#I can't wait to meet you all!

[egophiliac]

IT WAS ERIC AFTER ALL!!!! I'm so glad we got to meet him (before Vil snaps him away with those Infinity Gauntlets) (can't wait to see what happens when we get the matching Infinity Tiara to go with them, there will be no survivors)

(sorry to be so slow/rough lately, just got a lot of stuff on the ol' brain at the moment! alas, if only I could spend all my time drawing incredibly stupid characters I mean I do but)

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

My biggest fear when I was younger was forgiving those who have wronged me, because it meant I moved on.

[triaelf9]

HEYOOOO GUESS WHO'S DOING THE ART FOR A NEW CR SHOW! ITSA MEEEEE

Ya'll, if you know me, I'm picky as heck when it comes to podcasts, and this show swept me away. Lot of laughs, quite a few gasps, spooks and feels, and more! And this cast… ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC💕💕 Please give it a listen so there are more seasons b/c I GOTTA KNOW MORE AND GET MORE BACKSTORY PLZ

Also, highest praise I can give media is that I can't pick a fav character b/c I love them all, and that's 100% the case here too.

You can see more of the art here:

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[bbeeohazardd]

i'm stuck in bed but i wanted to contribute still

[kirby-the-gorb]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

He's a Beautiful Butterfly!

[boasamishipper]

🌹 looking for bathena propaganda (yes i will get to 911 eventually i promise 🥺)

“Were you there every time something crazy happened to us?” he asks in disbelief after Hen and Chimney take their leave on Thursday night, and Athena laughs. “Just about.” Her eyes glitter with mischief. “That’s how we met, you know. Responding to the same crazy call.” Bobby’s spine straightens. “Really?” Athena nods. “It was your first shift with the 118, and you responded to a call out in the suburbs. A stabbing; unknown assailant. The rest of your crew was panicking, but you kept a cool head and disarmed the assailant all on your own.” “I did?” “Well,” Athena says, her lips twitching. “The assailant being a rooster helped.”

from the long-awaited (and long in general) ch8 of No Grave Can Hold My Body Down, my amnesia!bobby fic

for every “🌹” received in my inbox i’ll post one random sentence of a random WIP i’m currently writing

[anathemafiction]

can we still find out the pirate’s name if we aren’t romancing him?

Of course! You can't call someone Pirate the entire time. Even he would get tired of it — although he probably wouldn't object to you calling him King. 😄

[1eos]

there's a twisted kind of irony in naturally being a girls girl and assuming im going to have an at least pleasantly cordial relationship with most women i meet and then constantly meeting older women who have an unfounded passive hatred for me in the workplace 😭😭😭😭

[pendraegon]

your thesis update.... i will tell you that your advisor is definitely the problem (and so is the organization of your program for not having published the theses in a way that is accessible because wtf). please take care of yourself and treat yourself well because a terrible grad school experience is no joke. you WILL escape that place with a degree and i hope everything goes a little bit more smoothly in the future🫡

i can tell that she REALLY does not like me nor wants to put up with me which is..... kind of incredible. im truly not quite sure where it all went wrong — my program is like...stupidly expensive (hello terrifying student debt!) as well as pretty damn renown and i came to this uni SPECIFICALLY for this subfield that im in and it's been a genuine mess from my first semester (not even counting the whole thesis debacle). im going to drag myself to the finish line even if it kills me but also like. this is genuinely the most degraded i've ever felt LOL

[egophiliac]

Hello!! I followed you for your absolutely amazing Twisted Wonderland comics (thank you for making them, by the way-) but I saw you posting about something called Ride Kamens? I haven’t heard of it before, what’s it about? Or if that’s a bit much to ask, where could I find more info about it? It seems right up my alley 👀

Thank you!

thank you! :> :> :> (this is also for the other anon who asked about where to find it, I am honored to be infecting the world spreading interest in this silly game)

Ride Kamens is still doing prerelease marketing and isn't out yet; it's set for "early summer 2024", so a bit yet to go! similar to Twst, it's a mobile game about anime boys loosely based on an existing franchise (Kamen Rider), although it seems like it's going to be more standalone/won't require familiarity with Rider going in.

the (very) basic premise is that your player character has just taken over their late father's role as a secret agent, supporting the city's superheroes by running a secret base disguised as a cafe (plus you have a personal butler for some reason) (the reason is because it's amazing). you also have to help the heroes regain their lost memories, and it looks like it'll have a bit of a route/choice aspect there (not romance, just different endings to the character episodes depending on what you do). the details are kinda hard to tell at this point but the characters seem like a really fun bunch; there's definitely big "idiots with emotional problems" energy which I am extremely into.

all the official info is in Japanese only at the moment, but here's the website and the ride_kamens twitter! (though the twitter is sort of overtaken by posts about the AnimeJapan exhibit right now, whoops.) and I believe some people are already planning on doing translations for it too? lots to look forward to! :D

[flowerflamestars]

Hello! I hope you had a good holiday season! If you don't mind, I was wondering about Amren and what she is doing in Effloresce. I can't remember if Summer heist happened yet. Her boss, coworkers, and boss's totally-not-love-interest have fucked off to coerce human women to help them. Amren knows laws. She knows there will be consequences. She finds out about the Archeron ties to the city. Someone's going to tell her about the contract that will kill the ruling class of Night. She is the only rational one left on the ruling council.

Hi, thank you! I did- if a very, very busy one :)

If there were an emotional scale for the IC charting from Azriel at one end- having a centuries late break down, genuinely contemplating murder, off the rails, wings on fire, carnivorous shadows CHAOS- Mor would be dead in the middle- bristling with some kind of SOMETHING and concerned but not like. enough to do anything differently- Amren would round out the other side.

She's watching this all happen and gently yawning.

She's infinitely old.

(hello, thing that irritates me beyond belief in canon. She's old and otherworldly and!! why would that only manifest in mild grouchyness?? WHY)

We're pre-theft (which, ho boy, is going to be a fun one), but post almost everything else. Amren has been waiting out whatever stupid thing she knows Rhys will do, busy being a time bomb with a mate who?? doesn't know she's his mate? ridiculous, thinks Amren.

The thing is, she likes the Night Court. She also, at times, cannot help but look upon all these creatures around her like they're very small, brightly colored bugs and she's a hobbyist entomologist on her third aperol spritz watching them buzz flowers she planted, or occasionally die running into windows.

Amren knows things.

She's been waiting for Feyre to reveal some kind of SOME interesting Archeron intrepidness. For Rhysand to look at just the right record. For Feyre to try to go to the bank alone.

(For Azriel to pick up a crystal pitcher and physically start bludgeoning Rhys)

She IS rational, but like. Her goals aren't really...other people's goals. She's interested by what's happening. She has some serious thoughts about the current regimes long term trajectory. (Amren comes SWINGING into the Effloresce narrative.)

What's different, is that she's Night's second.

She's old enough she doesn't really make promises. But when she does, she keeps them. She's going to protect the Night Court, for the best possible future of the Night Court.

[ratgirlexe]

Okaaaaay, I got around to editing with help from my lovely editor/beta-reader and am finally finished with the first offshoot chapter for Myosotis.

The chapter is a one-shot with characters who will appear later in Myosotis. You can read it now, here. I hope you enjoy!

This story contains some heavier kinks, and is definitely smut, so please mind the CW tags!

[georgiacooked]

Yesterday we finalised the theme music for The Holmwood Foundation, and now have the sound files fully prepped for use in episode one (!!!!) We probably won't release music for a little while yet, but I'm just so excited, and grateful to get to work with such talented people at different stages of production. As a writer I'm usually fixed at a single stage of audio work, but helming most of the process of THF is a whole new learning curve.

[dinosaurwithablog]

Batman is celebrating pride month in his own way. I love that!!! ❤️ Batman agrees with me... we think that pride should be all year long and we should celebrate the differences!!!! There are sooooooo many great people out there that we haven't met yet. I am looking forward to meeting those people, aren't you? 💜💙💚💛🧡❤️

[revelisms]

Excerpt: Emptied Spaces

Vi recalls her first nights as a new recruit to Zaun.

From a work in progress set after 'heron blue,' an AU where Vi and Jinx reconnect under different terms. Slow, rocky relationship rebuilding, found family messiness, and hurt/comfort abound.

A series of tinny pricks muddle the air. 

"He's not all bad, you know," her sister mumbles. 

Vi presses her nails into her palm. 

In her mind's eye, a litany of refusals. 

She sees the stairs down to the storeroom—their old room—that she'd found boarded up, paint streaked over the walls: a glaring, caution-taped denial to any who dared to enter. She sees Jinx slumped at the bar, dotting black varnish on her nails, flippant as anything to Vi's tight-mouthed questions of what had happened to their things; if there was anything left.

Just ghouls and ghosts, Jinx had said, in an accent not her own, and shot a whip-fire glare through her fringe. Then she'd grinned, cold and feline. Droused on, Key's in Silky's desk, if you care that much.

Like that room was nothing more than an ill memory, to her. Her and Vi's things. Mylo and Claggor's things. Mom and Dad's things. Vander's—

Like all of it wasn't theirs, anymore.

(Never had been.)

They had new rooms, now—ones of their own, only paces down that dark-lamped hall from each other.

Just days prior, that rat had dangled hers in front of her, in some twisted attempt at an olive branch.

It had ridiculous wallpaper and jade-tinted windows; furnishings absurdly ornate, for all their simplicity; shelves upon shelves filled with books she'd never read. They'd given her a bed with smuggled silk sheets and feathered pillows—the kind any Fissure brat in their right mind would dive into, relishing in the best sleep they'd had in years. A luxury all of them deserved. 

Her own room. A real, proper room.

Not four walls and a cot.

(Not a room with Powder.)

In silence, that bastard had stood behind her: smoke and spice on his clothes, a chill like an autumn sea seeping off his bones. The shadow of his suit had lingered in her periphery, unnervingly still. Spindly hands folded at his back; too-clean shoes canted, unmoving. 

Will it suffice? he'd graveled, eventually.

Vi'd fought down the urge to scoff.

Suffice.

As if he couldn't give a damn that he'd paid for it all on the backs of children carting industry wares as much as vials of liquid death; hadn't taken up his keep in their home, Vander's home—claimed the damned thing unrightfully as his own—and now had carved out a pathetic share to toss back to her.

Vi'd found her voice. Our old room was fine.

Hands ticking at his back. If you'd prefer to sleep on the boxes, then be my guest.

She said you emptied it.

Silence ebbing, knifing. A heaviness had snared around his bones: the kind that had rage smelting around it, slow-simmered and tightly leashed: one that set the hairs on her nape rising.

In it was an image. A memory he wouldn't give her the privilege to share.

She didn't want to picture it.

Powder, eleven years old, bruises on her cheek, standing alone in the center of that storeroom. 

Powder, frozen, for minutes or hours or ages—a tattered bunny squeezed between her hands, blood still on her clothes—before the screams finally tore their way out of her.

She didn't want to picture it—but the thought had itched within her, like a virus. She couldn't blink it out.

It's been emptied enough, Silco had answered her: a slither of a hiss. His mismatched stare had veered away, notched to an unseen point in the wall.

Under your orders? Vi'd pressed on.

Another tick of his fingers.

He'd known they'd already spoken about it. That she was aware, by then, that it was Powder—Jinx—who wanted nothing to do with that room: who couldn't sleep in it, couldn't stand to be in it; could only hover at the foot of those stairs, boots welded through the floor, every time this shark-skinned thing offered for her to go through her belongings and do with the space as she wished. 

A denial Vi couldn't grapple with had pooled nauseously in her. One he'd had no qualms in laying out to dry.

I will remind you, Silco had said, placid for all its venom, once, by whose request you are here. And he'd stared her down, like a beast waiting to strike: head tilted, eyes inhuman: chloroform polluting the sea-foam of the living one, magma igniting the ore of the dead. 

Nothing but a dull indifference. Bemusement glazed beneath a fanged snarl. 

He didn't see her as a threat, she'd realized. Not as mirrored strength to be wary of, the way Vander had. 

In the path of his leering, she felt like a child. A gutless, gut-twisted kid.

Like a pair of boxing gloves squeezed shamefully behind her back, and her father's glare simmering above her, a finger lifted slowly between them—Don't you leave her alone, again. 

In his image, the words twisted. A different voice. A dead eye. A threat that bastard didn't need to speak.

She'd heard it, all the same.

Give her one reason to regret that choice, and I will see you out, myself.

"Y'know what's funny?" Jinx says, plucking another piece of metal off her knee. Vi's fingers stutter around her hair. "You've got way more in common than you think. Little spit-fire peas in a pod, really—all Zaun this, Fissurefolk that—No pickles in the stew, Jinx; No bombs in the basement, Birdie-blue." Her sister pitters into a snort, piranha-teeth gleam over the shoulder. "It's bonkers. Like I've got two of ya, now."

And Vi pictures him occupying a similar space in this bar, this room, in her sister's own head. Pictures, dreads, refuses the thought of him toiling over a stove, with little Powder's fingertips peeking against the counter: of him standing bland and impatient in the glittering eaves of a Piltie tailor, wrinkling his brow at the colors this girl insisted on piecing together; of him waking to her tear-muddled face at ungodly hours of the morning, as Vi had done so many years before, and groggily flipping back the sheets; of holding her, at all, in a space that never should have been emptied, in the first place.

The thought curdles in her throat.

Six years—nearly seven, now.

Now, her sister speaks about Powder like a dead self. She spends her free hours dancing around that monster's desk. She has nightmares more vile that the ones Vi remembers, that made voices crawl from the walls, the kind that said the nights would never end and that none of them would ever come back, never come back again (and Mom and Dad never did, and Vander was taken from them)—

And still. 

Still, after all of it—after those terrors would send her panicked and shaken into the hall, with Vi's door already cracked and waiting; after the years Vi had cared for her, reassured her, done her best to be the lovely softness that their mother was, that she feared she could never be—Jinx would go to him, first.

Vi squeezes her eyes shut. 

Slowly, the comb picks through another tangle.

"Two of us, huh?" she mutters, a fire in her chest—and denies it.