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#we need this back

make ocs that would get you thrown out of aol chats and never look back

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A few years ago some immensely brilliant people set up accounts for Miss Hardbroom, Imogen Drill, Davina Bat and a couple of others. They are utterly PRICELESS.

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bring back the reply bubble 2k16

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You know what, coming back to this edit, I think the reason why we can notice how this single phrase (anyone but him) changes meaning is due to where the emphasis is.

Anyone but him, Merlin says to Kilgharrah, pleading for his destiny to be bound to someone else. To anyone else. Not him. Arthur is spoiled and rude and he’s the son of Uther. Anyone else but this one.

And we can also see that is the same reaction Arthur has when Merlin becomes his manservant. Anyone else but him, father. He’s disrespectful and snarky and has no idea how the hierarchy works. He would rather have any other peasant but this one.

We get to the Diamond of the Day, and so many years have passed. The emphasis has changed. Merlin no longer begs for anyone to take Arthur’s place in their shared destiny. He no longer wishes for the Once and Future King to be anyone because there can’t be anyone like him.

Anyone but him, Merlin cries to the dragon. He is lost and alone. The body is cold and he feels empty. Inside, Merlin knows Arthur is no longer with him, but his heart still cries out. Not him. Merlin would do anything to have Arthur come back. He would wait a 1,000 years to see him again. Because anyone isn’t him. He is everything. And so Merlin cries out again: anyone but him.

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She has not seen nor heard from him in so very long. Not that they’d left off on the greatest terms the past few times to expect she would.

Briar, always dreaming bigger, pressing boundaries, bringing forth life; Qrow, refusing to learn, to move forward, to grow along with her. The beauty of a stunning star fades once her light too strongly emphasizes someone else’s shadows, once the big bad wolf starts howling ugly truths.

No blame or judgement - just the story of her life. Which went on.

Then, out of nowhere, he’d shown up - pounding at her door in the middle of the day, calling out in a voice so demanding for how weak it was. Stumbled in, looking like hell instead of raising it - delirious; must have made his way towards a familiar home, a former place of comfort, led by the fog of some fever.

Because Briar promised Qrow would always be safe with her.

Vomit still drains down her kitchen sink, and stains the shirt she’d divested him of. The faucet runs to rinse off both, and to create calming white noise. No mind given whatsoever to the price of utilities this month, doesn’t matter right now. Worth the cost for sounds of running water to soothe children of the forest stuck in a city.

Briar sits up in bed, and Qrow lies across her lap. Black tail curls up over his chest, so he can clutch at strands of fur just to keep his hands from shaking. She pushes sweaty bangs away from his brow with one hand, keeps carding through his hair as he remembers how to breathe. The other rests on his shoulder until she notices something different.

Fingertips fall, unwilling to interrupt touch to get to it; they drag a line down the side of his torso until they meet a scar she knows was never there before. If it could even be called that - an angry looking ridge spanning his ribs, healed over, but the shape and color of the gash still raw, not really scarred down yet.


“This is new,” she murmurs.

“…Yeah,” he groans rough, without elaborating at all.

Gold eyes sharpen and narrow as soft touch traces each edge back and forth as if it could do anything to lighten the blemish or take the pain of another bad memory etched into his very appearance away. She-wolf huffs, and he must hear it, thinks it’s his fault, starts muttering what are probably apologies. But, no.

No, her anger only flares at the audacity of who could leave this kind of mark on Qrow, at who could possibly break through skilled huntsman’s guard and dare wound within that space, …and at all the battles even a reinstated huntress license doesn’t allow Briar to fight with him.

Because Remant’s been going to shit lately, and Qrow Branwen is at the center of the storm. Of course he is. Fucking… chasing it all the way here to Solitas.


Outlining turns to idle strokes along the length of his abdomen, and idle hope that finding himself here means maybe he’s learned not to keep trying to save the world while drowning and alone. A lean brings her forehead down to touch his, lets her hair tickle his face and neck and collarbone in silken black curtain; arms move to encircle him; whole face squeezes shut to pinch back a wave of tears she has no shame in releasing, but doesn’t want to burden him with right now. Not til he has his wits back about his brain and feet back under his body. And Qrow is welcome to stay with Briar, who will sit here until he does, even if it takes a few tries.

Terms never have been nor have to be perfect in her world. She’s so happy to see his face and hear his voice again after so very long.

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i have,,,, 18 wips actively open right now. eight. teen. thats not even counting all the ones in waiting that i’m going to transfer later form my voice recorder or my notes app.

I have other writing to do. I have a job and chores and shit. i don’t have time to start another one, please

#thinking about that sketch i made#of boxer joe#with cookbook editor nicky#who spends all his time trying out the recipes from the cookbooks he edits#bc while he loves cooking hes not so imaginative at it#but he has a great attention to detail and so he landed on this job#and we get an ER meetcute bc joe wholeass broke his nose (not the first time but concussions are Serious yall and it was just during an imp#and nicky sliced his hand open because his cat startled him while he was cooking#so theyre both in the ER with relatively minor injuries that just need to be cleared by a doc just to be safe#and joe's face is buried in an old shirt he keeps in his locker to quell the bleeding and even opening his eyes Hurts but he hears this man#and so he looks up and sees this adorable bookish man in desperate need of a haircut clutching his hand to his chest wrapped in a red check#and an apron that reads 'your opinion was not in the recipe'#speaking italian in a low confident voice that belied the sheer amount of blood soaking through the towel#then he sits heavily next to joe (whos still a little starstruck and thinking his concussion must be really bad if hes hallucinating beauti#and looks over with a tilt of his head like#'broken nose?' to which joe responds 'probably' then shifts and feels the bones move painfully and says 'definitely' instead#and nicky nods 'i can relate. i used to play football'#joe frowns thinking of this slight nerdy man as a linebacker then realises he meant soccer#and joe asks about his hand and nicky explains#and then they start having a whole convo until one or both gets called back#and joe (ever the overconfident asshole inside the ring but markedly more subdued outside) shyly asks nicky for his number#and nicky (who sat next to this man for a reason that wasn't ALL to do with the obscene bulge of his biceps and the peek of bare pecs in th#and down the line we get joe who plays up his aggression in the ring to make for a better show#getting so goddamn soft at the thought of his thoughtful boyfriend who brings him his homemade creations at the gym because hes worried joe#if anyone wants to actually write this please feel free#if i start another wip rn i swear my sanity will snap in two like a kit kat bar
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It will be like my Jiara obsession, it will start to die down a little and then I see a little bit of content and I’m like 🤡and I’ve just accepted it

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