I just want to sleep

[eroscestlavie]

Genuinely incredible single serve site I just found: a guy made a search tool so you can find completely empty AMC movie screenings in your area and enjoy a private or near-private theatre.

[shencomix]

[shencomix]

[shencomix]

[shencomix]

[shencomix]

[shencomix]

[shencomix]

[shencomix]

[aaraniel]

Domain expansion

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

i NEED people to realise foreshadowing is. in fact. a literary device. and not a Bad Thing. the audience picking up on your hints is a Good Thing. because. it makes the story and it’s conclusion make sense. and some people will not see those but enjoy seeing them on a second read through. red herrings are one thing but if your novel consists of nothing but red herrings it’s not a coherent story it’s just a collection of paragraphs that don’t actually plausibly link to one another. you're not fighting with the audience you don’t look clever you look like you don’t know how basic fiction works. be vulnerable for once in your goddamn life and don't treat writing like a game to be won where the audience losing is a good thing.

[ineffectualdemon]

Getting to the end of a story and going "THE CLUES WERE THERE THE WHOLE TIME!" is always joyous for me whether or not I picked up on the clues leading up

If I saw the clues and caught the hints then yes! I am clever and me and the author/creator/artist etc were in on it together the whole time!

If I didn't notice the clues or got fooled but can clearly see them in hindsight then "Ha! You won this time storyteller! I am delighted by this game we play!' and then I enjoy putting the pieces together afterwards and enjoying how clever it was. I feel like the creator respects me as an audience

If there is a "twist" that comes with 0 clues or foreshadowing at all I'm annoyed. I'm pissed off. I feel like I'm being condescended to and patronised. It's not clever or interesting and makes me annoyed I ended up caring about characters and plot points that ended up meaningless.

Because it's not that these stories don't have foreshadowing or plot clues. They just abandon it for a "surprising twist"

A story that pays off the clues is letting me into the fun and makes a participant in the story

A story that just gives me a "shock" but no pay off is telling me not to engage or get attached or care. So why would I watch?

[s-n-arly]

OMG! THIS!

Random plot twists that don't connect to anything in the story are not clever. If we don't see it coming because the writer didn't provide any clues, they aren't clever and it's totally unsatisfying (and I will NEVER read this writer again). These clues need not be lit up in neon with a parade of elephants and showgirls. But they need to be present

I'm a writer and am rarely surprised. Often, if I am surprised it's because the writer was a dumbass and included a "twist" that makes no sense (and therefore isn't really a twist, it's just random bullshit). If a writer genuinely surprises me, without being an absolute dumbass, I am FUCKING DELIGHTED! I will tell everyone I know to read the book/see the movie/watch the show.

[ardentmystacina]

Foreshadowing is the reward for paying attention. It's the story letting you in on the secret like a co-conspirator because you're the clever little audience member who has been picking up on the clues the writer has been setting up.

It even makes watching/reading again more worthwhile because if you didn't notice the foreshadowing the first time you have the joy of being able to notice the things you missed!

[matlasaya]

Time to out myself as a Gale x Minthara enjoyer

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

every time a new hyperfixation finds me, it finds me like this

[tiefling-obsessed]

I finished the wip I was doing some days ago, it's one of those japanese drawing memes where two characters are trapped inside a box and awkwardness ensues but I couldn't be bothered to draw a box so now they look like they're playing twister

[whumpqhs]

In Or Out

–

Summary: …and because given the choice between the two directions, he'll always pick forward over back, she can hear the door click closed and his voice, one step nearer than a second ago, say “In.”

She walked into Medical, she made it at least that far. Gave report. Offworld call, crash site with hostiles, two wounded from the planet, two to three from their team: Wash, who she was giving report on when Locus came partially to check on him and mostly to collect Felix, who she wanted checked out because he was nearly as close as Wash to the same grenade and must have hurt something, …and herself. 

“Chart number’s 2522, we need a type and screen but should come back O negative. Gross somatic trauma secondary to a frag grenade detonation, twenty meters distance, confined space. Lacerations all over, risk of concussive barotrauma, worst wounds are on the legs and shoulders and he's already down a couple units of blood, minimum.” She didn't break stride as they hit the bay doors to Medical, walking along with the stretcher while adjusting a sensor with one hand. “500 saline bolus during takeoff and it's been running wide open on the flight. Pressors and pain control on board, BP’s low, pulse is compensating…”

“Who's the other patient?” Grey had glanced over the rims of her safety glasses with a look that said she definitely already knew the answer.

“Me, sucking chest wound, but as long as the patch I've got on it holds, I can wait, besides I still need to do a head CT on–”

“Oh no you can't. Trauma 2.” She pointed. Oklahoma was still pointing out some numbers on Wash’s charting, which was up on a holo display above his chest. 

“I'm fine. Just a minute–”

“Now, Agent. Kansas, you take Washington.” Her tone left no room for argument. Even Locus glanced up at the sharp tone, closer to the stretcher than she'd realized with one hand against Washington's shoulder, talking to Felix about something she didn't have enough spare attention slots to follow. OK hadn't even noticed the two mercs meeting up and trading clipped mission details until, in the confusion, the crowd around the stretcher split and left herself and Grey in Trauma 2, and Felix, who she'd been about to walk down the hall to radiology, standing in the doorway. 

“You need something?” Grey was already grabbing supplies as she nudged Oklahoma toward the table. “We're a little busy.”

“He was close to the same explosion that caught Wash. Needs imaging and–”

“I asked him.”

Felix had shrugged at them. “Medic said I couldn't leave without a checkup.”

“I can see you after her. Or you can find someone else.”

Why was he looking at her like that? He'd seen blood before, he'd definitely seen her blood before… but he was staring at the place where it was wicking out onto the exam table paper from her soaked-through blacks, eyes widening as her plates were nudged apart, the soft, stretchy under armor fabric was cut away, and the patch was carefully eased loose, then replaced with a temporary valve with a soft but wetly audible pop. She heard Grey sigh in frustration over the rustle of PPE.

“In or out, Gates.”

…and because given the choice between the two directions, he'll always pick forward over back, she can hear the door click closed and his voice, one step nearer than a second ago, say “In.”

“Stand there, don't move.” Her voice is clipped, but there's a soft edge to it that OK’s only used to hearing when Grey is watching a procedure and appreciates someone's practice. It's the kind of tone she uses while she's walking a resident through a procedure, but has already become impressed with their sterile technique. It's not something you hear from her often, and since it's extremely high praise, she'd know– she's always hoping to hear it from over her shoulder as she works. “You get dizzy, sit before you fall.”

“I'm used to blood.” Her eyes flick open to make sure she isn't hallucinating. Nope. He's still here. 

“Not the blood we're worried about.” Grey is setting up the instruments and supplies to her left. Felix is on her right, a few feet away, which means she has a chance. 

“Get out of here. What are you even–” The valve is removed to prep the site. This time, when she inhales to talk, her chest spasms and locks up. Grey clicks her tongue. 

“Agent. Settle down.”

“Don't you have…” there, she can make it if she goes a few words at a time, “...something else to… do?” Breathing hurts, but she can always hurt later. “Training? preening?” pause, breathe, “...a nap?”

“We're not opening and closing the door again while I'm doing a sterile procedure, Agent. He's in. For the duration.”

“Have to get checked out before I can leave.” Was he that pale a minute ago? She had trouble keeping her eyes open, she can't remember. “Medic’s orders.”

“You're… gonna be waiting.” There's the skin prep. She keeps herself still for the swipe and scrub that feels freezing cold compared to the flushed, inflamed skin it's touching, but it's a near thing.

“Figured as much.” 

“Go get Kansas.”

“After this. Can't leave, remember?”

“Brace, Agent. We don't have time to numb.”

“Mhm.” as deep a breath in as she can get, and she's trying to hang onto the side of the table for stability. He's not supposed to see this, any of this…

“Gates.”

“Yeah?”

“Make yourself useful and put your hands here, and here.” Warm pressure on her right shoulder, pinning it to the table, and under her left arm, holding it up and out of the way. Her eyes fly open. His face is inches away from hers, and one of his hips is instinctively pinning hers down as he leans over from the side of the table, their respective armor plates almost locked with each other from the angle and pressure.

“I can… keep myself still, Grey.”

“And now you don't have to.” The drape is nudged under her ribcage and this is not how this is supposed to go. Her eyes meet his. Keep the civilian calm. Not a civilian, exactly. But still. She can do that. 

“Felix. Don't look.”

“I kill people for a living.” He sounds thoroughly unimpressed. “Remember?”

“Still…” the scalpel brushes her skin and she tenses up. His grip adapts to it. Her pulse does something it's definitely not supposed to that she chooses to write off as anticipation of pain.

“I'll be fine.” she watches his gaze flick over to where Grey is carefully slicing between one rib and another, then back to her face, eyes a little wider than before. She's setting her jaw before the clamp can slip inside and start to open, watching his eyes. Manage the person in the room who's the most inexperienced, she can do that.

“It's… okay. This is… gonna hel—” There's the clamp. Her eyes cross from the pain, watering at the edges, and by the time she blinks them clear, it's gotten hard to talk. Then the clamp opens, a layered series of wet, ripping, tearing sounds, and her vision fills up with stars. As they clear, she watches Felix’ eyes jump to the side, nearly flinch, and then flicker back to hers.

“Told you–”

“Stop talking, Agent.” Grey's voice has thoroughly lost that approving soft edge, going flat and hard instead, the tone of *you know better than that*.

Her mouth moves silently, because if she worries about keeping a trained killer from fainting at the sight of blood, she doesn't have to worry about the chest tube that she can't do anything about. Eyes over here. Don't look.

“You don't look, either.” She can't place his tone, especially not with Grey sweeping her finger into the wound, pushing into the cut tissue and moving around. There's a twitch and what she knows from experience is a visible bulge in her intercostal skin. It's creepy the first fifty times you see it, and she has a feeling this is in his first five. What starts as a silent laugh cuts short when she coughs, tasting blood, and she can tell some made it onto her lips because instead of cutting to the side when Grey sharply tells them both to be still, his eyes drop to her mouth for just half a second. She shakes her head slightly. Nothing to worry about, perfectly normal.

I do this for a li– she only gets halfway through echoing his words back to him before the next phase of the procedure starts, a tube with a guidewire sliding into the newly created hole along with Grey’s gloved fingers, and she freezes up again from the pain. Keep her eyes on the civilian, for lack of a better term, and keep him calm, and she tries, but her expression isn't locking into the cool, collected mask it normally does. Felix has now, she's absolutely sure of it, gotten a lot paler than normal, and he's working hard on looking calm, just like she is. Not something she's seen him have to do since… well, since she was in Grey's place, and he was in hers, and… shit, this room is probably a PTSD minefield. It's alright, she starts. You're safe. Deep breath i–

There's another sound that's horrible the first few times you hear it, a wet, sucking pop, one last spike of pain, and then instant relief. The vitals monitor stops beeping in the one specific way that means low O2 sat, although the rest of the abnormal value orchestra keeps playing. Air floods into her lungs, and gets coughed back out again from the shock, each exhale blood-flecked and rough. Some of it gets on those shiny, polished plates and she winces. 

“Sorry–”

“Don't. Move. Oklahoma.”

“Y… yes ma'am.” 

“That includes speaking.”

Just a nod. She's setting the water chamber up– they're smaller and lighter now than civvie models, a little module about the size of a datapad that gets taped down on her side– and the grip on her shoulder and under her arm loosens. She watches him pause and look over to Grey for direction and that's got to be a hallucination of some kind. When has he ever waited for instructions from anyone but Locus or Price?

“Not yet. Still have to suture.”

“Got it.” Something has happened to his voice. Something probably related to a trauma trigger or forty-seven. She could kick herself if she wasn't currently being held down.

“Good instincts. We'll make a medic out of you yet.” The gentle tug of stitches being tied off barely registers compared to everything else. “If hurting people and being good at it ever gets boring, you let me know.”

“Not… uh, not likely.” A hard swallow and a glance towards the door. She knows that look.

“Go… go on. Incision’s closed.” She manages it without a cough this time, but he just shakes his head. 

“Grey's not done yet.” 

“You look like you're gonna pass out.”

“Well, I'm not. That would seriously cut into my preening time, remember?” With the worst of the hardware out of direct play, he seems like he's getting some color back. She has to be careful with laughing, but cracks a grin, and from the slight metallic taste, can tell it's red tinged. Oops.

“I'm fine. Really. Had a lot worse.”

“Yeah?” something in his gaze shifts, something she'd miss if she wasn't trying to hold eye contact and keep him calm. It's an angle of view almost like someone hearing news from the front line they do believe, but do *not* like. 

“Oh, yeah. This is a pretty normal…” she pauses as the dressing is smoothed down. “...Tuesday.”

It doesn't seem to help the expression. If anything, that calculating angle gets a little worse. 

“Done!” Grey finally pulls back, taking the drape and supplies with her.

“Felix? …you can let go.”

“Huh? –yeah.” His hands come off a little suddenly, leave places that start to chill unpleasantly to match the rest of her skin. Medical is always freezing. “Yeah.”

“You can go now.” She nods toward the door. “Procedure’s over, I'm fine, go get some fresh air, come back for imaging within two hours. Sorry about all this.”

“...Grey?”

“Gates?”

“When does that come out?”

“Couple days.” she glances over her shoulder and OK can see the glint in her eye that means she's going to make someone ask for something rather than reading their mind and silently planning along. “...Should I call you?”

“No!”

“Yeah. Call me.” The door clicks closed behind him. Footsteps fading, much slower than they should for someone rushing out of a room that reminded them of their last near death experience.

“You are not calling him.”

“I've never seen you hold that still before. I'm calling him the next time we change your IV site.”

[theawkwardvillainess]

No one:

Absolutely no one:

Me, while in the fandom (famously a place for having fun and creating): but what if I'm wrong about The Character? what if my friends will disagree with my vision? what if I'm exactly that kind of Annoying Fandom Person Who Understands Nothing that my friends complain about????

[innerchildabortionclinic]

the obsession with avoiding spoilers (to an UNREASONABLE extent) pisses me off so much. if somethings been out for years you Cannot be complaining about spoilers

[innerchildabortionclinic]

redditor behavior tbh

[lowpawly]

forgive me for the reply and also this might not really be a direct example of what this post saying but whenever I see people who are overly precious about spoilers I am reminded of how when I was 18 and taking an english class in college I wrote an essay about the dead lesbian trope and used the death of poussey from orange is the new black as a modern example (really dating this as having happened in 2016 lol) and in the feedback that my professor gave me she told me that she would have chastised me for spoilers if she hadnt already seen the new season 🙃?

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

after a suicide attempt in 2016

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

“When Daddy comes in, he carries you to bed. Is there anything you feel like you could eat, Pokey? Anything at all? All you can imagine putting in your mouth is a cold plum, one with really tight skin on the outside but gum-shocking sweetness inside. And he and your mother discuss where he might find some this late in the season. Mother says hell I don’t know. Further north, I’d guess. The next morning, you wake up in your bed and sit up. Mother says, Pete, I think she’s up. He hollers in, You ready for breakfast, Pokey. Then he comes in grinning, still in his work clothes from the night before. He’s holding a farm bushel. The plums he empties onto the bed river toward you through folds in the quilt. If you stacked them up, they’d fill the deepest bin at the Piggly Wiggly. Damned if I didn’t get the urge to drive to Arkansas last night, he says. Your mother stands behind him saying he’s pure USDA crazy. Fort Smith, Arkansas. Found a roadside stand out there with a feller selling plums. And I says, Buddy, I got a little girl sick back in Texas. She’s got a hanker for plums and ain’t nothing else gonna do. It’s when you sink your teeth into the plum that you make a promise. The skin is still warm from riding in the sun in Daddy’s truck, and the nectar runs down your chin. And you snap out of it. Or are snapped out of it. Never again will you lay a hand against yourself, not so long as there are plums to eat and somebody-anybody-who gives enough of a damn to haul them to you. So long as you bear the least nibblet of love for any other creature in this dark world, though in love portions are never stingy. There are no smidgens or pinches, only rolling abundance. That’s how you acquire the resolution for survival that the coming years are about to demand. You don’t earn it. It’s given.”

excerpt from Cherry by Mary Karr, context being after a suicide attempt at age 13

[elfwreck]

Some context: Texas and Arkansas share a corner border. Now, Texas is FECKING HUGE and there are many, many parts of Texas that cannot visit Arkansas overnight, but there are parts where it’s no trouble at all.

However, those places of Texas that are close to Arkansas, do not include “close to Fort Smith, Arkansas.”

The closest Texas gets to Fort Smith is about 185 miles (about 300km), at “a little closer than Texarkana.” (Dallas, fwiw, is about 275 miles/450km from Fort Smith.)

So the dad in this story drove at least SEVEN HOURS round trip, to pick up a bushel of plums for his little girl, in the hope that some almost-out-of-season fruit would convince her to go on living.

[aeternatv]

So I looked up the author of this book, Cherry, and it’s a memoir. Mary Kate grew up in Groves, Texas. Which is nowhere near the Arkansas border.

Seven hours wouldn’t even get you all the way there.

[apollos-constant-crisis]

thinking wyll is hot is the most embarrassing reputation ruining thing I could have done tbh like ohhh my god really? tall big muscles, dark hair, horns, and absurdly kind man is hot? god fucking really. are you fucking stupid I hate myself. oh you think the Blade of Frontiers is hot? The fucking Blade of Frontiers? groundbreaking type shit going one here oh my god he's tall and his jaw is nice wow he thinks the attractive man is attractive. you and everyone else. is pizza your favorite food too. fuck you. everyone look at him he thinks WYLL RAVENGARD is hot boundaries are really being pushed over here should we get him a medal because he thinks Mr Smile is easy on the eyes. "hear me out" and it's a fucking marching band. should we call people magazine. vanilla. I DISGUST myself. summer blockbuster. I should be killed

(https://www.tumblr.com/unwastelandunbaby/789429990696599553/thinking-david-corenswet-is-hot-is-the-most)

[soupenjoyer]

look at this man. Is he not astonishing

[grandninjamasterren]

[soupenjoyer]

look at this man. Is he not astonishing

[allegedly-human]

nothing is more tumblr than having a tumblr sexyman wiki and then warn you to not find some of those men sexy because it's problematic

[petzah394again]

Oh my god i went to check it myself and they even have dedicated banners for when the creator of the characters is controversial

[petzah394again]

Ok but apparently Scott Cawthon donating to Trump's campaign and being anti-choice is somehow not controversial enough to warrant that banner

[murderoftheuniverse]

also the description of ninjamuffin prioritizes bringing up his engagement with fetish art over him making violent racist jokes and using the t slur

[villainessbian]

Yeah their problem with shadman isn't the nazism it's the nsfw

[mousegirlheart]

You'll pay us for everything and own nothing and you'll thank us for it

[mousegirlheart]

[kosmogrl]

seeing adults act like mean girls is sooo embarrassing. you’re not cool, you just look miserable as hell