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#thanks for reading? LOL
diddybok · 7 months
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me realising that i need to go into hiding after that felix fic:
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HELP LMAO😭
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inkskinned · 11 months
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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.
#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME#there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing#and the writing is what i need to be doing#writeblr#this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to#edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol#i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means#i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong#i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse#i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO#i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness#and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it#im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us#i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer#and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work#even if it means being miserable#but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.
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drawerbread · 5 months
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hey, catch this! *throws more barista!Gideon sketches at you*
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vaguely-concerned · 2 months
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So much of Garak as a person starts to make sense once you know his childhood was a fucking gothic novel. His main playground was a graveyard and he'd play pretend by perfoming improv eulogies to an imagined audience. For a long time his main touchstone for most important figures from recent history is 'oh yeah I know about that guy my dad buried him. great flower arrangements for that one'. He finds out later his 'parents' are actually a brother and sister who had to get married to avoid the utter shame and social devastation of having a child born out of wedlock, and they live in the basement of his biological father's house. (the madwoman in the attic vs. the tiny elim in the basement.) His biological father calls himself his uncle and locks him in a closet whenever he fails to live up to his insane and unpredictable expectations and everyone just has to act like that's normal and expected, and his will hangs over everything at all times, unseen but always felt keener than anything else. The father who actually raised him grows the world's most beautiful (and as it turns out, most poisonous) orchids and keeps the mask of a god hidden in a box in his work shed. Everyone in the house is choking down secrets like it's the only air they know how to breathe anymore.
What I'm saying is that right from the get-go this guy never had the faintest shot at turning out normal, so I'm glad that by middle age he's found a way to get a bit silly with it as he continues to be deeply deeply not normal about anything ever <3
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chiscribbs · 4 months
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Grown Apart AU - Musical Style ✨
What is This Feeling from Wicked pretty perfectly encapsulates GA Donnie and Leo's first impressions of each other, so the musical nerd within me couldn't resist doing this (lol).
Context within the plot: After saving Mikey's life (by total coincidence), Donnie manages to infiltrate the Hamato residence as a spy, planning to capture the oozesquitos and hand them over to Big Mama, thus gaining her favor. Leo, however, sees through his act easily and has been keeping an eye on him since he arrived. Due to circumstances outside of their control - i.e. Splinter's decision - the two of them are forced to share a room with each other, which neither party is particularly thrilled about.
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I just found out that, apparently, Grown Apart has made into the @tmntaucompetition preliminaries!!!! ASDFGHJKJH;!! Thank you to anyone who sent in a nomination! I guess we can officially call this "propaganda" now, so look forward to seeing much more in the very near future!
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mosovi-vian · 1 year
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And I will stay alive for my future self, so they can one day learn to be kind to who I was as a child. And I will teach them to honor who we used to be, so they can remember the comfort of what once was our untempered flesh and gentle soul. Me and myself are each a fresh wound and a rough scab, bearing respectively the gift of green faith and honed will.
This has been in my draft for a while because I was determined to post this only after I knew what I should write underneath it. I’ve read a lot on the concept of healing the wounded inner child since even before my c-ptsd diagnosis. However, I’ve sought as much comfort in my little self as they had in me. Looking back, I was an impressively emotionally-intuitive kid. I remember well how I used to think, the things I would write to my future self; they were wiser and gentler than I could ever hope to be as an adult. Needless to say, the little poem above is inspired by the aforementioned experience. Sure, big me is armed with a more developed pre-frontal cortex and access to invaluable resources (coping mechanisms, therapy, on and offline communities) , but I struggle to rediscover/reinvent my identity. Little me was the biggest vestige of my lost personhood. So yeah, this might be just a huge self-indulgent projection with my favorite character, but thinking that post-S3 Hunter would also be in my shoes is not completely baseless. 16yrs old Hunter is the fresh wound (a lot of things happened before his teen years, but I’m going to interpret the events of Hollow Mind - which happened when Hunter was 16 - as the ultimate boiling point in his trauma timeline, hence the ‘fresh wound') and 20yrs old Hunter is the rough scab. Each version of Hunter could be dealing with a different set of trauma-induced symptoms. I think his loyalty to Belos kept him going as a child. Being doubtless was important to Hunter back then; it held his sense of self together. And maybe when he survived and was rewarded the time and space to grow into his own person and live for himself, there was this lasting emptiness. I feel this sort of emptiness even today. My only reference of what ‘wholeness’ felt like was when I was obedient to my family. I equated self-abandonment as the righteous norm. The symptoms I deal with today are definitely different from when I was Hunter’s age pre-time-skip. Now that Hunter is in a safe space and an adult post-time skip, he might also need to seek that strength from his younger self. Reminding himself of how far he’s come and the parts of him that he'd like to keep from his past. The parts that he knows in his bones are purely his - not instilled by Belos, not inherited from Caleb.
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uncanny-tranny · 11 months
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I love love love when trans women* give advice to trans men* about """manly""" things and when trans men* return that kindness with advice about """womanly""" things. I love the intracommunity commitment to supporting each other <<3
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crabsnpersimmons · 4 months
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This one goes out to all the slow burn enjoyers, the dense Y/Ns, and the soft robo jesters that suffer in silence!
Inspired by @bamsara's “Solar Lunacy” fic.
If you feel like reading my ramblings and want to experience more heartbreak for fictional jester blorbos, check under the cut where I detail all the planning behind the frames!
so i heard this song for the first time in a while and the opening lyrics immediately made me think of moon, so i was daydreaming some scenes and then i decided to thumbnail some ideas:
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and it all went downhill from there as everything became a metaphor and a parallel to each other, which i will now go into detail on!
you thought the animatic itself was sad?
*writing muse laughs maniacally* IT'S ALL A METAPHOR
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Frame 1. "turn down the lights" We start with a back view on Moon. The lights are out, the Moon is out, but we do not see his face. The music and the greyscale atmosphere are enough to establish the weight of the moment and the weight on Moon’s mind.
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Frame 2. "turn down the bed" We cut to a shot of Moon's body, kneeling on the ground of the daycare, like a padded cell. Moon’s hands are twitching with the effects of the glitch, with purple sparks coming from his hands. We still do not see his face.
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Frame 3. "turn down these voices inside my head" Cut to an extreme close up on the dark half of Moon’s face. Now we see his face, but only a portion of it. His left eye is wide open, red and glitching out. The voices in his head can refer to the glitch but also his repressed feelings. Or maybe it could be Sun's voice in their shared headspace.
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Frame 4. "lay down with me" Y/N's hand enters the frame from the upper right corner, lowering down to meet Moon where he kneels on the ground. Only a corner of Moon's face appears on the bottom left corner of the frame, his starry nightcap beginning to cover his glitched left eye.
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Frame 5. "tell me no lies" An full shot of Moon on the floor and Y/N standing in front of him with their hand stretched towards him. A light spills out from behind Y/N, creating a boundary between them.
Now we see more of Moon. It is only when Y/N enters the frame—enters his world—that Moon’s body is shown in its entirely. When Y/N is here, he is no longer fragmented. He is whole.
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Frame 6. "just hold me close" pspspspsps Playfully, Moon extends his own hand, beckoning Y/N to come closer, to join him. His right hand crossed over his body as he uses the playful gesture to hide his true feelings—to put distance between him and Y/N. His hat continues to cover his glitching left eye. He doesn’t want to worry Y/N.
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Frame 7. "don't patronize" In response, Y/N’s hand pats Moon on the head, returning his playfulness. Moon looks surprised by the action. Moon, notably, does not lower his hand—perhaps he has forgotten it or perhaps his invitation is still open.
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Frames 8-9. "don't patronize me" Moon rotates his faceplate so Y/N’s hand is touching the side of his faceplate, a more intimate gesture than a head pat. However, his hat is in the way. At this angle, his starry nightcap fully covers his glitchy eye and the dark side of his face, hiding his defect and acting as a veil between him and Y/N. A self-imposed boundary. So close, yet thinly separated. It's better this way. It's safer this way.
The lyrics are broken up by Y/N's arm, both to illustrate how the song is sung ("patronize" is drawn out and "me" is briefly added in before the chorus starts) but also to show how Y/N interrupts Moon's resolve, highlighting the irony between the visuals and the lyrics. Demanding not to be patronized, yet Moon happily accepts this play at intimacy. Don't patronize me, I am weak for it.
This is also the only instance where the red light of Moon's eyes glow and tint the surfaces around it. Visually, it makes it look like Moon is blushing (heavily inspired by @restinsodaroni's art). But also, in this moment of honesty, Moon's intrinsic light spills out, colouring the greyscale world. In this brief moment of honesty, Moon touches the world with his own colours, his own light.
(and this is also where i forgot to clean up the shading on Y/N's arm, but it's okay it doesn't need to be perfect it simply needs to be. And Moon will still love Y/N even if they are a continuity error.)
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Frame 10. "'cause I can't make you love me if you don't" A parallel to a frame 4, Y/N retrieves their hand away and immediately Moon is reduced to the corner of his faceplate in the frame. Only now his glitched eye is fully covered by his hat.
The lyrics here (and in the next frame) in particular grow lighter to emphasize Moon's diminishing resolve and agency.
From here on out, the lyrics here are broken up, carrying on this theme of fragmentation. Y/N is pulling away, Moon is breaking up, the words are breaking up. Everything is coming apart.
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Frame 11. "you can't make your heart feel something it won't" Y/N turns to leave. The lyrics, broken up as before, highlight the irony of the situation. Y/N, a human, can’t feel something they simply don’t feel. Whereas, Moon, the machine, feels something his code never intended him to feel.
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Frame 12. "here in the dark in these final hours" Another full shot that parallels frame 5, as Y/N steps towards the light and Moon leans forward into the space Y/N once occupied. Y/N is leaving—that which makes him whole is leaving. And he is only capable of making it to the boundary where the light cuts into the darkness. The "final hours" suggest it might be the end of Y/N’s shift, or perhaps this scene takes place right before the glitch takes over—the final hours that Y/N has with the true Moon. Either way, time is running out—and only Moon knows it.
There is a contrasting display of body language here. Moon is on the floor leaning towards Y/N with his hand still left out. Whereas Y/N is turned away, walking away, and has already slipped their hand away and into their pocket. Y/N is closed off while Moon is limply open. Y/N is actively moving while Moon is on the floor, waiting, hoping, for that which he lacks the agency to reach for himself.
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Frame 13. "I will lay down my heart" A close up on Moon’s hand, rising up again, perhaps to beckon Y/N back once more. This is a slight parallel to Y/N's hand reaching out to Moon. While Y/N can freely reach out and touch Moon, Moon cannot. He can't enter the light and more importantly he can't risk potentially harming his relationship with Y/N—be it through the glitch or by his feelings. He can only lay down his heart—put aside his feelings or hope that someone will pick up his pieces and make him whole.
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Frame 14. "and I'll feel the power" Still on a close up on Moon’s hand, now clenched in slightly. This initially was going to have the glitch effects. However, I felt it more meaningful for it to be left without. Leave it up for interpretation why Moon pauses his hand. What is the power that he alone feels and stays his hand?
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Frame 15. "but you won't, no, you won't" A parallel to frame 1, a view of on Moon's back with his hand stretched out towards the light, and Y/N walking into the light spilling through the open daycare door.
The placement of the lyrics suggest two different “you won’t”—Y/N who won’t realize Moon’s feelings, and Moon who won’t dare speak them into reality.
Another note on the parallel to frame 1, this time we also see Y/N's back, but it is notably different from our view of Moon's back. With Moon, we literally see inside him through the hole for his loop. However, Y/N is shrouded in shadow, just a solid, obscure silhouette against the bright light of a world Moon—and Sun for that matter—are closed off from. We don’t see into Y/N, just as the Daycare Attendant doesn't have any vantage point of Y/N's life beyond their time at the PizzaPlex. (The unfortunate reality of a being a character made for the purpose of being a vessel for the reader.)
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Frame 16. "'cause I can't make you love me" We finally cut to face Moon head-on, frozen in place with his hand stretched out, unable to cross the boundary into the light. His eyes have gone dark. Where we began by seeing bits and parts of Moon, and never seeing his full face—now we, the viewer, see the full Moon, open and vulnerable—unbeknownst to Y/N.
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Frame 17. "if you don't" But in the dark, behind closed doors, there is no one to perceive him—no one to receive him. The light dwindles as the daycare doors are closed. Moon stays frozen where he kneels. It is no longer the glitch that plagues him, but a far deeper dread.
But a lone streak of light peaks through the gap in the daycare doors. Perhaps that is just enough. A silver lining. A frail hope. A single, ethereal thread out of darkness and into light.
Thanks for reading and watching!
We'll be back to our regularly scheduled fun and games shortly!
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slitsfordan · 2 months
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DanandPhilCrafts + Fucked Up Queer Devotion + Christian Homophobia: An Essay
We’ve all been talking about the willingness of Dan and Phil to perform the ritual, we’ve all been talking about the intimacy of carving out your lover’s heart, but I have not heard anyone talk about the fucked up side of Dan and Phil’s (fictional) relationship with each other, and with Him, so here goes.
On the craft channel, Dan and Phil act overwhelmingly positive, like satanic children’s show hosts, but this is clearly a farce. We see them drop their smiles quite a few times during the crafting- most notably in Glitter Faces when Dan’s craft turns out wrong, and when Phil cuts Dan’s hand. “Don’t cry, craft” is directed towards the audience, but it seems Dan and Phil are following their own advice. Cults, after all, prey on vulnerable people. While they do seem scared of doing the ritual, and their involvement with Him, they are, however, definitely willing. In
The blood on Dan after he kills Phil is interesting; The handprint on his shirt isn’t a sign of a struggle, but rather Phil just grabbing his shirt- that’s pretty intimate, honestly. The blood on his face could’ve been caused by a bunch of things: blood splatter he wiped at? wiping at his face (eyes?) with a bloody hand? or Phil holding his face? (I like the third option) The blood on his nose might totally have been accidental, and just a thing that happened, but it could also be an allusion to the cat whiskers, in the spirit of bringing things back to the beginning and whatnot.
After the ritual is complete, there’s the obvious tarot symbolism. @freckliedan has a great post about this, but I’ve got more to add, so bear with me. Yes, Dan and Phil are framed as the lovers, but that’s not all. While the sexual deviance associated with the devil card has clear connections to queerness, it’s main association is usually unhealthy relationships and dependence. From this, and the obvious devotion displayed in the video, the craft versions of Dan and Phil are implied to be unhealthily dependent on each other, and devoted to the point of obsession. While the relationship certainly isn’t abusive, this obsession just isn’t healthy.
Furthering the unhealthy relationship idea is when Phil calls Dan “Sampson”. In the Bible or whatever (I’m not Christian sue me) Sampson topples these pillars, killing both himself and his enemies, which has a clear parallel to Dan’s stacked ingredients falling over, but the use of “folly” is interesting, and suggests a further connection. Sampson had married a prostitute, and she sold him out, basically, leading to his enslavement and later death. In this story, this is the clearest and most obvious act of folly by Sampson: marrying someone who he shouldn’t have, someone who it was taboo for him to be with. Connected to Dan and Phil, it suggests that their relationship is dangerous due to the social taboo, but it’s also implied that Phil will betray Dan. Perhaps we’ll see that in a 5th crafts installment, or perhaps it’s simply a commentary on being in a relationship with someone considered unacceptable.
Speaking of unhealthy relationships, that’s sure what they’ve got with Him! Leading up to the ritual, Dan and Phil are shown to be scared of Him, even though they call Him their friend. Dan’s head shake when Phil says “crafting has improved my life in numerous ways” is very telling. At the end, Dan’s shoulders tense at His first footstep, however, when He actually touches Dan, he doesn’t seem scared at all- forgive me for this next point, but from the way he kinda leans into the touch and tilts his head back, it seems more like he’s going for “turned on” rather than “scared”.
“Okay, cool” you say, “but what does it mean?” Well, Dan and Phil’s relationship in this series is not just about homoerotic undertones- this is an allegory for toxic queer sexual relationships. Why would they make something about toxic relationships when they’re in a healthy relationship? With the toxicity, and the power imbalances, and the satanism, Dan and Phil’s (fictional) relationship is a representation of Christian fears of queerness, and the supposed immoral/corrupting/anti-Christian effects of being in a queer relationship. The fear Dan and Phil show throughout the series is representative of internalized homophobia. They’re scared to align themselves with Him because it means accepting their own queerness. Dan shows more fear than Phil throughout the series (like after his glitter face turns out to be a pentacle) which parallels his real world internalized homophobia that he’s experienced. By holding hands with the devil (or baphomet?) standing behind them, Dan and Phil have embodied every conservative fear about queerness, but have come out on top. Through their YouTube channel, we get to do the same.
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zetadraconis11 · 3 months
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HL Incorrect Quote #100
*in the Room of Requirement*
MC, bursting in: I finally did it!
Sebastian from the sofa: Did what?
MC, holding up the Field Guide: I finally found all the pages!
Natty, looking up from her book: THAT'S why you've been casting Revelio everywhere?
MC: Yep! And not only that, but I also found all of those Demiguise statues!
Poppy, while petting Highwing: ...is that why you've been taking cat naps all around Hogwarts?
MC: Yep.
Ominis, from a lounge chair: For the record, sleeping on the floors of Hogwarts are not as bad as you would think.
MC: Oh, and I found ALL of the Astronomy tables!
Amit, by a telescope: You did?! I hope it wasn't too dangerous...
MC: Nonsense! I've dealt with a whole lot worse than some mongrels and spiders. This was a piece of cake.
The group:
MC: And don't get me started on those bloody Merlin trials... But I did all 95 of them!
Sebastian, horrified: 95???
MC: Yes! It was not worth the pints of coffee and tea I downed, but I have done it all!
The group:
MC: I need to sleep. *keels over onto lounge*
The group:
Ominis: The more I hear about what MC does, the more concerned I get.
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archervale · 6 months
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Omg screenrant we can finally agree on something
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dotcircledot · 5 months
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practice stuff idk
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a2zillustration · 5 months
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I've been waiting for an excuse to tell you why Croissant is called Croissant for SO LONG
| First | | Previous | | Next |
[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]
[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]
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pyralart · 2 years
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All thanks to them...
Just an idea of what Belos could be doing next episode- you might also spot some suspicious drawings hidden in there- if not... it's your loss
ID in ALT and under read more:
[ID: Comic with the character Belos from the cartoon show The Owl House, in his monster form. It takes place after the episode "Thanks to Them". Belos is back to the demon realm in his monster form. He is seen going in his cave, overhead some tubes are full of a green glowing magical liquid. He says with a distorted voice: "I will finish this"
 
Belos is kneeling on the ground, looking down at it. A green tube is planted in the ground. Belos continues: "I just need..."
 
Belos is slowly melting into the ground in a horrific manner. In the background a goopy hand is reaching down as it shows all the goop disappearing in the ground as a green glow emanates from the earth.
 
A last drop of goop is seen on the ground before disappearing completely.
 
Next panel, a hand emerges straight from the ground.
 
A grimwalker, almost Hunter lookalike, is halfway out of the ground, looking at his hand. He show signs of possession by Belos, his eyes are icy blue and some green and brown patches appeared already. He finishes: "... A proper body to work with"
 
The background turned to black. On it is written: "Right, Caleb?".
 
The next panel shows the grimwalker, currently Belos, with horns sprouting from his head. He is taking up his (Caleb's) coat from a chair, continuing: "Thanks to them, we can finally-"
 
"Do this together" He ends in the next panel, tugging on his coat and smirking menacingly as his horns fully grew out of his head.]
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etchy-a-sketchy · 5 months
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Merry Christmas! Have a comic based on this amazing fic by theMiraculousMat on AO3! Warning for spoilers!!!! (Even if this is a hypothetical XD)
(Read this yall it’s so good!!)
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kedsandtubesocks · 5 months
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give you something to dream about
joel miller x f!reader
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summary: It’s game night at the bar and you stumble upon the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak AU, Joel has both of his daughters, ‘strangers at a bar and maybe something more’ scenario with eventual husband!Joel, mentions of drinking, spicy making out session, Joel gets a bit handsy, gendered language / reader is addressed as “baby” & ��darlin” light football discussions and terminology, lovesick and possessive!Joel
word count: 4k
a/n: this is my love letter to Joel, his love for football and maybe my own love for Texas football as well lol. To have this as my first fic of the new year and for it being for Joel means so much. To come back and write for the Pedro fandom is special and means so much. Big thank you to my babe @ahauntedcowboy for letting me scream my sports girl head off about this, and for @lowlights for giving me guidance when I needed it. And lastly - thank you for reading, you are what truly makes this so incredibly special and wonderful
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A mixture of bright neon and low soft white lights bathe the bar in a cozy ambient glow. The music is barely audible, a sort of after thought. Instead commotion and the ramble of sports announcers fills the room.
You manage to squeeze through the sea of onlookers dressed in burnt orange. Maria thankfully stays close to you. Now at the bar counter relief floods you as you lean against it.
“Order me a beer, I’m gonna find our table.” Maria yells over the liveliness swirling around.
You give her a thumbs up and thankfully don’t have to wait for the bartender long.
“Like your shirt!”
The bartender’s voice catches you instantly. Bright and direct you blink towards him. He’s cute, young, maybe a grad student from UT Austin who works here.
You can’t help but glance down at what you’re wearing.
Even under your jacket the shirt is comfortably a bit larger on you. The main focus is the old cartoon type logo of Bevo, the Texas Longhorn's mascot. The burnt orange coloring is faded adding to its weathered look.
A warmth flutters through you from just seeing it.
“It’s vintage, cool as hell.” The bartender continues admiring.
“Thanks. Uh, a friend of mine gave it to me.” Thankfully the bartender nods understandingly and doesn’t press the topic more. Instead he soon asks what you’ll be having.
You order Maria’s beer and a drink for yourself.
“So, you a big Texas fan? Well okay, I mean…you gotta be if you’re here.” The bartender, grabbing a drink glass, starts up another conversation with you as his tone becomes playful.
“A lot of people I know and love are. So by default I am too.” You admit with a sleepy grin.
“Aw,” his face melts. “Now that’s sweet. Well glad to have you here cheering for Texas.”
The bartender now even winks at you. You politely laugh but then, the bar erupts silencing the conversation.
Excited yells come so loud you jump out of your skin. Quickly you turn around to view the many tvs and projectors showing the game.
From what you can tell the Texas defense managed to take down the quarterback. You even watch the replay to see what the fuss is about. It was a good tackle and the play kept the other team’s quarterback from even advancing.
The game has you memorized now. You watch as the burnt orange and white uniforms of the players scramble like chaotic ants now trying to rush after the ball was kicked, no, punted to them.
Your lips twitch. You never would’ve thought you knew this much football terminology or could at least follow the game. Yet here you are.
The bartender clears his throat and embarrassingly fast you turn back around.
Not two but three drinks sit before you on the bar counter.
One happens to be a surprise shot that makes your eyes go wide.
“Uh, so the guy at the end of the bar sent it your way.” The bartender explains lowly, trying to be discreet about it.
Your eyes instead whip up to search for the mystery man. Then your heart sprouts wings when you discover him.
Leaning against the bar rail at the very opposed end of where you are, the man seems like something out of a romance novel’s dream.
Ruggedly handsome, his distinguished aged face and striking nose glow against the mixture of neon and dim lighting. It highlights the grays in his beard and gorgeous dark hair. His chocolate eyes bore into you as if you’re the only one in this bar.
His attention on you alone has your knees weak and you wonder maybe you suddenly turned into jello.
Your mystery man lifts his beer up to you, a silent ‘cheers’ and then takes a sip.
Just watching him take a swig of his beer has you dizzy. So you readily snatch up the shot, toast it back to him and down it.
The alcohol burns, but you’re surprised it’s your favorite liquor of choice. You can’t help but cough up wildly and the bartender snickers at your reaction. It’s been too long since you’ve had a shot and you’re thankful to chase the stinging sensation down with your mixed drink.
“Hey!” Maria’s voice calls out and her bright smile greets you as she slides through the packed crowd.
“Hope you didn’t think I forgot about you.” She laughs warmly. She grabs her beer and slides a tip to the bartender.
But then her eyes notice the empty glass.
“Oh? You took a shot without me?” She teases.
You tell her someone bought it for you and her eyebrows fly up fast in eager surprise.
“Oh?” Even her tone is warmly excited. “You get a good look at who your mystery shot buyer is?”
You turn your attention towards the end of the bar, right where he should be. Except your mystery man has vanished.
A bit of disappointment trickles in.
“I did, but guess he took off.” You tell Maria a bit low.
“Well, his loss then. Come on! Let’s head back to our table-”
“S’cuse me…”
A smooth deep and accented drawl, direct and firm enough cuts through the commotion politely cutting in on Maria.
Just as fast, there’s suddenly a deep warmth behind your back. The presence is broad, warm, and smells of the beautiful hint of a sandalwood cologne.
“If you don’t mind, I think I might steal this pretty gem for myself.” The accent seems thicker now and melts off his voice like sin.
He’s talking about you.
Maria smiles wildly entertained while her eyes flicker between you and your mystery man.
Silently you stare back and with pleading eyes you mentally communicate that yes you want to stay, yes it’s okay for her to head back.
“Alrighty then, see you two later.” She says grabbing her beer and gives you one last amused look before heading back to the table.
Your heart races so loud in your ears you don’t even notice the upset yells at a bad call given by the refs.
“…Howdy…”
The voice purrs, absolutely dances against the noise of the bar and beckons to you, your personal siren’s song.
Turning around the shadow of the mystery man falls over you. He stares down with those obsidian pool eyes as his lips turn into a boyish grin.
“I’m Joel. S’nice to meet you.”
You think about all the songs that sing about Texas beauty and how they all must have actually been speaking of this man.
Joel extends his hand out to you and the simple pure southern gentleman introduction has excitement bubbling in you like you’re a champagne bottle about to pop.
Your lips fight back a disbelieved smile as you introduce yourself and shake his hand.
It’s larger than yours, warm and beautifully callous that speaks of hard work. Joel leans closer to you and you can’t help but slide more towards him as well.
“I like your shirt.” His fingers playfully tugs at the bottom edge of your shirt.
“Thanks,” you take a sip of your drink to gain more courage. “A friend of mine let me wear it.”
Joel laughs. It’s warm, touches his face and sounds like it settles in his chest.
“A friend huh?” His voice grows even more amused.
You simply hum a nod as you take another sip of your drink. Your body hums with so many wonderful emotions like a jenga tower trying to hold onto its form on a moving table.
“That friend of yours a boyfriend?” Joel asks, a dark drawl sticky as molasses and trapping you to him.
You can’t help but shake your head no. The taste of your drink momentarily settles you.
“Pretty thing like you single? Ain’t that a shame.” Joel comments with a low rumble and all the ease you had gathered floats away.
Your eyes flicker back to Joel. But your focus goes between his stunning eyes and his lips. You don’t miss the way his eyes gloss over, become hooded with a hazy desire. How much it intensifies his gorgeous features makes your stomach flutter.
The game must have quieted down or maybe you’re just this focused on this man.
He moves to whisper in your ear.
“So…Wanna find a nice quiet spot to chat? Get to know each other better?” His lips softly graze your ear and an electric current runs up your spine.
“Yeah.” You mutter back now tipsy off Joel’s presence.
The moment you agree, Joel’s hand slips towards your waist and draws you to his side. He quickly slams down plenty of bills on the counter to cover for the drinks and tip. Your poor drink and his are forgotten.
Now Joel shifts into a man focused.
Squaring up his shoulders, he stands taller as he takes the lead. His broad shoulders become a guiding force, keeping you close to him. His hand intertwines with yours while he navigates you among the crowds.
His larger hand suddenly squeezes yours, a reassuring pressure that draws you closer to him. Moving through the tables against the crowds, you arrive at the outdoor patio where the early night air clears your mind.
Joel continues guiding you to a smaller area where the bathrooms are outside by the patio. You stand before the family restroom that holds the sweet title of “cowpokes” on it. Opening the door, Joel leads you inside. You take in the slightly larger yet still small rustic bathroom that glows under the murky amber light.
The door locks behind you and you turn around to find Joel staring you down with hunger brewing in his smokey eyes.
That’s all you can focus on before you get caught up in a dizzying whirlwind.
Hastily Joel rushes forward to pin you against the wall. His body firm and large presses so deliciously against you. Before your eyes can even soak in the close sight of him, he sweeps in and kiss you with a ravenous fierceness that steals your breath.
He quickly consumes you.
Joel faintly tastes of beer and something intoxicatingly uniquely him. While his hand moves to hold your face, his tongue licks into your mouth, diving in, almost trying to get drunk off you. You can’t help but draw him closer to you as much as you can. You want your nails to dig into him the same way he’s burning under your skin and seeping into your core
His hips begin to grind against you with an eased pace and you moan into his mouth. You want more, need more.
“Oh baby.” Joel groans out and sounds like sticky delicious sin.
Suddenly the loudest cheers leak into the bathroom.
So fierce in their excitement it echos into the room and freezes you and Joel immediately.
He sighs against your lips.
“We must‘ve scored.” Joel mutters.
“Are you upset you didn’t see it?” You ask gently and kiss his lips soft as the heat begins to settle.
“Nah. I’m aimin’ to score here myself.” He grins and the line has you laughing. Your face goes to rest against his as you continue to snicker. The prickle of his beard gently scratching against your skin feels wonderful.
“Darlin’ you’re killin’ me. I wanted to sound slick.” Joel sighs again, sounding deflated now.
“You did...sort of.” You smile.
“Forgive me,” He smirks and turns to press another soft kiss against your lips. “Been outta practice for a while.”
“You aren’t too bad, cowboy. You managed to get me in here.” You hum amused while your fingers run against his jaw, through his scruffy wonderful beard.
Joel chuckles and it dances within his chest, resonating through him.
“You’re the only one I want in here.” He mutters.
You and him share a few more soft slow eased kisses that are rushed, almost shy now.
With one last kiss, a deeply melting one that now makes you ache to keep him here, Joel pulls away. You hold yourself back from pouting.
But, you’re now rewarded with the sight of Joel fully before you. The dim amber light paints him like something pulled from a sunset dream, an aged handsome man so sweet with his furrowed concentrated eyes.
You watch Joel pat around his jean pockets and suddenly your eyes go wide.
“Joel Miller if you lost them-”
“Calm down!” He huffs cutting you off while he rapidly digs into his deep jeans pocket. He yanks something out in his grasp.
He smoothly slides closer back to you and holds out his palm where two wedding rings sit waiting.
His and yours.
Your heart melts out of your chest seeing them and your ring finger itches for its missing piece. You grab Joel’s ring, leaving him yours and move to slide his back onto his hand.
In the same manner, Joel slides your wedding band back onto its rightful place. The memory of when you did this at your actual wedding faintly flutters in and settles warm in your heart’s chamber.
Joel draws your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles.
This man, your husband - you yank him towards you again to kiss him.
It’s a kiss that’s like coming home, of sweetness and cultivated bliss reuniting together again.
“Wanna see that bartender try flirtin’ with ya now with that ring on your finger.” Your grumpy husband grumbles adorably.
You bark a laugh. “Oh please, he was being nice for the tip and you know it.”
“Uh huh.” Joel dryly huffs as he stares at you unamused.
“Hey he was nice. He even liked my shirt.” You reply back.
“My shirt.” Joel clarifies strongly. “That’s my shirt.”
You roll your eyes playful.
He is right though. The shirt is his. Your husband is a superstitious football fan. And ever since you wore his shirt and Texas won, Joel used his beautiful brown eyes as weapons to get you to wear his shirt every game since then.
“Come on, curious to see what the score is.” With one last sweet kiss, Joel leads you back out into the evening air.
Hand in hand with him, you find your way to Tommy and Maria. Both of them brighten up at the sight of you and Joel.
“Hey! Look at that! You’re a married man again!” Tommy cries happily and you laugh. Joel, after sliding your chair in for you, rolls his eyes now while you and Maria snicker to each other.
“Bet it was fun while it lasted.” Maria grins.
“Eh.” You shrug but the truth tugs at your lips amused.
A few nights ago, when you and Joel had come up with this idea of going to the bar without the rings, pretending to not know each other, you worried for a split moment that you’d enjoy the freedom.
You worried you would realize how much you missed and enjoyed the playful banter, the flirting and pull that comes with being single. But instead you simply found your way back to Joel.
The excitement of seeing him, of having that same sensation rush through you like it did when you first met him, was nostalgically addictive for a moment.
However, you instead soak in the comfort of sitting beside Joel because it feels like coming home. While being single for another moment again was fun, you want to find Joel in every lifetime, find him as your husband in every universe.
The bar suddenly breaks into wild excitement. Joel as well cheers so loud. You turn to the game and find Texas intercepted a pass.
Now you go to check your phone and find both your daughters thankfully are doing fine. Sarah even sent you a photo text of her and Ellie at the classmate’s birthday party they’re both at. There’s a lightness that settles into your bones seeing them and having their father, your husband, beside you.
Joel and Tommy, as if they’re ESPN announcers in deep analysis, dive back into how Texas needs to sharpen up their offensive line. It’s adorable. It makes you fall in love even more with him.
Maria goes to ask Tommy something about the game and Joel leans towards you.
“You happy to be married again?” His voice drops soft and low. You catch the hint of true curiosity and almost hesitation residing under his tone.
“Of course. It’s my luckiest day all over again.” You truthfully tell him with a warm grin.
“Yeah?” He mutters tenderly as his eyes flicker to your lips again. “Make sure you share some of that luck with the team alright?”
You playfully nudge his arm and Joel smirks. You love him like this, light and teasing.
Joel drops a kiss to the side of your head.
“Don’t worry baby, this is my lucky day too. Goin’ home with the most gorgeous person here and I’m married to her.”
You could say the same thing. You’re leaving with the most handsome man and knowing you’re married to him? You feel honored, proud, and grateful.
Even when he starts yelling at the quarterback as if the poor guy can hear him.
“I could throw a better pass than that!” He argues upset.
You’re not as big of a fan as Joel, but Texas holds a place in your heart forever. It intertwined you and him in its own unique way.
Back when you were dating Joel patiently explained the game, so gently spoke to you without any judgment when you asked questions you were sure would make any other seasoned fan mock you or get annoyed. But not your Joel.
The first big moment you met Ellie and Sarah it was over at his place during a Texas game.
You experienced how wildly invested Ellie got, just like Joel, and how amused Sarah got seeing her dad and sister scream at the tv. From that point - all the days, the games, laughs and moments cultivated into a path that has led you to this moment, to this bar.
And now, here you are.
You love Joel’s love for the game, for the sport. You love how it’s connected you to him.
“Honey, you okay?” The voice of your husband pulls you from your thoughts, like a call home.
You turn to find Joel intently looking at you, your sweetheart provider. You can’t help but grin and nod.
“Yup, just thinking about the handsome stranger I met earlier. Hope he asks for my number.” You tell him.
Joel breaks into a chuckle that touches his earth eyes.
“Between you and me, he’d be a fool if he didn’t.” His hand now slides to yours, his thumb even begins to twist and fiddle with your wedding ring, a sweet habit of his.
You snort amused at how effortlessly he can play along with you.
Before you can tease him again or even wander back into your thoughts, the crowd roars to life with shouts. All eyes including yours snap to the game.
Texas just intercepted the ball and the play breathes life into the bar, into your husband who claps loud and proud.
It’s a great energy to see the end of the second quarter and the start of the halftime.
Suddenly, Joel’s hand begins softly trailing against your thigh. Warm and almost eased, the slow movement ignites a blooming desire in your chest.
Joel easily laughs with Tommy about the game. His eyes stay on his brother. Yet Joel’s hand slides now confidently deeper into the inside of your thigh. Your throat tightens and heat now begins to soak between your thighs, almost daring him to touch you.
Then a collection of happy cheers burst in the bar and steals all the attention.
All the tables nearby including yours turn to find a group of ladies. One of them currently grabs the cowboy hat off a taller man who grins so warmly down at her. She laughs loudly after doing what had to have been a wild shot.
The guy orders her, and her friends, another round causing them to squeal loud and excited again. Maria leans back to talk to Tommy and so you too lean closer to your own husband.
“Maybe I should pretend to be single again.” You tell Joel. “To see if I’ll get free shots and attention like that.”
Not that you’d want any of that. You just enjoy teasing your sweet grumpy husband from time to time.
“Nope.” Joel says with an unwavering sharpness. “You ain’t going anywhere without that ring Mrs. Miller.”
His words are rather light, almost playful, but you catch the underlying possessive simmering. It ignites an even stronger warmth beneath your skin.
“And who says you don’t get free shots? I’ll buy you as many as ya want.” Joel adds and his clipped almost ruffled voice has you laughing.
But as you settle, your thoughts wander. The smell of Joel so close, the mixture of his faint cologne and the detergent you use to wash his clothes, brings back the sensation of having that smell surround you when you were in the restroom with him.
It makes you ache.
Your hand now softly wanders to rub his warm broad chest. A low rumble comes from him, an awareness of your presence as you drape against him now. Maria and Tommy thankfully have begun to make fast friends with the couple sitting beside your table.
Your face leans to rest against Joel’s and the slick honey like desire you felt earlier creeps over you once more. It urges you to be bold.
“Wanna go mess around before halftime is over?” You offer soft and low, only for his ears.
Joel peers over to you, his eyes now smoldering coals.
“You wanna?” He mutters back.
Your answer comes as a soft kiss you place against his cheek. However, your hand now begins to slide up his thigh just like he did to you earlier.
Joel loudly clears his throat and sits up fast which untangles you from him. Immediately he yanks out his wallet to slam his card on the table.
Tommy and Maria now blink back at the sudden action.
“Order anything y'all want. We gotta grab somethin’ from the truck.” Joel lies effortlessly.
But Maria knows as she grins knowingly while embarrassment instead rises in you.
And apparently her husband isn’t as easily fooled either.
“Yeah yeah! Get outta here ya horn dogs!”
Joel barks a sharp ‘hey!’ at his younger brother’s crudeness while you can only laugh against him. Tommy simply makes obnoxious kissy faces while Maria snickers besides him. Unable to endure anymore teasing Joel playfully calls Tommy a piece of shit and with that you wave a quick and thankful to Tommy and Maria.
Joel once again leads the way to the entrance.
The two of you now stay stuck together closer than earlier. An almost giddy frenzy now keeps you both hyper aware of the other. His hands keep you so firmly close to him.
The giddiness you had earlier while pretending to be single with Joel is nothing compared to this. This feeling swirling in you comes from knowing you get to sneak away with your husband. It has you floating, only tied to this world by Joel keeping you steady and protected.
Around you, small chatter about the game hangs in the air.
Texas might not win. But as you slide closer to Joel, a unique shade of triumph washes over you.
Your good man, your wonderful husband.
He is your victory and champion.
Your victory lap and your welcome home party all at once.
And when he kisses you wildly against the side of his truck…you think he might also be your sneaky devilish opponent as his hand already starts to slip under your, no his shirt.
And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
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