more things i will never write

Hey friends, posting starts at MIDNIGHT which means it’s time for your annual “I have the toes I have” post. 

In the next thirty-nine days, I’ll be posting a lot of things, and I have just one request for you: please, please, please do not leave comments on these fics along the lines of:

  • More please!
  • I wish this was longer!
  • You have to write [earlier or later event referenced in this story]!
  • This deserves to be a full fic!

These kinds of comments can always be kind of disheartening! While I know intellectually that the message behind “I want more” is “I liked this so much and want more of it!” it’s actively difficult to not hear “what you wrote was insufficient.” And that’s never fun.

But it is amplified by like twenty billion during the month of December. Sometimes, I will finish a fill and feel dread, anticipating comments telling me I can’t just leave it there, or I have to continue it. I did just leave it there, and I’m not going to continue it. Please accept this into your heart going in, and let’s have an exciting and frantic six or so weeks of fills.

In other news: the list:

- yeah, that’s a double colon, whatever.
- I can’t get the lighting in my house right and it’s driving me to distraction.
- It snowed a little bit this morning. 
- The office dog has really bad farts and hideously bad breath. 
- I never did get a chance to write more today, and my brain is toast, so… tomorrow. 
- My house is so dirty right now. 
- So is my mind. 
- I absentmindedly put Aveeno oatmeal body lotion on my face while I was sitting on the toilet peeing a little while ago, and shit, I’m going to break out, I can feel it already. 
-  POF put me in the match stream for a guy my age in Melbourne, Australia and we’ve been talking and so that’s been surreal. 
- Related: the universe is a dick.

Love Triangle (Part 3/??)

Summary: You are feeling lost right now, it seems everything you have done in the past has come back to haunt you and you are starting to regret everything.  Steve offers you advice and some time to clear your thoughts.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter

Warnings: Maybe swearing, but otherwise none

Word Count: 1,198

A/N: This part is kind of boring and I’m sorry about that, hopefully things will heat up a little next time! Hope you guys are enjoying this series so far, I’m really enjoying writing it! 

Part 1 // Part 2



You don’t think things could have gotten any more awkward than they did after finally looking Bucky in the eyes.  Part of you wishes that you hadn’t done it, but it was too late to do that now.  It was done and now you weren’t sure what to think.  You had never seen him take off so fast.  After putting Emma to bed you decided to call Steve, big brother always knew what to do.

“I did it, I looked at him.”

“Um, what?” Steve says, not understanding your statement.

Keep reading

You’re Not Alone

On Archive this is chapter 3, but for now on here it is chapter 2. I have this thought of bring in more darkness into my writing. I have never really been a writer for horror and mystery, but I feel like right this fiction is helping me develop my writing. I’m having so much fun with the characters and I hope it isn’t to terrible.


Hawkins 1983

               He couldn’t breathe; blood was oozing out of his side causing a warm puddle to form all around him. In the far distance of the school he could hear the kids screaming; the monster screeching at the top of its lungs. He had been so close to getting her back, to creating the ultimate weapon, but it wasn’t enough.

               “Down here,” he heard someone yell over the chaos. Brenner opened his eyes, lights from the ceiling flickered on and off. He could hear the hard footsteps of men running down the hall way. He looked at either side of him to see all the dead and half eaten bodies.

               The screeching became more intense, the lights grew brighter; hurting his eyes and making the room white. The footsteps stopped in their place, everything stopped. Brenner lifted his hands to his ears, the sound making him want to cry out.

               “He’s alive,” a man kneeled on his right side, putting pressure to the wound by his liver. He let out a gasp, never understanding what pain really was until this moment. “We need to move before that thing comes back.” Brenner looked around him; three men clouded his vision as they started to lift him from the floor.

               “El!” he heard a boy scream from down the hall. “El where are you?” His screams were becoming faint. “Eleven!” and then all he saw was darkness.

Hawkins 1984

               She sat on Wills bed, watching him breathe. She had been so excited to meet him a year ago. The boys had made him out to be the best friend anyone would want, but once she watched all the bad men crowd Mike’s house just a year ago, she knew meeting him was never going to happen.

               His eyes were still rimmed with darkness, and his hair was slightly greasy. He had woken a few hours ago, screaming and crying for Joyce. It reminded her of all the times she would wake up in her old room from dreams. How she knew that even though she woke up from the nightmare, it didn’t mean it was over.

               She thought about the dream she had. Her cheek still felt a sting his to pressed her fingers to it. The memory of her Papa made her shiver. She didn’t know what to think, and she didn’t know if she should tell anyone. Friends don’t lie, but was this a lie or a secret; a word she had learned from the T.V.

               “I’m sure he’ll wake up soon,” Joyce stood in the door way, watching El as she daydreamed. The sudden noise made her jump looking up at her in surprise. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” she said slowly walking into the room. “Mike should be leaving soon. I thought I would let you know.” El bent her head in appreciation, giving one last look at Will before standing up.

               “Will you tell me when he wakes up?” El stood eye level to Joyce, making her realize that within the past year she had been growing. She looked down at the space pajamas she was wearing, and then back at Will. “Thank you for the bath last night,” she said before leaving the room.

               “I don’t know what I’m going to tell my mom,” she heard Max’s voice from the hall. “She is going to kill me; I won’t be seeing daylight until I’m eighty.” El crept around the corning, looking into the front room not wanting to disturb them.

“Maybe you should tell them about Billy,” Lucas said. “They can’t be too mad at you if you say you ran from him.”

“No,” she said back. “I think him and I have an understanding now.”

“Well, I get to go home to my mom.” Dustin said. “She sure as hell didn’t fine Mews, so now I need to console her while she morns.” El wondered what a mews was, and why it meant so much to Dustin’s mother. She stayed where she stood, looking at the group of friends, all lazily sitting around the room. Mike half laid on the couch, his dangling from the middle, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest.

“El,” she jumped slightly, Dustin stood from his spot on the floor. He walked over, giving her a hug. “I think it’s totally badass that you risked your life, again. What was it like? What did it look like? Did Hopper go all badass superhero on the demi-dogs?” El slowly crept into the room, suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable.

“Umm,” she said quietly.

“You don’t have to answer those questions,” Max said from her place on the wall. “I’m sure it was different to you than how these guys picture it.” El slightly smiled at her, feeling a little embarrassed for the way she had treated her before.

“You’re like a Jedi knight,” Dustin began to talk again. “I never thought one of my best friends would be a Jedi. No one would believe me if I told them.”

“Shut up Dustin,” Lucas said. “She obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.” Dustin took a seat next Lucas on the floor, their backs leaning on the couch, Mikes leg sat in-between them. Dustin threw a punch at Lucas’s arm, Lucas sent one back.

“Can you not,” Mike said quietly. He kept his eye closed; arms over his chest. “Some of us are trying to sleep.” El took a seat in front of them, Max scooting from her place on the wall the sit next to her.

“What was it like traveling to Chicago?” max asked her. She looked sideways at the girl, and then down at her hands.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I wasn’t scared, but I also felt,” what did she feel?  “Like I was missing something.”

“Maybe you were just homesick,” Max said back. El lifted her head to look at her.

“Homesick?”

“Yeah, like a feeling you get, you know?” Max search around the room for words. “When you just really miss your home, it makes you feeling like your missing something.”

“Yeah,” El said nodding her head. “I have been homesick.”

“Me too,” max said back. “I moved far from home recently. I’ve been very homesick.” El looked back down at her hands, slightly feeling guilty for the way she had been treating her. “But, I’ve made some friends, and got to fight some other dimension beings, so I guess I’m not as homesick as I was before.” Max smiled at her, she gave a smile back.

“Okay guys,” Hopper stomped into the room. “It’s time for everyone to get on their bike, or however you got here in the first place, and head home.” Mike stretched and opened his eyes.

“Can I have like ten more minutes?” He asked.

“Nope,” Hopper said. “Everyone up.” They all stood from their spot, mike sitting up and putting his head d in his hands. “You and me,” he pointed to El. “We are heading back; we have a lot of work to get done if we want to sleep tonight.” El gave a slight groan, the moment she had been dreading was coming.

“Can’t we wait until Will wakes up?” She asked.

“Maybe we can see him another time,” Hop said. “I don’t know when, but once I find out what’s going on, maybe we can work something out.”

“What about me?” Mike said standing from the couch.

“What about you?” Hopper said back.

“When can I come and see her? Will you let me know if anything is happening? Will there be a time that we can all get together at the cabin?”

“Wow kid,” Hop said putting his hands up in defense. El looked over to Mike, his eyes matched her sad ones, and he looked back.

“We’ll wait outside,” Max said grabbing the boys by their shirts and dragging them out. She closed the front door with a slam, their shoes scrapping on front porch as they walked down the steps.

“I don’t know,” Hop said slowly. “I don’t know anything until I am able to figure out who knows that El is not only alive, but here.” A silence fell between all three of them. El thought about the days that were going to follow, how she would take her usual seat on the couch, holding her teddy and watching all the dramas she could find on T.V. She thought about her dictionary, how she was going to learn more words, even though she was going to go days without talking. She thought about Mike, and how he would call her every night for a year, and if he would do the same now that he knew she was listening. “I’ll give you a minute,” Hop said, looking between them before walking into the kitchen.

Mike walked up to her, standing close as he grabbed her shoulders.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” he said with a slight smile. “I can still tell you about my day, if you’ll be listening. Maybe this time you can let me know that you’re there.” El threw her arms around him in a hug letting her eyes fill with tears.

“You promise,” she said into his neck.

“I promise,” he said back. He pulled her back to look her in the eyes. “Maybe you can go to the snowball this year. We can dance, and have punch.”

“Punch?”

“It’s a drink,” Mike said with a wet smile. “And we can all hang out and be normal for once.”

“Normal.” Mike pulled her into another hug before breaking her away from him. They stared into one another eyes; Mike was trying to hold back tears. El leaned forward slowly moving towards his lips.

“Okay,” Hop said walking back into the room. “Minutes over.” Mike gave a frustrating sigh, letting his hands fall into hers.

“Every night, I’ll be there, I promise.” He looked up a Hop before removing his hands from hers and walking out of the door. She let out a little growl of frustrations as she cried, watching them leave down the drive way from the window.

anonymous asked:

i reread some of your dbz stuff yesterday because it is SO GOOD bulma IS the queen we deserve. idk if you are still into writing for dbz, but know that if you ever do I will read and reread it a lot of times

Originally posted by neogohann

Thank you so much! What a lovely thing to say.

As for writing more, let me be the first to tell you that I will never be done with the Briefs family. I always have at least 10 different ideas for our resident queen and her royal pains in the ass, so you never know when I might take one and run with it. Hopefully soon. I miss these assholes.

4

YOLO.exe - PART 1

> a Fatal_Error has Occurred Side Comic

> Non-canon Comic

> Next


This is the beginning of a very fun interaction ;)

For those who may not know/remember, this is Fresh_Hell :D

It’s important to note that this is the first non-canon side comic I’ve started- this isn’t actually part of the canon story. It’s more of a fun ‘what if’ scenario to explore. Even though he probably actually never would, what if Fresh decided to possess Fatal_Error? What would happen next?

I have several ideas for comics like these, but I can’t start some until certain parts of the canon story have happened, or else they won’t make any sense, or might spoil something in the main comic before we get to it. The same can be said for the canon side comics too - it’s all about timing. So comics like these might pop up from time to time, and update as we go along.

But anywho I’m rambling ^^

Peace out, brahs <3

Fresh belongs to @loverofpiggies!

Can we talk about how good of an actor Mark is for a second?

Mark played all of his characters absolutely flawlessly. Honestly. Maybe there were some very small nitpicky things that could’ve been better but in the end, he played each of his characters so well. 

But when all is said and done, I commend him on his acting because of THIS:

He goes from looking distraught, absolutely numb and heartbroken and altogether just sad

To this. This absolute fury as if he could murder a man right then and there by simply giving them this look. This look of anger that makes it seem as though he’s about to explode. 

In one. Goddamned. Second.

Granted, he did so much good acting in this series; There were so many moments where it didn’t feel like Mark, it felt like the Colonel. Or it felt like Damien. But it didn’t feel like Mark. (I love it when actors can do that tbh). 

But in this moment, you can see him transform from who he is into Darkiplier. He captured that. Right here in this one second clip. With one look at the camera.

Mark Fischbach, to you I say two things:

1) This was astonishing. This entire series had your whole fandom freaking out and theory-writing for four days straight, and honestly there are probably still going to be theories even after this. I hope desperately that you love what you gave us just as much as we did because this was amazing. 

2) YOU NEED TO ACT MORE BECAUSE HOLY SHIT I WILL NEVER BE OVER THIS SERIES AND HOW WELL IT WAS PUT TOGETHER. JUST SAYING. 

(And a LARGE thank you to Teamiplier because none of this would’ve happened without you guys)

Sorry for the vent but honestly I can’t be the only one who thinks this, right? 

@lum1natrix @ask-theforgottenone @darkstiella @markiplier @whokilledmarkiplier

I am broken. I’ve been abandoned and ignored too many times to still be whole. I don’t trust people anymore, not with something as important as my heart.

You were different. You slipped right through the cracks. I told you things I never meant to tell anyone, things I’d hidden so deep that I had to crawl through the darkness to find them. You brought out a version of me I didn’t know existed anymore. But, you didn’t fix me. I am still broken and now you’re leaving and that’s okay. I’ve been broken before, one more crack won’t kill me. Just please stop asking me if I’m okay. Please stop caring so much. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.
—  “Are you okay?”
Tom and Lin-Manuel: An Appreciation/Jealous Rant

Every writer has a golden period – a chunk of time when her brain is ripest, when the veins he is tapping are the richest, when the ideas, big and small, spill out over the sides of the bucket instead of having to be patiently collected like drops of rain off a leaf. This is true for songwriters, playwrights, novelists, screenwriters, anyone who writes anything in any genre. Go look at John Hughes’s IMDb page and marvel at his golden period, which I would bookend as 1983-1990. It’s outrageous. He wrote Vacation, Mr. Mom, Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, Pretty in Pink, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Some Kind of Wonderful, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, Uncle Buck, and Home Alone in eight years. Eight years?! That’s absurd.

But then look at his next 20 years. You won’t find one movie that is better than the worst one he wrote in those seven years. The vein ran dry. It always does. That’s just the deal.

Tom Petty’s golden period never ended. Or, at least, the silver periods on either side of his golden period were seemingly infinite. No matter where you think he peaked – Full Moon Fever, or Wildflowers, or Damn the Torpedoes – the decades on either side were wonderful. He was great from the moment he released his first album in 1977 to the day he died last month. For forty years he wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and the songs he wrote were good or great or amazing.

Tom Petty wrote “Breakdown” and “American Girl” in 1977. He wrote “You Don’t Know How it Feels” seventeen years later, in 1994. He wrote “You Got Lucky” in 1982, “King’s Highway” in 1992, “The Last DJ” in 2002. He wrote “I Won’t Back Down,” “Runnin’ Down a Dream,” Free Fallin’,” “Love is a Long Road,” “A Face in the Crowd,” Yer So Bad,” and “The Apartment Song,” and “Depending on You,” all in 1989, and they were all on the same album, and that’s absurd.

He wrote “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around” in 1981 and “Big Weekend” in 2006. He wrote every song on Wildflowers – and they are all great – in or around 1994. He wrote fifty other great songs I haven’t named yet, like “Don’t Come Around Here No More” and “Jammin Me.” He wrote great songs you’ve heard a million times, and great songs you’ve maybe never heard, like “Billy the Kid” (1999) and “Walls” (1996) which was buried on the soundtrack to She’s the One.  He took a break from the Heartbreakers and casually released “End of the Line” and “Handle With Care” and “She’s My Baby” with the Traveling Wilburys in 1989-90. He wrote “Refugee” in 1980 and “I Should Have Known It” in 2010. Is there any rock and roll songwriter alive who wrote two songs that good, 30 years apart? (Paul McCartney wrote “Hey Jude” in 1968, and only 12 years later he wrote “Wonderful Christmas Time,” which is so bad it nearly retroactively undid “Hey Jude.”)

He wrote about rock and roll things, like ’62 Cadillacs, getting out of this town, and dancing with Mary Jane. He wrote about love and loss and heartbreak. He wrote legitimately funny jokes, and moribund memories, and personal narratives, and imaginative flights of fancy. One of his characters calls his father his “old man” and it somehow isn’t cheesy. He was from Florida and California and wrote about both of them, and every time I’m on Ventura Boulevard I think of vampires, because the images he wrote are indelible. 

Petty didn’t just write songs directed at women, like most rock stars. He wrote about women, and he wrote for women, and he wrote with women. He treated the women in his songs as lovingly and respectfully as he treated the men. He cared about them as much, he spent as much time thinking about them, and he liked them as much, and all of that is rare.

He wrote simply, but not boringly. He made his characters three-dimensional, somehow, in a matter of seconds. There’s a famous (probably apocryphal) story about Hemingway bragging he could write an entire novel in six words, then writing: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” I prefer the 18-word novel Petty wrote as the first verse to “Down South” –

Headed back down south
Gonna see my daddy’s mistress
Gonna buy back her forgiveness
Pay off every witness

When I was working on Parks and Recreation, whenever we needed a song to score an important moment in Leslie Knope’s life, we chose a Tom Petty song. It started with “American Girl,” when her biggest career project came to fruition. It was “Wildflowers” when she said goodbye to her best friend. It was “End of the Line” at the moment the show ended. For the seven seasons of our show, Tom Petty was the writer we trusted to explain how our main character was feeling, because he wrote so much, so well, for so long.

*******

It seems like a joke, Hamilton – a joke in a TV show where one of the characters is a struggling New York actor, and is always dragging his friends to his terrible plays. Like Joey in Friends. There’s an episode of Friends where Joey is in a terrible musical called like Freud!, about Sigmund Freud, and you get to see some of it, and it’s predictably terrible. Freud! the musical is arguably a better idea than Hamilton the musical.

I’m far from the first person to say this – I’m probably somewhere around the millionth person to write about Hamilton, and the maybe 500,000th to make this particular point, but it needs to be said – a hip-hop Broadway musical about the founding fathers is an astoundingly terrible idea. Lin-Manuel Miranda should never have written it. As soon as he started to write it, he should’ve said to himself, “What the fuck am I doing?!” and stopped. And after he got halfway through, he should’ve junked it, gotten really drunk, and moved on with his life, and made his wife and friends swear to never mention the weird six months where he was trying to write a hip-hop musical about Alexander Hamilton. I literally guarantee you that when Lin-Manuel Miranda first told his friends what he was writing, every one of them reacted with at best a frozen smile, and at worst a horrified recoiling. Some of them might have been outwardly encouraging – “sounds awesome bud! Go get ‘em!” But then later, alone, they would call each other and say What the fuck is he doing?

There is a moment, in Hamilton, when what you are watching overwhelms you. (It’s not the same moment for everyone, but most everyone has one, I suspect.) It’s the moment when the enormity, the complexity, the meaning of it, the entirety of it, overpowers you, and you realize that what you are experiencing is new – new both in your specific life, and new, like, on Earth.  The first time I saw it, that moment was a line in the middle of “Yorktown.” Hamilton sang the line And so the American experiment begins / With my friends all scattered to the winds, and I burst into tears in a way I hadn’t since I was 10 and a baseball went through a guy’s legs in the World Series. Something about how casually he says that – And so the American experiment begins – just settled over me, like a collapsing tent, and this thing I was watching wasn’t in front of me, it was everywhere around me, and it was exhilarating and transformative.

(If I could put this part in a footnote, I would, but I don’t know how to, so: I should mention that I am very far from a musical theater aficionado. I have seen maybe eight musicals in my life. Not only did I not expect to cry, hard, during Hamilton, I did not expect to enjoy it. I saw it like a week after it opened on Broadway, kind of on a whim, knew nothing about it, and the last thing I said to my wife, as the lights went down, was: “We’ll leave at intermission.”)

The second time I saw it, that moment came much earlier (I knew what I was getting into, this time, so I was more ready to be subsumed). It came barely three minutes in, when the entire cast of the show, in a piece of choreography that can best be referred to as “badass,” all walk down to the very front of the stage and stand, shoulder to shoulder, and sing very loudly about how Alexander Hamilton never learned to take his time. The cast has, to this point, trickled on stage, slowly, one by one, telling you Hamilton’s origin story, and then suddenly there they all are, all of them – maybe 20? 50? It seems like 1000? – as close to the audience as they can get, and they are every size and ethnicity and gender, and their voices are loud, and I thought to myself, oh my God, this is a cast of people descended from every nation on Earth, all singing about the foundations of the American experience, and yes I “knew” that, intellectually, but holy shit, now that I see them all, I know it, like in my stomach, I understand it, and what a thing that is.

The third time I saw Hamilton, that moment was during “It’s Quiet Uptown,” when this enormous, sprawling, improbable, otherworldly, multi-ethnic, historical, art tornado presses pause on all of its historical-cultural-ethno-sociological-artistic investigations, and spends four and a half spare minutes with a couple who are grieving an unimaginable tragedy.  Specifically, it was the lines

Forgiveness
Can you imagine?
Forgiveness
Can you imagine?

What a thing to do, for your characters – to give them four and a half minutes in the middle of an enormous, sprawling, historical swirl, to just be sad. What a piece of writing that is.

(Again, should be a footnote, but: as long as I’m talking about writers here, I should point out that if the late Harris Wittels were alive, he would, at this moment, text me and hit me with a “humblebrag” for writing about how I have seen Hamilton three times, and he would be right. Miss you Harris!)

In the hundreds of hours of my life I have spent thinking about Hamilton since I first saw it – far more hours than any other single piece of art I have ever experienced – I have revisited that same thought over and over: he never should’ve written it. It was an absurd thing to do. It took him a year to write the title song, then another year to write the second song, and how did he not give up when two years had gone by and he’d written two songs?  He must’ve known in his heart it needed to be a 50-song, 2 ½-hour enterprise, and he had two songs after two years, and he kept going. How did he keep going? I’ve been trying to write this blog post about two writers I admire for different reasons since the week Tom Petty died, and I’ve almost given up five times.

At this point, the entire musical is that “moment” for me. It’s the whole thing, now – the thing that overwhelms me is the whole thing. The conception of it, the writing of it, the rewriting of it. The music and the motifs and the themes and the threads and the dramatic shape and the characters and their inner lives, and the eagle-eye writer’s view it took to keep all of that in his head, all of it, the whole time. The writing of it. The utterly impossible writing of it. 

salvainterra  asked:

i love mob so much please for the love of god tell me about ur feelings on 100% ecstasy

OH BOY WILL I !!! ABSOLUTELY 100% (pun unintended but warmly embraced) 

out of all the 100% events, ecstasy is my favorite. the drama… the tragedy… will fiction EVER peak like this again? i don’t think so. but BEFORE I DELVE INTO ALL OF THAT, there’s something i want to talk about first: mob’s psychic powers as an expression of his emotions. 

we all know that mob suppresses his emotions to avoid outbursts of psychic power. but THAT implies that mob’s psychic power is a form of self expression, in the same way that body language is expression. 

he can direct his psychic powers – the same way we can direct our bodies’ actions – but there are other components that are difficult to stop, similar to how people’s shoulders tend to hunch when they’re angry or upset, how they subconsciously cross their arms and direct their feet away when something is making them uncomfortable, etc. 

unless you know about these bits of body language, and make a deliberate attempt to suppress them, it’s difficult to stop your body from revealing something about your emotions. similarly, one function of mob’s psychic power is as an extension of the way he expresses himself. these things happen subconsciously and mostly without mob’s control. 

for example, one of the trademarks of mob’s 100% events is that mob starts releasing waves of psychic power that push his hair back. other side effects include cracking the ground under him, often to dramatic effect.

mob doesn’t push his hair up on purpose, it’s just something that happens – as a result of him releasing his pent-up emotions in the form of psychic power. these little bits of expression aren’t something he can control.

mob also says something REALLY INTERESTING in his first 100% event:

during 100% rage mob uses his psychic powers to fight dimple, yes, but these lines suggest that his outburst of power happened because he finally had to express his anger. and that implies that, in order to show his emotions, and express himself, mob has to use his psychic powers. 

which is something he almost never allows himself to do. 

never forget the disdain / loathing mob had for himself at the beginning of the manga, and how convinced he was that he couldn’t allow himself to express himself OTHERWISE SOMETHING LIKE THIS WOULD HAPPEN. 

further material to consider: the lines that he said right before his 100% animosity / hostility event 

hostility… 

at this point, mob hasn’t taken any action against koyama yet. his outburst of psychic power, radiating outward and blanketing the area, is not doing anything but expressing his hostility – to the extent that mob expects koyama to be able to feel it. 

in addition to that, during mob’s fight with toichirou, he cycles rapidly through a LOT of emotions, and this is what he says about it:

canon suggests that it’s not just a buildup of of emotions that cause his powers to run amok; allowing his powers to run amok also allows himself to feel the full intensity of his emotions. his psychic powers are key to expressing himself.

I COULD GO ON… but i’ll just leave things here for now. to summarize: mob subconsciously uses his psychic powers to express his emotions, which is why suppressing his emotions also suppresses his psychic powers. 

figure 1: a helpful venn diagram of things 

which brings us to the REALLY SAD, BITTERSWEET, MOURNFUL TRAGEDY THAT IS 100% ECSTASY. 

the fight against toichirou is possibly the first time mob has been able to fully utilize his psychic powers. the first time he’s had to, even. all the unconscious limits he’s put on himself – not allowing his psychic power to go free, stifling his emotions and powers – all come undone. 

mob is allowing himself to be himself, wholly and fully. he’s removed his inhibitions. he’s running wild and free. he’s no longer expending energy trying to regulate his psychic powers – he’s allowing himself to feel. this intensity of emotion and action is something mob has never given himself before, and the freedom of it… feels good. incredibly so. he feels free, he feels alive, and toichirou – the only individual to ever stand on a level close to mob’s – understands perfectly. 

this is a level of joy mob has never felt before. 

the release of his psychic power even comes hand in hand with mob’s body language becoming much freer and more expressive than it is in daily life. look at him go!! mob, for the first time in years… letting himself feel the intensity of his emotions, just as they really are.  

but of course his happiness isn’t going to last 

because mob wants to be a part of society, and he thinks he has to keep his psychic powers sequestered away in order to do that. his greatest fear is accidentally hurting the people he loves with his own psychic power, and when he remembers that possibility… 

the tragedy of 100% ecstasy is that – for just a brief moment, mob released himself from his self-imposed limits. for a moment, he let himself really feel, he let himself be, and in that moment he experienced a richness, an intensity, a moment of being so utterly present and alive that it brought himself to heights he’d never reached before. 

 and mob will never willingly allow himself to do that ever again. 

because you’re a different person.
because you don’t feel the same way anymore.
because we’re growing apart more every day.
because i’m scared to tell you how i feel.
because i think you’re only staying since it’d be easier than leaving because you tell me you love me but i don’t feel the same want and warmth now.
because i cried and begged and poured my heart out– left everything out on the table and you ignored all of it so easily.
because i think i’m being crazy and insecure and imagining things, but am i?

how did we go from laying in bed with my face buried in the nook of your arm, crying while you held me and told me things would be different this time. that it would be hard but you wanted me and us and a future together. that you loved me and we were partners and we would grow through life.

now i’m laying here wondering why i even told you what was bothering me. you brushed it off, made me feel like i was overreacting or being the crazy girlfriend. we didn’t even talk today. we don’t talk much anymore. maybe it is my fault. i didn’t see it happen, things were good and slowly we just stopped having things to say to each other.

how else do you react when you feel like you’re losing someone that’s supposed to be your person? i fought for him and our relationship– so he stayed. except i keep thinking back on everything i said and the silence i got in return. and it hurts and it scares me that he feels distant now. so i tell myself i am overreacting, i’m asking for too much. but he used to love that, he used to tell me he loved it when i texted him constantly, tell me sweet things throughout the day. i loved it. i miss it.

the moment i begin to feel insecure and doubt the other persons’ feelings, that’s when all hell breaks loose. thoughts race in my mind, jumping from conclusion to conclusion without a break.

i never had to question it before, that’s why i’m so terrified now. i thought telling him would make me feel better, but his reaction wasn’t what i’d expected.

he used to want to know what was going on in my mind, reassure me of my doubts. things aren’t the same anymore. i’m scared that it won’t be again. i’m not sure how to fix this. i love him more than anything and as much as i can’t stay with someone who doesn’t love me, i can’t bear to leave.

—  aftertheam 

Most of BTS members get scared easily but they went into a place full of zombies to entertain and get free tickets to ARMYs, even after trying so hard they failed so they just paid for them themselves. They could have just went for basic Halloween costumes, or tried making themselves look cool but they preferred to make us laugh and Taehyung ended up trying to act manly dancing as Snow White. Why am I writing a post about this? Some groups stop doing those little things to fans after the fame because they don’t need to anymore so I am very grateful the BTS that tried so hard for their fans in the past are still trying to give more than they receive. They are growing with such beautiful mindsets and changing to the better,  As an ARMY I really hope this close relationship we have between us will never break

Me and you? We’re different now, we both changed; for the better I think.

But most importantly; we can still pick up right where we left off; I still remember your favourite song you know. ;)

—  Excerpt #199 - 200 will be the turning point I promise
Sweet Dreams 💦

Originally posted by bigbadroman

Pairing: Billy x Reader

Request: Billy Smut with doggy style.

Summary: Billy sneaks into your room after an argument with his dad.

Warnings: Smut, visuals. NSFW.

Authors Note: I’ve never done one with visuals before so I hope this is okay! I’m sorry I haven’t been posting as much lately, life got a little busy but I’m still here and can’t wait to write all the request you guys have sent in. 💕💕

Tagged For: @yoinkpeter - @samuel-maurice455 - @total-fucktrash

Keep reading

reputation themed asks
  • …ready for it?: what sort of things do you dream about? do you have more dreams or nightmares?
  • end game: what is your philosophy on ‘forgive and forget’?
  • i did something bad: write about something you shouldn’t have done that you don’t regret.
  • don’t blame me: what is the craziest thing you’ve ever done for love?
  • delicate: confess something that’s currently weighing on your heart/mind.
  • look what you made me do: describe a version of your past self. do you miss the way you used to be?
  • …so it goes: what emotion most often consumes you?
  • gorgeous: who is so attractive to you that it makes you mad?
  • getaway car: if you had to run away from your life, where would you go and who would you take with you?
  • king of my heart: who or what makes you feel at home?
  • dancing with our hands tied: talk about something/someone you’ve lost recently.
  • dress: when you want to look your best, what do you wear?
  • this is why we can’t have nice things: talk about the people who will always have your back.
  • call it what you want: who or what makes you feel instantly better when you’re feeling down?
  • new years day: describe a party you’ve been to and what made it so memorable.
Now, thinking about it ...

BTS were somehow always told they wouldn’t achieve all the things they accomplished so far.

They were told they will disband and disappear after some months, guess who is still running? Told they will never win an award or have a hit song, guess who have so many awards they need another bag and so many great songs it will be hard to choose? Told they came from a small company their potentials will be limited, guess who can produce, sing, dance, write lyrics and be entertaining and more. Told they will not sell 1M albums, guess who did that without a repackaged album? Told that aside from their I-fans no foreigner cares about them, guess who Ellen and Jimmy Kimmel invited and wanted to perform on their shows and all those global artists desire to collab with? Told they will not be on the Hot 100, guess who stayed on the chart for a whole month? Told they will never dream of a BBMA award and when they did get it they were told they will never be asked to perform anyway, guess who AMA is so happy to have? Told that being known on social media is nothing, guess the number of opportunities it opened? 

If this does not inspire you to keep pushing forward towards your goal and work hard no matter how others try to put you down … I don’t know what will!

On Keith and leaving Allura behind

One thing I’ve always wanted to clear up is the ‘Keith is cold-hearted’ thing. I can see how the scene of him being ready to leave Allura behind might come across as such, to quote Hunk: “Keith, that’s cold-hearted even for you.” 

But that is not how things actually are. Let me explain why he acted the way he did back then, because Keith has had just as many emotions about it as everyone else. 

Keith is rational, observant and tends to state stuff exactly as it is, with all facts lied out to make sure that everyone gets the whole picture. (see: how he explained his board in s1e1, how he argues with Lance at the beginning of s1e3 etc.) He has been known to accept critique pretty well - he actively tries to work on his temper (“patience yields focus”) and accepted that Lance’s plan was better than his in s1e7. In turn, however, he expects people to treat him the same way. If there isn’t any evidence to contradict it, he takes things people tell him at face value and accepts them as facts. It is one of the reasons him and Lance clash often, Keith can be found constantly correcting Lance’s statements and Lance doesn’t appreciate that. 

This is coupled with his rational personality. I have no doubt that part of that comes from having been forced to grow up without a family and people to comfort him when he was feeling lost, he has had to deal with reality screwing him over quite a lot of times already. He is extremely cautious and protective of his friends when a possible threat appears (see: how he placed himself in front of the team when Klaizap appeared in s1e2), probably exactly because he knows that when they are gone, they are gone. That happened to his dad, that happened to Shiro. 

And now he thinks the same thing has happened to Allura.

It is not that he doesn’t want to help her - because he does. He really does, he even said so himself. (And he wasn’t lying. We all know that Keith is an absolutely horrible liar.) In his mind, there were four facts battling with one another: 1) I want to save my friend; 2) “the ship that is headed to Zarkon’s central command?” “the place that’s way too dangerous for us to attack?” (a direct quote from an exchange between Hunk and Keith from s1e10. Keith had accepted that information a fact); 3) we are fighting against an enemy we know next to nothing about; and 4) I am responsible for the entire universe and I can only protect it with Voltron, for which Allura technically isn’t essential. 

So he stands there and goes through all the facts. And he comes to the - absolutely logical - conclusion that it is too dangerous to go to Zarkon’s headquarters. He could lose even more friends. He could lose the universe’s only hope. So he does what he always does: suppress his emotions for the greater good. He did that there, he did it when he decided to give up the blade in s2e8.

But then the others turn against him. We can’t see his face when they begin to vehemently protest against his statement-

-but I have no doubt that it would be serious and reflective. The backlash would have made him reconsider the conclusion he had come to. Because that’s what he does when he faces critique: take a step back and reevaluate. Obviously, fact 2) wasn’t quite right. [Also note how open his body language is, he is more than willing to discuss this.] 

And once the execution of their plan starts, which means an actual chance for getting his friend back, he is right at the front of the group again. 

Keith isn’t cold-hearted. Not at all. Does this look like the face of a cold-hearted person to you?

Because that is the face he made when he came to the conclusion that it would be too dangerous to save Allura. He is not happy about it. He genuinely believed that she was already lost and they were about to condemn the universe for a suicide rescue mission. If there is anything he can do to save his friends, he will do it. Like, seriously - he had never seen Zarkon before that episode. For all he knew, Zarkon could be 5ft tall, wield magic and be immortal. But as soon as he saw a normal-sized Galra in armor, Zarkon suddenly became less of an abstract concept and more of something that he has an actual fighting chance against. Look at how his attitude towards him changed in season 2, at the end of it he volunteered to infiltrate Zarkon’s base on his own!  

(Also. He was the one that asked Allura if she was sure that she wanted to come with them: “I’m sorry, princess, did you say ‘we’?!” in s1e10. He was worried for her. There is no way he didn’t want her back.)

Keith constantly watches out for the greater good. It’s what he told Pidge when she wanted to leave to go look for her family - “everyone in the universe has families!” - and what he did when he gave up finding out about his past in the Trials of Marmora. He pushes his own emotions down because he genuinely believes one person’s life and/or comfort isn’t worth putting the entire universe at risk. And that does not equal being cold-hearted.

tl;dr: Keith has had perfectly valid reasons why he hesitated to go on the rescue mission. He wanted her back just as much as everyone else. He is not a cold-hearted asshole.

Get rid of your dialogue tags, not just “said”.

I see everywhere, “don’t use ‘said’ use _____!”, “100 words to use instead of ‘said’!”, etc. This needs to stop. First of all, do you know why “said” is used so often? Because it’s easy to ignore, when you’re reading at 300 words per minute, skipping over “said” is a lot easier than “inquired” or “demanded” or any other annoying verb.

I’m not saying you should use “said”, I’m saying you shouldn’t use any of it.

One argument against “said” is that it doesn’t give details about the speakers state of mind. 

“Good morning.” A said.

“Good morning.” B said.

“Good morning.” C said.

But tell me, do you honestly think this is better?

“Good morning.” A yelled.

“Good morning.” B shuddered.

“Good morning” C muttered. 

All of these can be misunderstood, is A angry? Is A deaf? Is B cold? Is B afraid of A?

Don’t get me started on adverbs. No. Is this better?

“Good morning.” A yelled angrily.

“Good morning.” B shuddered fearfully.

“Good morning.” C muttered distractedly.

It all sounds abhorrent! All three of the above examples don’t follow the Show, Don’t Tell. Don’t tell your readers characters emotions, show them through actions and imagery. 

A had a nasty scowl on his face, his eyes glazed over with fury. “Good morning.” His roar echoed through the room, shaking with wrath.

B flinched. His eyes were wide, like a deer caught in headlights. He meekly opened his mouth, “Good morning” his voice had a nervous tremor and his eyes were glued to the floor. 

C was flipping through his phone, not aware of the tension in the room. “Good morning.” His eyes never wavered from the screen, displaying much more interesting things. 

Of course there are exceptions. There are always exceptions, but next time you find yourself using said, don’t replace it with a longer, fancier word. Describe the character, how do they look when they’re saying it? How do they sound? What are they doing? Are they saying or doing anything plot relevant? No? Make them. There’s nothing I hate more than small talk in literature, if they’re not talking about something important, make them do something important. 

Insignificant

Continuation of this (sort of).


Harry Potter thought he would never fall in love again.

How could he, after everything that had happened?

He felt empty inside, not capable of any emotion; except despair.

He didn’t blame his friends for being in love. He was happy for them. At least, if that was what happiness felt like. He didn’t know anymore. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt happy.

How could he, after they had lost so many loved ones?

He didn’t know what day it was, what month. Everything blurred together and didn’t make sense anymore. Dragging himself out of bed became harder every day. Because… what did it matter? What difference would it make if he just disappeared? He had served his purpose. Nobody needed him anymore.

Going to classes seemed so pointless. What did he care if he’d pass his N.E.W.T.s? It wasn’t like he had any plans for his future.

How could he, if he didn’t even know how he’d make it through today?

His friends were keeping their distance. He’d pushed them away so many times, they had stopped trying. At least for now.

Ginny had tried to talk to him a few days ago and it had broken his heart to tell her that nothing had changed. Being with her just didn’t feel right anymore. It didn’t feel right to be with anyone right now. He just wanted to be alone.

Playing Quidditch didn’t bring him the joy it once had. Treacle Tart tasted like paper. Hogwarts didn’t feel like home anymore.

He wanted to escape, wanted to leave everything behind. He didn’t have it in him to fight anymore, to push through.

How could he, when everything around him was crumbling down?

It was funny, really; irony of fate, if you will, that a seemingly insignificant incident made Harry momentarily forget about his despair.

He was walking down a corridor when he spotted something on the floor; a piece of parchment. He wouldn’t have given it a second look, if he hadn’t recognised his own handwriting. He frowned as he picked it up and read it. He had totally forgotten about this. But why was it here?

He waited until classes were over, when Malfoy was stuffing his books into his bag, to walk over to him.

“I think you dropped this,” Harry said. Malfoy blinked at him, then at the parchment. He suddenly looked less pale than he usually did.

“Oh.”

Harry didn’t ask him how it had ended up in the corridor. The only explanation was that he was carrying it around with him, even though Harry had given it to him weeks ago. Had he even looked at it?

“You know what, I think you need that more than me right now,” Malfoy murmured and stuffed the last book into his bag.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Harry didn’t like the sympathetic tone of Malfoy’s voice.

“You know exactly what I mean, Potter,” Malfoy said. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the changes. All you do these days is mope. And while I can’t exactly blame you for that, it’s depressing. So honestly, while you’re being like this, these words mean nothing.” He pointed at the parchment. “How am I supposed to believe that, when the person who wrote this doesn’t seem to believe it himself?” Malfoy gave him a weird look before he turned away to leave. “I thought you were giving me hope, but I guess these were just empty words.”

Harry was rendered speechless. It was like Malfoy had smacked him right across the face. It didn’t mean nothing. They weren’t just empty words. He had really meant them. But, as much as he hated to admit it, he could see Malfoy’s point.

He tossed and turned all night, unable to forget the look on the Slytherin’s face. It wasn’t fair of him to throw something like that in Harry’s face. But, again, he had to admit that Malfoy wasn’t wrong.

As Harry stared at the ceiling of his dorm, he came to a decision. He would show Malfoy that he believed what he had written. That there was hope. He didn’t want Malfoy to lose faith… like he had.

It was subtle at first. Harry would sit next to Malfoy in classes, look for him in the library…

When Hermione came to talk to him in the common room a few weeks later, Harry realised it might have not been as subtle as he had thought.

“Whatever happened between the two of you, I think it’s good,” she said. She was smiling at him, but she still looked a little sad. Harry said nothing. “I don’t understand what’s going on exactly, but I’m glad you’re better.”

Harry frowned at her. Better? She patted him on the shoulder and went over to the window, to continue studying with Ron.

Harry stared at the book in front of him, not taking in what he was reading. What was Hermione talking about? He didn’t feel any different.

“Wrong chapter, Potter.”

Harry looked up to see Malfoy throwing down his bag and sitting down beside him on the sofa.

“We already covered that two weeks ago.” He took the book from Harry’s lap and flipped through the pages. Harry watched him and was very aware of the fact that their shoulders were touching. As his stomach made a little flip, his eyes widened. He did feel different.

While he had been busy trying to show Malfoy that he could believe in him, making an effort to show him he could be better, he hadn’t realised that it had happened for real. And apparently it hadn’t been the only thing that had happened.

“Are you okay?” Malfoy asked, brushing Harry’s bangs out of his face like it was the most normal thing in the world. It made Harry smile.

“Yeah,” he murmured, not so subtly moving closer to the Slytherin. “I’m okay.”

A few weeks ago, that would have been a lie. Now, Harry still felt a little off balance, but there was one very significant difference. He had hope.

Not so long ago, Harry Potter thought he would never fall in love again.

Turns out, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

it’s in the way that you hold me

for @itwasjustmisplaced, who made a soft tummy appreciation gifset, requested soft tummy fic, and probably started my newest addiction. i hope you enjoy!

A ridiculous movie Aaron picked out is playing on Robert’s laptop, when Robert notices. He’s barely paying attention, more interested in catching up on the news on his phone, the two of sprawled across their bed, still mostly dressed, favouring t-shirts and boxer shorts over proper pyjamas, their dinner plates discarded on the floor, noise from the Woolpack drifting up the stairs.

Still, it felt as though they were wrapped up in their own little world, Aaron more interested in the exploding cars than Robert was, Robert content to just watch as his fiancé stayed engrossed in the film, happy to just enjoy Aaron being near him.

Even now, weeks after they’d gotten engaged, Robert was still fascinated by how the ring looked on Aaron’s finger, his fiancés hand splayed across Robert’s chest. The bright metal caught his eye every time Aaron moved his hand, Robert’s gaze practically glued to Aaron’s left hand.

The ring he’d put there.

Aaron shifted, drawing Robert’s attention. He moved down the bed, Robert curious as his fiancé resettled himself with his face pressed to Robert’s stomach, scruffy beard bunching up the material of Robert’s t-shirt, so Aaron’s cheek was pressed to his stomach.

Robert couldn’t help but just watch as Aaron smiled slightly, his breathing slow, and even as he continued to watch the film, as though he hadn’t moved in the slightest. Deciding he wouldn’t interrupt him just yet, Robert ran his fingers through Aaron’s hair, revelling in the way Aaron melted into his touch, and just let Robert work his dark hair free of gel.

Aaron was touchy about his hair. He liked it done a certain way, liked when a thick layer of gel hid the his dark curls from view, and Robert hated it. Robert had always hated the gel, hated the severe way Aaron would do his hair.

But he loved this, loved that Aaron was happy to let him mess up his hair, let Robert scratch his fingers against Aaron’s scalp, the younger man practically melting into Robert’s body as he did so.

Happy Aaron was relaxed enough, Robert ran a hair through the fluffy mess one last time, before letting his hand settle on the back of Aaron’s neck, his thumb stroking over a patch of skin underneath Aaron’s ear.

A new sweet spot, he’d discovered recently.

Even after years together, good and bad, they were still learning about each other, still picking each other apart and discovering all their best, and worst, and completely hidden bits.

Like Aaron’s fixation on Robert’s stomach, apparently.

Another movement from Aaron drew Robert’s attention, Aaron burrowing his face closer to Robert’s skin, gently shoving Robert’s t-shirt out of the way, the cool air of their room making goosebumps rise across Robert’s abdomen.

Aaron’s breath was hot against his stomach, one of Aaron’s thumbs brushing a barely there pattern just underneath Robert’s bellybutton, the gesture too soft, too absent to be anything remotely sexual.

Aaron just looked perfectly content to lie on Robert’s stomach, his attention on the car case unfolding on the laptop screen in front of him.

Robert grinned to himself as he spoke, hand still cupping the back of Aaron’s head. “Are you alright there?” he teased, smiling even wider at the adorable look of confusion plastered on Aaron’s face as his attention was drawn away from the movie.

“You what?”

“On my stomach.” Robert explained. “You comfy, or…?”

Aaron’s cheeks flushed a bright pink, as though Robert had caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been doing, and he was embarrassed. “S’comfy,” he mumbled under his breath, his words barely audible.

“I can’t hear you,” Robert nudged, hitting pause on the movie.

“I said, it’s comfortable.” Aaron refused to look at him, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of Robert’s stomach. He’d gone a bit soft, after he’d been shot, and Robert hadn’t had much inclination to start a fitness regime since.

He sort of wished he had now, Aaron’s movements drawing his attention to his softer than it used to be stomach. “I don’t know if I should be offended at that or not,” Robert admitted, poking at his stomach, trying to hide his insecurity with a joke.

Aaron shook his head. “S’nice,” he mumbled again, the pink flush still rising in his cheeks, making him look even younger than he was, mussed up hair and an innocent look in his head. “I just like it.”

“You like that I’m fat?” Robert raised an eyebrow, knowing he was over-exaggerating (a bit, at least.)

“You’re not fat,” Aaron rolled his eyes, propping himself up on an elbow so he could look at Robert properly, an incredulous look in his eyes. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he admitted, gnawing on the side of his lip.

“Stop that,” Robert nudged, reaching out to tug Aaron’s bottom lip from between his teeth. “What, you just like using my stomach as a pillow?”

Aaron nodded, ducking his head again.

“It’s alright, you know,” Robert said softly, finding Aaron’s embarrassment endearing. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Robert confirmed. “I mean, no one has ever used my stomach as a pillow before, but theres a first time for everything.”

Aaron snorted, moving to lie down next to Robert again. “You’re an idiot,” he said, hitting play on the movie again.

Robert felt instantly cold as Aaron’s warm face left his stomach, his skin exposed to the cool air of the room, Aaron’s hand not enough, not enough to make him feel as wanted, as protective as he had done a few minutes previous.

Wordlessly, Robert reached for Aaron, gently pulling him back down into his previous position, face pressed to Robert’s stomach. Maybe it was a weird thing to like, a strange thing to want, but as Aaron let Robert manhandle him back into his curled up position on Robert’s stomach, Robert didn’t care.

Aaron looked happy, relaxed, free of pain from the new scar on his side, free of worry, and stress, and well - Robert felt as though he was giving him that, by letting Aaron get comfortable on his stomach, felt as though he was protecting the man he loved from the rest of the world, from all the things that could go wrong in it.

It was a new way to feel wanted, and Robert liked it.

Loved it, really.