Stop - Blog Posts
My Mom Smacks MityaSlendy
Gordia: Don't you dare bring my daughter to this you brat!!! she already been through enough of this! she's a 16 year old minor, leave her alone! and tell your despicable friend to delete this meme and think about what you did! you disgust me!
He posts that hate meme of me and MityaSlendy of that, she just won't leave me alone and she's dumb that I'm a minor, she needs to be stopped now... MityaSlendy is the brat who steals my art and makes a hate art of it and my friend, she's defending a pedo, she's the one who started it to make a hate art of it...
michael shelley died in a place with no name, that never existed and never will exist. the horror to die somewhere that never existed, because did you ever really exist?
Chapter 7 of the OMORI manga is available to read now! (JP) 📖 Monthly Afternoon 💻 Comic DAYS (EN) 💻 K MANGA
It's simple. Attraction to shiny things. Especially if it fulfills another basic need: To fit in. Being part of a group. Adapting a pattern. Now we are! No one likes to be alone, somewhere in endless something. Too much space! Everyone wants to belong. Sharing your mind with others. Counting on you getting your share as well. Expecting equal exchange; being stronger through common connecting dots. And not just a single dot; exhausted then executed by freedom. A pattern explains otherwise random stuff. Makes sense out of all the ups and downs in your life. Makes your life. Then, if another and better pattern emerges, you jump to that. Maybe for a moment dangling only from a string of light. Patiently waiting… Then! Perfect match. Fits like a glove. Or a custom made cage. But! Never ever think of the pattern as a web. That needs to be fed. More than you need to fit. It is too shiny to be bad. Woven tightly in, totally away, is just an honor. And a strength. A single mind can't survive. Thoughts united! Shining as one… #mantelmomento #danielmantel #laurieandthestoryof #primeiroproximopasso (Leading up to...) #danish (sorry) #prose #udenfilter #pattern #life #thisisjustanotherpauseorbreakbeforejumpingintotherealstory (Usual one-off hashtag) #growingup #ontheway #reality #light #guidance #gettingcloser #mystory #mymind #connectingthedots #breakthrough #enough #change #out #stop (her: Destination Anywhere)
Simon who didn’t cry when Johnny died. His eyes never filled, never stung with tears. Simon who didn’t close off like they expected he would, Simon who seemingly didn’t change after it happened.
Simon who sat awake so many nights. Cold. Alone. Simon who instinctively went looking for Johnny just to spend hours in the gym beating his knuckles to bloody shreds to punish himself for being so stupid. Simon whos eyes still linger in spots Johnny used to frequent. Simon who wishes Johnny was there to patch up those knuckles and kiss them.
“Aye be more carful yee fuckin’ brute…”
Simon could still hear Johnny’s voice. Simon who still waits to hear Johnny’s jokes over the com on missions. Simon who could have sworn that shadow in the corner of his room looked like Johnny. Simon who cant close his eyes for months without hearing that gunshot.
Simon who never once cried.
It was only years and years later it hits him. Simon’s eyes had stopped looking. Dreams and shadows of Johnny MacTavish had long stopped. It hits him while he’s trying to sleep one night after a particularly rough mission. What color were his eyes? His hair… black… brown… brown right?
He couldn’t remember.
That’s when his eyes stung, hot tears filling to the brim and spilling over. How could he of forgotten? How was that possible? How could he betray Johnny like that? He couldn’t remember his smile anymore, he couldn’t hear his voice anymore, couldn’t feel lingering phantom touches anymore.
He couldn’t feel Johnny anymore.
The memory of someone he held so dearly once was fuzzy, blurry. Hardly there. Swallowed and eaten alive by time. How cruel.
can’t believe those conservative wellness weirdos are rubbing beef tallow on their bodies… that’s the shit they fry french fries in at steak ‘n shake
Why do they?
Why do they do that to people, i mean honestly? Why do they harass people just because THEY are already accepted as is?
I mean why? Why do they have to spread bs about a person just because of reasons they shouldn't be concerned with?
stop with this nonchalant bs and start chalanting and make sure you chalant hella hard
[ID: A comic edit of Mai & Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender. They‘re holding hands, Mai talking with a shocked expression. Her speech bubble has the tweet: For everyone who’s saying my boyfriend is gay: Ok...and??? It would be homophobic for me to not date someone just because they’re gay. End ID.]
editing is my passion :)
random edit from january
i saw other people doing edits of this screenshot with their fav pairs so i also did it with cyberspace...
16 April, 1939 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov
how to finish your wip really fast
stop scrolling through tumblr
turn on your laptop
open a google doc
fucking write
writing mandalorian fanfiction be like
if i misspell ‘Grogu’ as “gogy” one more fucking time i am going to go apeshit
The stupid troll who keeps making EVERY traffic light red as I’m trying to drive home:
#adventureofpepe #페페의모험 동생을 돌보기엔 아직 어린 소년 고양이 “페페(10개월)"와 가르칠게 많은 아기고양이 "코니(3개월)” #말썽꾸러기 #내동생
To Be Punished (M, 1k)
Fic by me
I wrote a fic for a discord challenge: Outsider POV. Read below or on AO3
Tags:
POV Outsider, Major Character Death, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Angst and Tragedy, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Auror Harry Potter, Sad Ending
Summary:
An Azkaban guard bears witness to Draco and Harry and all that stands between them.
***
Inmate #227: D. Malfoy. High Risk. 24-hour guard. No visitors.
Don’t interact with the inmate. That was one of the first things she’d been told during training. She was to stand guard, silent and alert. She was not to engage.
—
“What the fuck did you do that for?” Harry Potter spat. He was angrier than she’d ever seen him in the papers.
He wasn’t a visitor. He was here on ‘official Auror business.’
Malfoy lay in his cot, staring at the ceiling. He’d been that way since he’d arrived, straight from his trial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb. I was there!” The wards stretching between them shuddered.
“I’m not sure why you’re asking me about it, then.”
“I want to know why. We had a plan. You didn’t just stray from it, you blew it up. With wandless fucking magic!”
Malfoy sat up, turned. “They insulted her! You know how I—I couldn’t control it.”
“They’re gonna use this to jack up your sentence. All that work we did—”
—
Malfoy’s sentencing hearing lasted no more than 15 minutes. Two Aurors escorted him back to his cell. Harry Potter, pale and unsteady, wasn’t far behind.
“Draco, I—”
“Twenty years,” Malfoy said. His voice shook.
“It’s okay, I’m going to fix this. I’m gonna get Hermione and I—we’re gonna fix this.”
Malfoy laughed. “You’re an idiot, Potter.”
—
Harry Potter visited every few weeks. Today, he vibrated with fevered enthusiasm. She watched his steps as he paced in front of the cell.
“There’s heaps of evidence of corruption, not just in the Wizengamot. With the right angle, Hermione thinks we can build a really strong case. Maybe—Draco, are you listening to me?”
“No.”
—
“No luck?” Malfoy was leaning against the wall, picking his nails. He seemed unconcerned, but she knew better. He’d paced in his cell right up to the minute Harry had stepped through the door.
“I don't know why you're so smug about it.”
“Even the Boy Who Lived can't save the poor teenage Death Eater.”
Harry ran the toe of his boot along the stone floor.
“Twenty years Draco. I'm not sure I can—”
“I'm not asking you to.”
—
“I dreamt about that night on the rooftop, when we—”
“Oh.” A small private smile flickered across Harry’s face.
She started to wonder if it really was Auror business he was here for.
“I think you should stop coming by, Harry.”
—
It had been a few months, but Harry came back. It seemed he couldn’t keep away.
Draco’s voice was sharp. “What are you doing here, I told them I didn't want—”
“I paid off the guards.”
A scoff. “Of course.”
Harry stepped closer to the barrier. “You look—have you been sleeping?”
Draco laughed, shifting his gaze to her as if they shared an inside joke.
—
“They agreed to a hearing,” Harry exclaimed.
She hadn’t seen Draco get out of his cot for 72 hours. Today was no exception.
“Well, aren't you pleased?” Harry prompted.
“I have no feelings about it one way or another.”
—
“I saw Mother last night.” Draco’s eyes were puffy. Her colleague had said he’d been crying all night.
“Oh.”
“This place, Harry. I need to get out.”
Harry tugged his maroon robes.
“I'm so sorry. They upheld the decision.”
Draco put his head in his hands.
—
“I saw Mother again. He was there, too.”
“I'm sorry. Let's talk about something happy.”
“Happy?”
“Christmas. At The Manor? You remember, we tried to make gingerbread?”
A soft chuckle, “Oh yes, that was…”
—
“I can’t stop the dreams. I could never—the only time they stopped was when we—”
“I know,” Harry rested his forehead against the barrier. “Gods, I wish I could hold you.”
The dementors were gone, but the infection they’d left behind was vicious. She wondered if she should log an incident report. Nightmares were an early sign.
—
Draco had been pacing and muttering for hours before Harry arrived.
“Draco.”
“I’ve still got that twelve inch charms essay to finish.”
“Draco, it’s me. Harry.”
Draco kept pacing.
“Will you look at me?”
Draco did. “I miss you.”
—
“Mother visited last night,”
“Oh really?”
“She says hello.”
“Well, that’s nice of her.”
—
“Harry, I keep seeing him. I keep—I don’t want to go back there.”
“I know.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know. It’s okay. I’m gonna fix this.”
She felt it was rather unfair of Harry to give him false hope.
—
“We’re going to keep trying, I’m not giving up.”
“It’s okay, Harry.”
A strangled sound. “No. Don’t—”
“At least we got those months. That’s more than I ever…” Draco pressed a hand against the barrier, and the gesture seemed like a declaration.
“Don’t,” Harry whispered, a plea.
—
“I wish we’d had more time,” Harry said.
Draco laughed.
“Draco, what are you—”
“They took away my bedframe. I have no sheets.” He kept laughing.
—
Draco’s hair was matted. He’s been refusing to shower.
“Potter, what are you doing? You can't be here.”
“Draco—”
“He’ll be here any second. My Aunt, she called him—”
“We’re not at—”
“No! Harry, you have to get out. You have to win. Please. Go.”
“Okay, Draco. I’ll go.”
Harry hadn’t let her see him cry, until then.
—
“Harry.” Draco sat pressed right up against Harry, touching, if not for the magic weaved between them. “I’m not sure I can keep doing this.”
“I know.” Harry’s voice was small, kind. “I won’t ask you to.”
“In a different life, do you think—” Draco’s face crumpled. She had to look away.
Harry rubbed his eyes repeatedly. “Yes, love. In any life.”
—
He wasn’t a next-of-kin, nor a registered visitor, so he hadn't been notified.
He arrived as usual, glasses askew.
She hadn’t been trained for this.
“Mr. Potter.”
“Where is he? Have you moved him?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
His green eyes dulled as he collapsed onto the floor. She wondered then, as the hero’s sobs rent the air, who this place punished more.