internet happenings

writing prompts
  • child in conservative family that doesnt allow video games and blocks all access to all video games through the internet discovers what happens when they press space in google chrome while the internet is down
  • someone who wants to do crimes for the hell of it has incredible luck (bad luck?) and just can’t do it ever. wants to jaywalk, its always green for them. they break into a random store in the middle of the night, they find a drug lab in the basement. steals someone’s bag, it’s actually a bag that was just stolen from another person who runs up to the protag like “you’re so brave.. i can’t believe this”
3

This started as a joke but then I kept drawing :’)

The Breath of the Wild/ Aladdin crossover that no one asked for, but that I needed. Sidon is Aladdin, Great Fairy is Genie, Riju is Sultan and Link is Jasmine.

I need a Prince Sidon cover of Prince Ali to exist NOW.

Maybe I should clarify something: my experience with Neo-Nazis is not, in fact, limited to the internet.

I happen to have been raised around several white men and women who spent a good chunk of their adult lives in prison. Many of them joined white supremacist gangs during this time. They raised their kids -my friends at that time- to be white supremacists. They had swastikas hanging in their living rooms and would talk openly about beating up or killing racial minorities (but ofc they said slurs instead). I didnt say anything at the the because I was 11-13 years old and didn’t really know any better; and these men scared me. This is a meth town in Texas, where it’s expected everyone owns a gun and is ready to use it- I once saw one of them beat the shit out of a 16yo and shove a shotgun in his face.

So that’s what I think when I think “Neo-Nazis”, not these “alt right” pussies. So I know that they -and their kids- were still capable of spending time with nonwhite people and pretending to see them as humans, and then talk about how “the South would rise again” and they would “own them n*****s” and other shit I don’t care to remember.

And let me tell you: no amount of calm, rational discussion will sway these people. Ever. If you were to challenge their views they would eventually resort to violence to shut you up; if you tried to “rise above” all that would happen is they’d laugh you down and call you a pussy and continue believing, speaking, and yes, acting on their beliefs.

When I say “peaceful resistance won’t stop Neo-Nazis” it’s not just a philosophy I read in some book. It’s my lived experience.

Sometimes I think of the pioneers of the Trek fandom, painstakingly putting together zines, copying their fanfiction over and over and over again on unforgiving typewriters and spreading their love for this show and these characters through secret clubs, through the mail, distributing their books and artwork by hand to people they knew they could trust. 

Whenever I think things are hard as a content creator now, I remember them and just thank every star in the sky that they were willing to put in the hard work so that the passion they felt for this show would carry on. Without them, we wouldn’t have a fandom. We wouldn’t have spaces like this where we can share our fanworks with thousands of people. Instantly. Where we can openly and proudly talk about the things we love with those same thousands of people. Without leaving our couches.

So, thanks Trek parents, for all your hard work. <3

10

Ah, yes. Jane’s first love. I did say we’d get back to him.

A Breach of Trust: Chapter 14

(Chapter Index: Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 || Chapter 15)

Ritsu woke to the alarm he had set half an hour early. It set out a steady, blipping whine, which jarred him awake to a room scarcely lit. He shut off the alarm and lied still a moment, noiseless except for his breath. He stared at the ceiling, shrouded in the same dark gray as the clouds outside, which were cast with only the faint predawn light. The world buzzed with the faint hum of street lights. A few cars passed through the road, their beams cutting swaths through the low-hanging fog. Isolated, in quick trills, bird song carried through the air.

Ritsu got out of bed, got dressed, and grabbed his bag. He did this more from memory than sight, as the world was still bleak outside, and his room was even darker. He rounded the stairs, bag slung at his shoulder. Carpet passed to tile beneath his feet, and he bypassed the foyer in favor of the kitchen, where he found both his parents sitting at the table. They did not notice him, not at first. A wordless silence hovered, punctuated by the faint scrape of fork against plate, the clack of glass to table, the gurgle of the coffee maker filling. Mr. Kageyama cleared his throat once. Ritsu did not notice he held his breath.

Mrs. Kageyama finally looked up.

“Ritsu, you’re awake early,” she remarked. Her face was bathed only in the light of the lamp hanging above the kitchen table, a warm, soft light that gave the illusion of erasing the lines which had etched themselves permanently beneath her eyes. She offered a small smile in greeting that did not touch her eyes. “You don’t leave for school for another half hour.”

Ritsu’s right hand tightened on the bag strap. The bleeding stream of magenta from his wrist had ebbed to nothing overnight. It felt healed now, in the dim predawn. He doubted his parents would be able to see it anyway, even if it were still flowing freely.

“I’m joining student council,” Ritsu said, and he said it simply, although his heart pounded in his throat.

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Dear Me,

Stop reading the reviews of your favorite authors’ books. Don’t read the reviews from books that have been out for years. Don’t read the reviews of books that haven’t been released yet. Just. Stop. You will save yourself grief and the handwavey shrieking of “YOU ARE WRONG STOP BEING SO WRONG” at your computer screen.

Buy the books, read the books, love the books, and forget what the haters have to say because their opinions don’t matter to you.

Even though they’re objectively wrong.

Love, Me

morse code

based off of this prompt:

hi! surprise, surprise, we’re not dead (just like someone else am I right) (okay that was too much) (I’m sorry) (have some gay)

ao3


Tap. Tap. Tap.

Sherlock had been considering deleting Morse code from his mind. After all, there was never a use for it.

He knew caring was not an advantage. He knew letting himself feel things was not good, and would probably come back to haunt him. He knew he was a high-functioning sociopath, and this wasn’t what high-functioning sociopaths do.

But his heart pushed aside all thoughts of reason and allowed him to fall for John Watson.

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