hey, you. over there. read my rick and clone prime basement fic
it has everything you might ever want from a them fic + a writer recipient to feedback/suggestions + for the shippers in the crowd, a companion slash fic in the works!
read it
28 notes
·
View notes
With the knowledge that the final piece will be fully shaded and not just flat colour:
starring my current WIP (bonus points if you can guess what it is)
21 notes
·
View notes
Here chapter 4! Let me know what you think and sorry for the delay ehehe
------
Title: OUTSIDE MOUNTAINS
Parings: Li Xiangyi | Li Lianhua/Di Feisheng, Li Xiangyi | Li Lianhua & Fang Duobing
Chapter Plot: Madam Yu asks Li Lianhua to find her sister's murderer and after wasting time finding the culprit Li Lianhua leaves Fang Duobing behind to look for Di Feisheng who is kept chained in a cave.
Or in alternative
Li Lianhua is done with everyone shit, Fang Duobing is confused and Di Feisheng is gay but doesn't remember. With them Hulijing.
+Bonus
My dragon lord Di Feisheng when he met for the first time Li Xiangyi in the Valley of Demons (it will happen in the next chapter)
19 notes
·
View notes
For the first time in, like, forever... I have finished a chapter fic!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapters: 3/3
Words: 30,000
Pairing: Buck/Eddie
Summary:
“I won’t survive, Buck,” he says, from where his feet are firmly planted.
“What?”
Eddie does look at him, now, the face of a broken man sewn into his features. “I won’t survive. If my son dies, I will be dead before I have a chance to bury him. I won’t fucking make it.”
or;
Chris and Carla are in a car accident; when Eddie gets the call at work, he and Buck race to the hospital to be with him and they get some terrifying news.
18 notes
·
View notes
"college is the best years of your life" "college is for meeting new people and expanding your mind" wrong. college is for repeatedly learning that your foremost grievances with the world are ronald reagan's fault
9K notes
·
View notes
at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
18K notes
·
View notes
the rest of the justice league: hey man, we get that he’s your son and all, but shouldn’t you do something about him?
bruce ‘that’s my precious baby boy’ wayne: i’m sorry, did you have to hold your son as he was dying in your arms? did you almost k*ll yourself trying to follow him to the afterlife? i don’t think so.
5K notes
·
View notes
i think katsuki just answers his phone by barking out, "bakugou." no hello, probably doesn't even look at the caller id LOL when he hears it's you, though, i think he breathes out the tension he didn't realize was coiled in his shoulders, and says a lil, "hey," 🥺🥺
and i think when he calls you, and you answer with your sweet, "helloooo ??" he is so soft 😌 just mumbles out a quiet, "what'chu doin'?" and listens as you tell him, before saying what he needed to 😌
2K notes
·
View notes