i really want to see goro on his silly little bike. p5 why would u deprive us of that

I thought it was a good idea to re read the last 5 pages of The Prince's Psalm....Now I can't breath from my nose so much I cried..!

Main character energy blah blah

What about main character in a fanfic that is the tiniest of side characters in canon and only appears in a handful of scenes but is now the subject of some crazed maniac speed writing at 3am instead of going to therapy

What about that energy

I think that it was two days ago?? But I was this close from falling asleep and was scrolling Tumblr obviously. And I was in the suggest posts tab, wasn't even on any tag or anything, then I stumbled on your "low battery warning" post and read it through cause why not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Bruh when I tell you I wanted to be able to physically EAT the whole thing. The Alhaitham part alone was bouncing around in my head for the whole time since I've read it, to the point I had to go back and search for it to see if I dreamed of it or not. I want I kiss you so hard for having written that, holy balls please never delete or I'll cry ugly tears

GOD-YALL ARE KILLING ME. I COULD KISS YOU RN. I don't know what it is about this but holy shit- it a K.O for me.

I feel that on a spiritual level of being in bed, probably should be sleeping, but I'm too busy reading fics loll. I'm vv happy to hear that my fic was suggested to you and that you liked it so much. I don't know it feels weird knowing that my work is just out there for anyone to see and not just people who follow me but it's nothing bad.

But I'm telling you, I'm so fucking down bad for Alhaitham. It's not even funny- I have several wips of just him sitting in my drafts. Actually, let me word count it rn. Okay, I have 8k words of barely put-together wips sitting in my drafts for one (1) character I barely know.

.

i underestimated how much work my blog needed done.

Who here is fluent in Spanish and wants to help me complete my assignments which are worth half my total grade :D

I just realized I find Texas accents hot af and now I can never go to Texas

Hey if someone could skin me that would be super cool

HOW DO YOU DRAW BRAIDS

something bad happened to you, and you died, and you came back wrong.

not wrong all the way. the little ways. you forget important dates, stopped going out with friends. it's harder to make you smile. you're apathetic towards things you used to love, afraid of places you used to go to cheer up. quieter. flinching. different.

you came back for love. you're still here for love. what pulled you back was a brightness so loud that even death couldn't outshout it. death heard the call and smiled at you and said okay. go home. somebody is waiting for you.

but you came back different. like lot's wife; you've turned into salt. you used to chirp through life in hops and skips; but now you lose skin just standing up. you have to move slower, skimming across this world without-touching-it. most things feel dull - until they're suddenly all-too-much. life, and being alive just rushes up and over you and you get hopelessly crushed.

you try to explain it to them: it is ugly, but this is what you are, now. the huge golden hoop of your halo now a little bronze ring. you are still watering your plants and wearing the same clothes. after all, you worked hard to come home. this life; so odd and off-color, now that you are wrong.

but they waited for you - it's just that they wanted the "you" that happened before this. the "you" that could sing in the show and hug people tight and look at a blade without breaking down to cry. the you with a smile in pictures. god, holyshit, it's like looking at a completely different person, isn't it. that other-you; the one they actually wanted.

you are the consolation prize. you are the body that forgot the ghost. you are the memory of the bad thing, and the death after; like you are wearing that memory as a banner. you are a fragment, an assembly. simulacrum. you don't make eye contact in mirrors, afraid the light will glance off and your true nature will flash back at you.

you hear them talk about it in their hushed, desperate whispers. sometimes they even admit it to your face; harsh and violent, acid thrown at christmas dinner. god, can you just fucking be normal again. you do not remember what normal is. you had to climb so far to get back here; you are far too exhausted. you want to open the glass door of your heart and show all the gears. can you help resolve whatever got messed up?

you try so, so hard. you came back for them. because you believed they would love you, even when you were so horribly broken. because you believed they would be patient. because you believed unconditional meant "without exception." you cannot do things the same way. you just get tired too quickly these days.

you want to put them on a couch and pour them the tea with hands that shake more than they remember. you want to line them up and draw them a map of where you have had to wander. you want to show every bruise in a backsplash; the little helpless ant of your soul carrying all that weight, over and over. you want to say: yes! it is different! but i did it for love!

you want to say: "i'm not the same, but i'm yours and i'm here. can that be enough?"

literally want 2 die rn

the speed that you moved, the screech of the car, the creature still moving, that slowed in your arms // the fear in its eyes, gone out in an instant, your tear caught the light, the earth from a distance

alt coloring and original sketch below!

MASTERS OF THE AIR · PART 1 and PART 9

BUCK: Last few years would have been a lot rougher without you, John. BUCKY: Mmm. Same.

If you're lost, you can look and you will find me

Time after time

If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting

Time after time

finally finished the third in my series of fully rendered dca images, yippieee!!

Nona the Ninth is such an experience to (re)read because you spend just over 200 pages -- a full 40% of the book!! -- being deeply confused, thrust headfirst into a brand new world. there are familiar people, but none of them are people we've spent much time with Before, so even that familiarity is limited. and then not only is everything around you SO different, the narrator just doesn't care about anything that happened Before. Nona zones out during important conversations or is physically pushed away from having the type of information that could orient the reader, so for like 200 pages you have been aclimated to this very slow, drip-feed of information.

and then you get The Broadcast, which feels like a cold bucket of clarity, or like if you were inside a bucket (perhaps initially resistant but now growing quite comfortable with your predicament) and then suddenly dumped out of that bucket into a freezing lake. in 5 pages we get more direct information than we've been given thus far but it's so fast and so much and for half of it Nona's comprehension is hampered because it's just audio, no faces, that the reader goes from being parched to drowning. the slow drip turns into a fire hose.

Ianthe is here and, inexplicably (though of course later explained), a brunette. Gideon's body is here, and extremely dead. the girl Nona has been dreaming about is Gideon. Ianthe's biting commentary is both comfortingly familar as well as deeply disquieting; the enemies of the Empire's forever war no longer being mysterious, unnamed forces but Nona's friends and the city she loves so much.

and then the book just. does not let up from there. the firehose continues for 300 more pages. you've been lulled into complacancy by 200 pages of Nona's School Days Adventure, but Situations have come to call. this is still the Locked Tomb Series, and your respite is over.