#what free time?

[peterbazooca]

At this point I'm just treating this blog as a dumping ground for pieces of a fic I would write if I had the time/energy pls enjoy my humble offerings, these bastards have bewitched me body and soul

In the wake of the fight with Cazador, Ronen was as brittle as a glass figurine. The aftereffects, he supposed, of coming so close to losing Astarion. When they had burst into the ritual chamber, when Cazador had trapped Astarion in that beam of light, his heart had stopped beating. Even when they’d managed to pull him out, even when, clothed in nothing but a tattered pair of breeches, he had joined them in their fight against his former master, Ronen's heart remained a still, dead thing. It wasn’t until Cazador lay bleeding and dead, truly dead, at their feet, with the eyes of seven thousand vampire spawn on them, that Ronen had felt the cursed muscle remember itself and come to life once more.

After urging the spawn to take to the Underdark,Karlach had rustled up a cloak to wrap around Astarion’s shoulders until they could locate his armor, and the vampire had pulled the material in tight, shielding himself from their gaze, refusing to look any of them in the eye.

One more blow like that, and Ronen feared he would shatter completely.

It was a quiet journey back to their temporary campsite by the river. Ronen was eager to get back to their rooms at the Elf Song, but none of them were in any condition to travel that far, not with the trails of blood they were leaving on the cobblestones on their solemn march through the quiet nighttime streets.

As soon as they made it back, Astarion peeled away, the bloodied cloak balled in his fist, fiddling with the buckles of his armor like he longed to strip it from his body but refused to succumb to the urge. Ronen watched him pace the puddles by his tent, his hair a matted tangle, his skin sallow in the moonlight, until something like heat reached inside him and let him know he was no longer alone.

“I’m glad to see you all back in one piece,” Halsin greeted him, his voice a soothing rumble against the cracks growing inside of him.

Ronen wondered who it was that had taken on the task of filling the druid in on their trip to Cazador's palace, but the thought fell away from him without much effort. He couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes off Astarion, but he let himself lean, just a bit, against the large, warm elf at his side. He fought for words, something he could offer Halsin, something he could offer himself. A monumental task, considering comfort had never been a part of his life.

“He looks so untouchable, Halsin, and all I want to do is hold him. Tell him I’m proud of him.” It felt silly to say it out loud, but that didn’t make it any less true.

“There will be opportunity for that yet, my heart, but you must give him time. What he’s been through today, turning his back on all that power…his soul remains intact, but he must still mourn for what he’s lost.”

Halsin’s words shook something loose inside of him. His brittle flesh felt more stable. Just a bit. Ronen breathed deep and tore his eyes from Astarion’s pale, pacing figure.

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” He rustled up a smile for the elf. “It’s part of why I keep you around.”

Halsin smirked.

“I think I may have a guess or two at the other reasons.” A large, warm hand landed on the nape of Ronen’s neck. “Will you sit with me a while? I’m working on a new carving that’s giving me a bit of trouble. Some company would go a long way to easing my vexation.”

Ronen allowed himself to be led—willingly, always willingly—in the direction of Halsin’s tent.

“Oh? Another stubborn duck giving you trouble?”

Halsin’s grip on his neck tightened. “No, a fox this time. I found an intriguing bit of rosewood on the road here and I’ve been working at it for quite some time.”

Ronen’s smile was the first effortless one he could remember in quite some time. He had always liked foxes.

[black-cat-babe]

Yay, someone else is doing the art challenge too! ❤️ How about Hera Syndulla in Fairytale Forest?

This took WAY LONGER than expected

[luriuan]

I love how whenever ATLA recognizes Sokka is smart enough to solve a problem but it’d be too fast they just stick him in some kind of situation. Like he COULD’VE stopped jet from drowning a town so they tied him up and dumped him in a forest. He COULD’VE figured out what that spirits deal was so they lost him in the spirit world for 24 hours.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I am incredibly serious right now when I beg you all, please, and if you have Twitter or Tiktok or whatever to please spread the word: click on an author's profile on Ao3.

You want to know if an author has written more? Want to know if they're still writing? Want to see more from them? Want to know if they've written a trope or kink or sex scenario you enjoy?

Click on their name. And look at their profile.

I cannot tell you how many times in the last six months someone has read a new or newer fic of mine and said they (a new reader who has read nothing else I've done) "can't wait to see what you do next!" I've written 50+ fics and over a million words already.

"I don't know if you're still writing..." click on my profile. I am. I literally wrote a 128k+ fic for that ship last month.

"Would you ever do X?" "Please do Y!" I already did. Click on my name and look at my works.

Archive of our Own is a library. It's an archive. Not social media. It is your responsibility to fight back against the laziness that corporate algorithms have trained into you.

Click my author name. Just click it. Just click it.

Before you demand more, or ask if a writer will do XYZ, or wonder if the author still writing, or anything - click on their profile. Click on the author's profile.

I'm not trying to be mean or condescending or anything like that. I'm just exhausted. It's disheartening and frustrating to repeat myself ad nauseam, because someone couldn't take thirty seconds to do the tiniest bit of work to see if I've written lately, if I've written more for their ship, or scan my works to see if I've written what they're asking for. Please. Please. I'm begging.

Click the author's name, and explore before you ask.

[aaeeart]

are you still drawing requests?

yep, just waiting for the weekend to have at em <3 this turned out to be a bad week for doodling

[stil-lindigo]

The UNRWA is concerned that if they do not receive more funding they will run out by the end of February please spread this message

in case any of you missed it, despite the ICJ's ruling for Israel to facilitate MORE aid into Gaza, the global west has responded by cutting funding to UNWRA, which is responsible for delivering significant amounts of aid into Gaza, as well as surrounding areas such as Lebanon. The countries cutting funding consist of the US, Australia, the UK, the Netherlands, Swritzerland, Italy, Germany, Finland, Canada and Japan. This was all due to a claim by Israel that members of UNWRA were Hamas-members or sympathisers which, at the end of the day, is a claim that concerns only 12 members in a total of 30,000.

Without proper funding, UNWRA is likely to run out of resources by February of this year (only another month) and urges the countries that have suspended donations to reconsider. This is a blatant move from the colonialist countries of this world to starve Palestinians even further when they are already facing unforeseen levels of famine.

Please take some time out of your day to call your reps, your political leaders and urge them to restart their funding. In the meantime, here is a link to donate to the UNWRA.

[junodoom]

swordtember day 8: sun

[chloesimaginationthings]

Guilt will follow Michael in every FNAF universe..

[notherpuppet]

Unrequited friendship 🥰🐈‍⬛🦌

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[cannibal-stag]

“i don’t get hannibal lecter” it’s about being the worst person in the world and yet someone still loves you despite it and it’s about convincing yourself you’re fine living your life alone and never truly connecting with anyone until someone comes along and you realize you could never live without them now and it’s about caring about someone so deeply that all you want now is for them to truly see you and it’s about how your devotion is so crushing and deep that you’d go to lengths of even self-destruction just to keep them around so you can keep loving them. “but he’s a cannibal” lol yeah

[morebird]

Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up.

[ninjasmudge]

all according to leshys keikaku...

[wachtelspinat]

i'm currently unemployed... and i'm drawing again... coincidence?

[milkygothgf]

Get me pregnant? Sorry. Knock me up? Sorry. Breed me? Sorry. Inseminate me? Sorry. Make me a mommy? Sorry-

[heartorbit]

searching for a star that's still unknown to anyone!