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turianosauruswrex · 1 month

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wandosia for your favorite OC?

Ohhhhh I think you'll get Peregrine, I'm in a mood for them!

wandosia [ a condition characterized by scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there ]

Hell is more crowded than Per thought it'd be. Certainly, they've sent their share and more of people here, but the city of Dis still teems in a way they weren't expecting. Devils-- devil-kin-- it feels like everything down to the very stones on the hot, hot streets have eyes on them. That they are the smallest, that they are the least noticeable of their companions, does nothing to help the feeling. Maybe it was seeing Orin again. They didn't even know she was dead. Who killed her-- who managed it? They count themselves lucky she hadn't noticed them before the rest of the group let them leave. Maybe it's the fact of missing their soul. However riddled with holes it might be, however bloody, it is still theirs, so of course, they think, huddled in their layers in this sweltering heat, they feel wrong without it. They make no presumptions about its state. They'll get it back regardless of who they have to kill to get it. And they scan the crowds of devils in the panopticon of Dis, the Wrought-Iron Tower looming above, and Peregrine finds themselves looking through the faces they pass. Just as they did in Baldur's Gate. They are looking, looking, examining, and they find nothing. Of course they don't. Just as in Baldur's Gate, even after the message addressed to him turned to ash in their hands, even after a hundred years passed and he would be dead even with a miracle. Why did they expect to see his face there? Black curls and crimson horns framing a stark-white face, beacon-blue eyes, why would he have been in Baldur's Gate if he was dead? And why would he be in the Hells? Wasn't this the man so virtuous he turned his back on them despite-- despite-- (What do you expect, Son of Bhaal, Cur of Gehenna? Do you expect the Broken God's beloved to show you mercy, if you find him here? Do you expect him to forgive you, Dread Lord's Scion, after you reveled in the cruelty with which you last spoke to him? You do him another cruelty now, assuming by the virtue of his blood he would be here. He loved you. He would have drowned with you. He--) He wouldn't be in the Hells. Ilmater wouldn't allow it. Peregrine swallows a sneer and keeps moving.

#thank you!!#asks #freesidexjunkie #per knezevic #what was my writing tag

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butchfalin · 5 months

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the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

#yeehaw #1k #5k #10k #posts that got cursed. blasted. im making these tag updates after... 19 hours?#also i have been told it should say speech loss bc nonverbal specifically refers to the permanent state. did not know that!#unfortunately i fear it is so far past containment that even if i edited it now it would do very little. but noted for future reference #edit 2: nvm enough ppl have come to rb it from me directly that i changed the wording a bit. hopefully this makes sense #also. in case anyone is curious. though i doubt anyone who is commenting these things will check the original tags #1) my friend did not do this on purpose in any way. it was not intended to distract me or to hit on me. im a lesbian hes a gay man. cmon now #he felt very bad about it afterwards. i thought it was hilarious but it was very embarrassed and apologetic #2) “why didn't he use 🫵🏼?” didn't exist yet. “why didn't he use 🆗?” dunno! we'd been using a lot of hand emojis. 👌🏼 is an ok sign #like it makes sense. it was just a silly mixup. also No i did not invent 👉🏼👌🏼 as a gesture meaning sex. do you live under a rock #3) nonspeaking episodes are a recurring thing in my life and have been since i was born. this is not a quirky one-time thing #it is a pervasive issue that is very frustrating to both myself and the people i am trying to communicate with. in which trying to speak is #extremely distressing and causes very genuine anguish. this post is not me making light of it it's just a funny thing that happened once #it's no different than if i post about a funny thing that happened in conjunction w a physical disability. it's just me talking abt my life #i don't mind character tags tho. those can be entertaining. i don't know what any of you are talking about #Except the ppl who have said this is pego/ryu or wang/xian. those people i understand and respect #if you use it as a writing prompt that's fine but send it to me. i want to see it #aaaand i think that's it. everyday im tempted to turn off rbs on it. it hasn't even been a week

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daisywords · 6 months

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One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

#idk what to tag this #worldbuilding #writing fiction #historical fiction #fantasy #a real-life example: my dad (a pediatrician) was once entrusted with the care of a baby who was born with a rare condition #this was in a place without great hospital/medical access and anyway they were going to fly the baby over #and he specifically asked them to bring the mother and baby #they show up with baby and...the baby's uncle #and he was like. y'all. do you think I asked for the mom to come just for fun??? We don't have formula here. what is the baby going to eat?

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inkskinned · 2 years

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fucking hate it when the stuff everybody says "actually works" does actually work.

hate exercising and realizing i've let go of a lot of anxiety and anger because i've overturned my fight-or-flight response.

hate eating right and eating enough and eating 3 times a day and realizing i'm less anxious and i have more energy

hate journaling in my stupid notebook with my stupid bic ballpoint and realizing that i've actually started healing about something once i'm able to externalize it

hate forgiving myself hate complimenting myself more often hate treating myself with kindness hate taking a gratitude inventory hate having patience hate talking to myself gently

hate turning my little face up to the sun and taking deep breaths and looking at nature and grounding myself and realizing that i feel less burdened and more hopeful, more actually-here, that i am able to see the good sides of myself more clearly, that i am able to see not only how far i have to grow - but also how much growth i have already done & how much of my life i truly fill with light and laughter and love

horrible horrible horrible. hate it but i'm gonna do it tho

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ruby-red-inky-blue · 8 days

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hello, sexiest man alive committee? yes I'd love to nominate Lou Wilson and Brian Murphy for attempting to speed-write an actual in-universe 300-word essay in 5 minutes of real time as Fabian and Riz posing as Fabian with complete earnest and a 120 percent commitment. both this effort and the incredibly smooth hand-off in the middle of it was maybe the most attractive thing i've ever seen a man do

yes it's a dungeons and dragons show. don't put me on hold. hello

#actually in love with these men in this moment #also murph being the only one to ask if talking is helping or not while lou is writing. i MEAN -#not even a quarter through this episode but my day has already been improved by a million percent #dimension 20 #fantasy high junior year #lou wilson #brian murphy #fabian seacaster #riz gukgak #endless list of teenage crushes #<- yes i'm unearthing the old comphet tag for this what about it

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ot3 · 1 year

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glassblowing rules because it's like one of the single most hardcore and impressive processes in the entire art world yet almost everything you make with it looks lame as hell. it's essentially a form of smithing that only produces neglected gift shop tchotchkes.

#DSICLAIMER: i know some blown glass stuff can look very cool and be impressive #i know saying this in the tags wont stop someone inevitably writing me an essay on why im wrong about glass blowing #i just think a lot of what it makes really isnt my style.

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stevebabey · 4 months

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have sum steddie! maybe modern!au, no upside down!au & a meet cute <3

Steve sits in the booth, his foot tapping away mindlessly under the table, with half a mind to abandon the table entirely.

In fact, the only reason he hadn’t yet was because of the $20 he was hanging out for at the end. And the bragging rights, of course.

Robin had set him up on this blind date, plied him with all the promises in the world that he would enjoy it — said she’d spent a decent amount of time hunting for the right first gay date for Steve.

She also conceded that if he, for whatever reason, didn’t enjoy it, she would cough up 20 whole bucks for his wasted time. But he had to actually see the date through for the prize to be claimed.

And the bragging rights were so that Robin — with her uppity, healthy, and happy relationship that Steve was only a little bit envious of — could ease onto the breaks when it came to Steve’s love life.

So it was looking a little bleak at the moment, so what? Every stallion or… lion or whatever had their moments, right? Moments where their mane is a little uncouth and food is low and…. Where was he going with this?

The point was, that Robin got into one relationship and suddenly decided she was fit to become a high and mighty matchmaker. Never mind that Steve had reminded her numerous times that he had dated a lot more than she had.

So, for 20 bucks and the right to stick his tongue out at his best friend when she tried to meddle, Steve could stick one night out.

Besides, she was right about one thing. They weren’t in Hawkins anymore — and San Francisco had a hell of a larger dating pool than his hometown.

Still, that didn’t make people anymore for prompt for dates though, apparently. Steve’s foot taps incessantly under the table, his knee bouncing up and down in his nerves. He runs a hand through his hair and checks his watch again.

7 o’clock, Harvey’s Diner, a cute little Italian place that Steve had begun to frequent since they moved to the city, and a date with a dude called Daniel whom Steve had no idea what he looked like.

This was his Friday night plans.

His watch reads 7:12pm and Steve sighs, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the strap of his watch just for something to do. Great. He had gotten all dressed up for this? To be stood up? How was this any better than his usual Friday night plans that Robin claimed were so pathe—

“Hi.”

Someone sits down in the booth across from Steve, landing with a thump loud enough to give him a fright.

Steve’s head whips up from its focus on fiddling with his watch and— woah. Steve blinks once, twice, and feels his jaw unhinge a little, his lips parting an inch as he gazes at the stranger across from him.

Holy shit, this dude was hot.

He’s got curls for days, dark chocolate ringlets all messy and unkept spilling over his shoulders— long and probably perfect for burying your hands into. Steve flushes a little at the unexpected thought.

He has beautiful brown eyes, widened with a smudge of eyeliner and framed with long lashes. Steve thinks he can spy a smattering of freckles across his forehead. His nose is long and his lips are plush and pink and holy shit, this dude was pretty.

“Oh— hi.” Steve manages to remember his manners. Only after he fully checked this dude out, of course.

God, couldn’t Robin have given him a better warning than just ‘he’s probably your type’? Couldn’t she have warned him that this dude was ‘do-a-double-take-on-the-street type hot?’ What the fuck Robin?

The man across from him grins, wicked and alluring all at once, and shucks off his heavy leather jacket. His eyes do a once-over on Steve, taking his time to check him out— which is great because Steve is stuck on all the glorious tattoos that have just been revealed. So much skin shown in his roughly chopped muscle-tee, swirling ink all down his arms. This dude is hot.

Silently, Steve curses Robin and the 20 dollars that is totally slipping away from him. Why did she have to be right all the time?

“Been waiting long?” The man, Daniel, asks as he makes himself comfortable across the table. He pushes his hair back with both hands, using one hand to gather it into a ponytail, holding it up to air out his neck and Steve now realises he is slightly puffed.

He must’ve run part of the way here, to avoid being later than he was. Steve can’t help but be slightly endeared by that fact.

The man grins again, “Promise I was trying to be on time but, you know how the subway is.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, any annoyance at being kept waiting melting away at his date’s sincerity.

“Not too long,” Steve admits, smiling to ease Daniel’s apparent concern. Across the table, Daniel slumps a little and releases his hair, his curls pooling back around his shoulders. Steve watches, entranced.

“Well, that’s good,” Daniel smiles, eyes bright like he really means it, and his hand darts out to steal the drinks menu from the edge of the table. He looks back over to Steve, a furrow in his brows. “You didn’t order anything?”

“I thought I should wait,” Steve says with a shrug. No point paying for food if your date never shows up.

Daniel looks up from the menu through his lashes and smiles, placing his elbow on the table and dropping his chin in the palm of his hand. “Aw, you’re sweet.”

Steve is a little embarrassed by how easily the compliment makes him blush, feeling his cheeks glow lightly. Across the table, Daniel seems to revel in it, drinking in the way Steve’s face filled with colour with a cheeky smile. His eyes flick back down to the menu.

“You know,” Daniel begins, keeping his eyes on the menu, scanning it with a hum. “Chrissy said you were good looking but I think she seriously undersold you.”

He takes his eyes off the menu to trail up Steve’s body, his gaze heavy. Steve feels a delighted zing go up his spine, feels the way he preens at Daniel’s attraction. Steve opens his mouth to respond, more than ready to return the flirt when—

“Can I get you two started with anything?”

The waitress interrupts. She’s poised with her notepad, standing at the edge of the booth. Daniel perks up and nods.

“Can I get a chocolate milkshake please?” He asks with a polite smile. Steve laughs lightly at his selection and Daniel’s gaze cuts from the waitress to Steve.

“What? Not a milkshake man?”

Steve tries to contain his grin, all too endeared by the man before him. He shakes his head and raises his hand in defense. “Nothing against milkshakes just… for dinner?”

Daniel gasps theatrically and his head snaps back to the waitress. “This man has never had the delight of a Harvey’s milkshake with his dinner. Please bring us two chocolate milkshakes!”

Steve watches as the waitress dutifully writes down the order and turns on her heel, heading for the kitchen. He turns back to his date and gapes, taken aback by the forwardness.

“Did you just order for me?”

“Did you just diss milkshakes?”

Steve scoffs, but even then he can’t stop his lips from curling up into a smile. He can’t believe it but he’s genuinely glad he waited this date out. It's not at all like he was expecting. Even Robin's short description of this dude pales in comparison to the real thing. Steve nudges his foot forward into Daniel’s shin lightly.

“I did not diss milkshakes,” Steve argues, his smile widening at how Daniel’s eyes dart to the table before back up at Steve with a grin.

“Uh huh,” Daniel nods, his voice sarcastic and 100% unbelieving of Steve’s insistence. “Just wait, okay? You’ll be changing your tune soon enough. Harvey’s milkshakes are class. I’ve had a thousand of my best ideas in here, sipping on a chocolate milkshake.”

Steve grins and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Under the table, he feels Daniel’s boot nudge against his leg gently— and he laughs to himself. This has gotta be the most teenage way of flirting and he’s fucking loving it.

“You know,” Steve begins hesitantly, letting his forearms lean up against the table. “You’re not quite what I expected, Daniel.”

Across the table, Daniel scrunches up his face, his expression one of pure befuddlement. He puts his hands flat on the table and leans forward.

“Wait, you think my name is Daniel?”

Steve splutters for a moment because even though the answer is duh, yes, it’s become increasingly apparent that the man across from him is not who he was expecting. But if he’s not Daniel, who is he?

Suddenly, the door chimes and someone else is entering the diner. It’s a man dressed like Steve — on the preppy side with hair that must’ve taken at least an hour. He scans the booth and spots Steve’s booth, wandering over, his eyes fixed on the man across from Steve.

“Hey, are you Eddie?” He asks confidently, ignoring Steve’s presence on the other side of the booth.

The man — Eddie — freezes as he glances up at the newcomer and then back down to Steve ahead of him. Steve deflates a little inside as he realises abruptly what’s happened— a mix-up of wrong dates that was completely warranted because this dude dresses exactly like Steve. Steve doesn't stare too long to see if he's any hotter.

Instead, he tries to give Eddie the all-clear with his eyes. He smiles polite as he can and gives a little nod to let him know it was alright to abandon him for the date he was supposed to go on. Not to get stuck with Steve.

Eddie clears his throat and smiles, not cheeky like he had with Steve, but stiff and polite. “Ah sorry man, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. My name's Daniel.”

Huh? Steve takes his eyes off the table to steal a glimpse at Eddie (is his name even Eddie?) and something inside him burns hotly when the man glances across at Steve and winks.

The man standing by the booth wavers for a moment, glancing between them in the booth as Steve schools his expression to neutral. After a moment of silence, there's a half-assed apology as the man retreats, heading back out the door he had just come through. The door chimes again on his way out.

Steve straightens up and peers over his shoulder, watching the door slowly swing shut. He turns back to the man across the booth and squints at him. The waitress returns briefly, dropping two large chocolate shakes onto the table, topped with a mountain of cream. She murmurs something about coming back to take their order in a moment.

"Wait, so who are you?" Steve asks, gently sliding his shake closer to him. "Daniel or Eddie?"

His date —well, his new date— has already begun taking a big long sip from his own milkshake, so enamored with it that when he pulls away there's a dot of cream on the end of his nose. He swallows with a satisfied ah and grins across the table at Steve, not noticing the dairy on his face.

"I'm whoever gets me talking with you a little bit longer."

Steve grins, an endeared roll of his eye at the blatant flirting but he can't deny how it makes his chest warm. He grabs one of the napkins and reaches forward, adoring how Eddie goes cross-eyed as he watches Steve smudge away the cream on his nose. He laughs sheepishly, giving his nose a little wipe with his own hand.

"I'm Eddie." He says, finally introducing himself. He doesn't offer his hand, just gives Steve a little nudge under the table and a grin over his milkshake. "And I think you just saved me from a terrible date."

Steve laughs, giving a little shake of his head. He finally goes in for a sip of his own milkshake— and it's just as heavenly as Eddie had promised, glorious chocolate dancing over his taste buds.

Steve groans quietly, eyes bright when he glances at the other man over his glass, entirely amused by how wide-eyed Eddie has become. He releases the straw and sits back, more invested in this date than he has been in... years. Stallion's got its mojo back. Or lion. Whatever.

"I'm Steve," He responds, giving a little nudge back under the table and a grin of his own. "And I think you saved me from being stood up."

#what..... is this????#i haven't really written modern au for them #and i wrote it in about 2 hours so hopefully its like. not terrible #wahoo !#i luv a little meet cute #meet cute #steddie #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie blurb #ummmm i haven't posted in literal eons ive forgotten all my tags oh well #enjoy ?

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deep-space-lines · 1 month

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okay but like. I just had the weirdest thought about that ‘don’t look I’m naked’ comic. Which is that that’s essentially the same thing Adam and Eve did after they ate the fruit of knowledge of good&evil. So I feel like the theological implications of that could kneecap Gabe if he doesn’t think V1 is a being with free will.

yeah ok. i dunno man. is this anything

((side note. this isn’t necessarily meant to be in-character or story-accurate or take place at any particular point in time, just a way to explore some Thoughts. i was also imagining more that V1’s words aren't actually spoken, more like Gabriel’s more articulate interpretation of whatever garbled mechanical noise V1 is using to communicate. I think an angel could do that.))

and then they fucked nasty the end

#my art #my writing #who fuckin sent this. fuck you. come off anon so i can kick your ass. (the thoughts this ask sparked consumed almost 3 days of my life)#i dont know what this even is #i just work here #disclaimer i don't come from a particularly religious background so like.#most of my knowledge of christianity comes from when my mom sent me to vbs for cheap babysitting in middle school or absorbed via osmosis #so i have no idea what im talking about except for when i do! hope this helps #i love how i say that like i expect biblical scholars to tear apart my ultrakill gay fanfiction #if you are a biblical scholar and you want to tear apart my ultrakill gay fanfiction please know i am not going to read the bible for this #ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #gabriel ultrakill #gabv1el #blood #love tagging ultrakill stuff with blood. hmm yes the floor here is made out of floor

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ladybeug · 1 year

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I drew the same comic twice because I didn't think the first one was funny enough. I don't know if the second comic is funnier though??

Here's both of them

Side by side because i couldn't decide which one to put first - knowing the punchline changes the experience?? pick your adventure. read either one first.

which ones funnier i honestly can't tell

#this is what its like in my head when im writing comics #its cool to have an example #of how different the same joke can be #i mean i dont know if you think its cool but i think its cool #i think i have a favorite out of the two of them but its close #to be honest neither of them quite thread the needle for me #theyre not QUITE as funny as i want #but theyre still good #anyways #my art #miraculous ladybug #I did these a while ago. long tags sorry but how else am i supposed to tell you how im doing lately #found a bunch of comics that made me laugh #excited to post some of them #ill organize them soon and do a couple comic dumps

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turianosauruswrex · 1 month

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🦩🦉

Thank you!!!!

🦩dealer's choice

Ah fuck you're making me choose. When in doubt, part of the scene immediately following Peregrine and Caoimhe's breakup:

They vanish around corners, in flurries of feathers, they do not dive into the first manhole that appears but they keep running, all the way to the North Ward, all the way to the Finch townhouse. They climb in through the window, always left unlocked for them; they collapse, clinging to their own arms, nails dragging more scratches down cold skin, cold, cold, broken by hot blood from broken skin by broken nails; they try to breathe and they can't. They can't, beyond the gasps, beyond the wracking sobs that threaten to snap their ribs. Is this what a broken heart feels like? They're all too aware of the status of theirs– it feels like a bird trapped in their chest, slamming its body against their sternum, trying and trying and trying to break free with nothing to show for it but bruises and welts and broken, broken, broken.

🦉 a clever quote

The thing you'll learn about my writing is that I can't shut up. This is a nightmare Peregrine had recently about their death:

Peregrine is a third person watching themselves in Caoimhe's arms, half dressed and fully panicked and choking and suffocating. The sweat clings to their skin and their hands cling to Caoimhe's arms with the same force they sunk their teeth into him and they can see, they can see the wild terror in their pinprick eyes; they hear it mirrored in his voice as his hands take their face, beg for them to talk to him, to tell him what's wrong even as the words are strangled from their throat and he takes their neck in his hands and they are frozen in place and in tongue no matter how much they want to scream for him, and they get to watch as their neck snaps and their body goes limp. Caoimhe's panic is mirrored in the tightness of their chest as he desperately feels for stopped breath, for a pulse in ruptured arteries; Peregrine has never hanged victims and thus has never seen what it looks like, but gods, gods, his gentle white fingers trace over jutting, jagged bone that would somehow be less horrifying if it broke skin, ugly bruises that would be more bearable if the blood gushed instead of pooled. Their head lolls, resting at an unnatural angle. Their neck hurts. Caoimhe, they try to rasp, because that's all that could come from them watching the terror and grief on his face, Caoimhe I'm here, I'm right here, and they can taste the sorrow on their tongue as he fumbles for his forgotten cords and begs, Ilmater, full of mercy, spare the sufferer their fate, and they think it would be better, easier, somehow, if they could see the hands of their Father around their neck as He snapped it, instead of nothing, instead of leaving Caoimhe's where they are, trembling, the searing image of his hands, their neck, broken. Would it be easier, Peregrine? Would you like to find out? Peregrine is a third person watching themselves in Caoimhe's arms, half dressed and fully panicked and choking and suffocating. The sweat clings to their skin and their hands cling to Caoimhe's arms with the same force they sunk their teeth into him and they can see, they can see the wild terror in their pinprick eyes; they hear it mirrored in his voice as his hands take their face, beg for them to talk to him, to tell him what's wrong even as the words are strangled from their throat and he takes their neck in his hands and two, massive, blood-red, rest over long and elegant white, and they are the same that lifted their chin to look into His burning red eyes when they were a child, and they move to either side of their head, in a mockery of how the priest holds them, and He snaps-- Peregrine jolts awake with a gasp and a racing, aching heart, quickened breath against Caoimhe's skin. He's in their arms. They're in his. They shake in spite of it.

#asks #latelylavellan #per knezevic #what was my writing tag

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