#you can picture me like a grandma sitting telling you stories if you want

[picardsims]

Picardsims' 3k CAS Challenge

Sooooo I hit 3000 followers!! In order to celebrate, I invite everyone to participate in my little CAS challenge/contest!!!

Rules: Pick an apartment with a backstory that speaks to you (or multiple) and make a sim/family (your pick on whether you want to make the whole family or just one sim) who could live there. CC allowed, anything is allowed really. In two weeks (so, 22nd of April) I'll pick 3 of my favorites to get a prize! If you win, you can tell me any 3 build-buy items and I'll make them for you! (deco, unless it's something I 100% know how to make functional :>) In order for me to see it use the tag #picardsims3k (and tag me!! I'll see it sooner probably but I'll look at everything in the tag promise) Without further ado:

Apartment #1: Ro Kaya 62/1

Sims: 2 This apartment belongs to an elderly… couple? Two friends? Nobody knows and they're too scared to ask. You can find the tenants of this apartment in the hallway or on their balcony, keeping tabs on the neighborhood. Nothing gets past them. If you get on their good side, you will get invited for tea and get treated to fascinating stories from the past.

Apartment #2: Ro Kaya 62/2

Sims: 5 Is there enough space in this apartment for this married couple, their twins and their toddler? Definitely not. However, they just finished renovating it when they got pregnant (may or may not have been an accident), so it's not like they're going to move now… How long can the parents survive sharing their bedroom with their little one?

Apartment #3: Ro Kaya 62/3

Sims: 1 Their whole life, this Sim has wanted to be an artist. That didn't sit right with their straightlaced doctor parents, who refused to support them through art school. On impulse they moved to Tomarang and befriended a local painter, who allowed them to stay in their old apartment. Now that they're an award-winning graphic designer, their parents are finally trying to reconnect. Will they let them back in? Or is their chosen family the only one in their heart?

Apartment #4: Ro Kaya 64/1

Sims: 2 A single father raising a teenage daughter… What could go wrong? He's obsessed with plants, she loves gaming with her friends. She's mad he keeps putting plants in her room, he's mad she keeps putting laundry on the floor. However, no matter how hard they fight, there's nothing a midnight session of making pancakes together cannot fix.

Apartment #5: Ro Kaya 64/2

Sims: 2 After their grandmother passed, moving into her apartment was a dream come true for this Sim. Not so much for their partner. You see, grandma ran a very popular bakery, and they're supposed to inherit the business — sounds great, except they don't like baking all that much. One partner whose entire life has revolved around cakes and cookies, one partner who only uses the oven to make frozen pizza — can they handle the challenge? Or will their relationship crumble like bread with too much flour?

Apartment #6: Ro Kaya 64/3

Sims: 5 Two couples and one single person, this apartment sure is crowded. However, when you're just starting college, that doesn't sound all that bad — the rent is low, and there's always someone to party with! However, they'll soon learn it's not all loud music and cheap drinks — there's a line for the bathroom and you're never sure whose turn it is to vacuum (not yours though, that's for sure).

Remember: the tag is #picardsims3k, the deadline for the prize is 22nd of April (feel free to keep it going longer though!) and I'm incredibly thankful for each and every person who follows me (I am not kidding though dm me pictures of those pets I know you have them)

Enjoy! kotpicard

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Life Goes On by Ed Sheeran

Part 2 of Eyes Closed by Ed Sheeran

Summary: For the past year, your mom never left you for long and if she did you would come with her. But now duty calls and you can't go with her. Will she keep her promise of always coming back to you?

Relationships: Maria x daughter!reader, Yelena x niece!reader

Warning: Secret Invasion Spoilers, Major character death, grief, angst with small fluff, guilt, everyone is sad and everyone needs a hug

Word count: 4.7k

“Are you sure you have to go?” You asked for the 100th time as soon as you learned your mom had to go off on a mission. You were lying on her bed, feet dangling over the side as she packed her bag. Without looking, you knew she was suppressing a sigh and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You know I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important,” that was her response every time you asked and you believed her. For the past year, Maria refused any mission that would take her away from you. If she needed to travel you went with her or stayed with your grandmother. You traveled to DC, California, and Texas with her. But now you had no idea where she was going. She grabbed your hands and pulled you up to a sitting position, smiling at the pout of your face. “I won’t be gone for long, a month at best, and you’ll get to spend time with your grandma and the Bartons.” That sounded fun especially since your grandmother loved to spoil you but you wanted your mom.

“Why does it have to be you?” You whined. You knew you were acting like a child, throwing a tantrum but you didn’t care. “Why can’t Uncle Nick go?” This time your mom didn’t suppress your sigh. It was a sensitive topic regarding the former director of SHIELD, who took off after Tony’s funeral and ignored all her calls.

“Have you packed?” She deflected your question with one of her own. You nodded with a smile. “Good, I have something for you.” She let go of your hands and opened the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out a small box and she sat down next to you as you opened it. It was a golden heart-shaped locket. You placed the box next to you and opened it, one side was a picture of you and your moms, and on the other side was a solo picture of just them. You smiled.

“Can you put it on for me?” You asked, handing it to her. She took it and the cold metal was placed around your neck. “Thank you,” you smiled and turned around to hug her. “I love it.” You held onto her tight as she kissed the top of your head.

“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears because you are thinking so hard,” you giggled as she tickled your sides. You rested your head on her lap and looked up at her. She was smiling down at you, patient as you got your thoughts together. With a sigh, you played with the locket.

“Have you heard from Yelena yet?” You asked. That was another wild ride that occurred within the past year. When Clint was spending time with his kids in the city, he somehow got involved with the Tracksuit Mafia, and a Black Widow assassin was hired to kill him. That assassin so happened to be your aunt. He called your mom for help. In the end, Yelena didn’t kill him but she disappeared. You and Maria were trying to get a hold of her as you so desperately wanted to meet her.

“No,” she said. “But she has spoken to Kate a few times,” you liked Kate. She was full of energy and her dog was cute. “She’ll reach out when she’s ready. Black Widows are very special.” She tapped you on the nose.

“Can you tell me the story of you and Mama met again?” It was a story you’d heard thousands of times from Natasha telling it one way and Maria telling it another. It was your favorite story. Maria stole a glance at the clock and you watched the internal debate she was having with herself but she smiled.

“Of course, I can,” she moved so her back was resting on the headboard and your head was still in her lap. “So you know Uncle Clint was supposed to kill your mama but he disobeyed a direct order and gave her a chance to defect to SHIELD,” your mom started. “I didn’t trust her at first and I thought it was a horrible idea to bring her into the organization but your mama,” she sighed but her smile told you she wasn’t sad. “Was persistent and did everything to win me over. She flirted with me every chance she got,” you giggled. If Natasha was here to tell this story, the roles would be reversed. “But I kept my guard up until Fury assigned us to the same mission and she saved my life.” Your mama took a bullet for her. “I sat by her bedside for three days.”

“And when she woke up, you yelled at her.”

“Hey,” she gasped. “Are you telling the story or am I?” You laughed as she tickled your sides. “We didn’t officially get together until she became an Avenger but she,” you frowned as you watched a tear leave her eye and fall down her cheek. With gentle hands, you whipped it away. “She was my best friend.”

“Second to me, right?” You teased and it pulled a deep laugh out of her.

“Oh 100%,” she lay down and cuddled up against you.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she sighed, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m going to miss you too.”

*

You exited the airport with your suitcase in hand and backpack tight on your shoulder. The air in Iowa was so different than the city air. Your mom said it was cleaner. “Hey squirt,” you turned around at your nickname and saw Clint standing by his pickup truck, a sign in his hand with your name on it. The sign was cute but what caught your attention was the one-eyed golden retriever that sat next to him.

“Lucky!” You ran over to them. The sound of his name being called caused the dog to get excited and tug on the leash. He didn’t have to wait long for you to kneel at his level. You dropped your suitcase and wrapped your arms around his neck as he attacked your face with kisses.

“What am I chopped liver?” Clint said, throwing his arms to the side. “I almost died for that dog.”

“Oh, you are so dramatic,” you looked up to see Lila hanging out the passenger window. “Humans like dogs more than people,” you giggled and stood up.

“Hi Uncle Clint,” you said. He stared at you, blinking once then twice.

“You have dog drool all over your face.” He deadpanned. You used your shirt to clean your face before he hugged you.

“I didn’t know you guys had Lucky,” you said, opening the door to the back of the truck. The golden retriever jumped in and followed. Clint helped you with your luggage. Once you were buckled in, you sent a quick text to your mom and grandmother that you were with Clint.

“Just for a few more days,” Lila said. Clint got into the driver’s seat and started the drive back to the farm. “She’s helping Yelena free a few Widows.” You saw Clint glance at you through the mirror. Your mom must have told him of your desperate attempts to meet your aunt.

“So they’ll be here to pick up Lucky?” You scratched the dog underneath his chin.

“Probably just Kate,” Lila said. “Yelena doesn’t come over much. She still has a lot of guilt for you know trying to kill my dad.” You smiled at that but your heart ached. They got to meet Yelena, the one person you could ask what your mam was like in Ohio. Natasha told you about the mission and how the Red Room gave her a loud mouth, annoying blonde of a sister.

‘I think you’d get along with her,’ Natasha said, decorating a cut-out Christmas tree cookie.

‘Yeah?’ You questioned, not looking up as you were very focused on decorating your star with yellow icing. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘You can get anyone to like you,’ she tapped your nose. Her finger was covered with green icing. ‘And you are a great reminder of family. She needs that.’

“So, what’s she like?”

*

You loved spending time with your grandmother. For two weeks, you visited the zoo, bookstores, and the candy store that was right down the road. But you were excited to have people to hand out that were your age. Being at the Bartons also meant you reached the halfway point and you were two weeks closer to your mom being home. You missed her so much. Almost every night, you would speak with her on the phone and if she couldn’t she would send you a text goodnight. You were counting down the days but until then you were having fun with Lila, Cooper, and Nate. You played video games with the eldest, had sleepovers with Lila, and put up with Nate’s crazy games of make-believe. When Kate would come to visit, you would join the archers in the makeshift training area Clint built. But your favorite was driving the four-wheeler, and exploring different parts of the property. Lila and Cooper showed you a fort they built, that not even their parents knew about.

However, Yelena refused to meet you. You caught Kate a few times on the phone with her talking about you. The archer would give you a sorry smile and walk away continuing the conversation. She was desperate to get to know you through other people but refused to meet you. It hurt more than you wanted it to.

*

“You’re going to be gone for another month,” you said, pacing the length of the porch. Your mom sighed.

“Something came up and it’s going to take a little bit longer to clean it up,” you did not like the sound of that. “And I won’t be able to call you as much.” That stopped you from pacing.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” you sat down on the steps and played with the locket around your neck.

“Right,” you sighed. It aspect of her job was so frustrating. “And your being safe.”

“Yes I am,” you heard shuffling on the other end. She must be lying down. “Just a few bumps and bruises. Enough about me, come on tell me about everything you are doing in Iowa. Are you giving Clint a hard time?” You giggled.

“Always.” Once you were done on the phone, you stayed outside and took the photo out of your pocket. “I’m scared,” you confessed to the photo. “I need her to come home, okay? Please keep her safe.” You heard the front door open but you didn’t bother to turn around to see who it was.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” Laura asked, sitting down next to you. You rested your head on her shoulder.

“I want her to come home,” the mother of three sighed, wrapping her arm around you and kissing the top of your head.

“I know you do,” she said. “She’ll be home soon.”

Limited contact missions were your less favorite. You would send her good morning and good night texts, and texts throughout the day but she wouldn’t respond for a day or 2 after. You never knew when she was going to respond, it was maddening. The Bartons knew you were upset and they tried to keep you busy - fishing, swimming in the pond, archery practice, and day trips to the nearby town. It was fun but it wasn’t helping the ache you felt in your chest and a nagging worry that grew at the base of your neck. For a week, there was no response to your never-ending stream of texts and your worry only grew.

*

You were in the kitchen, getting an afternoon snack when the house shook. It was the tale sign of a plane visiting the farm. Dropping the apple, you ran to the front. By the time you made it outside, a ramp was lowered and Clint and Laura were waiting to see who would exist. “Hey,” Cooper said, running over to you from the barn. “Is your mom back?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” you heard the front door open.

“Whose here?” Lila questioned. On cue, you watched Nick and your grandmother descend the ramp. Where was your mom? Where was she? You saw Nick speak with Clint and the archer kept glancing over to you, his hand rubbing his face.

“No,” you whispered. “Get off the jet.” You pleaded. “Get off.” But no one else came off. The group of adults began to walk back to the house. Not again. You couldn’t go through this again. The world began to spin around you. You needed to get out of here, you needed to run. So you did. Sprinting towards the barn, you jumped one of the four-wheelers that was left out. The sound of the engine roaring to life drowned out the call of your name. You began to ride, past the pound and into the woods. You were half tempted to never get off because as soon as you would reality would set in. The hard, soul-crushing reality that your mom broke her promise.

You stopped at Lila and Cooper’s fort. Your legs barely could hold you up as you got off the four-wheeler and collapsed into the shelter. No tears fell. Even though you wanted to scream and cry and plead for the universe to give her back. But you were numb. So numb. Why did this keep happening to you? Was it you? Were you to blame for all this death and misery? You were the common denominator for everything; your biological parents left, and Natasha and Maria left. Who was next?

*

“Shit,” her father said, coming to a stop next to Lila. He ran his hand over his face but Lila was more focused on her distraught friend ride off.

“Where is she going?” Lila assumed the woman was your grandmother. She heard you talking to her on the phone.

“We know where she’s going,” We do? Lila thought. “Come on,” he grabbed Lila by her hand and dragged her to the other four-wheeler. Cooper jumped on first and handed her the helmet.

“Cooper,” Lila whispered. “Is Aunt Maria-”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “God, I hope not. Hold on tight.”

*

You heard the sound of the other four-wheeler turn off and two sets of footsteps approaching the fort. “Mind if we join you?” Lila asked. You didn’t want them to be here. You came out here because you wanted to be alone. They took your silence as an invitation to join, Lila sat next to you and Cooper sat in front of you.

“Dad is going to give you a hard time about riding without a helmet.” Cooper joked. On any other day, it would have made you laugh or smile but you stared down at your lap. Their voices became white noise. You knew they were trying to get you to talk but you couldn’t. You were so angry and sad and scared. There were so many emotions swirling inside you didn’t know which one to focus on.

“You could be a Barton,” Lila said. “And you can come live with us.”

“No,” you finally spoke. “What if I join your family and something happens to your parents?” You looked up at them. “I’m cursed. My biological parents left me, Natasha left me, Maria left me,” finally the tears began to fall, “Everyone leaves me.” You sobbed. Lila pulled you in a hug. You wanted to push against her, scream at her to let you go but you didn’t have the energy to fight her. Instead, you slumped against her and you heard Cooper sit down next to you. He brought you and Lila into a hug.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promised. “You’ll find your place whether it be here or somewhere else.” You weren’t sure if you believed him.

*

“How is she?” Clint asked his wife when she entered the dining room. The plate she brought up with her wasn’t in her hand anymore so he saw that as a good sign. Laura sighed.

“I didn’t get to talk to her,” she sat down next to Clint. A bottle of whiskey was already open and being passed around the three adults. “Cooper is standing guard,” she poured herself a drink. “According to him, she doesn’t want to talk to anyone.” Clint rubbed his head, letting out a sigh of his own.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Elizabeth asked. The archer had only spoken to her a few times on the phone to organize pickups and drop-offs. They never met in person. Clint hated that Maria’s death was the reason they had to meet. It seemed unreal that Maria was gone. For the longest time, she seemed untouchable, unkillable. Life appeared to have other plans. He took a sip of his drink.

“Romanoff and Hill wrote in their will that Clint and Laura were her godparents,��� Fury said. “They left it up to the three of you to decide what is best for her.” There was a rage building inside Clint as he stared at Fury. The man ran to space as soon as the funeral was over and was never heard from again. Hell, Maria thought he was dead for how many calls he ignored. Now the man was back and another one of Clint’s closest friends was dead, leaving behind a daughter who lost so much.

“I can take her,” Elizabeth said. “You already have a full house.”

“But it could be good to be around kids her age,” Laura countered. “We are more than happy to keep here.”

“She doesn’t want to go with any of you,” the group turned to see Cooper walking into the kitchen to clean off the dirty dish.

“What do you mean, son?” Clint asked.

“She doesn’t want to be a Barton or live with anyone. She thinks she’s cursed. That if she joins another family something bad will happen to them.” Clint’s heart broke for you. It was so unfair the cards that life had dealt you. You’ve been incredibly strong but how much more could you take?

“What does she want?” Fury asked. Cooper scuffed, crossing his arms as he sent daggers to the most powerful person in this room.

“Cooper,” Clint warned but his son ignored him.

“Did you just ask that?” He asked, walking over to the table. “She wants her mom’s back. But that’s not possible, is it sir?”

*

The house was once again quiet. Elizabeth was staying at a hotel in town until they figured out what to do next. Fury on the other hand took off, not answering where he was headed off to. Clint sat on the couch, a picture of him, Maria, Natasha, and Laura in his hand. It was back in their SHIELD days. They were so young then. Unaware of what life was going to throw at them. Laura sat down next to him, the archer wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. “How are you doing?” She asked.

“Tired of losing people,” he admitted. “I know we signed up for this but it’s so hard.” Laura hummed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I keep thinking it could have been me.”

“But it wasn’t.” No, it wasn’t him at the bottom of Vormir or meeting his end in a foreign country. He even escaped death from a Black Widow assassin. A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. “Are you expecting someone?” Laura whispered, sitting up. Clint shook his head, putting his finger to his lips, and stood up. He grabbed a pistol that he kept in a nearby drawer. Guns weren’t his preferred weapon but his bow wasn’t available. Unlocking the safety, he opened the door.

“Clint Barton,” Yelena smirked. “Are you going to shoot me? After everything we’ve been through.”

“Yelena,” the archer said slowly. He blinked at the blonde in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

“To see my niece,” she simply said. “Where is she?” Yelena walked past him, bumping her shoulder against his. Clint put the safety back on and closed the door.

“Time out,” he set the pistol down as Yelena waved at Laura. “You can’t just barge in here like you own the place and demand to see her.”

“And why is that?” Yelena asked, turning to face him. He could see her clearer now. The Black Widow was wearing her white suit, she must have just returned from a mission. He knew she wasn’t working for Valentina anymore.

“Because you refused to see her for the past few months when she desperately wanted to meet you,” he was trying to keep his voice quiet, not wanting to wake the rest of the house. But he saw the hope leave your eyes every time Kate joined them at the farm without Yelena.

“What has changed?” Laura asked. The blonde looked down at her feet. He could see the guilt eating up at her.

“I wasn’t ready to meet her,” Yelena admitted. “And now she’s lost someone else.” She looked up at Clint. “We both know how uncertain this life is. I’ve wasted enough time.”

“You have.”

“We can’t guarantee she’ll talk to you,” Laura said. “She refused to talk to anyone besides our kids.”

“Thank you,” Yelena sighed. “I appreciate it.”

*

When the door opened, you pulled your eyes away from the Polaroid and locket. “Oh,” Laura said with a smile. “I wasn’t expecting you to be awake.” You weren’t sure how to tell that you couldn’t fall asleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw them die over and over again. “There is someone that wants to meet you downstairs.” You refused to move. She sighed and walked over to, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to talk to us or your grandmother or even Fury but you need to talk to someone about what you are feeling,” you had nothing to say, everything hurt. But you were curious about who was here.

“Who is it?” You finally spoke. Your voice sounded foreign to you. Laura smiled.

“Your aunt.”

Every step you took your heart was thudding against your ribs. The mixture of grief and nervousness was making you sick to your stomach. Once you entered the living room with Laura by your side, Clint and your aunt stood up from the couch. You stared at the blonde. For the longest time, you created an image in your head of what the blonde was like through stories your mama told you and the way the Bartons and Kate talked about her. As you stared at the woman in front of you, she seemed nervous - a stark contrast to the bad-ass assassin you imagined. “Hi,” her accent was deep.

“Why are you here?” You asked. Your blunt question took the room by surprise. The couple excused themselves, saying that they wanted to give you some space. When they left, you joined Yelena on the couch. But you looked forward, unable to look at her anymore. “Mama told me so many stories about you and I was so excited to meet you. I don’t understand why it took my mom dying,” your voice cracked but you refused to cry in front of her. “For you to come and see me.” The blonde sighed, leaning back into the couch.

“I wasn’t good enough,” she admitted. “You needed someone better, someone that was good.” You glanced at her. She had a far-off look in her eyes. You’ve seen that look before when your mama woke up from a nightmare or had a particularly bad day. You saw a lot of her in Yelena even though they weren’t related by blood.

“Are you good now?” You asked.

“I’m not sure but you need me,” you chuckled and rolled your eyes.

“I don’t need anyone,” you said. “I’m going to be fine on my own,” it was Yelena’s turn to laugh.

“So that’s your plan. You are going to set off by yourself and ignore everyone who loves you. What are you like 10?” Your jaw clenched. “I know exactly what you are doing. You are going to push and push everyone away so you don’t feel this pain again. It won’t work,” you refused to speak so she continued, “That pain will only hurt more.”

“What do you expect me to do?” You snapped, jumping to your feet, and looked at her. “It’s like I was hit by a train, I ran out of words. So tell me how my life goes on with them gone?” You asked, pounding your fist against your chest. “It’s like I’m sinking like a stone and I’m so afraid.” You whispered. Her green eyes softened in a way that your mama and mom would look at you. “Don’t look at me like that, please. I’m cursed.”

“Oh, milaya devushka (sweet girl),” Yelena whispered, catching you in her arms as your legs gave out. She gently rocked you, whispering Russian words in your ear.

“Stop it,” you pleaded. “Stop caring,” you weakly hit against her chest.

“That’s not happening,” you ended the hug but Yelena held onto your hands to keep you from running away. “You are not a curse,” she said it so adamantly that you almost believed her. “What happened to your mamas was not your fault. Unfortunately, they knew the risk when they signed up for this lifestyle. I am so sorry they were taken from you so soon,” you stared at your connected hands. They felt like your parents; warm and calloused.

“What am I supposed to do?” You asked.

“I don’t know but life goes on,” you looked up at her. “They made their choice. We have to live with it.” You weren’t the only one to lose someone. Yelena lost her sister. “I know your gut is telling you to run away and hide but you can not do that.”

“Where am I going to go then?” You loved staying with the Bartons and your grandmother but you knew it was temporary. At the end of the day, your mom would be there to pick you up. Now you weren’t sure where you belonged.

“Well,” Yelena slowly said. “You could come with me.” Her offer shocked you. “I could take you to meet my mama and papa or take you back to the city in Kate’s apartments with Lucky or to Ohio, or Canada, or Mexico. We could go anywhere. As long as you don’t run away.”

“Okay,” she seemed surprised by your sudden approval to drop everything you knew and live with her. You smiled. “What? Did you not expect me to take you up on your offer?”

" I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.”

“Natasha always said that she thought you and I would get along,” you told her. “She dreamed of getting a house for all of us. You, me, Maria, and her so we could all be together and safe,” you let go of one of her hands to wipe away your tears. “Maybe part of her dream can still come true.” Yelena nodded, her green eyes glossy with tears.

“Life goes on,” she repeated. You were experiencing deja vu when your mom told you the same thing. It was a weird feeling and couldn’t repeat it back. Instead, you smiled.

“Can we get a dog?” You asked. Yelena laughed.

“I have one but we can get another.” You were still afraid that another wave was going to knock you off your feet and no matter how hard you swam to the surface, no one was there to grab you. You knew Yelena was watching you intensely. A soft whistle broke the silence of the Barton house. You never thought you’d hear that whistle again. You smiled at your aunt and whistled back. They were both right no matter how many people you lost life unfortunately goes on.

_

Remember when we saw that Maria was going to be in secret invasion and we were all excited then they killed her in EP1. Still not over there but whatever! This will probably be the last part of this little AU unless someone requests one or I think of soething else lol

[hansoeii]

Hey! I told you a while ago that a friend of mine will be at DoKomi and I could have her give you something from me, but she informed me it might be hard to find you since it's very big :// so I was stalking your socials to admire your art and console myself

ANYWAY, my ask is, can we know the backstory of Minkus' name ? And tell him good boi from me bcs he's just so fk cute 🙇🏼

Hey!

Once I know my booth number, I will post it on here! Dokomi now has an app that you can download that let's you find booths more easily in case your friend would like to try that! It helped me out a lot when I tried to find my friends last year, haha.

And of course! I adopted her about two years ago. I found a listing for a young bengal cat on ebay, so I started talking to the owner. I honestly just sent a message to any listing that showed up cos I was very desperate, haha. At first I checked my local shelters, of course, but there was no cat that fit what I had to offer (most of them were outdoor cats and could only be adopted in pairs. I was looking for an indoor cat that was fine with being on their own)

The woman on ebay informed me that the bengal was already taken, but we somehow ended up talking some more and she told me that she had an elderly cat at home that she adopted after her grandma passed, and she wasn't getting along with the bengals. They had to keep her in a separte, tiny room, because the bengals would constantly gang up on her. Her name was already Minka! This was the very first picture she sent me:

This moment made me believe in love at first sight. I told her right away that I'd love to adopt her, so I got to meet her a few days after.

I was told that she's very shy and anxious. The first time I tried to pet her she immediately hissed at me. But I wanted her anyways, so just a few days afterwards she was mine! The first cat I ever had.

The funny thing is, she's not shy or anxious at all. She's super affectionate and talkative! You can hold full conversatiosn with her and I can't go anywhere without her wanting to sit in my lap. She doesn't scratch or bite either which is a fun bonus. She's just a ball full of love!

But yes, sorry for giving you the full backstory instead of just the story about her name. I just really love talking about her, she's my everything :')

I didn't change her name cos she listens to the name Minka, but I usually just called her Minkus or Minkus Binkus Stinkus!

take another picture of my child, thanks for letting em talk about her!

[cinnamontails-ff]

Writing Interview Tag Game

Thank you so much for the tag @roguishcat ❤ I love getting to chat about these things.

When did you start writing?

I know this sounds cheesy, but the answer is probably as soon as I could hold a pen. My grandma still has stacks of little stories I wrote (and illustrated ...) when I was a kid. Very cute, but I'm glad I gave up on drawing in the meantime.

I've been writing on and off ever since, but it wasn't until I was in my mid twenties that I decided I'd actively pursue a career in writing. I wrote a few original novels, none of which were ever successful in the world of traditional publishing, then got into fanfiction as a way of rekindling my joy. Once I'm done with my current fic, I'm ready to try with traditional publishing again. Maybe it'll work this time, maybe not, but I guess the bottom line is that I'll always write in some capacity.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I really like stories that are a little unsettling. Not horror, per se (I'm a coward), but those underlying creepy vibes, especially when they come wrapped up in beautiful language and actually end up culminating in something cool toward the end of the story. "Uprooted" by Naomi Novik comes to mind, "The Devil and the Dark Water" by Stuart Turton, and "Portrait of the Pale Elf" by @larvasmoon.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Terry Pratchett is the person who first sold me on the English language. Prior to his books, I'd never seen anyone use English in such a fun, cheeky yet poignant way, and it's definitely something I find myself emulating (all while hopefully putting my own spin on it). I have been compared to him a few times and it's always made my day.

Oh, and I guess Stephen Sommers because people compare my fic to "The Mummy" a lot. Which honestly, is just as flattering.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

At my desk, with a mechanical keyboard. Not because I'm a hipster but because I have absolutely destroyed my laptop's keyboard and then the shop where I'd buy the replacement keys stopped selling my model and I refuse to replace the whole laptop.

I need a sense of quiet when I write. Usually, I write early in the morning before I go to work, and it's honestly my favorite time of the day. It's dark and quiet, I'm all alone, and the day still feels so fresh and full of possibility. I cannot write in public; I find it too distracting. Occasionally, when I'm very in the zone, I'll edit at work but it's never quite as productive.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Go and hunt that bitch down. I know many people love romanticizing their craft and if it helps them to light scented candles or play aesthetic playlists - go for it! For me, the most powerful tool is routine. Knowing that every morning I will sit down and I will write, whether I feel like it or not. Sometimes I drag my feet the whole time, sometimes things click into place and suddenly, I'm having the best time ever. But I will always put words on the page and for me, there's no better feeling than having written (past tense).

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

You probably know this, but I really, really love stories where a regular guy/gal saves the day. It makes me so happy to see the evil vampire lord taken out by the mousy accountant, the fountain pen striking harder than the sword. I think it's because I like to read about real people. People that you could have met in real life, that seem simple on the outside, but have all this strength locked up inside. It's why I dislike stories with picture perfect beauty goddesses that always have the perfect quip, always take out their opponents with 1 blow because they're just that special.

Normal people are special, too. You just need to look a little harder to see.

What is your reason for writing?

I believe it was Brandon Sanderson who said "Stories are like real life but with the boring parts removed". That has really resonated with me. I think the beautiful thing about stories is that they can portray very real issues and conflicts in a way that is infinitely more satisfying because it's all been arranged just so. It can give you closure, it can make you see something in an entirely new light without feeling confrontational. It's like a really, really good conversation with the author and I hope that's what my writing feels like as well.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Two things. I love when readers point out specific lines they enjoyed and I love it when they tell me they reread my work. The term "comfort read" makes me particularly happy because that's exactly how I reread my favorite stories as well.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I think the most important part to me is that my stories feel real. I dislike pretentious, over-the-top writing where you can tell the author is trying super hard to sound clever or sexy or just drowns you in heaps of cheap, undeserved drama that never leads anywhere. With my stories, I want things to feel earned. Natural. Maybe you wouldn't have made those choices, but it makes sense that these characters would have and now we're looking at the very real consequences of their actions.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Character voice, specifically in 3rd person limited. My favorite type of narration because I love getting into a character's head and making you see things through their eyes.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I think every writer struggles with their confidence here and there. I've gone through so many cycles in the past 1.5 years, it's kind of crazy. Going from constant failure in the world of publishing to writing your very first fanfiction just for fun and then having it blow up out of nowhere, all these people showering you in praise, only for the vast majority of them to disappear immediately afterward is a lot to process. We write for ourselves, yes, but as a writer, you can't help but take reader responses to heart. Fortunately, I've never let it influence what I write or how I write; it really only affects my mental state. I know what I like to read and those are the stories I am going to tell, whether they're successful or not.

Aww, this was fun! Tagging @larvasmoon @davenswitcher @pickel182 @karinamay @pouroverpaloma ❤ ❤ ❤

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Kate Cohen

Published: Oct 3, 2023

I like to say that my kids made me an atheist. But really what they did was make me honest.

I was raised Jewish — with Sabbath prayers and religious school, a bat mitzvah and a Jewish wedding. But I don’t remember ever truly believing that God was out there listening to me sing songs of praise.

I thought of God as a human invention: a character, a concept, a carry-over from an ancient time.

I thought of him as a fiction.

Today I realize that means I’m an atheist. It’s not complicated. My (non)belief derives naturally from a few basic observations:

The Greek myths are obviously stories. The Norse myths are obviously stories. L. Ron Hubbard obviously made that stuff up. Extrapolate.

The holy books underpinning some of the bigger theistic religions are riddled with “facts” now disproved by science and “morality” now disavowed by modern adherents. Extrapolate.

Life is confusing and death is scary. Naturally, humans want to believe that someone capable is in charge and that we continue to live after we die. But wanting doesn’t make it so.

Child rape. War. Etc.

And yet, when I was younger, I would never have called myself an atheist — not on a survey, not to my family, not even to myself.

Being an “atheist,” at least according to popular culture, seems to require so much work. You have to complain to the school board about the Pledge of Allegiance, stamp over “In God We Trust” on all your paper money and convince Grandma not to go to church. You have to be PhD-from-Oxford smart, irritated by Christmas and shruggingly unmoved by Michelangelo’s “Pietà.” That isn’t me — but those are the stereotypes.

And then there are the data.Studies have shown that many, many Americans don’t trust atheists. They don’t want to vote for atheists, and they don’t want their children to marry atheists. Researchers have found that even atheists presume serial killers are more likely to be atheist than not.

Given all this, it’s not hard to see why atheists often prefer to keep quiet about it. Why I kept quiet. I wanted to be liked!

But when I had children — when it hit me that I was responsible for teaching my children everything — I wanted, above all, to tell them the truth.

Their first atheist lesson was completely impromptu. Noah was 5, Jesse was 3, and we were sitting on the couch before bed reading from “D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths,” a holdover from my childhood bookshelf. One of the boys asked what a “myth” was, and I told them it was a story about how the world works. People used to believe that these gods were in charge of what happened on Earth, and these stories helped explain things they didn’t understand, like winter or stars or thunder. “See” — I flipped ahead and found a picture — “Zeus has a thunderbolt.”

“They don’t believe them anymore?” No, I said. That’s why they call it “myth.” When people still believe it, they call it “religion.” Like the stories about God and Moses that we read at Passover or the ones about Jesus and Christmas.

The little pajama-clad bodies nodded, and on we read.

That was it — the big moment. It was probably also the easiest moment.

Before one son became preoccupied with death. Before the other son had to decide whether to be bar mitzvahed. Before my daughter looked up from her math homework one day to ask, “How do we know there’s no God?”

Religion offers ready-made answers to our most difficult questions. It gives people ways to mark time, celebrate and mourn. Once I vowed not to teach my children anything I did not personally believe, I had to come up with new answers. But I discovered as I went what most parents discover: You can figure it out as you go.

Establishing a habit of honesty did not sap the delight from my children’s lives or destroy their moral compass. I suspect it made my family closer than we would have been had my husband and I pretended to our children that we believed in things we did not. We sowed honesty and reaped trust — along with intellectual challenge, emotional sustenance and joy.

Those are all personal rewards. But there are political rewards as well.

My children know how to distinguish fact from fiction — which is harder for children raised religious. They don’t assume conventional wisdom is true and they do expect arguments to be based on evidence. Which means they have the skills to be engaged, informed and savvy citizens.

We need citizens like that.

Lies, lying and disinformation suffuse mainstream politics as never before. A recent Washington Post-ABC News poll found that 29 percent of Americans believe that President Biden was not legitimately elected, a total composed of those who think there is solid evidence of fraud (22 percent) and those who think there isn’t (7 percent). I don’t know which is worse: believing there to be evidence of fraud when even the Trump campaign can’t find any or asserting the election was stolen even though you know there’s no proof.

Meanwhile, we are just beginning to grasp that artificial intelligence could develop an almost limitless power to deceive — threatening the ability of even the most alert citizen to discern what’s real.

We need Americans who demand — as atheists do — that truth claims be tethered to fact. We need Americans who understand — as atheists do — that the future of the world is in our hands. And in this particular political moment, we need Americans to stand up to Christian nationalists who are using their growing political and judicial power to take away our rights. Atheists can do that.

Fortunately, there are a lot of atheists in the United States — probably far more than you think.

[ Ellen Weinstein for The Washington Post ]

Some people say they believe in God, but not the kind favored by monotheistic religions — a conscious supreme being with powers of intercession or creation. When they say “God,” they mean cosmic oneness or astonishing coincidences. They mean that sense of smallness-within-largeness they’ve felt while standing on the shore of the ocean or holding a newborn baby or hearing the final measures of Chopin’s “Fantaisie-Impromptu.”

So, why do those people use the word “God” at all? The philosopher Daniel C. Dennett argues in “Breaking the Spell”that since we know we’re supposed to believe in God, when we don’t believe in a supernatural being we give the name instead to things we do believe in, such as transcendent moments of human connection.

Whatever the case, in 2022, Gallup found that 81 percent of Americans believe in God, the lowest percentage yet recorded. This year, when it gave respondents the option of saying they’re not sure, it found that only 74 percent believe in God, 14 percent weren’t sure, and 12 percent did not believe.

Not believing in God — that’s the very definition of atheism. But when people go around counting atheists, the number they come up with is far lower than that. The most recent number from Pew Research Center is 4 percent.

What’s with the gap? That’s anti-atheist stigma (and pro-belief bias) at work. Everybody’s keeping quiet, because everybody wants to be liked. Some researchers, recognizing this problem, developed a workaround.

In 2017, psychologists Will Gervais and Maxine Najle tried to estimate the prevalence of atheism in the United States using a technique called “unmatched count”: They asked two groups, of 1,000 respondents each, how many statements were true among a list of statements. The lists were identical except that one of them included the statement “I believe in God.” By comparing the numbers, the researchers could then estimate the percentage of atheists without ever asking a direct question. They came up with around 26 percent.

If that’s true or even close, there are more atheists in the United States than Catholics.

Do you know what some of those atheists call themselves? Catholics. And Protestants, Jews, Muslims and Buddhists. General Social Survey data back this up: Among religious Americans, only 64 percent are certain about the existence of God. Hidden atheists can be found not just among the “nones,” as they’re called — the religiously unaffiliated — but also in America’s churches, mosques and synagogues.

“If you added up all the nominal Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, etc. — those who are religious in name only,” Harvard humanist chaplain Greg M. Epstein writes in “Good Without God,”“you really might get the largest denomination in the world.”

Atheists are everywhere. And we are unusually disposed to getting stuff done.

I used to say, when people asked me what atheists do believe, that it was simple: Atheists believe that God is a human invention.

But now, I think it’s more than that.

If you are an atheist — if you do not believe in a Supreme Being — you can be moral or not, mindful or not, clever or not, hopeful or not. Clearly, you can keep going to church. But, by definition, you cannot believe that God is in charge. You must give up the notion of God’s will, God’s purpose, God’s mysterious ways.

In some ways, this makes life easier. You don’t have to work out why God might cause or ignore suffering, what parts of this broken world are God’s plan, or what work is his to do and what is yours.

But you also don’t get to leave things up to God. Atheists must accept that people are allowing — we are allowing — women to die in childbirth, children to go hungry, men to buy guns that can slaughter dozens of people in minutes. Atheists believe people organized the world as it is now, and only people can make it better.

No wonder we are “the most politically active group in American politics today,” according to political scientist Ryan Burge, interpreting data from the Cooperative Election Study.

That’s right: Atheists take more political action — donating to campaigns, protesting, attending meetings, working for politicians — than any other “religious” group. And we vote. In his study on this data, sociologist Evan Stewart noted that atheists were about 30 percent more likely to vote than religiously affiliated respondents.

We also vote far more than most religiously unaffiliated people. That’s what distinguishes atheists from the “nones” — and what I didn’t realize at first.

Atheists haven’t just checked out of organized religion. (Indeed, we may not have.) We haven’t just rejected belief in God. (Though, obviously, that’s the starting point.) Where atheism becomes a definite stance rather than a lack of direction, a positive belief and not just a negative one, is in our understanding that, without a higher power, we need human power to change the world.

I want to be clear: There are clergy members and congregations all across this country working to do good, not waiting for God to answer their prayers or assuming that God meant for the globe to get hotter. You don’t have to be an atheist to conduct yourself as if people are responsible for the world they live in — you just have to act like an atheist, by taking matters into your own hands.

Countless good people of faith do just that. But one thing they can’t do as well as atheists is push back against the outsize cultural and political power of religion itself.

That power is crushing some of our most vulnerable citizens. And I don’t mean my fellow atheists. Atheists, it’s true, are subject to discrimination and scapegoating; somehow we’re to blame for moral chaos, mass shootings and whatever the “trans cult” is. Yes, we are technically barred from serving as jurors in the state of Maryland or joining a Boy Scout troop anywhere, but we do not, as a group, suffer anything like the prejudice that, say, LGBTQ+ people face. It’s not even close.

Peel back the layers of discrimination against LGBTQ+ people, though, and you find religion. Peel back the layers of control over women’s bodies — from dress codes that punish girls for male desire all the way to the Supreme Court striking down Roe v. Wade — and you find religion. Often, there isn’t much peeling to do. According to the bill itself, Missouri’s total abortion ban was created “in recognition that Almighty God is the author of life.” Say what, now?

Peel back the layers of abstinence-only or marriage-centered or anti-homosexual sex education and you find religion. “Don’t say gay” laws, laws denying trans kids medical care, school-library book bans and even efforts to suppress the teaching of inconvenient historical facts — motivated by religion.

And when religion loses a fight and progress wins instead? Religion then claims it’s not subject to the resulting laws. “Religious belief” is — more and more, at the state and federal levels — a way to sidestep advances the country makes in civil rights, human rights and public health.

In 45 states and D.C., parents can get religious exemptions from laws that require schoolchildren to be vaccinated. Seven states allow pharmacists to refuse to fill contraceptive prescriptions because of their religious beliefs. Every business with a federal contract has to comply with federal nondiscrimination rules — unless it’s a religious organization. Every employer that provides health insurance has to comply with the Affordable Care Act’s contraceptive mandate — unless it’s, say, a craft supply store with Christian owners.

Case by case, law by law, our country’s commitment to the first right enumerated in our Bill of Rights — “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion” — is faltering. The Supreme Court has ruled that the citizens of Maine have to pay for parochial school, that a high school football coach should be free to lead a prayer on the 50-yard line, that a potential wedding website designer can reject potential same-sex clients. This past summer, Oklahoma approved the nation’s first publicly funded religious school. This fall, Texas began allowing schools to employ clergy members��in place of guidance counselors.

You don’t have to be an atheist to worry about the structural integrity of Thomas Jefferson’s “wall of separation between Church & State.” You don’t have to be an atheist to think that religion should not shape public policy or that believers should have to follow the laws that everyone else does. You don’t have to be an atheist to see that Christian nationalists are using “religious liberty” to perpetuate much of the discrimination Americans suffer today.

But atheists can do one thing about the country’s drift into theocracy that our religious neighbors won’t: We can tell people we don’t believe in God. The more people who do that, the more we normalize atheism in America, the easier it will be — for both politicians and the general public — to usher religion back out of our laws.

Okay, but should you say you’re an atheist even if you believe in “God” as the power of nature or something like that?

Yes. It does no one any favors — not the country, not your neighbors — to say you believe in God metaphorically when there are plenty of people out there who literally believe that God is looking down from heaven deciding which of us to cast into hell.

In fact, when certain believers wield enough political power to turn their God’s presumed preferences into law, I would say it’s dangerous to claim you believe in “God” when what you actually believe in is awe or wonder. (Your “God is love” only lends validity and power to their “God hates gays.”)

So ask yourself: Do I think a supernatural being is in charge of the universe?

If you answer “no,” you’re an atheist. That’s it — you’re done.

But if you go further: You’ll be doing something good for your country.

When I started raising my kids as atheists, I wasn’t particularly honest with the rest of the world. I wasn’t everybody’s mom, right? Plus, I had to get along with other people. Young parents need community, and I was afraid to risk alienating new parent friends by being honest about being — looks both ways, lowers voice — an atheist.

But, in addition to making me be honest inside our home, my children pushed me to start being honest on the outside. In part, I wanted to set an example for them, and in part, I wanted to help change the world they would face.

It shouldn’t be hard to say you don’t believe in God. It shouldn’t be shocking or shameful. I know that I’m moral and respectful and friendly. And the more I say to people that I’m an atheist — me, the mom who taught the kindergarten class about baking with yeast and brought the killer cupcakes to the bake sale — the more people will stop assuming that being an atheist means being … a serial killer.

And then? The more I say I’m an atheist, the more other people will feel comfortable calling themselves atheists. And the stigma will gradually dissolve.

Can you imagine? If we all knew how many of us there are?

It would give everyone permission to be honest with their kids and their friends, to grapple with big questions without having to hold on to beliefs they never embraced.

And it would take away permission, too. Permission to pass laws (or grant exemptions to laws) based on the presumed desires of a fictional creation. Permission to be cruel to fellow human beings based on Bible verses. Permission to eschew political action in favor of “thoughts and prayers.”

I understand that, to many people, this might sound difficult or risky. It took me years to declare myself an atheist, and I was raised Reform Jewish, I live in the Northeast, I’m White, I work at home, and my family and friends are a liberal bunch. The stakes were low for me. For some, I fully concede, the stakes are too high.

If you think you’d lose your job or put your children at risk of harassment for declaring your atheism, you get a pass. If you would be risking physical harm, don’t speak out. If you’re an atheist running for school board somewhere that book bans are on the agenda, then feel free to keep it quiet, and God bless.

But for everyone else who doesn’t believe in God and hasn’t said so? Consider that your honesty will allow others to be honest, and that your reticence encourages others to keep quiet. Consider that the longer everyone keeps quiet, the longer religion has political and cultural license to hurt people. Consider that the United States — to survive as a secular democracy — needs you now more than ever.

And the next time you find yourself tempted to pretend that you believe in God? Tell the truth instead.

[asteria7fics]

i’m in a deep blue state but i don’t even feel 100% safe and confident that that will mean anything. it’s scary. i scheduled an appointment out of panic to get an 8 year iud in a couple days just in case he steamrolls our state laws. if they wanna take away my right to choose they can physically pry it from my cold dead uterus. sometimes i feel like i’m overreacting but then i don’t??? like so much is unknown right now and it’s terrifying. my heart breaks even more for vulnerable people in the red states. we really failed so many marginalized americans last night. horrible.

This feels like an appropriate time to tell you goobers a little story. Strap in, it gets a little personal.

When Roe v. Wade was overturned it felt like the final nail in the coffin for me. I had been on the pill for over a decade at that point, and while it helped a ton with managing my periods I also knew I didn’t want to be on the thing forever. I had also known since I was a teenager that I absolutely did not want to have children of my own.

So I did research, talked to my ob/gyn and got an appointment with a surgeon that I knew would be willing to perform a tubal ligation on someone my age (27 at the time). I found their name via this resource, and asked for them specifically.

So… yeah, I got sterilized.

Now I’m not going to sit here and say that this is the right choice for everyone. Though I’d looked into it for years prior, I knew the likelihood of being able to get this elective surgery was low if I attempted to before I turned 25. I’d heard so many stories of women being stonewalled by their doctors because they didn’t have children and “might change their minds”. I was extremely fortunate to have very good doctors.

I was scared shitless of going down for surgery, but I was even more scared of the possibility of not having a choice in becoming a parent.

But everything went fine. It was laparoscopic, so I only have two tiny scars and some really cool, high def pictures of my insides. The first week of recovery was uncomfortable, but the second week was fine. I actually started watching South Park during that second week, and… well, here we are.

I live in a state that, as it currently stands, has decently progressive abortion rights. That could change though. All I have to do is drive down the road to see how many people in my area voted against my rights and will likely do so again.

All of this to say, do what you feel is right while you have the choice to do so. An IUD isn’t permanent, so if you think you may ever change your mind and decide to have children I say go for it, panic response or not. I have zero regrets about my choice, and I would do it all over again if I had to without a second thought.

There is absolutely no shame in doing what you feel you need to in order to protect your lifestyle. Grandma Teri fully supports you, my dear anon.

[howlingday]

Lib(er)el Media

Lisa: There you are, Rose! Where have you been?!

Ruby: Sorry, Mrs. Lavender! I got here as fast as the wind could take me. I got those pictures of The Red Hero for you.

Lisa: Mm, okay, let's see what you have. It's a good thing you showed up, because we're still trying to figure out the title for today's headline.

Lisa: Ah, perfect! "The Red Hero and Roman Torchwick Rampage City!"

Ruby: What?! I-I mean, hang on just a second, Mrs. Lavender, but I'm pretty sure The Red Hero was trying to stop Roman Torchwick!

Lisa: And look at all the damage she caused! By the Brothers, Rose, how many times do I have to explain that Vale News Network doesn't operate on opinions, but on facts!

Ruby: Oh, come on! You can't blame everything on The Red Hero.

Lisa: Oh no? Watch me, then maybe you'll realize that if you looked just a bit deeper, you'll see that everything wrong with Vale can traced back to that flower petal fleecer! Someone give me a story!

Weiss: Statistics show that car jackings are at an all-time high.

Lisa: "The Red Hero Does Nothing to Stop Car Jackings!"

Ruby: W-Wait, hang on. That's not fair-

Weiss: The Stinger broke out of prison.

Lisa: "The Red Hero Lets Bad Guy Friends Get Away!"

Ruby: Now hold on a second-

Weiss: The headmaster of Beacon Academy was diagnosed with cancer.

Lisa: My god...

Ruby: See, Mrs. Lavender! It's just not possible that-

Lisa: ...The Red Hero gave that poor bastard cancer.

Ruby: ...How?

Lisa: "The Red Hero Giving People Cancer!" That's the best headline I've heard in my life!

Ruby: How would she even do that, though?!

Lisa: Ah, you're not opening your mind to the possibilities, Rose! She can split into tiny rose petals, so you shouldn't put anything past her! C'mon! Keep 'em coming!

Weiss: Uh, people have been throwing trash into the ocean.

Lisa: "The Red Hero Pollutes Remnant Water Supply!"

Ruby: Mrs. Lavender, just hold on-!

Weiss: Dust sales went up 15%.

Lisa: "The Red Hero Raises Dust Prices!"

Ruby: How would she- Actually, you know, it might not be a bad thing. I mean, those miners are being treated so poorly, so maybe she's looking out for them?

Lisa: Damn, I didn't think of that. "The Red Hero Ranked Worst Humanitarian on Remnant!"

Ruby: Are you honestly telling me The Red Hero cares less about people than Jacques fucking Schnee?!

Lisa: Now you see the problem!

Ruby: WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!

Weiss: Taxes are up.

Lisa: "The Red Hero Raises Taxes!"

Weiss: There's a lot of gang violence.

Lisa: "The Red Hero Leading Gang War!"

Weiss: Uh, my nana is in the hospital.

Lisa: "The Red Hero Wants to Kill Your Grandma!"

Weiss: Oh! There's been an increase in Grimm activity!

Lisa: BINGO! We have a winner! "The Red Hero Hates-"

Ruby: ENOUGH!

Lisa: Excuse me-

Ruby: NO! You listen to me, Lavender! People rely on our network for the news, for their information! It's people like you in your position that makes the average citizen lose faith in everything in this world. You're a worse person than you make The Red Hero out to be. Dammit, Lisa, how can you stand for this?

Lisa: I can't.

Ruby: O-Oh! So there is reasoning with you!

Lisa: No, Rose, I mean I can't stand. Like, at all. Physically, I cannot stand.

Ruby: You... You can't stand?

Lisa: Honestly, Rose, when was the last time you saw Lisa Lavender standing up and walking around? NOT behind this desk or the camera? I have been sitting for so long that my legs don't work.

Ruby: Oh god...

Lisa: I eat, sleep, and shit here, Rose. You wonder why I'm so pissed off at the world? At The Red Hero? Because I'm sitting here, paralyzed, while she's out there, flying around all fucking carefree.

Ruby: But why-

Lisa: I haven't seen my husband in three years, Rose! But he understands that! He understands the kind of woman I am to make sacrifices like- (Phone rings) Oh, speak of the Grimm! He's probably calling to congratulate me on my pursuit of the truth!

Lisa: (Picks up) Hello, Roman! ...Yes? ...Yes. ...Alright, thank you. (Hangs up)

Lisa: New headline; "The Red Hero Ends Marriage of 22 Years".

Ruby: ...

Lisa: Tagline; "He's taking the kids."

[grimfurbybitch]

A non exhaustive list of shit my mom's biological dad and his wife have said/done to her. Tw Abuse

So in no particular order

Claimed that when my mom was 5 she begged him to marry his wife, saying "how long are string that good christian woman along" and "when are you gonna make an honest woman out of her" I repeat she was no older than 5

FOUR HOURS after his wife of 44 years died he called to tell my mother that he wasn't planning on dating again but he was getting eyed up at church (this was the same phone call we found out she died)

On the same day he tried to unload her stuff on us (still tries to get his ex-wife to take her clogs)

His wife was hospitalized multiple times for overdose because he let her pick her dose after claiming multiple times that she had dementia

Dropped his wife in the hospital parking lot and then dropped her again when he got home, but because she's obese he had to get paramedics to help move her into the house

While talking about family stories his wife said "remember when you used to get your but whopped?" And laughed, my mom did not find those memories fun

My grandfather recently went on a date with a woman and she moved right after

Said he wasn't dating right after this

My grandfather hits on my mom's friends constantly

Told my mom his ex-wife (her mom) was looking good and fit (unprompted)

My grandfather Told my parents that his wife gets so constipated he has to "reach up and dig it out of there"

When my uncle was a boy he looked through her wallet and found a picture of my grandfather naked and erect, when he asked her why she kept it in her wallet she said "it excites her"

While driving to work she saw my uncle (teen at the time) hanging out with his friends and stopped to ask for a kiss when my uncle didn't give her one she got out of the car without putting it in park and it crashed into a house

A pelican has shat directly on his wife's face (my mother's favorite memory)

My grandfather calls at least once a month to claim he's dying (unfortunately he's not)

His wife was super into the price is right, so when my mom was 6-7 and they were filming in San Antonio she took them but they didn't want kids, so she left my mom in the car while they filmed

My grandfather never had a pet that he couldn't eat when he got bored

They spilled food on my mother and she got a second degree burn, when she cried about it they threatened to beat her to "give her something to cry about"

Then they had her sit in the ocean water to help make it feel better (the salt water did not make her second degree burns feel better)

During my great grandmother's funeral my grandfather gave me a taxidermized crow (unprompted)

His wife caught my other uncle having sex with his girlfriend and asked "are you planning to marry this woman?" Before praying (without leaving)

His wife would open the door in nothing but her underwear

Grandfather would have my mom help balance his check book so she could see how much she cost him in child support (it was 100$)

My grandfather liked a picture on my mom's Facebook from two years ago at 3 Am using his wife's account, she had been dead a year (I repeat my mom woke up to see her dead abusive step mother liking one of her posts)

During a trip to the cost his wife didn't want to walk to use the bathrooms at the trailer park they were staying at so they had a porta potty that my mom had to empty out (my mom says she can still hear the sloshing of the urine)

His wife used to serve canned spinach because my mom didn't like it, when my mom ate it and asked for seconds she never served it again

He casually told my grandma while they were still married that her grandpa died while he was eating (she had just gotten home from work)

My grandfather repoed my grandma's car because she was divorcing him

Has put my mom in five separate group chats (my mom activity ignores all of them)

Emailed my mom pictures of his wife in the casket even after she told him she didn't want to see them (I looked, she looked awful, so no change)

This is just the tip of the iceberg, who knows why we never visit him (my moms soul leaves her body when he calls)

[emtb319]

Day 6 of Fishtank week, Is it just me or did this week fly by fast?? Today's prompt-memories ---

I’m circling back a little bit to my story from the other day, where Gordon was healing up and restless.  Part of this story is based on my little guy, and my pregnancy with him.  He too wouldn’t (and still doesn't) sit still, tried to come very early, and blew his nurses a kiss while I was in recovery from general anesthesia.   ---

‘Here Gords.  I got you some of those watermelon candies you like.’

‘Thanks.  I think I’ll have 2’s bin of stuffed animals fully stocked soon.’

‘Good.  I found that picture for you by the way.’

‘Oh yea, lemme see.’  Virgil handed him a tablet with some pictures and videos.

‘Mom always knew that you’d take off running.  She let me go with her to some of the appointments.  Dad was back and forth with work, and I wanted to see you.  They’d try to look at your head, so you’d waive your hands in front of your face.  Or, you’d fold up your legs every time they tried to get a look at your bones.’  Virgil took a moment to regroup.  They didn’t talk about their mom very often.

‘Then Mom got sick.  I remember her calling her doctor, then she was gone for a few days.  Dad didn’t tell us much, but looking back, I remember her swollen feet and how she just looked really tired.  When she came back home, we all tried to make sure that she could relax and rest as much as possible.  Dad mentioned that you were almost born that night she was admitted.  She had a lot more appointments after that, but I wasn’t allowed to go.  Dad’s job let him move most of his duties remote, so that he would have the flexibility to go with Mom.’

‘Oh wow.  I remember some stories, but no one told me any of this.  Makes sense though.’

‘Yea.  Mom was looking better for a few days, but then she got sick again.  She spent another 3 days in the hospital.  I remembered Dad saying that you were almost born the last time she was there, so I thought she’d be bringing you home this time.  I’ll admit I was a little upset when she came home, and you were still in her belly.  I know now that was a good thing, but back then I was pretty upset.’

‘Sorry Virg.’

‘I wasn’t anyone’s fault.  You still had to bake, so it was good that she didn’t come home with you.  I was just too young to understand.  I didn’t have to wait too long after that though.  I overheard Dad talking to Grandma one night.  He mentioned something about failing tests and doctors arguing.  After another failed test, they told Mom to head to the hospital.  This time, the doctors all agreed that you were better off on the outside than trying to keep you in.’

‘Dad told us to behave for Grandma, and that he’d call when he had news.  I wasn’t having any of it though.  Scott tried his best to distract me, but I kept bugging him to go to the hospital to see Mom and you.  So, after Grandma went to bed, the 3 of us snuck out with the spare keys that Scott found for Mom’s car.’

‘Oh boy.  I can see Dad’s face when you guys showed up,’ Gordon chuckled.  ‘And, Grandma’s when she realized that the house was empty in the morning.’

‘Yea, we were grounded, but it was worth it.  Mom was pretty out of it after you were born, but they let us come in the back to see you before they took you upstairs to the NICU.  That’s when Scott got the picture of you blowing the kiss.  Dad and John took turns taking videos, until the nurses shooed us out to finish doing what they had to do for you.’  

‘I knew back then Gords...you were my buddy then, just like you are now,’ he said, bumping shoulders with Gordon.

‘Thank you Virgil.  I know I haven’t been the easiest to deal with lately, or maybe ever by the sounds of it.

‘Gordon, you’re fine.  We just need to direct your energy into something productive until you’re back on your feet.  You’ll be fully healed soon, don’t worry.  Trust me, I’m just as ready as you are to have you back.  There’s nothing wrong with having Scott or Alan as my co-pilot, but neither of them are you.’  Gordon wrapped him in a big squid hug.  

‘I had a thought, Virg.’

‘Really?  We need to call the presses.’

‘Oh funny…ha…ha, but really.  You know how the NICU’s sometimes ask for stuff?’

‘Yes.  Donations are always helpful.  The NICU isn’t just for the babies, but for the families too.’

‘I saw an article about these crochet octopi that they use for the babies.  Apparently they help their breathing, help stop them from pulling on their monitors, and just help keep them cozy.  I found a few patterns, but I can’t seem to get it right.  I must have frogged one like 5 times.’

‘Ok, give me a few to take a quick shower, then we’ll work it out together.  Why don’t you call the hospital you were at and ask them if they have a preferred pattern and how many they may want.’

‘I can do that.’

[lewinblue]

Sunny my dear I can't help myself with this, it's been eating me all day. I keep thinking about Dad!Ben Mears and how the rest of the gang would react to Baby Matthew arriving in the family and in the days after (lol).

-Eva Miller would be screaming like a banshee. She's totally excited when she learns she's gonna be a grandma and although she's excited, Mr. Burke is laughing and he's like "Man I'm really gettin too old for this shit" (lol).

-When Ben and wifey tell Mark and Randy that they're gonna be big brothers, Randy literally blurts out "OH SHIT I GONNA BE A BIG BRUVER!" Father Callahan spit his drink out with that one.

-Randy will literally rest his head on you when you start showing. He still claims mommy ate a watermelon with legs. Ben does the same but he loves kissing your bump and smiling when he feels the baby kicking.

-The day you told everyone, Mabel Wertz went to the craft store and got what she could afford for yarn an started knitting. She's got grandkids herself so she knits and crochets frequently (she even made all of Randy's winter stuff) so you guys end up with all the little sweaters, mittens, hats and socks as well as blankies.

-Loretta Starcher called from the library as you were getting closer to your due date and had asked if you wanted a bunch of old books for Baby Matthew's nursery. You took them and lo and behold, every single one of them had been books that she kept because they had Ben's name in them and all his birthdays from when he was little.

-Ben stayed with you the entire time you were in labor. He kept feeding you as many ice chips as he could and rubbing your lower back. When you had to stand up, he let you lean against him.

-He cried so hard when the baby was born. The minute Ben heard him cry, he knew he loved the both of you to the moon and back.

-You were MELTING when you saw him doing skin-on-skin with the baby, sitting in the rocker near the window at night. His big giant hands almost covered Baby Matthew.

-You guys had sooooooo many visitors the next day. Eva almost fainted when she saw the baby and you guys took tons of pictures of Randy and Mark holding their new baby brother. Mr. Burke had memorized "Goodnight Moon" and while he was holding his little namesake, he got him to go to sleep by telling the story to the baby.

-When Baby Matthew came home, you guys were unbelievably lucky to have tons of help around the house. Eva and Mabel had the laundry covered and Father Callahan had completely taken over the kitchen (that man can meal prep like nobody's business).

Sunny I could go on with this but there's so much here I could do a whole novel on it (lol).

Everyone is so excited about the idea of a new little baby around. After the events of the novel, they all form a close knit family so everyone’s emotions are high.

Randy is definitely the little toddler that goes “I don’t want it. I’m the baby!” Until you explain all the stuff a new sibling can do with him. Especially because the gap between him and Mark is so big, he ends up getting left behind a bit but baby Mears is within 2 or maybe 3 years of him so they’re gonna be stuck like glue to each other.

When baby Matthew Mears makes his grand appearance everyone cries. 1) because everyone lost someone in the events previous and the idea that new life can be brought in is emotional. 2) Matthew is the cutest and chunkiest baby ever. And 3) When he finds out about the name, Mr. Burke finally cries. He says it’s allergies but no one believes him.

[qippabtch]

what is that 'Studio Ghibli' feeling made of?

It's how they manage that the slice-of-life, but-make-it-magic sort of feeling, mostly from those scenes that most filmmakers would gloss over or entirely cut. It's the fact that they're just as interested in the things that happen between productive scenes as they are the ones that tell the story.

The films tell these profound, heavy-hitting, human interest stories, while also maintaining a sense of childlike wonder in most of the films.

They feel like you're six years old, and something really bad has just happened on the news. Your mom is upset about it, and you don't really understand why, so you start to feel scared. But then she takes you to the aquarium to take your minds off of things, and at some point she sits down on the bench next to the jellyfish exhibit. The jellyfish are glowing all these gorgeous colors, staining the water with strands of radiant blue and green and purple, and as you sit beside your mom, she explains to you what happened today. She doesn't censor it because you're a kid, although she tells you gently, in an age-appropriate way. And so the two of you sit there, listening to the bubbling of the water and watching these ethereal creatures drift by like sea breeze, or the mist that rises from a hot pavement in the early morning, given solid form. And you feel both sad, but also content, knowing that you're here together, and that she loves you, and that bad things happen, at least you have each other.

That's what Studio Ghibli movies feel like. That fleeting, bittersweet transition between innocence and understanding, when you haven't quite entered into the adult world of the latter but you've certainly left the former.

They're made up of those moments when nothing is happening, and yet everything is. They're like the day you see your first rainbow and realize how ephemeral and faint they are in real life, so unlike the cartoonish bands you picture from the Lucky Charms commercial. But it's also the three minutes and forty seconds leading up to you noticing the rainbow, the ones where your head is down, carefully maneuvering your little rubber boots around not just the cracks that you always avoid on some childish superstition, but now the puddles gathering after this morning's rainstorm, too.

Those scenes, the ones where you're in the moment, all but forgetting that you're watching a movie, are like the warm afternoons when your grandma is baking bread, and you want to ask if you can help, but you're transfixed by the way her brittle old fingers move impossibly fast across the challah, nimbly twisting the dough into perfect braids, and you find yourself too captivated to interrupt. It's the feeling of watching the bread rise in the oven, seeing how it turns golden brown like the sky at sunset.

They're waking at dawn on the first day of school, feeling both paralyzed by the fear of the unknown and yet excited by the sight of that familiar, beloved hand-me-down backpack, the one you can officially call your own today, propped up against your bed.

They're falling asleep on the couch and waking up in your own bed, too old to not know that rationally, it must have been a parent who carried you there, but childishly, you find yourself still clinging to the last bit of that suspicion that maybe, just maybe, you teleported there.

Slice-of-life scenes are magical to me, because there's something so intimate about seeing someone who is, by all realistic standards, wholly stylized and completely artificial, yet feels infinitely more human than any hyperrealistic CG action movie.

They feel like a return to childhood, but the parts that your therapist isn't asking about when they prompt you to talk about your upbringing. They're a perfect blend of universal truths and idealized fantasy, somehow making the mundane seem magical, and the magical, mundane.

[agirlwiththoughtsandnegativity]

sunday night.

a short little story that kinda sounds like rambling but I attempted to attach some meaning to it??

On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, I’m dead. Really, all you could find was the empty shell of me. On Sunday nights, I’m alive. That’s when me and Olly go out to his backyard and sit in the treehouse or on the swing sets.

Mom gets mad because I have school the next day, but we always stay out way past dark anyways. Sometimes, his older brother Micheal will come out and sit beside us. He’ll smoke a cigarette and mostly ask us about 5th grade and how we like our teachers. I don’t think Mom knows about it though, because she thinks Micheal is a bad influence. 

One time, she came home from dropping off a pie at Olly’s house, and she made an over exaggerated fake cough. She said that they should get that college dropout an apartment because he makes their whole house stink of cigarettes.

I know she was talking about Micheal, because both Olly’s Mom and Dad have finished college. I know that because they’re both doctors. Another reason it couldn’t be them is because they both think smoking is bad and wouldn’t do it. It can’t be Olly, because he’s in fifth grade, with me.

Olly doesn’t think Micheal is a bad influence. He calls him Mikey and stares at him with stars in his eyes, like he’s the best role model ever. Sometimes I think he is, because he has an awesome red truck. Having a red truck makes you pretty great in my opinion.

Today, Olly and I sit on the swings, me on the left and him on the right. We talk about our homework, about the new kid in our class. We talk about toys, about shows we saw on television.

I know all that we do talk about. Things that don’t really matter. I know it’s because we don’t want to talk about the things that do.

Like how my mom barely makes enough money for me to get new clothes. Olly is one of the only kids at school who doesn’t say stuff about the holes in my jeans or the tightness of my shirts.

Olly’s parents make lots of money, but I think they hate each other. They’re usually fighting, even I can hear it. I never say anything about it, but I know Olly knows that I can tell.

I don’t know why people would get married if they don’t like each other. My dad died and my mom’s been heartbroken ever since, so I think they liked each other. Even though one time I told grandma that my friend’s parents fight a lot, she said my parents used to too. Grandma said my mom’s regret heightened her grief. I’m not sure what that means, but I don’t fully believe my Mom and Dad used to fight a lot, even though I never knew my Dad.

I walk through the halls every night on the way to my room, and my mom always has her door cracked open. Usually she’s crying over Dad’s picture, or crying on her bed. I used to try to help, to try to comfort her, but I realized I couldn’t, so now I just walk past to my room.

Sunday night I never see Mom crying. Sunday night is always just me and Olly, and no tears or dead parents or fighting parents or pants with holes. Sometimes people with cigarettes and lost dreams, but never does it cross into the real world. Sunday night is always perfect, because it’s when we can pretend our lives are perfect.

[blackstarmylove]

Hi BlackStarMyLove~ o(≧∇≦o) Thank you for continuing to do Blackstar posts + Blackstar tips~ Not sure if this was asked already, but I like to ask a what-if scenario: how would each of the guys treat MC if MC's their little sister (if asked already, how would it be like if they met her as kids? If I recall right, Kei and Heath are canon childhood friends of MC in the game, so I guess for them, I guess what sweet/silly moments would you imagine them having with MC as kids)? (if you got time) I would like to ask more what-ifs, but to not overwhelm you, I'll just stick to asking one here. Cheering for you and your posts in spirit~ Also earned another follower here~ ^^ Hail Blackstar~ o(>ω<)o (finally glad to have finally spoken/gathered enough courage to DM a Blackstar fan~ o(^∀^*)o *shy Blackstar fan lol*)

Hi Shy Anon! Thank you so much for following and supporting my posts. 💖 So, I do want to let you know requests are closed right now, meaning if anyone sends in any requests, I will treat them as a quick ask (so like a less detailed, grouped HC). Yes, Kei and Heath...and someone else, who fans have suggested might be Kokuyou or Kongou are MC's childhood friends. When I open requests again, you are welcome to send in more scenarios.

Please don't be shy to reach out to Starless fans! Since this is a small community, fans are happy to talk to each other and get excited to find new fans. And you are welcome to talk to me in DMs at any time~ we can fan about the characters/events or anything else you like. :3

----

Moments They Had as Kids:

Kei - lying on the grass, staring at the sky and pointing out the shapes of the clouds

Sotetsu - having water balloon and water gun fights

Ginsei - watching cartoon and mimicking the characters

Yoshino - playing board games

Gui - watching animals in the park

Yakou - pretending to be superheroes while wearing capes and saving the world

Kokuyou - bringing home stray animals and caring for them with the help of adults

Akira - pulling harmless pranks on adults and kids alike

Sin - sitting under a tree and reading picture books together

Takami - pretending to be detectives/cops and solving cases

Nekome & Taiga - playing hide and seek

Rindou - having pretend beauty pageants with his sisters

Maica & Qu - drawing and scribbling in coloring books

Sinju - spending time with his grandmother and learning from her

Menou - taking naps together while holding hands

Mokuren - sneaking out to the kind grandma who lives a few houses down to get freshly baked cookies and pies

Hari - attending piano classes

Kasumi - playing tag and racing each other

Zakuro - watching sing-along kid shows and singing at the top of your lungs

Mizuki - pretend fighting while making sounds from the mouth (pow, pew pew...)

Kongou - playing house and pretend cooking

Ran - climbing trees and getting yelled at by adults

Rico - arts and craft

Heath - talking to plants and telling them stories

Unei - catching bugs together

[literaticat]

Regarding the NIGHT AT THE MUSUEM question. So wouldn't that still, overall, be considered a kid's film? But if it was written as a novel - exactly the same, with the security guard as the main character - it would have to be pitched to adult agents and published as an adult book? Or rewritten to make the security guard's son somehow the main character (which would be difficult as he wouldn't see all the crazy events taking place at first)? That's the only way it could be a kid's book? Just want to make sure I'm understanding the question correctly. I understand grown-ups have plenty of space on the shelf, but I'm still confused why a story like that (as one example) couldn't be a kid's book. Why is Hollywood fine with kiddie movies with adult protagonists but publishing is not? (I know you cited some examples so it might not be a blanket thing, but it seems mostly that is the case?)

Forgive me for stating the obvious, but, books are not movies.

I sit in on a lot of Hollywood meetings, so I can tell you that even for allegedly "children's" fare, they actually need to appeal to ADULTS in the audience, and they consider these to be Family movies. There will pretty much always be at least one juicy lead role (or lead voice) suited to a big grownup movie star, even in animated movies. The role might be a child who acts like an adult (Alec Baldwin / Boss Baby) or an adult who acts like a child (Jack Black / Kung Fu Panda), or not a human (Robin Williams / Genie in Aladdin), or some other thing, but basically the rule of thumb is, without good roles for adults, there is no movie. If a kids book is made into a movie, and there are no good adult roles, they will rewrite it so there are.

(Before anyone asks, Yes, correct, on the TV side this is less important, because kids DO watch kids shows without adults -- but even on the TV side they often add adult characters. Like why all the parents in the Babysitters Club show when they aren't really in the book? SO they could cast Alicia Silverstone and capture a larger audience is why.)

So to answer your questions: Why is Hollywood fine with kiddie movies with adult protagonists but publishing is not? They want the largest number of people as possible to see and enjoy the movie (and pay for the pleasure). As a rule, kids don't have money. They don't pay $50+ bucks for movie tickets. They don't subscribe to streaming services. They don't rent movies on demand. ADULTS do all those things. So movies that kids are going to watch with adults have to appeal to adults as well as kids. Whereas for the most part, only kids are the target audience for kids books.

Isn't Night at the Museum a children's movie? Nope, it's a Family movie.

If Night at the Museum were a book, would it have to be an adult book? Your example is not a great one for the point YOU are trying to make, but does illustrate my point pretty well, because guess what? Night at the Museum IS based on a book. It's a picture book. (Surprise!) Like the examples I gave in that post you are referencing, it's kind of a "childlike adult" -- who can deffo be stars in picture books. (Think the guard in Goodnight Gorilla, Amelia Bedelia, that grandma in that one Vera Brosgol book). And when the movie was made into a junior novelization (aka, a MG book), as you will see in the wikipedia article above, they used the adult security guard as a narrator/framing device -- he's telling the story to his son, and then his son goes and experiences it. (Much like From the Mixed Up Files has Mrs Basil E Frankweiler as the narrator -- she's not the star, she's just telling the story.)

If Night at the Museum had been a book first and aimed at an adult audience, it probably would have had a horror element or something.

[kaliawai512-v2]

Hey!

I’m trying to develop my own writing skills, but I am a little baby in the world of writing so I’m seeking help and I think your writing is really cool and it makes me happy. So I found my way here.

But I just wanted to ask if you could tell me anything about your writing process? Like how you work with drafts, plotting, editing and how you manage the time/motivation to write so much holy cow! Also how long have you been writing consistantly?

Okay that’s a lot of questions at once, sorry. 😂

Anyway I hope you enjoy your day! ;)

Hiya!!

Aww, thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing, and thank you for leaving such kind comments <3 Absolutely, I’m happy to share my experience! Sorry that this is a veeeeeeeery long reply XD

I don’t have a super-neat process for managing drafts. When I get an idea for a story, I jot it down, but I try not to force it. I let it sit in the back of my head and it will either develop or fade into oblivion. If I’ve got enough ideas that it seems like it could make a full story, I start organizing it into scenes and/or chapters (depending on the length). There will often be some “blanks” in between major events, and I fill those in as I get inspiration.

Once I’ve got at least a mostly complete outline, I start writing. And this is where I’m a massive weirdo: I write completely out of order. I’ll write a bit of a scene in Chapter 17 and then a snippet in Chapter 1, and oh, now I figured out how the final chapter will end so I’m writing that now, and then a bit in Chapter 6 … you get the picture XD This process probably won’t work for most people, but I’ve been doing it for around ten years now (yes, I am a Tumblr grandma) and it works great for me - even though it does lead to a bit more editing down the line.

I don’t edit at all as I go, and I try not to start editing until I’m at least a good ways through writing. When I am ready to edit, I read everything out loud - this helps me catch things I might not miss and helps me get a sense for what “sounds” right on the sentence level. It also wears down my voice a bit, so I don’t edit a ton at once.

And I’m flattered you think so highly of my motivation!! But I have a secret to share … I don’t write consistently - at least not in the long run XD If I’m working toward a specific goal, then I try to write fairly consistently (I also love NaNoWriMo). But I find that if I have to force myself to write over and over, then it’s worth questioning whether I’m having fun with the project. Every project has its tough parts, and sometimes you just have to power through if you want to see the end product. But there’s no glory in just tormenting yourself all the time - especially when you’re writing fanfic.

Lately, I write at least 500 words daily - sometimes up to 5-6k. But this is a writing binge. Prior to this February, I hadn’t written consistently in around six months. And before that binge, a lot longer. Why? I have a lot going on in my life. Writing is one of my passions, and at the moment, purely done for fun - and that’s not a bad thing! My creativity in various areas comes and goes, and I’ve learned to accept when it wanes and just do other things for a while. It always comes back eventually.

But the biggest piece of advice I can give you is: figure out what YOU like. Because your goals aren’t mine, and your life isn’t mine! I hope that my experience will offer you something (and questions are ALWAYS welcome <3) but you should always do what works best for you. Absolutely reach out to lots of writers and get their takes, but don’t take any piece of writing advice without a grain of salt. As far as I’m concerned, there are no hard-fast rules in writing.

Have fun with writing, give yourself space to practice on projects you enjoy, and if you can, keep the pressure low! I wish you all the best in your journey and I know you’re going to make amazing things <3

Hope you have a great day as well! :D

[lyragoth]

LAST CHAPTER Maedhros and Maglor lounged in the courtyard, nursing their bruised pride after one of Fëanor's most legendary lectures. Their father's wrath still haunted their minds.

Maedhros leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, while Maglor tapped a finger against his chin in contemplation. "So," Maedhros drawled, "Bears and caves are no longer acceptable topics for conversation..."

Maglor nodded earnestly. “After Atar’s lecture? I could never mention it again without my ears burning.” Their musings were interrupted by the sound of faint footsteps. They saw Celegorm approaching, clutching his favorite wooden bow. The brothers exchanged a knowing look and a mischievous glint sparked in their eyes. No words were needed; they were already plotting a new shenanigan.

“Tyelko!” Maedhros called, the picture of elder-brotherly charm. “Come here! We have something important to tell you.” Celegorm hesitated, his grip tightening on the bow. “What?”

"Come, sit, little brother," Maglor patted the ground between them. “We apologize for what we said earlier, we want to tell you the legit story this time,” 

Celegorm's brows furrowed in suspicion. “Atya already told me! I’m like Grandma Míriel! And I’m just as much his son as you two!”

“Ah,” Maedhros said, unfazed. “Well, Atar is a great storyteller, but sometimes he skips a few details. You see...”

“I don’t want to hear this!” Celegorm shouted, rising to his feet. "Oh well, what a pity." Maedhros leaned in conspiratorially "We thought you wanted to know the truth about where you came from."

"Wait!" Celegorm froze, glancing between them. “Tell me!”

“Well,” Maedhros began, "You were found... in Uncle Finarfin’s trash can." He declared solemnly.

Maglor clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh as Maedhros continued, his delivery impeccably serious. “It was ten years ago. Atar was passing by Uncle Finarfin’s house when he heard a strange noise from the bin. And inside... was a golden-haired baby, crying his little heart out.”

“And do you know why Uncle Finarfin threw you away?” Maglor chimed in, his tone exaggeratedly tragic. “Because you ate all the lembas in Finarfin's house. Every last crumb. He was obviously too delicate to handle an elfling like you... an elfling who ate like a bear. So he threw you away.”

"But gladly Atar rescued you and made you one of us.” Maedhros completed.

The silence stretched for a moment before Celegorm’s face turned red—not with tears, but with fury.

“You’re lying!” he yelled, pointing his small finger accusingly at them.

“Are we?” Maedhros teased, “What are you going to do, Tyelko-the-Trash-Can-Baby? Run to Atar again?”

Maglor snorted, but his laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in his shin. “OW!” he yelped as Celegorm kicked him squarely.

Maedhros barely had time to react before Celegorm spun and kicked him too. “Hey!” Maedhros protested, clutching his shin. “I hate you both!” Celegorm bolted from the courtyard. His steps echoed as he disappeared into the distance, toward the forge. Maglor rubbed his leg, wincing. “You know,” he muttered, “we might have gone a bit too far this time.”

Maedhros chuckled, despite the lingering ache. “Maybe. But it was worth it.”

Maglor shook his head, suppressing a grin. “Tyelko’s got more fire in him than we thought.”

“Well, he is Fëanor’s son,” Maedhros said, stretching his legs with a groan. “Let’s just hope Atar doesn’t hear about this. Again.”

They both shuddered at the thought, their laughter now subdued as they plotted the next shenanigan: how best to avoid another Fëanor's lecture—at least for the next few days. The End

(...) "Tyelkormo, what troubles you?" 

Celegorm sniffled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Maitimo and Macalaulë," he mumbled. "They are mean!"

Fëanor tilted his head slightly, a faint smile easing his stern expression. "Macalaurë," he corrected gently, emphasizing the proper pronunciation... ever the scholar.

"Macalaulë," Celegorm repeated, his attempt sounding much the same. His tears began to subside.

Fëanor chuckled. "Very well, Macalaulë it is," he conceded with amusement. “Tell me what mischief have your brothers done?”

Celegorm hesitated, then blurted, "They said Uncle Finarfin found me in a bear’s cave and offered me to you and amya!"

“Did they now?” "Yes!" Celegorm's hands clenched at his sides. "Why do people always mistake me for Uncle Finarfin's son? I hate it! Is it because he was the one who found me in the cave?" "Tyelkormo, no one found you in a cave—least of all Finarfin," Fëanor said, exasperated at the absurdity. "You were born of me and your mother. Do not let such foolishness trouble you." His fiery temper kindled at his elder sons’ thoughtlessness. He would see to their discipline in due time. For now, his focus remained on Tyelkormo.

Placing his hands gently on the boy’s small shoulders, he spoke with firm tenderness. "Listen to me, Tyelkormo. You are my son. A Fëanorian, through and through. Maitimo and Macalaurë may jest, but their words hold no truth. You resemble someone precious, certainly not Finarfin, but someone I carry in my heart always, though I seldom speak of her."

Celegorm blinked, curious. "Who?"

Fëanor’s gaze softened. "My mother."