#The final one

[dndadsepisodecovers]

Ep.68.5.01- Hi,”Going Home,” I’m Dad.

[notanotherzoyastan]

[hurtanminttu]

RIP Hebblas Ilayda, my little potato princess Iggy Pop 27.10.2013 - 30.03-2024

[asytho]

The final background, the kitchen.

[letterstoear]

Last letter from the mountain lover's club series

Notes: Confession letter from your Jade Leech, Jade x reader, gn reader, fluff, can be read alone but for the best experience I recommend reading the previous two letters.

Check out my shop here: Shop — Letters to Ear (squarespace.com)

Letter 1 | Letter 2 | Letter 3

My dearest _______,

I’ve been trying to trace my steps back to the moment I fell for you, and I’ve finally figured it all out. You wouldn’t think at first glance, but us moray eels are cowards. While I hate to admit it, I’m no exception. Hence, the reason I’ve chosen to write a confession letter. Please read everything closely.

I never believed in having anything romantic love before nor did I imagine a traveling companion to be all that interesting. My days had been satisfying enough. The feeling of discovering the new and unexpected life on those mountains was enchanting. Then, came the day you arrived at my dorm. My heart nearly stopped with how shocked I was to find you rushed over to hear about the Mountain Lover’s Club. Such a feeling remains burned into me till this very day. Even if you were to drown the memory it would remain crystal clear. Such a feeling is treasured deeply in my heart, but who wouldn’t? You were my very first member of course. Those around me doubted I could get someone to join, but I knew one would show up. It only took a little bit of time.

To me you are irreplaceable as a club member and as a person. I’ve come to love you in both ways. During the time we weren’t together, nothing felt the same. The mountains had been more dull than normal. I couldn’t feel anything other than a small tug of curiosity. In comparison to the travels, we did together an empty feeling washed over me. What happened to the once colorful mountains?

To investigate this curiosity, we signed a contract of observation. Your eyes gleamed with a look of curiosity as we sorted through the deal. I desperately clung onto the idea of you being curious about my feelings. Perhaps you shared the same unknown feeling. Following these short two weeks I concluded as to how I felt. _________, I never needed the full two weeks to observe you. I, in fact, discovered my feelings of love for you within that first week.

What had it been that I loved about you? My mind couldn’t form the right answer. Yet, I am now fully aware, allow me to list out a few. Your presence, for starters, is rather impactful for me. I feel safe when I’m with you. _____________, I can lower my guard around you without worry of being attacked. What’s more is you see right through me. Rather entertaining. Since when did my clueless _______ become so sharp? That’s not to say I can’t go teasing you. In fact, I find myself wanting to tease you more often as you react in a charming manner. I do love how I can play tricks on you who are still naive enough to fall for it. Plus, you even get bold enough to playfully tease me with your own games.

However, this feeling is nowhere to be seen with anyone but yourself. See, I tried several of the same games I did with you towards Azul. There was an incredible lack of excitement. I enjoy your reactions precisely because I love you. Had it been anyone else, well, I wouldn’t feel the same. I find everything about you to be so dear because I love you. This feeling of mine has grown even stronger now that I’ve discovered the truth.

I know we’ve met on strange terms, but my love for isn’t strange. It’s incredibly sincere. ____________, I love you. Please consider being my lover, I promise to hold you tight and bring new ideas to life with you. Having met you was the start of a wonderful new beginning. Not only did I gain a new club member, but someone who I can rely on. I want to feel a world with you in it. I love you _____________. I need to know how you feel towards me, even if by some crazy chance it’s not the same.

With hopes of love,

Jade Leech

[floweringglass]

This is one of those projects where I initially was certain on the patina decision, kept going back and forth between silver or black when making it, and now am staring at it while it cools still trying to make up my mind.

[pararennial-archived]

*‵ ･ from where there are no heavenly bodies ･ ′

There are no fair negotiations for things that lie beyond one's control. Of course, there's a more succinct and colloquial way of putting it: life is not fair.

Fingers idly pluck at steel strings, thrumming out a continue empty twang in the air, buoyed only by some sort of forlorn idleness; as though passivity seized all motor control in a soft-palmed hostile takeover. Roxanne hardly does anything without intent, she's never aimless. The thought, "Was any of this ever mine?", never crossed her mind until recently. Everything at this point might as well slip through her fingers like sand imbued with shards of glass. It's not like she can tighten her grip in hopes that the bleeding will stop and cycle back into her veins.

But perhaps, there might have been something she could have done in order to allow herself the peace to not be… for once.

A string snaps loose and whips against her finger, leaving a pink wake upon her skin. She stares at it for a while, watching it fade the instant it appears. It's a small lapse in concentration, in which she easily remedies by taking the string and refastening it. Nothing really stings, it's pale. Bloodless.

By the time she finishes the menial task at hand, she suddenly doesn't feel like playing anymore and sets her guitar back on its stand. With nothing but pure instinct leading her, she ambles out of her room and finds her way to the front porch. She stares at the house ahead, her neighbour from across the street emerges with her golden retriever-poodle mix. She smiles and waves at Roxanne, and Roxanne returns a wave of her own but the smile on her face is as artificial as plastic petals.

She can't remember if there was a time where things were far more simple, the memories feel like a collage of someone else's life. Akin to patchwork, swaths of fabrics sewn together but the colours and frames fail to fall in line with the overall scheme and design. She wants all of it to work ⏤ to be hers. And so she pulls herself into frenzied nights out with friends, dissonant laughter in hallways, music flourishing but not quite reaching its peak. Empty promises to herself to live on her own terms. She honestly thought she could get herself a cut of a self-congratulatory slice of cake and eat it, too.

So, count your parts and measure them twice, because you can only cut once…

Whatever semblance of normalcy she once had was proven a falsehood, there's no form to really return to other than blissful ignorance. A time where she felt alive, but now all of her history seems to be composed of someone else's memories. A fever dream. Images fluctuate and bend into each other like a kaleidoscope. She is merely the spectator, taking in everything and nothing all at once. For all the times she attempted to rehouse, reshape, and rebuild a sense of belonging, the home she ended up creating still remained untrustworthy. A life built off artifice ought to do that; foundation as fragile as a porcelain vase.

There is no turning water into blood.

What exactly is there to trade in exchange for that? Roxanne internally asks herself, and she has no intention of really getting an answer. Could she have gone another way home? Could she have avoided that gateway demon? Could she have dutifully wore the charm her guardians meticulously crafted so that she does not fall into awaiting jaws of a world that was kept from her?

Such questions make her vision fog over, so she turns back inside the house after mere minutes of being outside ( to her it felt like hours ). Her steps remain aimless when she retreats down the halls and finds herself plopped on the living room couch, muscle memory guiding the remote into her hand and she flicks on the TV. She hopes it will silence the slow drone from which every cell in her body is being replaced by something other than human. Mindless chatter from flickering channels do little to tame the turmoil haunting her mind, like a thundering echo within an emptied bullet chamber. Her feeble attempt in her continued search for something to keep her rooted and real has finally landed her on a live news broadcast featuring a local farm, celebrating the birth of a two-headed calf from last night.

Something trembles in Roxanne, but she only stares blankly. A two-headed anomaly, unexpectedly blessed with the ability to gaze upon twice as many stars the night it was born. In her case, so she believes, it would be an overwhelming relief have that second head removed immediately. The poor thing would have hours, or if lucky enough, mere days left to spend on Earth. Wouldn't that be a fair trade? To cut out a part that is only measured by its remarkability in exchange for an unexceptional life that will be well lived and untouched by misfortune?

She doesn't even notice Mallory entering in, the shadowed goddess standing by the screen and partially illuminated its glow. Her beloved guardian felt so far away.

❝What is it my child? I sensed you were in trouble.❞ Mallory closed the distance, kneeling next to the couch and enclosing Roxanne's face within the palm of her hands. They were cool but never truly devoid of warmth. ❝What is wrong?❞

❝Nothing...❞ There is a strange fizz accenting her voice, ❝Is mine. Even if I tried.❞

[angrycatlovesfandoms]

I feel like a pretty princess with my black dress in cool big short slevess

[frenchublog]

kosovo miku

[swan2swan]

Whoever conceived and animated this moment, I hope they're doing well and thriving. This is S-rank romance stuff here.

[demaparbat-hp]

Arsonist's Lullaby

[mangozic]

my dead goth son and his friendly neighborhood personified concept of insanity

[aphel1on]

nothinggg better than torturing an emotionally repressed character until every single trauma they've ever refused to process starts spilling uncontrollably out of the cracks. like a matryoshka doll situation of repressed trauma and baby you better believe i'm going in there with a hammer

[ashipwreckcoast]

i could, in theory, buy a tofu press

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

historical drama/sitcom where two gay best friends (woman and man) get lavender married--and proceed to spend the Fancy European Honeymoon their parents paid for acting as each other's wingman