#// We're on day...7? i think?

[magic-worms]

my design takes for the willis family kids!

[egophiliac]

How do you imagine Levan/Revan/ Mallenoa's husband?

Appearance, personality etc.

Revaan/Laverne/whatever-his-name-is's title sort of implies that he might be from a fantasy-Eastern country (they've established that in Twstland, 竜 = Eastern-style dragons, andドラゴン = Western-style dragons). and that's about as much as we know right now about...anything in regards to what he might look like. so I've been trying very hard not to form too much of a mental picture of him, because I'm still hoping we'll get to see him (or at least a silhouette)! ergo, in my head, he kind of looks like this:

so handsome. surely Malenoa fell in love at first glance.

I do think the funniest thing about what we've learned so far is that Malleus being kind of quiet and reserved and dignified...absolutely did not come from the Draconias. and he sure as heck did not learn it from Lilia. so he probably got a lot of that from his dad! the vibe I get from how Lilia talks about him is that he could be a bit of a prim little fancyboy sometimes, but was (mostly) willing to go along with his wife's zany antics out of love. he sounds sweet, honestly! I'm sorry he (maybe) died. :(

my favorite thing about Mal's parents is that Malenoa and Lilia's dynamic was "long-suffering guard and princess who has long been the cause of said suffering":

but then they would happily join forces in order to gang up on Revaan:

tl;dr Revaan was the straightman in Malenoa and Lilia's comedy act until it all ended horribly whoops

[pharawee]

"I want that guy, Air, to disappear from this world!"

—7 DAYS BEFORE VALENTINE · Episode 1

[screechingfromthevoid]

Dorian with the crown keepers in some quiet taverns in quiet towns as they travel, he's always up late. He can't quite fall asleep well. So he sneaks out to a different tavern than the one they're staying at. He doesn't want to risk someone recognizing him in the morning.

At the new taverns, he goes straight to their stages. The emptier the better but it's not hard for him to convince a half drunk bard to get even drunker.

Sometimes he'd sit on the poorly lit stage and strum his mandolin and not say a word at all as he started to pluck out a tune. The chords are simple at first, something he heard in a dream. Every night spent working, adds another measure. Deeper swells and higher jumps. A mournful reverberation. He was stuck for a while.

Until he hears "glad you're not here... wish you were anyways".

Then, disjointed and seemingly unexpected, a reprise of that first plucking, an octave and a half lower. Still major, still jovial. Just. Deeper. Just... Realer.

I'll fix the transition later, he thought.

That's when the lyrics came. They weren't good but they spilled out of his mouth involuntarily. If it were up to him, those thoughts, those feelings would stay caged in his heart. Instead, a room full of strangers knew him more fully than his intimates.

Protector of air, guard of heart, bulwark of us

His simple plucked out tune, a dreamed up melody for a man he could only dream of.

You say you don't lead. But when I look to you, you're drenched in the boreal crux

A deep and quiet start to the encroaching swell, getting louder and higher.

Crowns of spiders couldn't tempt me astray from your due north

Trilled eight notes that felt like crawling legs and whispy silk on the back of the neck.

I thought you might be the wind caught in my sails. Always only you caught in my fibers

His last word carries a sour note, it sounded wrong, out of tune. Like he was.

A storm by another name, gold and red and melting black, tore us off course

Dorian's run was backwards, like he was free falling from a ledge. Accidentals plaguing it's decent.

It's harder than ever to orient through shades of grey and leave behind no remorse...

That reverberation was accompanied by a strain in his voice. Something that happened every night once he made it to that point. It came next to a swallow of something in his throat. That transition came to him, when Dorian thought about what got him out of his slump, he laughed. Bashfully, sheepishly. He always felt his face burn.

My heart aches. Stay steadfast. Fairer winds...

What a thing to say instead of I miss you.

I have stolen a world away. You are there, I am here. And all I want is to be together when we wake

His melody, their melody, picked up again. His fingers started to pluck staccatos in between the languid chords.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or so they say. This distance has only made mine bleed icar

Dorian wouldn't allow himself to end this with a confession. At least, not one of guilt. It wasn't supposed to be about his straying. It was supposed to be about Orym. It was supposed to be about the man he-

I look for the direction ivy green grows. I look to you still, to find my way.

Sometimes he ended the song with another reprise of his dreamy melody. Sometimes, his fingers would slip on the strings and rancid mistakes would ring out into the crowd. It seemed to depend on how hard they fought that day. How much more Opal stained.

Dorian would always thanked the crowd before taking up the coins that were haphazardly thrown on stage. He wouldn't set out a hat or cup, it wasn't about that, but there was always coin at his feet by the end.

He'd walk quiet streets and thought about Bertrand. Dorian understood now, what he said about walking alone at night. He stepped carefully up lulling tavern stairs thinking about picking up a bottle for a round of "what the fuck is up with that" with friend that weren't waiting for him. He slid into the room he shared with his brother, acknowledging every time that this was the first time they did that. They never shared a room or a bed as children. They didn't share much. Now fully grown, he felt they were more childish than ever.

Dorian curled into himself on his cold side of the bed and thought about how he used to have a pulsing heart beat on his skin. Whether it was across his legs, against his back, against his chest. He never felt loneliness like this before. He never felt the absence of someone before.

And he was worse for it

[dayurno]

thinking about pre canon andrew meeting kevin who has just lost everything he’s ever had over his abuser who asks please don’t let him take me away who says stop you’re hurting me who still believes if he asks riko will stop andrew will stop anyone will stop and i’m thinking about andrew who wants to crush him who wants to protect him who can’t believe kevin is this fragile who can’t believe he is this naive who can’t go to sleep without checking in on kevin every night but can’t keep from wanting to wring that innocence out of him like water from cloth. anyway

[queernarchy]

watching episode 3 season 4 of superman and lois feels like watching season 7 of game of thrones aka recognizing huge cracks in storytelling as the first harbinger of absolute doom for the show but that most people cannot see and are therefore still psyched about, leaving those who CAN see it cassandras as they try to explain a narrative decline that nobody believes

[captainbee66]

Here, have a teaser for "Make a Friend?" because I need to prove that I haven't abandoned this fic

[roaringroa]

they should make a life where you don't have appointments, work, school and scheduled events every single day for months on end

[dragonballnewstar]

Happy Halloween!! I'm still MIA, off on an Upper Respiratory Infection adventure.

[girlivealwaysbean]

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[jihyunspipe]

trying so hard to enjoy evil v in saeran's ae but truthfully all i can think every time i play through it is how much better it is than v's ae. they hate him so bad!!!!

[greenwriterplaidbow]

screaming crying throwing up because I have had zero time to write this week

sorry yall it'll be a minute before I'm done with anything

[hecatesbroom]

Young Dorothy has been taking up an excessive amount of my thoughts for the past week or so, when something clicked the other day, and this happened.

Summary

Chronic fatigue syndrome. It makes sense to Dorothy the moment she hears it, and everything clicks into place. It feels like an inevitable consequence of the weariness that has been hollowing out her bones all her life; a life spent constantly drained, always fighting on the brink of collapse. It's as if now that her mind has finally settled, her body is making up for lost time. (Dorothy has been tired all her life. CFS is a different beast entirely, but it brings back memories)

[pebbledrat]

Welcome to #summer of the saalarina !! (week 1)

This week (July 8-14, 2024) the saal community on tumblr will be reading chapter 1 of the hit dsmp fanfic standing at a lightswitch (saal) by @deadpatrol

#summer of the saalarina is a 3 week event where each week we will read a chapter of saal and post reactions, memes, meta, and art. Using the tag #summer of the saalarina (and my own reblogging prowess) the community's posts will be gathered together in one place in a celebration of how unwell we all are about saal!tubbo

Whether you're a first time reader or longtime fan of the cult classic, feel free to join in on the saal revival!

[allergic-to-four-leaf-clovers]

NEW FOREST TOMORROW......

[tleeaves]

Reclining on a fainting couch, hands laced together and resting over my stomach as I stare up at the ceiling. Why the fuck do I so frequently end up caught between being attracted to mean guys (and gals) but also the wife material guys? Duality of man is falling for both all the time, apparently, and never knowing which I actually genuinely like better.

I wrote out a whole theory about why I like mean people before I realised the logic no longer applied to my current circumstances/character and now I'm back at square one. Perhaps the real answer is as lame as: because I like a challenge and the idea that someone treats me Extra Special compared to how they treat others.

At the end of the day, idk.