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thychesters · 1 year

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“Do you like cooking?”

Sanji looks up from where he’s quartering potatoes and isn’t sure what startles him more: that Luffy is in the kitchen and hasn’t tried to swipe a snack yet, or that he hadn’t heard him come in. (His captain is a great many things; quiet is not one of them.)

He stares at him, waiting, and the knife stills against the chopping block with a quiet thunk. Sanji blinks back at him through his bangs. The quartering continues.

“I’m good at it,” is all he says. He knows he comes off as distracted, too busy carefully considering the recipe Carne whipped together one day, long before the Straw Hats were even a blip in the grand scheme of things. Usopp had been the one to make the suggestion at the inordinate amount of potatoes they had in their pantry, and he’d squawked when Sanji dove past him to dig for the rest of the fixings for baked potato soup.

The kitchen smells of cooked bacon and freshly baked sourdough, carefully crafted from the starter Patty had given him when he’d left the Baratie, a gift passed with a grumbling about something to make sure Sanji didn’t forget how to cook.

“That’s not what I asked,” Luffy says, folding his arms on the other end of the table. He rests his cheek on them, watching him sideways. Sanji cuts an eye growing out of another potato but doesn’t look at him.

Does he like cooking? Of course, he’s good at it — he’s had a decade to hone his skills; lived under the gruff tutelage of an old geezer who’d just as soon tell him his bolognese sauce needed work as he would kick him upside the head as a way of telling him he did a good job. Of course he likes it, it’s a point of pride when he watches someone take their first bite and immediately dig in for another or ask for seconds; when someone sits back, eyes half-lidded and belly full and content.

“Do you like being a pirate?” he asks, depositing the last of the potato chunks into the pot, careful not to let the water splash out onto the burner. He shifts his attention to the bacon, picking up another knife to begin crumbling it.

He can sense rather than see Luffy immediately brighten. “Yeah! It’s a lot of adventure and finding cool things. I figure I gotta see everything if I’m gonna be King of the Pirates, right?” With a glance he can see Luffy’s sat back up, though he hasn’t broken his gaze with Sanji’s back, something firm in his eyes. “Doesn’t make sense to do something if you don’t like it.”

That gives Sanji pause, and he watches the bubbles drifting around in the pot to hide his frown. Of course he likes cooking; he enjoys it and is good at it. Because he keeps his crew alive – he’s sure Nami and Usopp have a grasp on a few recipes between the two of them, and Robin, while still an enigma, might be able to handle things. Chopper he isn’t sure of, but Zoro and Luffy are lost causes.

After a beat, he goes back to chopping bacon. That’s just it, isn’t it. Luffy’s not just a pirate, he’s the one who’s going to become King of the pirates. But then no one on this crew is just one thing; each of them have their strong suits and play off of one another. Nami’s not just their navigator, she spent her childhood bleeding ink for a man who sought to use her for her own purposes and now she’s set off to quite literally chart her own course on her terms. Zoro isn’t just a swordsman, he’s a moron with no sense of direction who’s also a voice of reason. Usopp’s the bravest coward he knows, a child who told lies in the hope they would one day be true, and ingenious with even a limited supply of materials. As for Sanji …

Of course he likes cooking. He can go to bed at night knowing his crew is full and nourished and no food has gone to waste. That they know what good food actually tastes like. He can clean the kitchen and have one last cigarette, content with the knowledge none of his crew will know hunger, that they will never know the purgatory of being lost at sea with nothing but mold and rocks, the feeling of the indentations of each of their ribs, or the exhaustion of staring out into the horizon, waiting for death or rescue, whichever comes first.

Of course he’s good at it because he has to be. Because he’ll keep that starving little boy fed until he loses the ability to pick up a knife, and then he will adapt from there. Because he will endure Luffy’s complaints that he wants a snack even if he’s still bloated from breakfast because his beaming face will never be gaunt and his expression hollow. Because it gives him a sense of purpose, even if he won’t blurt that in the middle of the kitchen, no matter that it’s just the two of them and he trusts Luffy with his life. He will never see that little boy reflected in any of them.

Bacon finished, he sets down his knife and turns back toward the table, adjusting his sleeve. A watched pot never boils, after all, and he leans against the counter, folding his arms as Luffy watches him patiently – or as patiently as someone like Luffy can.

“Yeah,” he says around an exhale. Because it makes sense to him, because there’s a reason for it and he is the one to provide it, this service, care, and support. His shoulders don’t sag and Luffy grins. “Yeah, I like cooking.”

#monkey d luffy #black leg sanji #sanji #sanji one piece #one piece #starvation mention /#ask to tag /#kate writes #**#i wanted to practice sanji's voice and also have a giant bag of potatoes i want to make soup with so now we have this #also i'm still only on skypiea and only know vague things to come so please no spoilers #aside from he and zeff being castaways i don't know much of his backstory right now #i also don't know what sanji's last name is bc two tags popped up for him?#anyway this was supposed to be like 400 words max

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gale-in-space · 2 months

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Me, looking for excuses to post a new snippet of what I'm working on: It's Wip Wthursday

#honestly i blame rowan. i wouldn't be writing this much if not for you jksdfkj #either way though i should probably refrain from posting more #it's very... sighs. well. it involves suits so. yeah #never mind the fact that i'm only at like 400 words so far ajksdfjk #anyway

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wusyanam3 · 5 months

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wip

#why do i hate it #like #this story is not going how i wanted it to #but i never really planned it anyway #ive only written 400 words in like 35 minutes #im gonna die #byler #ao3 #mike wheeler #< target audience #writing #wip

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statisticallymorelikely · 2 years

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“If I don’t make it back from where I‘ve gone, just know I loved you all along.” - Inkpot Gods, The Amazing Devil

on ao3

It’s the temperature that wakes Hob, but that’s the least of his frustrations on this scorching, summer day. It’s been more than a month of dreamless sleep. Normally, he would have been grateful for the respite, a break in the cycle of nightmares of past sins and painfully pining dreams about his Stranger-turned-Friend. But what used to be a blessing has taken on a different meaning upon learning of his friend’s office.

He knows it’s not only him. Seems like nobody else is getting a good night’s sleep. People have been more irritable lately, more prone to a sharp tongue. Thankfully, his pub isn’t prone to attract brawlers but if this keeps up, he’s betting Luke will have put someone in a headlock by the end of the week.

Hob shakes off his blanket – mentally reprimanding himself for somehow developing the need to have one at all times regardless of season– and rolls out of bed. He goes through the motions of the morning: shower, clothes, breakfast, but his mind wanders, as it inevitably does, toward Dream.

Dream’s visits have always been scarce, even after he graduated into friend status. Though gone are the days of the centennial set up, his lordship is usually too busy to stop by, what with managing the entire world’s collective unconscious. Hob understands, he has duties as well, but he can’t ignore the thrum of worry that lingers at the back of his mind. This has been the longest they’ve not seen each other since he escaped.

He misses him. And now he doesn’t even have the comfort of the fake versions of him in his dreams (the one who holds his hand gently as they stroll through fields of sunflowers is his favorite). The egg spits oil onto his hand and startles him from his thoughts. Get it together, Hob, he grumbles, transferring his food onto his plate with a sigh. He has a pile of papers to grade and really can’t afford to be distracted today, so he bargains with himself: if he can finish at least half the class before noon, he can have ice cream for lunch.

Several hours later finds him hugging a bag of ice with his left arm while his right carefully carries his spoils from the shops: a tub of ice cream and some chocolate biscuits. So what if he fell short of his self-imposed quota, the guy who assigned that bargain is a bit of a knob anyway. He circles round the back of the pub to the stairs that lead to his flat, already looking forward to a bit of mindless reality TV with his ice cream, and then later that night, maybe a cold bath.

All those plans go up in smoke, however, the moment he enters his flat. Because the King of Dreams and Lord of Nightmares is lying on his couch, eyes closed, streaks of ash across his thin face, clothes all singed, some spots still smoldering even.

“Dream?”

“Hob…” comes the feeble croak, and it’s enough to kick Hob into gear.

“Shit, what happened to you?” He dumps his bags on the table and kneels next to the couch, hands coming up but hesitating to touch his friend lest there be some kind of damage unseen. Hob peers closer at his face, notes the pained expression, the flush on his cheeks disappearing down to his chest, the beads of sweat clinging to his hair. Instinctively, Hob puts a hand on his forehead. Dream lets out a soft whine.

“You’re sick.” Could anthropomorphic personifications get sick? “You’re burning up. Christ.”

“This has nothing to do with him.”

There’s no time to unpack all that right now, Hob thinks, as he nudges Dream to sit up, earning him a groan. “You need to take your coat off. Boots, too.”

Dream grumbles out a protest, but lets Hob manhandle him into a sitting position. “Came to tell you something...”

“Later, love. Let’s take care of you first.”

Hob busies himself with peeling the ragged coat off his friend, careful not to jostle him too much, briefly confirming there are no wounds or damage to his person, then tugging off his shoes, socks and rolling up his pants (ideally, he’ll take them off but he knows Dream can be sensitive about that), before disappearing off into the kitchen to put away his quickly-melting groceries. Centuries of experience has his body back on auto-pilot throwing open all the windows, gathering washcloths, a bowl, and a pitcher of cold water. He can’t help but remember Eleanor, frail body racked with fevers days before giving birth, cheeks glistening with a mix of tears and sweat in the candlelight despite how many times he tried to wipe them clean. A shudder crawls up his spine.

No, he banishes the memory away, Dream can’t die, can he?

A muffled thump brings him back to the present and he peers over at Dream who’s managed to slump back down, face planted onto a pillow.

“Alright, your lordship,” says Hob, stowing his tray of supplies onto the table before forcing Dream to turn over, shoving a pillow underneath his head and nudging him to make space for him to sit. Dream’s eyes are glazed, filled with dark clouds more akin to smoke instead of their usual galactic blue, just the barest of recognition when he looks up at him.

Hob dampens a washcloth and slowly cleans up his friend’s face, gentle swipes across his forehead, cheeks, jaw and down the long line of his neck, washes away the soot on his arms. He dips it back in the cool water, wrings it out and places it on Dream’s forehead. This earns him a hum of relief and Dream’s eyes flutter open slightly, revealing a little more light in them than a few moments ago.

“There you are,” Hob whispers to himself.

Despite this improvement, Dream is no longer in any shape to talk other than feverish mumbles of Hob’s name mixed with words from what Hob presumes is an ancient language. Worry still roils in his gut, but without any other knowledge on the arcane, Hob can only treat this as a human can. So he spends the next few hours alternating between wiping down Dream’s face, making him drink cold water (“I know you don’t need to drink, love, but this will cool you down”) and sitting in a nearby armchair reading his students’ essays to him. It’s almost domestic in a way and a familiar ache blooms in Hob’s chest, an ache he bore for centuries but packed neatly away after 1989.

Once the infernal sun has set and the earth starts to cool, a sweet breeze blows through the windows and the entire flat heaves a sigh of relief, the wood creaking as it settles down to relax. Hob is refreshing the washcloth on Dream’s forehead, contemplating whether he can bully his friend into changing into his sleep shorts, when Dream curls his fingers around Hob’s wrist, eyes finally alight with awareness.

His fever has broken.

Hob nearly crumples with relief, breath shuddering out of him. “You’re actually going to kill me, y’know. Of all the things that tried over the years, worrying about you is the one that’ll actually do me in.”

Dream struggles to sit up and Hob clasps him firmly at the elbow, lifting him, other hand shoving pillows behind his back to prop him up. Pink tinges Dream’s cheeks from the effort and Hob hands him a glass of water, mildly surprised when the Endless takes it and drinks it without protest.

“Thank you,” croaks Dream.

“You’re welcome, my dear.” Dream’s lip twitches at the endearment but Hob clears his throat, takes his glass and settles beside him on the couch. “So, feeling better? Care to tell me how you got like this? Didn’t think an Endless could get sick.”

“I am not sick.”

When Dream offers no further explanation, Hob merely pins him with a look and busies himself with pushing back the strands of Dream’s hair clinging to his cheeks, something curls in his chest when Dream turns into his hand, chasing the sensation. If Hob had any virtue it would be patience, and one would think that his oldest friend would be more aware of that, so just like always, he waits for Dream to be ready.

Dream allows himself a few more moments of comfort before sighing wearily. “Hell has invaded the Dreaming.”

“What?!”

“The Lightbringer and their demons have set the Dreaming ablaze, what you call sickness is the manifestation of it in me. The Dreaming is a part of me, I am the Dreaming. The turmoil in my realm also resides within me. There is a war being waged in my bones and I’ve grown weak.”

It takes Hob a moment to process that piece of information, the thrum of worry at the back of his head graduating to full alarm bells. The image of a hundred different wars swim in his mind, unmoving comrades left in pools of blood and mud, villages empty as the landscape burns, the distant sound of children crying, muffled fearfully, the scent of gunpowder replaced by sulfur. The thought of his friend lifeless underneath a burning sky while thousands of demons crow victory. No. It mustn't come to that. Dream is the one link he has to who he is, the one who’s sustained his hope and wonder, he owes him so much, there’s so much he wants to tell him still, he can’t die, he mustn’t–

“Take me into the Dreaming. Let me help.”

“No.”

“Let me fight. You looked half-dead a few hours ago, and I’m a soldier who can’t die, remember?”

“We have had this conversation before. The consequences in the Dreaming are as real as in the Waking world.” Dream’s eyes turn dark, his jaw clenching. Outside, the wind picks up and brings in the smell of heavy clouds poised to rain. “I will not allow harm to befall you, Hob, especially not on my behalf.”

Hob would normally back off by now but no, this is too important. He leans close, peering into galactic eyes. “I can’t lose you, please, Dream, let me help.”

“You have already helped immensely. What you have done has already doused some fires in the Dreaming.” Dream reaches out, curves his long fingers around Hob’s clenched fists, startling the other man, but Dream doesn’t flinch, only patiently uncurls Hob’s hands and clasps them in his own. Rain starts to patter onto the street, gentle at first but gradually making way for larger drops. Dream crooks forward, gently bumping his forehead with Hob’s and they hold there, just a breath between them.

“You have cared for me and tended to me, and by doing so, have given me back some of my power,” he says slowly, deep bass carrying an enormous weight. “I came here to the temple you have built for me because your devotion nourishes me. You make me strong, Hob Gadling. Where I am going, I will need strength.”

“Then take me with you,” Hob pleads. “Please, you’re still recovering, let me be your source of strength wherever you go.”

“No. Where I must go is for me and me alone. I need to end this now.”

Hob knows he won’t be able to convince him, knows this goes far beyond his ken, that he is simply a man in the end and Dream walks where he cannot, with gods and demons and stars. He squeezes Dream’s hands, pressing his lips against his knuckles, in a final gesture of appeal, a few salty tears fighting their way out his eyes.

“Hob,” Dream murmurs, untangling one hand to lift Hob’s chin to face him. “May I tell you what I came to tell you earlier?”

Hob nods. Gently, Dream kisses his lips and emotion floods through Hob’s veins, images of himself marked with a surge of longing, wonderment in the early years, a pang of jealousy as he speaks about his family, gentle compassion for his tormented figure in 1689, blistering lust from 1789. Hob gasps and Dream takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss and Hob drowns in himself more, the crinkle of his eyes, copies of his smile, hesitant hands, lips forming kind words, all forms of him from every meeting and every dream he’s ever had and forgotten, all of him singing love, love, love, branding him inside and out.

Dream kisses him like it’s an introduction and an apology rolled into one and Hob accepts both, accepts his love, allows it to soothe the ache in his chest and reignite it at the same time, to consume him until there’s nothing left..

When Dream pulls away, Hob breathes hard, overwhelmed from what he’d just experienced. Was that what Dream felt all the time? Just a flurry of emotions and thoughts, all consuming, all encompassing, unknowable. Hob understands though what that was, knows enough to tell what a goodbye feels like.

“Don’t go.”

“I must.” Dream gently wipes his tears, long fingers caressing his eyes, cheeks, the stubble on his jaw, as if memorizing him.

“Wish I wasn’t such a coward. Wish I’d told you sooner.”

“I, as well,” murmurs Dream, pressing a kiss to each of Hob’s temples. “I will make it up to you, if I return.”

“If…”

“Goodbye, Hob.”

Dream vanishes in a flurry of sand and Hob crumples under the weight of regret and uncertainty.

Outside, thunder claps and the sky cries with him.

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #sandman #the sandman #the sandman netflix #christ i've been writing this for the better part of a month #i'm truly only meant for like 400-500 words max #but this got away from me and i just had to see it through #also had a separate image of hob just dunking morpheus bodily into a bathtub filled with ice water #anyway listen to the amazing devil #my stuff

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bi-demon-ium · 1 year

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friends i call upon ye

#IT'S SO HARD TO FOCUS. CANKER SORE. CATBOY WAIL #i really do have time i only have 3 questions left (albeit essay questions #but like two are 300-400 words and one is 500 so it's not insane) and i have literally nothing else to do #and it's due midnight tomorrow #so like i DO HAVE TIME #to procrastinate #but with what.#or should i not! and just get it over with! but also catboywail.#anyway teh bee movie option is essentially vanilla extract. it means you just want a button to click #and if that one wins i guess i'll just watch youtube videos or something #not the bee movie though.

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abluehappyface · 4 months

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Just did an assignment on pseudopregnancies for

💫🌟 Enrichment 🌟💫

#it was really quick #like 400 words #but i did it anyway #hehe #abluehappyface

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the-one-who-lambs · 2 days

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Haven't had a day this week when I've hit 1000 words (have had quite a few in the past few weeks otherwise so I got kinda used to that again), but taking my fics a few hundred words at a time is fine too. It's more important to me to write my story well than to hit a goal for the sake of a word count, and I'll take the time I need it to

#hannah's rambles #also me @ me: WRITE U IDIOT YOU'VE BEEN PLAYING STARDEW VALLEY FOR 5 HOURS #anyway. wrote like 400 words today and like 500 yesterday. does anyone wanna watch me play stardew. again.

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medicinemane · 1 month

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And maybe you'll be like "but if you don't trust businesses, how can you trust welfare?"

I fucking don't. My mom trying to get on food stamps fucked me up because a lady I never met without my permission got my SSN from my mom and started editing my files. My heart still races to this very second whenever I think about it, it kinda messed me up bad and I'll never ever ever see any kind of recourse

And I'm terrified that I'm gonna lose my medicaid just cause I inherited some money from my grandpa

And I've never even applied for disability cause it kinda doesn't matter finding out if I'd qualify or not cause of my depression, when the rules are so restrictive I don't know if I've even be allowed to keep my house

I do not fucking trust these things on a personal level. I feel like out of a lot of people I have the most to fear from them cause I'm on the edge of having things work, and that gets you punished

...but I need medicaid in order to have insurance (and when you strip out the finance side of medicaid, I love medicaid... they're honestly incredible insurance... I just... I just... dental is like 90% of why medicaid is so important to me, ever since I found out this state pays for it I've actually been able to do cleanings which is important to me cause I can't always get myself to brush)

And I think things like disability and food stamps are pretty damn important on a personal level, and honestly are also good for the economy cause they get people spending... it's practically a free cash infusion into the economy, cause these are people who need to buy stuff

There's just so much important stuff welfare does that it's worth dealing with government

No, what I want is more accountability so if someone gets my SSN from a 3rd party like my mom they're held to HIPPA styles standards where that's not ok to access my files without my permission (She changed my fucking address and tried to get medicaid to investigate me for fraud! Never even met me)

Like have some accountability there and in every situation

Secondly I want less punitive focused rules. I'd frankly prefer bezos get on disability than smack down some poor sod cause they got $2000 in the bank or cause their friend lets them live with them for free

If there's gonna be a cut off on these programs, it needs to be a solid step above the poverty line, cause... by definition I assume poverty line denotes kinda the minimum expected income people can reasonably live off of, and if you take away benefits people are gonna lose a chunk of money to covering that stuff themself, so you need a buffer before you kick people off

I don't fucking trust the government for a second, I've actively been fucked by them and on a personal level I avoid everything but medicaid and only that cause everything but the money is pleasant to deal with and I kinda need it (honestly if I was rich I'm not even kidding that I'd rather give medicaid like $400 a month than some insurance company, I sincerely like them as insurance)

But I'd trust them a lot more if they were less punitive, less out to hunt me down and gut me cause someone handed me a fiver or cause I started to get on my feet, and if government employees had concrete rules they had to follow that were actually transparent and enforced

Like 90% of my problems with welfare go away if they're held accountable and there's less "catch the welfare cheats" mentality going around

I don't trust the government in the slightest, but sadly there some jobs it kinda has to do, so I'd just rather force it to be an open book where the public can keep an eye on it and if they step out of line there's consequences (sort of like I don't trust most mega corps but happen to sometimes need stuff from them... did you know literally every cell service provider has been illegally selling shit like your location data to random people like bounty hunters, and the FCC just slapped them with a fine that's 0.02% of their yearly incomes and debated even doing that? I even can offer a source on that)

...I don't trust much of any authority cause they constantly fail me and kinda screw me. Don't trust doctors either, but I still gotta go to them, you know? ...they're just... they're real bad at listening... so many systems need systemic change

(You know who I really don't trust is the cops. I could point to so many examples. My uncle doesn't trust cops either, and he's an ex Fire and SWAT paramedic, he worked with them and we still got into a long conversation where he basically tore into them far better than I can)

(I don't trust authority that's not accountable)

#anyway; if I'm a lousy cheat or whatever least they can do is give me a gun so I can solve that problem #shit makes me wish I was canadian so I could take advantage of their sick implementation of assisted suicide #what should be a system that gives people a choice about the quality of their life; and I don't think should be relegated to terminal illne #...there was... think he was dutch; had been burned by his girlfriend all over his body; was in constant pain #and he ended up using assisted suicide in the end cause he was just in constant agony... think that's his choice to make #but of course the canadian system concretely pushes people; mostly the poor and disabled; to kill themselves #not theoretically; as in literally says word for word to them 'you should really kill yourself; just sign here'#it's sick; it truly is #but for any americans that want to dunk on it; I'm telling you we're no better #we have the exact same miserable desperation and people (again; mostly poor and disabled) into despair #only difference is we don't offer assisted suicide #the underlying issues in the US and canada are so damn similar; so much of what's happening ends up being the same #you can't act smug just cause you only make people want to die instead of also offering to help #that's like saying that you're the good guy cause while you did everything you could to drive someone to the brink #get them fired; slash their tires; just cartoon level villain stuff to personally harass this person... at least you won't hand them rope #we have such similar systemic issues to canada; and I am explicitly telling you that like the people in canada that have said #'I can't take it anymore; disability doesn't cover my expenses and I can't get any help... I'm at my wits end so I'm gonna go die'#I'm telling you that I feel that same way; just without any eugenics agency I can call up #I'm really working to get things stable; but it feels like I'm teetering on the edge of falling into permanent failure #and... and I'll actually tell you the amount even though I don't like to mention money... makes me feel guilty #my gramps left me $27k; which sounds like a lot; but I got 20 windows that need redoing (house has a lot of windows)#...if they ended up being 1k each; that's most of the money gone; if they end up being more...#and I got a whole lotta other stuff I've been putting off like plumbing around here; need to replace that faucet #it's an amount of money that helps; but it's an amount of money that isn't gonna last #...that's like a year of bills; and my mom already needs me to pay like $400 to the propane bill since she got behind #I want to use it to... to try and really get my feet on the ground; but it might loose me my insurance... it makes me want to die #and not to be a selfish bastard; but if I could I'd like to try and take and invest a bit to maybe build some passive income #given that... that a job never seems to work out for me cause I fucking suck and cause like... my insomnia has me up at 5:30 am right now #mm tag so i can find things later

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deanstits · 2 months

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I got a bunch (to me) of ao3 comments within the last 48hrs and it's so 🥰💗❤️💞❤️🥰💗❤️💞🥰💞 yaaay thank u !

#one was like “i hope u come back to this” i write 400 words and then take a 6-12 week break but its coming i promise!#my word is not worth much bc i always promise lol #but i think abt it all the time so its not forgotten 💗#anyway if u like a fic leave a comment it means so much!!#😘🥰☺️

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the-kipsabian · 10 months

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its not a lot of progress for tonight but we crossed 6k for hanahaki :)

#did i mention this was gonna be a long one lol #its like halfway through chapter 2 (out of three chapters and an epilogue) sssooooo #getting there. slow progress. im wasting so much time in my days doing other things and then just not really vibing with writing #wrote like 400 words tonight its ffffiiiine its better than no words #anyways. goodnight #night is an absolute mess on main

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smoosnoom · 1 year

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watching the first maze runner movie 🥳 ive only ever read the books .

#YAYYYYYYY #yes its almost 1 am . what abt it .#ummm #cant wajt to stare at thomas brodie sangster the entire time #he is soo .......... ... . . ......#anyway #.#moons movie missions !#new series #because i am trykng my best to watch more #and also #im not writing vehr much ☹️#ok to be fair i did write like 400 words this morning #but then i decides to write the whole entire thing bc i hated it #so now im just . ignoring it to instead do anything else #while also stressing #ok the tags r getting out of hand again #jf anyone sees this . thank u #and #ummmm #hm . what is something i can say that is very exclsuive #OH . if u see this . whats a song that reminds u of byler and u think i could like . include a small scene or bit of a fic from #like ... might show to inspire a scrne . or something #or u could just .. give me a byler song #OR u could just . say Hey moon please just watch the movie . ur tags are concerning all of us #that would also be fair #o k byebye !#/moon #/poll

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bidokja · 1 year

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i just realized y'all don't know me well enough to know my habit of taking extensive notes for anything i read/watch and making custom excel spreadsheets for funsies

#if i was 12 id be filling up journals but im an adult so now i have...i have so many Documents...Help...#as an example: before TCF had an Official Map. i reread the whole thing in order to take EXTENSIVE notes on geography #(both large scale and local)#and was going to make a map myself #i had a (very. VERY.) rough draft for the map itself that i lost when i restarted/cleaned up my computer last year #but i remember the official map came out before i could complete mine and i was RIGHT ABOUT LIKE. LITERALLY ALL OF IT #(and also spotted a typo or mistranslation because of it im pretty sure. they put southwest when they meant southeast for something)#another example is the 400 page joongdok google doc #also my custom auto calculating ttrpg character sheets #my extensive minecraft storage system spreadsheets #i have docs that are jsut stream of consciousness that i word vomit into as i read then go back and organize afterwards #etc #i also keep docs for loved ones and what they like/dont like/etc #(ive mentioned before but i have very bad memory so keeping records is how i show i care about someone/thing)#anyways me [handshake] kdj: filling up pages upon pages analyzing and speculating on our favorite things #ky speaks

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st4rguy · 7 months

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i need to do homework. Like now. But it sucks

#400 word to go and its allllllll bullshit nonsense #I just want to draw :( i was drawing scenes from saccharin today #saccharin (the cq fic) (spelled like that for some reason) is really good #anyways i need to do this like now

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jpg-of-dorian-slay · 1 year

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WHO WANTS A TINY SNIPPET OF MY SIRIUS AND REGULUS WIP

It was a simple plan. Well, the first part was anyway. For someone who was supposed to be completely hidden and protected from the outside world, Sirius’ flat was remarkably easy to break into. A few simple spells and Regulus was in, the protective barriers falling away as if they’d never been there to begin with. Regulus might have expected such lax security from his brother, but from Remus? Disappointing.

The flat was small and decorated very simply. The war didn’t leave much time to spend on interior design. There were a few signs that confirmed that two people really did live here, the soft rug near the fire for receiving floo messages, the haphazard stack of records nearly falling off the shelf, the framed picture of four boys sitting on the coffee table. Regulus crouched down to examine it.

It was a picture of them. Of course it was. Regulus knew exactly who it would be before he even looked, and it still annoyed him anyway. The marauders. He could still remember the first time Sirius told him about them, way back when he was only ten.

“We call ourselves the Marauders,” Sirius grinned as though this was the coolest thing in the world. They were sitting on Regulus’ bed, talking in hushed tones.

“The marauders?” Regulus raised his eyebrows. “That’s so-”

“Cool? Awe-inspiring? Intimidating?” Sirius suggested.

“Dorky.”

“What?” Sirius glared at him for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “It’s ok. You’re too young to understand-”

“I’m only a year younger than you!”

“My point exactly,” The grin had returned to Sirius’ face. “You’ll understand when you get to meet them next year. I reckon you’ll get on great with Remus, he’s also quiet and broody.”

“I am neither of those things.” Regulus huffed. Sirius snorted.

“Yeah sure,” He rolled his eyes again. “They’re all really excited to meet you.”

“They are?” Regulus brightened up at once. Sirius nodded vigorously.

“Of course! Obviously they know you’re not quite as cool as me, but still. Hey!” He threw up his hands as Regulus whacked him with a pillow, working hard to keep the smile off his face.

“You talk about me at school then?” He asked, trying to pose this as a nonchalant, throw away question. Sirius looked at him as though he was an idiot.

“Course I do. I’m so excited for next year, you’re going to love Hogwarts.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.

Maybe Regulus really was an idiot, because he’d believed him.

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