lot

[lilac-hecox]

i'd love to request a little pastor ian. literally anything, you could describe him just breathing, i don't care, just any pastor ian! thank you so much <3

Pastor!Ian/Demon!Anthony - Holy War - Ianthony

--

It was strange to touch each other without one of them dying, but maybe touch was also something for the living.

Ian remembers a time when ignorance was truly bliss. It was when he first joined the church, attending his classes, working towards priesthood. It was before he knew of things bigger than himself and all he had to do was believe in God, and believe in what was right, and holy, and that through the Lord all things were possible. 

He was a sheep happy to graze in the grass those days.

It was before he knew of a war raging between heaven and hell itself. It was before he was caught squarely in the cross-fire of that war. 

Anthony, Ian’s best friend, was always attuned to the world in a frequency that Ian was not. He thought deeper, believed in things, he was open to new ideas. He was curious. He was anything but ignorant and blissful to the world around them. 

Ian can’t quite remember how it happened, but somehow Anthony had stumbled into the weavings of darkness. That evil, born of hell, had etched itself across his skin in dark marks that led like road maps across the surface of Anthony’s flesh. 

It happened in quiet places. In the dark places where Ian did not allow himself to truly see or know. Where he did not dare to follow Anthony. By the time he knew. By the time any of them realized what had happened. Anthony was no longer just Anthony. 

He had something evil inside of him, something festering and hungry, and out for destruction. His eyes a glossy, milky white, as he screamed into the night, those road maps of darkness alight with an unholy magic. 

Really, all along, Ian and Anthony were pawns in a game bigger than either one of them, but set on opposite sides. Anthony, swallowed by a darkness that overcame him. Ian believed in a righteousness that felt like his only hope and Anthony’s only salvation. 

Ian can’t remember exactly when or how they died. He just knows they died together. For most of his life, it felt like he and Anthony came into existence at the same moment, hard to remember a time before one was at the other’s side. Upon dying, it was much the same, born to know each other, destined to die together. 

The top of a hill, overlooking the village they had grown up in, the church in which Ian took his vows to the Lord, a mutual destruction took place. 

Ian remembers heat and pain and he remembers falling to his knees in the grass, clutching at Anthony’s shoulders, his touch burning the inches of Anthony’s demonized skin. When Anthony fell, it was next to him, the space between their hands thinner than a blade of the grass on the hill of their childhood home where Ian laid bleeding out. 

With his last ounce of strength Ian had clutched Anthony’s hand, the dark, inky symbol of an all-seeing eye, burning, disintegrating to give way to the tanned flesh Ian always knew. He held fast to Anthony as his eyes slipped closed, because he had a feeling even death could not split them apart if they truly tried to stay together. 

The thing about a holy war of good versus evil. It’s hard to ever really stay dead. It’s hard to say where Ian was in the in-between, but he felt warm there, and comfortable, and he knows that Anthony was there too. 

Then, they are resurrected, like the verses in old scriptures Ian had studied. One day he is awake on the same hill, in the daylight, no mortal wound spread across the expanse of his chest. Anthony is there too, the markings on his skin still etched, but faded, no longer raised and angry, like veins across his skin. 

The palm of his hand, the one Ian had held as he died, is perfectly blank. 

It was strange to touch each other without one of them dying, but maybe touch was also something for the living.

Ian tested that theory by planting a hand in the soft springy grass where their blood once mingled together and painted the ground. He feels the warm breeze of the day, and in the distance he hears birds calling, he hears children playing. 

Ian leans in and he cups Anthony’s face, and he surrenders to the knowledge of the world, and what it can be like, and feel like, and what it felt like to live and die at Anthony’s side. He clings and he kisses Anthony until their lips are numb, until they have to part to suck in deep and renewing lungfuls of air. 

Maybe their resurrection was a gift from something that took pity on them. Maybe a reversal of the damages done to war. Maybe Ian’s side won. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. Content to live in that peaceful bliss if he gets to have Anthony with him.

[byanyan]

You didn't deserve what happened to you, Byan.

ㅤunexpected words catch them off guard, causing them to stumble. their cool, unbothered facade falters, if only for a few moments, as they fall still, looking for all the world like a startled deer trying to determine whether they're safer to stay in place or to run.

then the words sink in deeper, and the emotions begin to bubble up.

ㅤ( you've always wanted someone to notice, haven't you? to realize how unfair everything has been? to validate you, to reassure you that none of it should have happened? )

no shit, they almost say. which event did i not deserve to have happen to me? the question burns on the tip of their tongue. and yet, that familiar doubt overtakes it all;

ㅤ( but what if i did? but what if i did? surely i did something to deserve all that's happened, to not have anyone intervene. )

ㅤㅤ" fuck off. "

placating words, that's all they are. that's all anyone ever bothers to offer. it doesn't mean anything, isn't worth taking to heart. fists clench, rising emotions fueling a flame of rage — anger is safe, after all; anger doesn't expose, isn't vulnerable, and it keeps the pity away.

ㅤㅤ" you don't know anythin' about me or my life, so don't fuckin' act like y'do. "

[the-modern-typewriter]

So, Scary Villain (you are absolutely amazing at writing those btw chefs kiss) but vs someone who is Into That (hero or civilian) and so this scary big bad who thought they were being intimidating and downright terrifying (which they were... for a normal person) is just like ":D?!?"

I just love the slight inherit goofiness of an intimidation/scare tactic producing a VERY different result than intended towards the receiver.

(Hope you have a lovely day/night btw)

"Are you enjoying this?"

The villain stood with one hand outstretched as their telekinetic abilities wound around the hero's limbs and splayed them against the wall like a specimen beneath a microscope.

"Enjoying is...a word," the hero replied. "They said you'd be able to see me, or sense me or whatever, but man. I was sure that was bullshit."

Invisibility was a useful gift in many a situation. It didn't matter how strong or fast their opponent was when they could never see the hero coming. It didn't matter how many enemies there were when the hero could sneak past them with minimal effort and the right pair of shoes.

They'd been doing their usual, sneaking past the villain too, when the villain's hand lashed out. They hadn't bothered to even look up. The hero had gone flying as surely as if they were wearing a neon sign that screamed 'here I am!' at regular intervals.

"You might as well show yourself," the villain had drawled. "Unless you'd prefer I make an abstract painting of your organs against the ceiling."

The hero had let their invisibility drop, heart pounding.

The villain had rose, slow and predatory, to their feet. The hero hadn't been able to take their eyes off them.

The villain's head tilted at the hero's words. They took several steps closer, and all the hero could do was twitch their fingers uselessly against the wall. There was no hiding. No slipping away. The hero's breath hitched as the villain stopped less than a metre away, close enough to touch, though they didn't. Their gaze raked over the hero like a physical thing, leaving no detail spared.

"Because I can see you?" the villain asked. "Even when you don't want to be seen? Must be a novelty for someone like you."

"Because that thing you just did hurling me against a wall was bloody hot."

The villain blinked. Startled. Their eyes turned dark and molten. Their head tilted the other way.

The hero swallowed.

"But, I mean, we can call it being seen," the hero said. "Probably more professional."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Duh."

"But you are not frightened?"

"I have a peculiar reaction to danger."

"Indeed." The villain curled their finger and the pressure at the hero's throat tightened and left them choking. The villain watched it all. They might have seemed dispassionate, except...

"Enjoying yourself?" the hero rasped.

"You're a delightful surprise. Stupid, but delightful. New?"

"It's one of my many charms."

"The other being how pretty you'd look writhing and bloody with tears in your eyes? What are you doing in my lab?"

"Spelunking."

"Excellent hobby for a budding danger addict."

"I know, right?!"

The villain snorted. They loosened their telekinetic grip on the hero's throat, before they could get too dizzy. "What are you doing in my lab?"

"I was curious about you."

"Have I satisfied your morbid curiosity?"

"Morbid?" The hero wet their dry lips, but held the villain's gaze. "You haven't killed me yet. Wouldn't be as fun without the screaming and sobbing, would it?"

"There's still time." The villain paused, clocking the hero's reaction to that. "Oh, you weren't kidding. You really are a little freak, aren't you?"

"It's all in the line delivery. Do you practice?"

"No. Would you like me to practice on you?"

"I mean, I should point out I don't actually have a death wish."

"You broke into my lab."

"And for all you know I could have a cunning escape planned!"

The villain flicked their hand and the hero dropped down off the wall with a thump, landing on their knees, hands twisted behind their back. Chin tilted up by an unseen force.

"Then escape," the villain said. "Or I'll assume you want to stay like this for me."

"Most people buy me dinner first."

"We're not most people."

The hero considered them a moment, before they switched their invisibility on and then some again. Focusing. Phasing from the villain's grip.

The villain's eyes grew impossibly darker.

The hero straightened, giving a little bow.

A smirk curled the villain's lips. "I know how to keep people alive when I want to. I think I want to right now."

"Dinner? Tonight?"

"You can break in at seven."

It was the start of a beautiful new...not friendship. But they both enjoyed themselves very much.

[sm-baby]

Most exciting part of the trailer for the next TADC episode for you?

More so an Analysis rather than things I'm excited about X3

I watched the sneak peek on loop I can process everything! Waahh!! I'm so excited for episode 2 💞 only a few weeks away! 💕

I wanna get this out of the way, I love Lizzie Freeman and Alex Rochon's Improv work on this promo 😭 they were really put in a booth together, were told to say things to promote episode two, and came up with that 😭 Genius.

The environment work is GORGEOUS! I love the look of everything, the world-building, the colors! It looks like a full-fledged movie guys! Absolutely beautiful and WONDEROUS work from the Glitch team-- it's so beautiful for half a year of work??? God damn!!

Haha! As an in-universe creation, Despite his little gags, Caine is genuinely such a good AI to make something so cool!

You'll also notice that Ragatha is taking charge of talking with the princess! That would make sense for such fellow beautiful well-mannered women!

More on them later at the end! :3

Dream sequence theory

Also, we all agree that these ones are all part of a dream right? Pomni is panicked, the strange sort of "slow woozy wobbly" animation exactly like a dream... even the dolly zoom!

Then she is sent to the cellar with a an abstracted arm, but that shouldn't be the case since Caine could easily fix an abstracted arm with a snap of a finger.

And then she wakes up, freaked out!!

Wahaha! Shout out to the Showtime server for pointing this out while we were discussing!

This is either and "end of episode prize" from Caine, or he jumps in mid-episode to hand them a helpful item, ooorr he's telling them that that's their objective for the adventure :3

also!! people have pointed out that Zooble isn't with the carriage with the others! Either this means that Zooble was given a surprise roll in the adventure, or she's off to have a fun solo adventure with Caine! Ohh! How exciting!

Zooble is a favorite character of Goose's, so to learn more about him and why Goose loves them so much would be so exciting!!

Whats up with Jax?

hunched down, writing in the sand, hugging his knees, this topped with Goose's two-word description of the next episode to be "I"m nothing"... Oh Jax is gonna have a MOMENT...

We all know that no one likes the dude and he's going to get worse. I'm unsure if this will make me like the guy, but I'm optimistic!

I'm open to understanding and seeing another side of him that would make me like him! I already quite like how this scene is framed, how lonely he looks, the acting in these few seconds already tells me what kind of guy he is.

...despite one of the gummis being tied up in the corner

If i had to hypothesize, this probably stemmed with Jax acting out, you know, the usual "being a nuisance" to make everyone miserable,

Then It escalates

This gets on Ragatha's nerves, first starting out as a silly "haha cute interaction" between them and it escalates while the episode goes on where Ragatha genuinely gets mad at him and tells him to stay put while they do the work.

Speaking of Ragatha, She seems to be quite fond of the Princess! There is a part of me that wonders if she wants to sort of-- "prove" herself in a way, as a leader or otherwise. Ragatha does give me the "smart yet nice kid in class that everyone copies off of" energy... TwT This poor woman.

I don't know, just the way The Princess bends down and holds her hand, it's sort of sweetly mentorly or motherly in a way. I'm not saying this to infantilize Ragatha, I respect her so much as a mature 30-year-old adult, I say it as a testament to The Princesses' character. Princesses, Queens, and any sort of royalty have been characterized as the sort of "mother/father of all" sort of character type, which is sweet! And would be quite interesting!

I know that people are quick to do the shipping with these two, but I kind of like the idea of Ragatha wanting approval and validation.

BUT THATS JUST A THEORY!! A FILM THEORY!!! ANDDD CUT!!

[s4no]

TOKREV: STONER HCS

+ feat: ken ryuuguji, keisuke baji, mitsuya takashi, hanma shuji, seishu inui, sanzu haruchiyo, wakasa imaushi & shinichiro sano

+ cw: fem!reader, drugs (weed + cigarettes), nsfw themes (ptv, cockwarming)

+ summary: ever wonder what they're like when they get high?

+ a/n: i am smoking a blunt while writing this so ignore the typos

ಇ  𝗞𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗬𝗨𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗝𝗜. after a long day of grueling work, draken likes to relax by smoking a blunt. he'll roll it after he's locked up his shop and walk into your apartment with it behind his ear, his forehead and fingers smudged with motor oil. it's become part of your routine to walk up to him as he places it between his lips and light it for him, watching him take a hit and blow the smoke out to the side. you two pass it back and forth while he cleans up in the bathroom, and then relocate to the living room once he's done, lounging on the couch while discussing your day. the more he smokes, the closer he gets, subconsciously closing the distance and gravitating toward you. he gets touchy when he's high, and you hum as calloused hands absentmindedly wander over the curves and valleys of your body, tracing abstract shapes into your skin. and when you run out of things to talk about, you sit two there in a comfortable silence, merely enjoying each other's presence.

ಇ  𝗞𝗘𝗜𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗝𝗜. the first thing baji likes to do when he wakes up is smoke, especially if it's the weekend. you'll wake up to him packing the bong, bathed in golden light pouring in through the window. "mornin', kitten." he grins down at you, sharp canines poking past his bottom lip, "wake and bake?" the rips he takes from the bong are impressive, and when you try to copy him, you inevitably end up coughing and sputtering. he always snickers and takes the bong from of your hands, rubbing his palm over the center of your chest. "breathe, baby, breathe." by the time you manage to catch your breath, he's finished packing another bowl— one that he single-handedly smokes before finally getting out of bed. without fail, his stomach rumbles and he shoots you a sheepish look, "you want breakfast? i'll make pancakes." throwing the covers off you, you run after him to the kitchen, knowing he'll most likely start a fire if you aren't there to help.

ಇ  𝗧𝗔��𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗜 𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗬𝗔. mitsuya mainly smokes in social settings. whenever someone offers him a joint at a party, he always accepts it with a gracious smile. surprisingly, a little weed makes him even more charismatic than usual, and he's able to entertain the whole room without even trying. but he walks a fine line because once he's true and properly stoned, he becomes more introverted and ends up clinging to you like a lost puppy. you'll be dancing in the middle of the floor and he'll walk up to you and just throw his arms around you. "you high, babe?" you giggle, leading him toward the couch. "mhm, feel really good." he hums, and the next thing you know, he's pulled you down onto the sofa and buried his head in your chest. "so comfy.." it doesn't matter that his antics attract the stares of other partygoers, he will cuddle you in front of everybody and he'll do it without a hint of shame.

ಇ  𝗦𝗛𝗨𝗝𝗜 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗠𝗔. hanma will swear up and down that nothing's better than a cigarette after sex. but sometimes, he takes it step beyond that— rolling a fat blunt and lighting it up while you two lay naked in bed. he's never embodied his tattoo more than he does when he blows the smoke out from his nose; he's the personification of sin and temptation with the blunt perched between his fingers. he offers it to you but when you go to take it from him, he lifts it up out of your reach. "you want a hit, doll?" there's a smirk on his face as he blows the smoke directly into your face, and it only grows when you start to pout. "open." you follow the simple command without hesitation and you're rewarded for it when he brings the blunt to your parted lips, holding it for you while you inhale. he doesn't miss the way your eyes turn glassy from the high. in fact, it makes him hard all over again and by the time he's putting out the roach on the ashtray, he's ready for round two.

ಇ  𝗦𝗘𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗨 𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗜. inui has a couple of guilty pleasures and one of them is smoking right before bed. he'll pick out an indica that's sure to help him sleep and pack his bowl full of it. you can visibly see the tension leech out of his body, his shoulders sagging lower with every hit he takes. most nights, he'll doze off after finishing it, but if he manages to stay awake long enough for you to join him in bed, he'll pull you close and wrap his arms around you. soft lips pepper kisses against the crook of your neck, and when you laugh and tell him it tickles, he tightens his hold on you and starts sucking a bruise into your skin. "this tickle too?" he murmurs, knowing damn well what he's doing. his hands slip beneath your shirt, squeezing your tits and playing with your nipples until they're poking through the fabric. then, he sheathes himself inside of you, making you warm his cock while he drifts off to sleep.

ಇ  𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗬𝗢 𝗦𝗔𝗡𝗭��. sanzu is all about optimizing his pleasure and one way he does this is by smoking while he fucks you. you'll be on your hands and knees, back bent into a pretty arch as he thrusts against your backside. his pace is steady but brutal, one hand gripping your hip while the other lifts the joint to his lips. "mm, fuck.." he groans, voice raspy (from the smoke or how tightly you're squeezing him, you're not sure). "that's it— haah, yeah, that's it, angel. take this fuckin' cock." if he's feeling generous, he'll lean over you and extend the joint out for you to take a hit, but oftentimes, you're being fucked too hard to even think about accepting the offer. if, on the off chance, you are able to take a hit or two, you severely start to struggle holding yourself up. but he takes it in stride, pushing you down so your stomach is flat against the bed, cheek pressed against the sheets. "there you go, just lay down and take it."

ಇ  𝗪𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗦𝗔 𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜. not only is wakasa a stoner, but he's also a plug. he stays stocked up with flower, wax, and cartridges; and he has a revolving door of customers at his disposal with tokyo university located half an hour away. he smokes several times a day every day, and he's built up an insane tolerance as a result. when you come over to hang out, he'll easily face a blunt while giving you your own to hit as you please. "you tryna keep up with me, princess? don't overdo it." but really, he wouldn't mind if you did. you're so cute when you're high out of your mind, so pliant in his hands. his teasingly lips brush over yours, so lightly it can hardly be considered a kiss, before he shotguns the smoke into your awaiting mouth. though, if you truly do start to get too faded, he'll pluck the blunt right out of your hands and put it out. "aht," he chides, "that's enough. can't have you greenin' out on me, can i?"

ಇ  𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗢 𝗦𝗔𝗡𝗢. shinichiro is a lightweight compared to his best friend, not because he doesn't have access to weed, but because he really only smokes it on special occasions. for his last birthday, wakasa brought over some wax and shinichiro could only blink when his friend pulled a blow torch out from his bag. after some convincing, he took several hits, but he nearly coughed up a lung in the process. that was the highest you've ever seen your boyfriend— too stoned to even keep his head from falling over against his shoulders. "you good, shin?" he nods slowly in response, eyelids drooping as if they're being weighed down by something heavy. he stayed on the couch for the rest of the day, asking you to make him something to eat every couple of hours. "shit.." he mutters to himself, "food really does taste better when you're high." you and wakasa got quite the kick out of his blissed out state.

[arcaneauthor]

Can you do things hyunjin does as your bf🙏

Cute things Hyunjin does as your bf

Pairing: Hyunjin x reader

Tags: fluff, like that’s all there is

Warnings: none

Author’s note: sorry that my requests are being posted a little slower now but I’m currently trying to write multiple different requests, a multi chapter story, and complete a couple of art commissions so my creativity is stretched a little thin rn. But I’m gonna try to start getting them out faster in the future! Hope you enjoy!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

If you’re shorter then him then expect lots of head pats and hair ruffles

Which are usually accompanied by him calling you cute

Likes to hug you from behind and rest his chin on your shoulder or head

If you’re also an artist like him (which I am) he’ll set you up a second little art station in the room with his so you can do it together

Ik y’all are probably expecting me to put sometime about liking you to sit on his lap while he paints or something but if he’s anything like me I absolutely hate when people watch me work lol it makes me nervous

Buys you matching couples rings

He loves play with your hair. Like he’ll just constantly be running his hands though it.

As he’s stated before he’s not a big spender and really thinks before he buys so when he does buy you gifts you better believe they are super meaningful and thought out

Just makes you feel way funnier than you are. Like he literally laughs at everything you say

Pulls his phone out to snap candid pictures of you any time he thinks you look exceptionally beautiful. Got a whole album atp. Most of them are of you laughing or smiling at something. He’s absolutely obsessed with your genuine, natural smile.

Loves to just lay on top of you and wrap his long limbs around you like an octopus while nuzzling his head into your shoulder. Like if he comes in tired from a long day and sees you laid on the couch he’ll just flop himself over top of you without a word.

He’ll do it playfully too. Like if you’re trying to leave he’ll just lay his whole body weight on you so you can’t get up. “Nope. You can’t go” He of course lets you go if you really want him to get off, but I mean who would want him to get off of them👀

As an artist who has been known to make portraits, he analyzes the details of someone’s features more than most meaning when he compliments you it’s not always just “you’re pretty” or “you look beautiful” instead it’s: “The speckle of colors in your eyes are gorgeous.” “The way your hair glows in the sun makes you look like an angel” etc.

Like he literally just lifts you and your confidence up so much whether it’s from compliments about your appearance or praising you on certain skills or things you do well. Low self esteem does not exist when you’re around hyunjin

Without really meaning to, he makes you the focal point of his art more and more. Even when it’s not directly an image of you he’s creating an abstract piece that represents what you make him feel. Love. He just paints what comes to mind and more often then not that’s you these days

[reasonsforhope]

No-paywall version.

"You can never really see the future, only imagine it, then try to make sense of the new world when it arrives.

Just a few years ago, climate projections for this century looked quite apocalyptic, with most scientists warning that continuing “business as usual” would bring the world four or even five degrees Celsius of warming — a change disruptive enough to call forth not only predictions of food crises and heat stress, state conflict and economic strife, but, from some corners, warnings of civilizational collapse and even a sort of human endgame. (Perhaps you’ve had nightmares about each of these and seen premonitions of them in your newsfeed.)

Now, with the world already 1.2 degrees hotter, scientists believe that warming this century will most likely fall between two or three degrees. (A United Nations report released this week ahead of the COP27 climate conference in Sharm el Sheikh, Egypt, confirmed that range.) A little lower is possible, with much more concerted action; a little higher, too, with slower action and bad climate luck. Those numbers may sound abstract, but what they suggest is this: Thanks to astonishing declines in the price of renewables, a truly global political mobilization, a clearer picture of the energy future and serious policy focus from world leaders,

we have cut expected warming almost in half in just five years.

...Conventional wisdom has dictated that meeting the most ambitious goals of the Paris agreement by limiting warming to 1.5 degrees could allow for some continuing normal, but failing to take rapid action on emissions, and allowing warming above three or even four degrees, spelled doom.

Neither of those futures looks all that likely now, with the most terrifying predictions made improbable by decarbonization and the most hopeful ones practically foreclosed by tragic delay. The window of possible climate futures is narrowing, and as a result, we are getting a clearer sense of what’s to come: a new world, full of disruption but also billions of people, well past climate normal and yet mercifully short of true climate apocalypse.

Over the last several months, I’ve had dozens of conversations — with climate scientists and economists and policymakers, advocates and activists and novelists and philosophers — about that new world and the ways we might conceptualize it. Perhaps the most capacious and galvanizing account is one I heard from Kate Marvel of NASA, a lead chapter author on the fifth National Climate Assessment: “The world will be what we make it.” Personally, I find myself returning to three sets of guideposts, which help map the landscape of possibility.

First, worst-case temperature scenarios that recently seemed plausible now look much less so, which is inarguably good news and, in a time of climate panic and despair, a truly underappreciated sign of genuine and world-shaping progress...

[I cut number two for being focused on negatives. This is a reasons for hope blog.]

Third, humanity retains an enormous amount of control — over just how hot it will get and how much we will do to protect one another through those assaults and disruptions. Acknowledging that truly apocalyptic warming now looks considerably less likely than it did just a few years ago pulls the future out of the realm of myth and returns it to the plane of history: contested, combative, combining suffering and flourishing — though not in equal measure for every group...

“We live in a terrible world, and we live in a wonderful world,” Marvel says. “It’s a terrible world that’s more than a degree Celsius warmer. But also a wonderful world in which we have so many ways to generate electricity that are cheaper and more cost-effective and easier to deploy than I would’ve ever imagined. People are writing credible papers in scientific journals making the case that switching rapidly to renewable energy isn’t a net cost; it will be a net financial benefit,” she says with a head-shake of near-disbelief. “If you had told me five years ago that that would be the case, I would’ve thought, wow, that’s a miracle.”"

-via The New York Times Magazine, October 26, 2022

[yoonkinii]

Jealous Y♡u

Warning(s): cursing, jealousy, flirting with a taken man, hints to having sex (no smut though), anger, extreme kissing :3 Requests open (only for this AU) Masterlist (check for more AU content!) note: Sorry it's short! I couldn't get this idea out of my head and had to write it.

No matter how extravagant the restaurant was, your mood remained sour - a shame, really. 

Nestles in the heart of the city’s glittering downtown, the restaurant gleamed like a polished gem beneath the soft glow of its artfully arranged lighting. The entrance, framed by lush greenery and a discreet brass plaque, hinted at the understated elegance within. The sounds of lively conversations mingled with the gentle clinking of fine china and crystals, creating an atmosphere of refined luxury. 

Inside, the restaurant was a harmonious blend of contemporary design and classic sophistication, while the walls, dressed in muted shades of ivory and taupe, provided a serene backdrop. Large, abstract paintings added splashes of vibrant color - mesmerizing, but now only contributed to your growing headache.

You couldn’t sit still at your designated table, too restless and irritated to remain in one place. The business party was still in full swing, with unfamiliar faces chattering about topics you didn’t understand. When Sukuna invited you to his yearly business event, you were excited. It was a formality he dreaded but had to attend to maintain business relationships. But now, surrounded by strangers and trapped in your own thoughts, the excitement had long faded, leaving you adrift in a sea of discontent. 

A burst of laughter causes you to drag your eyes away from the expansive window, where the cityscape below had tried and failed to distract you as you sipped on your champagne. The laughter of the very person responsible for your agitation was hard to ignore. Your anger had been simmering for the past hour, and it was about to reach a boiling point. Perhaps it was the alcohol buzzing through your system, fraying your patience more than usual. Maybe it was a combination of everything. Either way, you were livid. 

Your eyes lock onto the two figures who have you clenching your glass a little too tightly, a tight-lipped grimace playing on your mouth as you watch them for what feels like the umpteenth time. You don’t know who she is or what her name is, but at this moment, you don’t care. To you, she’s simply that woman. 

She was pretty, very pretty, and she knew it. It was evident in her choice of attire - a brown bodycon dress that hugged her figure, accentuating her curves and leaving little to the imagination. You had noticed her the moment you walked into the restaurant. She had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, with a smile a little too wide as she greeted your boyfriend. Normally, you wouldn’t have minded; it’s not like you’re the jealous type. But after her backhanded comment, something inside you snaps. 

“Oh! I totally expected you to be with someone else.”

From that moment, everything went downhill. She completely disregarded the seating arrangements, forcing someone else to take her original spot so she could sit on the other side of Sukuna. Her behavior escalated from a harmless crush on your boyfriend to blatantly throwing herself at a taken man. It started with seemingly innocent compliments before progressing into something worse. 

“I like your hair today.”

“That shirt looks great on you.”

“Your piercings suit you.”

And poor Sukuna, completely oblivious to this woman’s intentions, responded to her words with a simple hum, not truly paying attention to her at all. To his credit, Sukuna was focused on one thing - you. His hand rested on your thigh, the pads of his fingers massaging the delicate skin of your inner thigh absentmindedly. Throughout the main course, Sukuna leaned into your ear, whispering who was who or making sly comments about others, relishing in the way your soft laughter danced in the air. 

Sukuna remains oblivious to the woman’s intentions, his mind filled with thoughts of you, and only you. He doesn’t notice the way she inches closer, or the way her laughter seems to cling to his every word. His focus is entirely on you, but you don’t see it that way. You don’t see the way his gaze softens whenever you meet his eyes. Dressed in a cream-colored dress with a square neckline that leaves your collar bones on display, you’re the picture of elegance. Sukuna is sure that anyone who cared to notice would definitely see how his expression changes when he looks at you. 

But she doesn’t give up easily. Even after the meal, her persistence lingers like an unwanted shadow. She laughs at everything Sukuna says, her hands constantly finding its way to his biceps, her body icing closer with each passing  minute. Even as Sukuna excuses himself with a kiss on your cheek to speak with a close business partner, she follows, as if tethered to him. 

And so, you find yourself in your current state, scowling as you watch her from across the room. Her laughter is loud and shrill, cutting through the fin of conversations around you. A server passes by, and you force a strained smile as you exchange your empty glass for a full one. The rim of the glass soon bears the stain of your red lipsticks as you hover it near your lips. 

Then, it happens in slow motion. Sukuna’s lips move as he speaks, a faint smile gracing his face as he talks with an older gentleman. But her reaction is out of place; she laughs far too heartily for something that isn’t even remotely funny. As her shoulders shake with her exaggerated laughter, she wraps her arms around Sukuna’s arm, pressing her chest firmly against him. 

Before Sukuna can even register what’s happening, you’re already by his side. Your champagne glass is abandoned on a nearby table as you wedge yourself between them, forcing her to disentangle herself from him. She stares at you, wide-eyed, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to whip that look of confusion off her face with your fist. 

With barley concealed sarcasm, you address her, your voice dripping with venomous politeness. “Sorry, I need to borrow my boyfriend. Is that alright with you?”

She’s visibly taken aback, her pout deepening as she glances at Sukuna, as if expecting him to rescue her from this situation. But Sukuna, feeling the tug on his arm, follows you as you lead him away, guiding him to a secluded area- the restroom. 

The restroom is dimly lit, with warm hanging bulbs casting a soft glow. The black wooden floors and walls accentuate the golden accents of the large, well-lit vanity. A few potted plants sit in the corners, adding a touch of life to the otherwise moody atmosphere. 

Sukuna barely has time to react before you push him into the restroom, the door clicking shut behind you as you turn your back on him, your breaks deep and uneven in an attempt to calm your rising anger. But it’s not working. The fury simmering inside you is only growing hotter. 

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” you hiss through clenched teeth. 

“Jealous, are we?” His voice laced with amusement. 

You whirl around, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. Sukuna’s lips curve into a smile, clearly entertained by your fiery demeanor. It’s not often he sees you this worked up, and he can’t help but find it endearing, even if the pout on your lips is more adorable than intimidating. 

“I am not jealous,” you retort, though your words come out less convincing than you intended. 

“Oh?” His brow arches in mock surprise, arms crossing over his broad chest. The fabric of his dress shirt strains against his muscles, the buttons barely holding on, as if threatening to pop off at any moment if he breathes too deeply. 

Damn him for looking so good. Damn him for those tattoos that decorate his skin. Damn his piercings, and the new one on his lip. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.

Before he can tease you further, you grab him by the collar, pulling him down as you rise on your toes. Sukuna grunts in surprise as your lips crash into his. His hands instinctively slide down your back, finding their place on the curve of your ass, where he gives a gentle squeeze, encouraging you. 

“I hate her.” You mumble against his lips.

Sukuna smirks, ready to make a playful comment, but it does on his lips the moment your mouth moves to his neck. Your kisses are wicked, nipping, and sucking at his skin, leaving a trail of red marks in their wake. He shudders, feeling the sting of each possessive kiss, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. 

You both stumble in the small space of the restroom, Sukuna pushing you back until your spine meets the cool surface of the locked door. A breathy exhale escapes him as he tilts his head, granting you better access to his neck. The sensation of your lips painting his skin with red blooms sends a shiver down his spine. 

“Shit.” He mummers, his legs slotting in between yours, pressing himself impossibly closer to you. 

Your brows knit together as you guide his face lower, your fingers firm on his chin. Sukuna feels like he’s burning up from the inside, his eyes darkening with desire as he takes in the intensity of your gaze. The sight of your smudged lipstick only adds fuel to the fire, tightening his grip on you and stirring something primal in him.

You cup his cheeks, your lips leaving no inch of his face untouched - his cheeks, his forehead, the corners of his mouth. Everywhere. When you finally try to pull away, his reaction is swift. One of his hands that had been resting on your ass shoots up to the nape of your neck, pulling you back into a fierce kiss. 

A soft breath escapes your lips, and Sukuna seizes the opportunity, deepening the kiss as he explores your mouth with a fervor that sends a shiver down your spine. A needy whine escapes you as his hands rove across your body, squeezing and caressing with a possessive hunger. Every touch, every press of his fingers, feels like he’s staking his claim on you, and it only intensifies the fire within him. He wants more. No, he needs more. How dare you make him feel this way- jealous of him, when every fiber in his being is devoted to you? How dare you kiss him with such need when he’s been restraining himself, battling the urge to ravage you every waking moment. 

A sudden knock on the door startles you, causing you to jerk back so sharply that your head smacks against the wood. A hiss of pain slips from your lips, and Sukuna’s deep laugh rumbles through his chest, the sound vibrating against your body. 

“Um, excuse me, you've been in there for a while and-”

“Leave before I kill you with my bare hands,” Sukuna growls, his eyes never leaving yours, even as you shy away, your cheeks burning with embarrassment at being interrupted. 

Silence follows as the unwelcome intruder quickly retreats, leaving the two of you alone once more. 

Sukuna exhales, the tension in his body still palpable, but now there’s a look of pride in your eyes as you take in his disheveled appearance. His lips are swollen, his hair a tousled mess from your hands, and his skin is covered in red marks left by your lipstick - a masterpiece of your own making. His body is a canvas, and you’ve painted it with your passion. 

He forces himself to step back, muscles taut with restraint. He wants nothing more than to take you here and not, but duty calls, and he knows he must stay for the remainder of the party. If not for that, he would have dragged you out of the restaurant to finish what you started in the privacy of his home. If he could even make it that far. 

“Leave,” he orders, his voice tight with the effort it takes to say the words. It’s the last thing he wants, but if you stay, neither of you will be leaving the restroom anytime soon. 

You smile softly at him, noting the frustration in the slight downturn of his lips. 

“Don’t take it off,” you reply, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you turn to leave. 

Sukua gives you a confused look before glancing at the mirror. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the array of kiss marks you’ve left on his skin. He turns back, but you’re already gone. 

You are not a jealous person. That’s what you tell yourself as you cast a knowing glance at the woman who had dared to overstep her bounds. It’s not jealousy that fuels you as you reclaim your seat, your once-discarded champagne glass now back in hand. It’s not jealousy that brings a surge of satisfaction when you see the disheartened look on her face as Sukuna emerges from the restroom, his skin marked with the evidence of your affection. It’s not jealousy that makes you giddy as he resumes his conversations with business partners, completely unbothered by his less-than-ideal appearance. 

No, you are not a jealous person.  

-

Taglist (open): @kalulakunundrum , @fushipurro , @sad-darksoul , @cupcaketeddybehr

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

be constantly in own world for me (level 2/3 autism) mean like. think pretty much only about self. understand only self. entire world just me n special interest, sometimes/often times not even include own basic needs, like “hair greasy clump body itchy need shower” (unconsciously feel bad sensory, n make very uncomfortable annoyed easily frustrated, but don’t consciously know am feeling extra irritated or that am feel this way because need shower). n world often limited to thing in front of me. n sometimes not even include thing in front of me. see it (as in physically capable of vision) but not see it. n thing, people, any that not put infront of me for while, stop realize they existed in first place.

n be in own world, only think only able know self, mean that, see self as normal, as norm. everyone (this abstract concept of other people that have memorized like you memorize history fact for test), everyone like me. not even “am like everyone,” but that everyone is like me. everyone same ability as me. everyone think like me.

“everyone think like that to extent”

right. to extent. thing is am far greater than that normal “extent”

to point that average day, ask me, n would only able explain that, “think everyone same ability as me, everyone think like me. everyone exist like me.” stay at vague generalization because not able think any deeper not able think of examples. to give example in this situation mean on some level need have ability understand ���am think this normal but others may think it abnormal for them”. n. most times not have ability to second part, because in own world theory of mind.

sometimes try force it. try really hard force it. try really hard think, look at other people, try make sense try find what exact different. but can’t force something not have ability. so go back rely on scripting. sometimes advanced scripting n rephrased scripting.

special interest in something social-related let me cheat little bit. appear more capable. like break down complex autism community disability community dynamics. but am videotaping camera. computer analyzing research data. not participant. it thankfully happen, but it only happen because special interest allow it be part of own world, n it only part of own world because can only see these (supposedly very humanly n organic n messy) interactions as flow charts, maps, equations, inanimate objects. closest metaphor may be, with this special interest lens that allow these social dynamics enter own world, am looking at these “people” these social dynamics similar to regular person playing the sims n thinking of sims character made out of code that they control.

rare rare times able suddenly realization of outside world. usually happen in flash. n then end. n then left to chase that feeling trying so hard remember what it felt like so can memorize it like another history fact to memorize for test removed from source removed from emotion, to make self appear know what am talking about know more than am capable of, next time someone ask, “isn’t everyone like this?”

just had flash of that that lead to write this whole thing. but already gone. something about… “those funny ‘gen z fix up work force’ stories. they actually people same age as me?’” something about sudden realize what people my age my life stage expected do usually do. something about think am so normal but actually am missing out “so many” things (what things?).

friend tell me “by be young person who severely disabled you missing out so much on same age activities”. n. inside think, (i am but) “don’t know. …am i?” n for it be genuine question, or disbelief question.

n respond with “haha, yea.”

it not lying. it just script. am don’t know what my script means.

don’t follow up by ask me “so what you think you missing out on?”

don’t know. don’t have that script (a script am don’t know meaning to) yet that make other people think am understand, either.

[please don’t say you “relate” or “feel same” “this me” or similar unless am know who you are.]

[the-s1lly-corner]

Sorry to bother ya again, but my brain is literally on overdrive with this show and this clown who hws beckme my first kin and lives in my head rent free as she quietly sits there with a cup of hot chocolate and a warm blanket like she deserves, buuut

What if the gang found out the reader could abstract at will, including restricting it to certain parts of their body, ooor what if they found out you were a shapeshifter when you accidentally sneeze and turn into Wario or something

TADC cast x reader who can shapeshift!

i have returned from eating my silly dinner (sweet n sour chicken with rice!) it was very scrumptious i went ahead and did the shapeshifter idea since i feel that would be more fun to write (we can pretend they can still shift to mimic an abstracted body shhh) these ones are a little short i hope thats okay!

CAINE:

its not totally unheard of people getting unique abilities when they enter the digital world, its just not very common (this is a hc!), so when caine found out you could manipulate your appearance he wasn't all that surprised! i think he was more intrigued more than anything, because its not everyday you see something like that! he would be absolutely thrilled if you shifted into him; both from being amused of it and this man probably loves himself as much as someone can

will try to pop you if you mimic bubble, kind of feels bad for a second but your disguise was just so so convincing! say, were you by any chance an actor in your past life in the real world? you totally had him fooled!

POMNI:

pomni would be a little freaked out, especially if you just. suddenly sneezed and OH! now it looks like you're abstracting in front of everyone! first response is to run away before the transformation is complete, but when she notices no one else is freaking out (ragatha even blesses you!) shes more than a little confused

you offer to demonstrate your abilities to her, but she probably politely turns you down; she understands... for the most part... really its mostly just her trying to become used to the digital world as a whole

RAGATHA:

ragatha makes sure that you know that she thinks its cool; and as long as you're not morphing into a giant bug shes encouraging you to hone in on that cool power of yours! compliments whatever form you choose for the day

oh? you changed your hair color! she likes it, the new look is amazing on you! oh? you made yourself a little taller and gave yourself some new characteristics! points out nearly every detail shes noticed, no matter how small. ragatha pays attention, ragatha cares

JAX:

tries to drag you off to the dark side (ie being a menace to the others), whether or not you agree to be his partner in crime and 'use your power for evil' is fully up to you!

makes random requests to see just how far you can take your shapeshifting, usually listing off things at lightning speed to see if you can catch up.. if your shapeshifting takes a toll on you (like lets say it takes energy out of you) he might let up when he realizes how tired and pale you look all of a sudden.. at least for now

KINGER:

speedrunning to kinger for a moment before i forget this idea but imagine shapeshifting into him and hes just totally confused. leads to him making weird movements and you copying him (he thinks caine added a new mirror in the middle of the room for a solid minute before you break the illusion)

unless you have a set 'base form' hes going to keep thinking youre a new person if you drastically alter your appearance.. which, fair, since i think if you made yourself look unrecognizable, people would think youre a new person entirely. has probably introduced himself to you multiple times before realizing it was you

kinger gets a technical third bullet point but its not fluff. i just remembered the scene from steven universe where amethyst shapeshifts into rose in front of greg. but instead its kinger and instead of rose is queener/queenie. i hurt my own feelings. im gonna stew over this now

ZOOBLE:

honestly if you look just a mixmatched as them they would be into it and say you look cool. i had an idea that zooble has spare pieces and sometimes switches out their pieces for a new look, so imagine the two of you make matching looks or something, i think that would be cool

otherwise i dont think zooble would treat you any differently than if you were friends and couldnt shapeshift... though... i will admit, they think its funny when jax annoys you and change yourself in order to get him to back off. serves him right!

GANGLE

imagine she asks you to be a model for her art.. asking you to do different poses as well as different figures so she can better her craft. i absolutely love the idea of gangle being really into art, and this idea is just so cute to me

you have probably shapeshifted into her and pretended to be her when she needed someone to stand up for her... imagine how jarring it would be to see 'gangle' snap back at jax after he does something particularly mean

[antigonick]

Do you have any recs for more obsucre experimental poetry?

Not particularly obscure, no, but some who experiment with what writing can do and that I love: obviously Anne Carson (particularly Fragments of Stesichoros, Variations on Ibykos, Decreation), Alice Oswald (particularly Memorial and Nobody), Hanif Abdurraqib (his work on voice and pacing is phenomenal; everything is worth a look, but A Little Devil in America is a good first pick), Frank Bidart (more so his early work, like The Book of the Body), Natalie Diaz (less about format and more about thematics: the way she uses eroticism as political is just--mwah; see Post-Colonial Love Poem), Rainer Maria Rilke (the most abstract of his writings are also most extraordinary--see Sonnets to Orpheus; in English, Crucefix is lovely and unique in his takes on the text); Emily Berry and Rebecca Lindenberg have the same sort of cheeky experimenting with format and lacunae that I enjoy, though not everything is strong--see especially Letter to Husband by Emily Berry and Love, a Footnote, by Rebecca Lindenberg; Gertrude Stein (Tender Buttons obviously); OBVIOUSLY too E. E. Cummings, everything he's ever written, because he's a fucking GENIUS. Okay. And not technically advertised as poetry, but two things: John Cage's letters to Merce Cunningham (his attempts at translating music-feeling into written meditations are so thought-provoking), and fiction-camouflaged poetry--Faulkner and his experimentations with point of view. I learned a lot about what writing could do in The Sound and the Fury. Finally, experiments in translation are an amazing way to rubik's cube a text and put its intersubjectivity at the forefront: see Andal's sacred poetry doubly-translated by Ravi Shankar and Priya Sarukkai Chabria in Autobiography of a Goddess, Anne Carson's own works which I've already cited (her work in liberal translation is usually better than the solely authorial stuff, though usually translational and authorial are irretrievably linked in her writing anyway--a good example is her Bakkhai); feminist, anti-racist or anachronical works of translation, which challenge the idea of "faithfulness" and lampshade translator's subjectivity (no, not Ezra Pound: leave Ezra Pound on his shelf, we're good); if you have French, Olivier Py's translations of Shakespeare for the stage--much more exciting and baroque (and queer) than what Bonnefoy did, even if Bonnefoy's own poetry is quite striking. He's timid with Shakespeare, and that's a disservice. Oh, poetry-as-theatre and definitely experimental: Sarah Kane, too, though she's hard to go through. She explodes writing and expression though, and it's extraordinary.

That's all that comes to mind for now; I hope something in there strikes your fancy!

[ofrolysdogs]

jax boyfriend headcanons

me when i make a headcanon post every blue moon... anyways, i watched the amazing digital circus and its safe to say... i love me some jax lol, also, i usually do nsfw headcanons as well however i decided to keep this sfw until i get some inspo on what to do with him spicy wise ;)

now this won't be as detailed as my feitan one (if you like hxh and especially if you're a feitan enthusiast then you definitely might want to check this out!) also, if you're looking forward to comissioning me to write (or draw) anything, dm me for now (i'll link my prices here when i get the chance)

warnings: tadc spoilers obviously but overall none so far??? jax just being jax and a bit of angst at the end, abstracting and all, you knew it was coming.

---------------------------------------------------------------

how you first met

well for starters, jax will treat you just like he does everyone else, he's kind of an asshole and you may not like him at first, his cheeky and sometimes insulting remarks kind of either catch you off guard or rub you the wrong way, you get used to this behavior when the two of you confirm the relationship.

realizing he likes you

he is very conflicted with his feeling about this, he can't lie, the more he hangs around you, gets used to your personality, he doesn't know exactly what to do, he hasn't really felt any romantic attraction towards anyone since he came in from the real world, but something about you caught his attention, the others point out how weird he acts when they mention you, or better yet, when you're around, he's less... well, himself! after some time he kind of treats you a bit different from everyone else, he doesn't realize it but everyone spots it big time! he isn't as rude with you as he is towards everyone else, he might even give you a cheesy little nickname depending on what you are or what you look like (if you're shorter than him he might just call you shorty or tiny, if you're taller he'll probably call you skyscraper or giant.)

eventually, he confesses...

on a very special day, jax had eventually gotten tired of hiding his feelings, he had truly came to the realization that he liked you, like, a lot, one day he would go on to find you, and pull you to the side, and tell you... vaguely, that he liked you, you weren't exactly getting the hint, until he spat it out: "i think you're cute, and i want you to be my (partner), alright!?"

he was surprised that you said yes, knowing at first, you weren't exactly a fan of him, you said yes, you wanted to go out with him.. he didn't show how flabbergasted he was, always with his cool, composed expression, that smile and all. "a deals a deal."

you're his lover... now what?

so, pretty much everyone knows that the two of you are a thing, and he confident enough to make it clear that he loves you, enough time has passed for him to tell you that he loves and adores you, very much so.

----------------------------------------------------------

miscellaneous things

jealousy

when it comes to him being jealous, or more accurately; territorial, he'll get quiet, scarily quiet, his face is blank as he watches the person flirt with you, when you're not around, or on that day he feels particularly playful, he'll pick on them, and not in the usual way, straight up insults masked as a joke, don't forget, he also holds grudges, sometimes..

you abstracting

that day came, one of his biggest fears came true, you abstracted, he stared in disbelief as he watched, you looked at him with those eyes, you were not the same, and it was hard to come to terms with that, when cane puts you in the cellar, he can't help but shed tears, he doesn't wail (he saves that for later when he's alone) but it's something new for the others to experience.

[trashpandato]

Art

Kara is a doodler. 

Anytime she has a pen or pencil in her hand, she doodles. Initially, it started off as a way for Kara to find a credible explanation for when she was drawing Kryptonian symbols on the edges of her school work in high school.

“Kara likes to doodle,” Jeremiah explained to her teacher who had pointed it out during a parent-teacher meeting. 

Kara had to ask Jeremiah what doodling meant, and then vehemently disagreed with him that that is what she was doing. But then Jeremiah reminded her, again, that she could never let anyone know that she wasn’t human and really shouldn’t be writing Kryptonian words on anything that could be seen in public.

From that moment on, Kara learned to stay away from words and began to try and capture her memories of Krypton as images. She still doddled, as Jeremiah called it, because all anyone not familiar with Kara’s background would see on the page were circles (not Krypton’s moons) or abstract shapes (not the skyline of buildings Kara remembered seeing from her bedroom window).

Over time, Kara’s doodles became less about Krypton and more about things she had seen on Earth. Cat Grant famously asked her about a scribble of a cat in a tree that showed up on the upper left edge of a printed press release Kara had handed to her. Kara stammered her way through an apology and explained that she had rescued a cat during her lunch break and the image must have stuck in her head somehow.

Most of the time, Kara’s doodles are about food, though.

She draws little pizzas, dumplings still in their steamer baskets, croissants that make a decorative edge around the notes from her latest interview. It’s mindless fun and keeps her hands entertained when she’s bored or needs some release valve for her extra energy.

“It’s almost Freudian with you” Alex joked once when she found a small ink pen drawing of a box of donuts on a few notes Kara made while listening to a briefing at the DEO.

“I told you not to schedule the briefing over lunch,” Kara shot back and then immediately launched herself into the skies in search of her favourite donuts in National City.

And then she meets Lena, and it doesn’t take long for Kara’s doodles to include little chess pieces, loops that remind her of the earrings Lena wore that day, sharp lines that look a lot like a certain building with a large L on its facade.

It’s years into their friendship when Lena finally asks her about it.

Kara is sitting at her kitchen island, lost in thought. She’s spent the last few days frantically trying to help organize Alex and Kelly’s wedding. She’s exhausted, and Lena has offered to make them some tea to help Kara relax when she turns around and asks.

“What’s that?”

Kara frowns but looks up at Lena then.

“What’s what?”

“You’re, I don’t know, scribbling something. Or drawing. I’m not sure because it almost didn’t look like you were even paying attention to what your hand was doing.”

“Oh,” Kara feels a little like Lena caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “It’s nothing. Just a doodle.”

Kara wants to cover up the paper in front of her but Lena is already there, craning her neck to see the small image that has appeared on the edge of Kara’s to-do list for the wedding.

It’s a small portrait of Lena. Next to a larger doodled heart.

It’s not subtle, but then again, none of Kara’s doodles ever are. It’s just that usually no one else sees them. But when Lena does see this one, she freezes. For a brief moment, Kara wishes a portal would open up in her kitchen so she could disappear rather than have to explain. But then, Lena turns to face her, eyes wide but oh so full of hope and Kara knows this is it, the final step for them.

Years later, Sam finds the framed doodle in Lena’s and Kara’s apartment, hanging just to the side of several photos they’ve taken over the years of their friends and family. Sam turns to Kara and smirks.

“This is high art. You should feature it more prominently.”

Kara smacks Sam’s arm but can’t help the broad smile overtaking her features. 

“I’m sure if I move the Kandinsky to hang this one up by the fireplace instead, Lena is going to divorce me.”

Sam laughs but then says: “Lena loves you so much, she would let you doodle on that Kandinsky.”

And Kara isn’t so sure about that. It’s an original, after all. But she is sure that Lena loves her, so she just nods and pulls Sam back into the living room to re-join their friends.

Kara does draw a small portrait of Lena on the side of her Yahtzee score sheet later, though.

[lazuliquetzal]

I keep on telling people you're the only one who knows how to plot. Can you teach all of us how to plot, please? I love you.

I AM SUMMONED? PLOT BRAIN SUMMONED?

I love plotting. It's my favorite part of the writing process. Plot is "things that happen" and the best part of writing is imagining things that happen. I'm going to assume that whoever may be reading this knows how to imagine The Happenings, so I'm gonna be talking more about structure, but in like, a kinda abstract sense.

A good plot is a little bit more than a string of events. Plot is like music: there's variation in rhythm and sound and melody, but ultimately there's cohesion, because it's all one song. You can have a bunch of wild things happening, but no matter how strange, there should be something that links them all together, because you're telling one story.

Plot structures are patterns in stories. I'm pretty sure most of them were developed as analysis tools (as in, story already exists > look! it follows this pattern) rather than as writing tools, but people use them as writing tools because it's a neat little way to organize the chaos that is "shit happens." Stories follow patterns for the same reasons music follows patterns: we enjoy the certainty of hitting certain beats. But we also like being surprised. A good pop song doesn't sound like a random collection of sounds, but it also doesn't sound like the middle slider of other songs.

There is this shared concept in both music and writing: the idea of tension and release. Basically, you're playing with reader expectation: there's an imbalance in the experience (tension), and we want to see that imbalance resolved (release). All the common plot structures deal with this basic pattern:

You set an expectation

There are complications to the expectation

You meet the expectation

And this rhythm is happening on multiple levels in writing. Scenes follow this structure (we're gonna get past that door, we're gonna find the murder weapon, we're gonna collaborate and come up with a plan) and all those scenes feed into the overarching expectation (we're gonna solve this murder!). I usually think of chapters as their own mini-story, part of the larger whole. And I think of scenes as their own mini-story, part of the larger chapter. I have engineer brain. I see the gears spinning in the clock. That's why all my chapters have at least One Important Thing happening, because that's that particular chapter's Step #3.

And One Last Important Thing:

In music, a delayed resolution is almost always more interesting than the standard resolution. In writing, that means you wanna drag out Step #2 for as long as you can. That's where the bulk of the story is happening, that's how you build tension, that's how you get people to turn the page.

So when you write a fake dating fic, those bitches better not get together until the very end. I came here for fake dating, not for real dating, damn it. If you resolve that expectation early on, you better replace it with a different expectation that's just as engaging.

But also don't drag it out for too long. Sorry. The hard part of writing is learning the difference between too short and too long. Writing is unfortunately a nuanced skill which is why my advice is like "do this but not too much teehee." But tension and resolution is just rhythm, you can build a sense for it if you engage with enough stories.

[irisfixation]

an invite to a show

(experimental writing piece. cw: trance-y language and a gently unsettling atmosphere, perhaps.)

Having a local kinkster acquaintance (in the midst of a play party, no less) ask if you'd like to go see a dance together was somewhat unusual, you'd thought at the time. Even more surprising was the here and now, as you passed between stall and stage, past tent and warehouse, through the local fringe festival, only to find yourself set up in front of a relatively regular theater stage.

Same half-ringed stage. Same curtains; same rows of seats (lower than usual, and with less capacity); same lights, set and framed just as any other, just beyond eye level. They nearly blind you as you step in from the mid-evening blues beyond.

There were other things in the festival you could have expected them to take you in. Adults-only shows, bondage showcases, risque dances in skimpy outfits, stage hypnosis routines, et cetera.

This was clearly not one of those. The banner image just outside the entrance was some classical ballet routine - you didn't recognize it off-hand - and aside from you and your friend you didn't particularly notice anyone else from your little band of Weird Horny Folks™.

Why the hell here in particular? The question bemused as much as it fascinated, really. Was it some elaborate setup, was one of the actors someone they knew? Was this merely an attempt at socializing that went too far? Is this a date?

You look to the one who invited you here. You phrased some of these confusions already when they told you, of course, but they'd just smiled and said a few words of consolation. "I dunno, it could be a date if you wanted it to be" - that kind of flirting, just vague enough to be played off.

Well, either way, you'd be finding out soon enough. A stagehand in shades of burgundy pulls the entrance door to, filtering out first the last streams of sunset light from the entryway, then the chatter and commotion of the festival beyond. The susurration of fellow viewers' friendly chatter dies down to whispers, then naught. The lights dim, slowly yet fluidly.

The curtains pull fully back, the shifting of fabric sliding smoothly across your ears. A beam of light alights upon the very center of the stage. Upon a woman.

She stands there with purpose, the stillness of a bowstring pulled taut, meeting the gaze of the audience before her. Meeting your gaze, within it.

Wordlessly, her chin dips; her arms move to the side as she curtseys. A slow, deep movement.

And then she begins to dance.

You watch, waiting, as she moves. It is a slow thing; hardly a fast-paced spectacle, but possessing of a certain confidence in each of its movements. A turn. A stretch. A slow stride across the stage, each step made as if in slow-motion.

She continues on; somewhere between a ballet and the movements of a sleepwalker. There's a certain sense of autopilot within it, like that of an automaton carrying out procedures done many times before. Of a familiarity that rejects haste.

There's always a certain intentionality to art; a piece of art preserved in a gallery is not so different from something placed on the street, after all. (As the old adage on abstract art goes: "I could have made this!" "But you didn't.") The woman's movements, you think, are similar; you could have easily passed the person in front of you in the street and barely notice. But right now, as you sit and watch, there is an intent clear and pure enough to reject any attempts to turn away.

Her movement winds down. She drifts to the center of the stage, and slowly but certainly ceases her movement.

The moment is heavy, hushed, oppressive. Her gaze holds above it almost tirelessly.

You and her remain there; you rooted to your seat, her anticipant in place, the outside world less than a whisper.

Slowly but surely, she raises an arm. You watch each micromovement as it happens, as her fingers splay out and knucklebones play against taut skin, the muscles across elbow and shoulder tensing, as tufts of her hair brush aside and she places a sole outstretched finger upon her cheek.

There is no music as she moves. None of the crowd says anything, and looking at them would mean missing whatever might come next, so you remain as you are, a body waiting in place for more of the act.

Her index finger, outstretched, traces down slowly but surely, a record needle's slide across grooves intended for teardrops. The edge of her nail moves with painstaking time, alights upon the edge of the lips, sways nigh-imperceptibly to and fro as it waits to move down again. You watch, focus more directed into making sure you see the next moment than it is your body.

It moves down again, slipping across to just beneath the chin. The stage seems to flutter, dreamlike; a buzzing inside scalp and forehead. A tension.

Further downwards, continuing its inexorable journey to just atop her sternum. You watch. (Some part of you wants to watch further down still, but it relents for the time being.) She raises it, phalanges pulling back, the tension within and without building, a bowstring drawn back;

She taps, just once, and you exhale, and the moment is broken and released from tension, and the world sucks in a breath all at once, and the buzz in your head slowly, patiently falls away.

឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵

A warm crescent moon and the warmer lights of the festival greet you as you leave. Your friend flicks their eyes to you momentarily as you exit the building, trying to prompt your opinion out of you.

You don't know. The stint of time inside the theater seemed to slip by before you could process through it all. You tell them simply that it was neat enough; that seems to sate them, and it's not nearly as important as things such as getting back on route after all.

It's gotten late far darker than you expected, after all. Time has moved by and left you in place, and you need to get home.

You'll have time to think properly another day.

[impishjesters]

Platonic Pomni x Reader

warning(s): mentioned/implied panic attacks note(s): I'm not too confident in my Pomni writing abilities, but she really is just anxiety personified so that can't be too hard... cause there's not much to go off of. A/N: Funny enough, despite the fact I have had many panic attacks, I've never been helped nor helped anyone else with one. So I uh, had to google how to... Request: could you maybe do a pomni x reader pomni is struggling to adapt to this new hellscape and the reader starts becoming very lowk protective of her- relationship is mostly platonic- maybe a lil fluff- idk-

Saying Pomni is struggling is an understatement, she’s full-on fighting a war in her head while also trying to slap on adapting to this world.

Similarly to Ragatha, you try helping Pomni settle in—except unlike Ragatha your head is on a bit better than hers. So even Ragatha goes to you asking for help in calming Pomni.

You are very well aware that almost right after arriving, had it not been for Caine, Pomni would’ve quickly abstracted. You don’t want that happening again so you take it upon yourself to help her.

It starts out simply wanting to just help her like you have the others. A sort of middleman between the colourful cast of characters here.

Pomni doesn’t necessarily follow you around like a baby duckling, but Ragatha and you are the two people she feels most comfortable with. And unlike Ragatha at times, you don’t brush off her worries. (Not that Ragatha does this intentionally, she’s dealing with a lot right now…)

At some point, the want to protect her gets a little bit more than your usual attempts at protecting everyone else. Most of the gang can hold their own, but Pomni is still uh, politely speaking, a fucking mess. (but that’s okay!)

Jax calls you Pomni’s little guard dog, he’s heard your bark but he has yet to experience your bite.

You keep Pomni away from Jax’s bullshit as much as possible, but there are times when both of you get roped into shit.

Whenever Pomni has an anxiety attack you are immediately there for her, close enough that she can see you but not too close that she feels smothered.

“Pomni sweetie, can you take a deep breath for me? That’s it, and exhale nice and slow, can you keep doing that for me?”

Sometimes the same methods of help don’t always work so it’s a cycle of getting her to physically stim to give her something to focus on and come back. The occasional 54321 technique except the 1 is always Pomni telling you one thing she liked the taste of.

Some methods are more effective than others, but by the end of it, she’s always tired. If she’s up for it you’ll often sit down with her and give her a hug or hold her hand.

Pomni’s not very physical with the things or people around her, so your hugs or handholds are grounding. A reminder that she’s not losing it, that this is real, you and everyone else is real.

Pomni’s very grateful that you are her friend and that she’s not stuck going through all this alone.