#also pls give feedback

[meowthefluffy]

A little concept art I just finished for a new project I’m working on! (Pls speculate what this is for because I desperately wanna talk about it)

(close ups under cut)

[starry-bi-sky]

you can't choose what stays and what fades away

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes I never knew daylight could be so violent A revelation in the light of day You can't choose what stays and what fades away

(and I'd do anything to make you stay)

------------

Shen Yuan wakes up in a woodshed.

He's in a body that's not quite his own.

(WIP also available on ao3!)

He wakes up in a woodshed.    

No, actually— let him correct himself. Shen Yuan does, indeed, wake up in a woodshed, but it’s not the first thing he realizes upon waking. No, in fact, consciousness comes quite slowly to him; sluggish, his mind attempting to slog through calf-high bogland without exhausting itself. It’s like he’s trying to drag himself to the surface of a river with a weight tied around his ankle, the weight trying desperately to drag him just as quickly down.    

His senses come to him just as slowly, his hearing and touch and smell and taste all trying to claw its way up back into existence till they’re thrumming beneath the thin skin of his body. Yes, it’s very much like trying to wake up from a long, deep sleep where he didn’t get quite enough rest, and he wonders, not for the first time, if he had collapsed again. His mouth is dry, his lips feel crusty, and his eyes are sealed shut by congealed-whatever-mixture of disgusting bodily fluids his eyes are capable of producing.    

Much like breaking free from sleep-paralysis, the moment he’s able to register that he’s actually sensing things again, the strange, spongy film that had been dampening them suddenly crumbles and collapses. Everything rushes forth like water spilling out of an open dam, or maybe like blood from an open scab, and Shen Yuan is abruptly accosted by the world and its sounds and sensations.   

The sun is hitting his eyes in just the right way that he can see the light burning behind his eyelids – which, that can’t be right, his curtains should be drawn, -- and there’s the distinct and gentle sound of wind rustling past, of birds singing softly, and the faint trill of music floating through. Shen Yuan is abruptly imposed with the mental image of a yellow autumn leaf falling delicately onto a still pond, that is how tranquil the world around him sounds.    

It is so, so, incredibly cliche, that he can’t help but open his eyes with a deep rooting incredulity planting itself firmly in the core of his chest. What he expects to see is the ceiling of his bedroom – the ground is hard enough that, for a moment, he thinks he may have fallen asleep on the floor again, or perhaps the hospital, because then that would at least explain better the tranquil sounds in his ears and the sunlight hitting his face.   

(Except he doesn’t smell the familiar sting of septic and cleaner, nor does he hear the beeping of the heart rate monitor beside him, the bustle and soft murmur of nurses outside that are always on the move. There’s no paper thin and slightly scratchy blanket laid over him. And never, not once, has he been subjected to the sounds of an eight-hour tranquil music ASMR while in the hospital.)  

(In fact, his nose feels rather stuffy. The same way it gets when he has a runny nose that just dried or a bloody nose that just finally stopped bleeding. He smells dirt and wood, and— and… is that blood?)    

There’s still crust clinging to his lashes and the corner of his eyes when he opens them, so his vision is immediately blurred in the way only recent consciousness can create. But even then, he can see the roof clearly enough to know that this is neither his bedroom nor the hospital. Shen Yuan sits up while his heart drops right out of his chest, regretting the action immediately as an ache shoots up his arms and staunchly reminds him of a terrible soreness spread throughout his body, one that he was not previously aware of.   

The hiss he makes is involuntary, and the sound rusted and weak, irritating his sore throat while his head pounds behind his eyes like a hammer against a nail. Get your bearings, Shen Yuan, he thinks, vision swimming, sucking in his dessert-dry bottom lip between his teeth and catching it on the incisors. The air does nothing for the inside of his mouth. Where the fuck am I?  

His eyes flick around the crust poking irritably at his corneas, as he tries to soak in where exactly he is. On instinct, his hands come up to flick away the crust obscuring his sight, and when he pulls his fingers away, there’s dark, brown-red buildup crumbling against his skin.   

Wh—? Shen Yuan rubs his eyes again, and realizes there’s a flaking trail coming from his eyes down his cheeks that, when he rubs at it, peels off into what can’t be anything but dried blood. It does nothing for his rapid-beating heart and the sinking shock and horror settling between his ribs. Why has he been bleeding from his eyes?    

He looks up from his hand. That shock and horror rising as he finally, finally takes in his surroundings, while also realizing, his dry tongue running against the back of his teeth and the corner of his mouth, that he was tasting blood too. Faint and stuck against his gums, but there.   

Shen Yuan is surrounded by cut wood, and beneath him he’s sitting on an old, tattered blanket. He’s wearing robes. Robes, worn and slightly dirty, made of a pleasant-to-the-eye green and white fabric, and straight out of every single Xanxia novel, drama, and poster he’s ever read and seen. There’s a simply, if slightly tattered, white fan tucked against his thigh.   

Oh, oh no. His hands fly up to his hair and— yep. Yeah, slightly tangled but undeniably soft and smooth, black hair slips against his fingers like silk and pours over his shoulders and down his back. It’s ten times longer than it should be, ten times longer than he’s used to, and he’s sitting on the ends of it. He releases his hair only so Shen Yuan can slap his hands against his face, automatically picking at the trail of dried blood on both corners of his mouth. His fingers are chilled against his skin, and he ignores it to trace his new (he thinks—the bow of his mouth and the curve of his cheekbones feels achingly familiar) facial features.   

Whose face am I wearing? What book have I entered? Because wasn’t this transmigration one-oh-one? The last thing he remembers was becoming incensed with the ending of Proud Immortal Demon Way and, in the middle of his scathing rant, dying of food poisoning. This was totally transmigration one-oh-one. Dying after reading a book, only to wake up in a place that was not the modern world, only to realize shortly after that they were now in the book they had just read?   

Wait— if he follows that trope, then... Shen Yuan’s heart decides it’s had enough time in his stomach, and leaps right into his throat. His eyes flitter around anxiously. There are bamboo stalks rising out the window, and the music he’s hearing, Shen Yuan realizes belatedly that it’s the sweet plucking of a guqin. Oh no. Don’t tell me--   

Like an activation phrase, a too-loud notification ‘ding!’ goes right off in his ear, resulting in Shen Yuan flinching violently as a too-bright and eye-stinging blue message box seals open into existence right before his eyes.   

[ SYSTEM Successfully Activated! Welcome to the world of Pride Immortal Demon Way! You are ‘Shen Jiu’ -- otherwise known as Shen Qingqiu, thirteen-year-old Disciple of Qing Jing Peak. Currently your actions are restricted due to a frozen OOC function that will eventually be unlocked after you familiarize yourself with the world. ]  

No! Of all the people he could have been transmigrated into, did it have to be the villain? Scum Disciple Shen Qingqiu? No— no, of course it was the villain; wasn’t that also transmigration one-oh-one as well? That the transmigrator was either the hero, the villain, or an NPC related to either one?   

Was this karma? Was the world enacting karmic justice on him for all those late nights spent arguing with internet randos online when he should have been doing something productive with his life? Of all those hours spent countlessly researching mythical beasts and animals and folklore all so he could tear the author a new one for his terrible plot and even worse papapa? Did Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky inflict some kind of curse on him that resulted in him being dragged into his shitty, shitty, stallion novel to act as the same guy who later gets his limbs torn off and pickled by the main protagonist?   

It had to be. That’s exactly what this was. This was karma.   

(Oh god, he’s never going to see his family again, is he? He’d died. He’d died in his world, he knows it. That’s how this always goes. At least he hadn’t been hit by a truck, at least he’d died somewhat originally. But he died. He’d been choking and everything went dark. The fluid filling his lungs, the lack of air, the steady crawl of blackening fuzz slowly encircling his vision--)  

(Who will find his body? How long will it take? It’d only been a week prior that he’d gotten into a fight with da-ge and the others, and they usually give him space for a while when they do. It’s not like Shen Yuan had any close friends left either--)  

(Will they find him rotting? Will they blame themselves? What will they think?)   

--(...Oh god, who was going to tell Hai-ge--?)--  

Shen Yuan drops his face into his hands, ignoring the throbbing of his skull and the influx of nausea that sloshes from his chest to his stomach as he does. He groans, low and painful, ignoring the sharp sting of his throat it causes. Does it have to be Shen Qingqiu? He asks, and wonders if the SYSTEM needs an audial vocal command or if it would just--   

[ You have been chosen to play Shen Qingqiu, the Scum Villain Disciple! ]   

Annoyance burrows into his throat. That’s... not what he asked. His teeth grind against each other, the stupid message box burning into his eyes. That at least answers that question, though. He won’t have to talk aloud to communicate with the SYSTEM, so at least he won’t look insane for talking to himself in public. Why does it have to be Shen Qingqiu?   

[ Shen Qingqiu plays a vital role in Pride Immortal Demon Way! You have been chosen to take on his role as the Scum Villain Disciple. ]   

What vital role!? Shen Qingqiu, sure, had a role in the beginning of the book as the disciple who did nothing but cause a ruckus and trouble on Qing Jing Peak when the protagonist’s back was turned; trying to drag Peak Lord Luo Binghe’s precious name through the mud while inciting what was basically tyranny by clawing his way up to a Head Disciple position through being a green tea bitch. He then went and used that power to abuse and bully the younger disciples when the adults weren’t looking.  

He only got away with it for so long because Luo Binghe was so busy with important missions and night hunts and the sweeping-of-peerless-beauties off their feet off the peak, that when he was on Qing Jing, it wasn’t long enough to realize just who was behind the disruption. And Shen Qingqiu was sneaky about it, so it took even longer. 

Only coming to a head at the Immortal Cultivation Conference when demons attacked and it all came to light like a hellish volcano, resulting in Shen Qingqiu not only finding out about Luo Binghe’s status as a half-heavenly demon, but also him being pushed into the Endless Abyss. He re-emerges half a decade later, brimming with demonic cultivation and a half-crazed lust for power and vengeance — revenge that ends up failing because he’s going up against the powerful protagonist.  

He causes a handful of actual problems before Luo Binghe finally has enough, and in the end, Shen Qingqiu ends up with his non-vital limbs cut off and stuffed inside a jar like a human pickle. A horrifying and befitting ending for any villain and antagonist of the main character.  

That is to say, nothing about him is actually vital. He was, for all intents and purposes, pretty much a low-tier cannon fodder villain meant to boost up and accentuate the protagonist’s abilities in the beginning of the book. A way to introduce the audience to the might and intelligence of the main character and their problem-solving skills when there is a ‘mysterious figure’ going around besmirching his name.  

Which... may just work in his favor, actually. Shen Qingqiu ended up with the fate he got because he went against the protagonist, a big no-no in practically every trashy novel. So, solution so Shen Yuan doesn’t end up a human stick? Don’t get in the protagonist’s way.  

That annoying ‘ding!’ rings in his ear, causing yet another flinch out of Shen Yuan as a notification unapologetically forms in front of him.  

[ WARNING: OOC! Host’s refusal to stay in character will result in automatic point deductions. If Host’s point score gets too low, SYSTEM will automatically mete out punishment. ] 

Of course it wasn’t that easy. Of course not, because why would it be easy? Of course there was a point system, this was a SYSTEM after all. Of course he couldn’t just avoid the villain’s fate, because that’d be too easy. His annoyance simmers out across the plane of his chest, and he decidedly ignores the faint tremor in his arms and the pulsing beat of his heart as he picks himself up off the ground and stands.  

His legs, much like his arms, tremble, and his head swims. He pushes through it, ignoring the ill-feeling of fear making itself home in the pit of his stomach. He should ask what those punishments are; what they’ll look like. He should ask about the point system, about how to increase his point score, about all the functions in the SYSTEM and what he has available, and what he does not.  

He should ask how old he is – because he’s much smaller than his old adult self had been; probably child-sized? -- and where he is in the book. What year is it, how long until the Immortal Cultivators Conference. Just when is he? 

Shen Yuan reaches out to grip onto a particularly towering stack of firewood, careful not to knock it or himself over. It feels like physical therapy all over again. Granted, a primitive, unsupervised, cobbled-together version of physical therapy, but physical therapy, nonetheless.  

His foot kicks against the fan, he’d frankly forgotten about that, and it slides off the blanket and across the dirt. His fingers twitch to grab it, something possessive and uncomfortably vulnerable rearing in his lungs – ah, an instinctive emotion from the original goods then? He’s heard of that in other transmigration stories he’s read, the novels failed to mention the full extent of how strange it felt.  

(It felt so eerily natural to want to pick it up. Of course he’d be upset about kicking it, and the unhappiness of dirtying it slots itself against him like second nature. How strange. How creepy.)  

Instead of asking any of that though, Shen Yuan turns his bitter mind inwards to the SYSTEM and asks, perhaps, the most important question of them all; Why did you bring me here if you were just going to kill me again?   

Isn’t that unnecessarily cruel?  

[ Host has been brought to Pride Immortal Demon Way because it is our sincere hope that Host can transform this stupid work into a magnificent, high-quality, first-rate classic! As part of the welcoming package, and to help ease the transition, a few things have been left in Host’s inventory! We hope you enjoy your time in Pride Immortal Demon Way! ]  

To change-- 

To change--?  

To CHANGE--?  

Indignancy surges itself from the tips of Shen Yuan’s fingers to the crown of his head, anger not unlike every single time Airplane threw away an interesting plot point for sex fuzzes out his vision and turns his pounding headache into a full-fledged migraine. His grip on the firewood tightens, and he can feel the rough and textured bark digging into his skin. 

His mouth curls inward, the cracked skin splitting down the middle of his bottom lip as Shen Yuan threatens to snarl at the SYSTEM. How the fuck am I supposed to change the plot if I can’t even change the way my character acts!  

[ Reminder to Host: The OOC Function is frozen, but not permanent. Once Host has become properly settled in and completed the tutorial will he be able to unlock it. ]  

Fine, fine! He has half a mind to unload a string of curses at the SYSTEM, because apparently its rules were as stupid as the author who made this world. Shen Yuan refrains; he doesn’t know how sentient the thing is, and upsetting it right now when he has no idea when he is – nor does he know a thing about the point system -- would only be detrimental for him in the long run. 

Instead, he lets loose a groan from his throat that could be more accurately compared to as a growl. With his one free hand, Shen Yuan drags his palm down his face, and then loops it back up to comb it through his hair. ...His hair that is much longer than it used to be, and which is snaggled with little knots and tangles that he’ll have to get out.  

He hits the first knot and immediately withdraws his fingers, freeing up a few strands of ink black hair while he’s at it. With a quick wrist shake, the strands fall to the floor and Shen Yuan leans the rest of his weight against the log pile. Some of his anger cools down until it’s nothing more than boiled water gone cold, and he sighs out through a clogged-up nose until there’s nothing more than a quiet pressure of unease curled around his shoulders.  

There’s really not much he does know about how Shen Qingqiu acts – after all, he put up a responsible and dutiful disciple front when he was in the presence of Luo Binghe, and was only then revealed to be a scumbag later down the line. Which only got backed up with secondhand accounts of the other Qing Jing Peak disciples.  

He didn’t show up often either, since most of the time Luo Binghe was off the peak. Nobody wants to read about a powerful peak lord being a teacher after all. Many more interesting things in the world around him than his students.  

SYSTEM, how old am I? He must be pretty young if he bases it off how small he is – although, Shen Qingqiu didn’t have much of a description in the first place. He was only described as having skin as white as jade, with glossy black hair and a noble air surrounding him. Height, eyes, and finer details like that were left unmentioned. Why did I wake up in a woodshed? What time is it? 

[ Host is currently thirteen years old! Last night Shen Qingqiu experienced a severe Qi Deviation after having an altercation with the Head Disciple. It is early morning; the other disciples will be getting breakfast. ] 

That doesn’t explain why he was in a woodshed. But at this point, Shen Yuan was starting to believe that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of every question he asks. That does explain the blood in his mouth and crusted on his face – and the soreness and exhaustion currently wrought through his body, though.  

In a rapid set of blinks and a little bit of mental fiddling, the message notifications disappear out of his sight and the rest of his senses begin to filter back in, the SYSTEM seeming content to disappear into the back of his mind – which, wow, feels just as weird as the original goods’ instincts from earlier. 

More of his own strength had returned, enough that Shen Yuan feels comfortable with pushing himself off the firewood stack and standing on his own. Making sure that his legs won’t collapse under the weight of his own body, he takes a tentative step forward and drops his gaze down to the little white fan sitting on the ground.  

...The idea of leaving without it returns that discomforting, vulnerable feeling from earlier, as if he had walked out without a shirt on. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up on its own with unease. Shen Qingqiu was mentioned to hide his face behind a fan in every appearance he made, it must be the original goods’ emotions he’s feeling then. Again.  

He leans down, his core trembling just a little, and plucks it right off the ground. The grooves of the wood fit against his fingers perfectly, hinting at weeks, if not years, of use and the oils of his hands wearing it down. He beats the side of the fan against his leg lightly, ignoring the bruising-aches it shoots up his thigh, and brushes off the dirt clinging to it.  

Without thinking, Shen Qingqiu flicks it open and flutters it about for a few quick beats. The unnerving, skin-crawling sensation marking across his spine settles down, and he snaps the fan shut before reaching for the door.  

[ OOC: Host should make himself look presentable before being seen in public. Failure to do so will result in immediate point deduction. ] 

Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth again, there’s nothing in here but dirt and wood, how am I supposed to do that? It’s not like he had the whole layout of Qing Jing Peak memorized; Luo Binghe was barely on so where everything was, wasn’t important. Is there some kind of bathhouse somewhere?  

Which, if there was, he wasn’t planning on using until it was entirely empty – the mere thought of it returned that gross, uncomfortable skin-crawling discomfort. He’ll shower at night, thank you, repressing a shudder at the horrifying idea of someone potentially walking in on him.  

[ OOC: Shen Qingqiu would never bathe with the threat of other disciples around. There is a nearby creek that Host can clean himself up at. ]  

That’s really not much better.  But, so long as he isn’t undressing in public, he can probably just... wash the dirt off and get his hair damp enough to detangle it. If Shen Qingqiu was sleeping in here, then he probably has a change of clothes somewhere around here, right? He should look around for any hidden bags before leaving.  

He finds a small qiankun pouch tucked safely between a set of wood logs near the blanket, and inside it is a clean set of robes for him to change into, which, perfect! The robes he was wearing right now weren’t terribly dirty, but there were a few dirt spots visible enough that Shen Qingqiu was sure that he’d probably get a point deduction out of it, or a scolding from senior disciples.  

(Does Shen Qingqiu sleep in the woodshed often? Shouldn’t he be in the dormitories?)  

He plucks the bag out of its little hidey-hole, giving it a place on his belt, along with his newly acquired fan, and turns towards the door. Shen Qingqiu crosses the room in the span of a few large steps, and just as he’s about to curl his hand around the handle, he... pauses.  

It’s only for a split second, a moment of hesitation, of personal confirmation that, once he opens this door, there will be no going back. Not that there was since he opened his eyes, but, it would cement it.  

Shen Qingqiu breathes in a shaky breath, and then opens the door to the rising sun.

[starlyte-writes]

Okay, I have a theoretical dsmp story idea in my head but idk if it's too far out there/confusing/complicated so I'm curious what do y'all think:

Basic concept (which it's hard to explain but hear me out) is that all of the characters of the dsmp are transported to a massive arena by XD. Each of them wakes up in a separate room, and when they do, they find they're not alone but are accompanied by a stranger who seems to vaguely/strongly recognize them. It's revealed that XD has selected one person from Earth that closest matches the personality of each dsmp member to become a team that will compete in a series of challenges broadcasted to the whole world.

To put it even more simply: each character is paired with a dsmp nerd that matches their energy whether they like it or not and I have an excuse to make a crazy Hunger Games-esque competition while simultaneously analyzing what makes every dsmp character unique.

Does this sound cool or do I sound absolutely insane (pls feel free to ask me questions or throw out suggestions this is a very rough idea as of rn)

[acebytaemin]

im losing my MIND also i can’t figure out which one of you added these but like. just know you’ve changed me

[blue-boxes-magic-and-tea]

ITS HAPPENINGGGG!!

Tomorrow (Oct. 20) we do a watch party for the first three episodes of Lockwood and Co to celebrate having finished (or getting very, very close to finishing) The Screaming Staircase!

It's being held in the Lockwood Library discord server, so feel free to join in!! (if there are any issues w the link or server access pls feel free to reply to the post or dm me)

Hopefully, I'll see you there! and expect to hear soon about a timeline for reading The Whispering Skull as a group all over again <3

[pacifistcowboy]

i love mr tinker so much and i already miss him 🥺

[gingerpeachtea]

🦀🦀🦀

15 sentences!!!!

Satine was lying on Christian’s bed, seated up against tattered pillows thin with use; she might have minded, if the smell of his shampoo and her perfume weren’t lingering so sweetly. She could recall their early days, before Christian had gotten properly settled, when all that clung was dust. Or, the bitter stench of absinthe, when the same could be said of his breath—when the green-cheapened poetry of his mouth swallowed the copper twinge in her own. A small mercy she'd held tight in her bloodstained fist. Paris backstreets shone among the red L’amour sign beyond Christian’s apartment, a mere glimmer peeking through the reflections cast on the window: Christian’s backside, lit warm by the bedside lamp while he excitedly leafed through the pieces he’d workshopped with Toulouse. He was always working on something new, jumping from project to project, passion to passion; a constant balancing act of his overactive imagination atop the cusp of fresh creation. He came home from each session with Toulouse more than eager to share his day’s musings with Satine. After all, try as he might, Toulouse was never too successful in pacing Christian, keeping him stoking one creative flame at a time instead of just dousing every concept in gasoline and tossing in a reckless match. No, it seemed Santiago and Satine were the lucky few capable of reining him in from careening wildly between ideas at the drop of a hat. (Nini had successfully shot down an idea of his once, though, after being forced to overhear him describe it to Satine in their dressing room between acts. She’d been a bit harsh about it, but he appreciated her honesty.)

i think this is more than 15 whatevs tho ily

(make me write!!!)

[w1nterlov3s]

i'm a chemical kid (you're a mechanical bride)

by winterzspace (drarry WIP)

Draco Malfoy hasn't been seen in public in a long while which is how he likes it. Of course that doesn't last long.

or; Draco Malfoy is head researcher and inventor for the Department of Combining Muggle and Magic (thanks to Hermione). Harry Potter works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, where one of Malfoy's inventions is on the fritz. Hermione Granger is very busy and does not have time for these idiots.

[minhmynchi]

man i wanna ramble about my fic to someone so much

into the tags i go

[sexynetra]

You Know I Got You

Hi angels I wrote this to get myself out of this writing slump. Idk how I feel about it yet but I can’t just write boxer AU and keep it from y’all <3 anyways, I will put it on ao3 when the website is stabilized! Let me know your thoughts please!!

~~~~~~~~

“You look like hell.” Marcia crossed her arms over her chest, gaze hard as she looked down at Anetra.

Anetra glanced up at her from the bench, holding the ice pack firm against the rapidly forming bruise on her jaw. “I feel like it.” She said flatly, meeting Marcia’s eyes and refusing to look away.

Marcia’s resolve was the first to crack. She had to hold on to her frustration, channel it into anger to keep herself from showing how frightened she was. “You need to stop agreeing to these risky-ass unregulated fights. You’re gonna get yourself seriously injured one of these days because of your idiotic recklessness.” She bit out, intentionally keeping her voice harsh.

Anetra rolled her eyes and dropped her gaze to her bloodied knuckles. “You’re a nurse. You can just patch me up.”

“I’m a nurse, not a fucking miracle worker!” Marcia snapped, throwing her arms in the air and spinning around so her back was to Anetra, desperate to hide the hot tears pricking in her eyes. Anetra couldn’t see her cry. This thing between them was so tentative, so new. She couldn’t let this kind of vulnerability show. Anetra didn’t need to know that even though she wanted to support her boxing, her heart dropped to her stomach every time Anetra stepped into the ring, legal fight or otherwise.

She was so caught up in trying to control her own emotions, to rein in her nerves and keep the mask up, that she didn’t notice Anetra had moved until she felt a strong hand grabbing her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, kitten. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m okay, just some scrapes and bruises, they'll heal.” Anetra’s voice was soft, mouth right beside Marcia’s ear, and Marcia turned around finally, eyes still shiny with unshed tears.

“This time. But what about next time? What about the time after. I still remember when you first came into the ER…” Marcia grimaced, moving to run her thumb gently along the raised pink slash still prominent over her left eye.

Anetra winced minutely at the action, turning her head away in order to get Marcia’s hand off the scarring tissue. “That was a one time thing. I’m normally a lot smarter than that.” She swallowed and Marcia watched her throat bob. “I know it’s… unsettling to watch. You don’t have to come to my matches. The last thing I want is to frighten you or make you worry about me needlessly. But I love this sport, I love fighting, and I’m not gonna give it up, not for anything.” She began to move her hand off of Marcia’s shoulder, and Marcia’s hand whipped up to grab it, to stop her from pulling away.

“Neech, I’m not trying to stop you. I promise. I just… you need to be more careful. This isn’t fun and games, this is literally your life on the line. One bad blow and—“ she trailed off, not even wanting to verbalize the thought, for fear of speaking it into existence.

Anetra worked her jaw for a moment, something unrecognizable flashing behind her eyes. But as quickly as Marcia noticed it, it was gone and Anetra was shifting to cup Marcia’s cheeks in her battered hands. “I know, angel. I know. I’ll be more careful. I’m sorry. Nothing bad is gonna happen to me. I won’t let that happen. I’m tougher than you think,” she murmured, swiping one of her thumbs gently along Marcia’s cheekbone before leaning in to place a soft kiss to her lips . “Right now I’m fine. Safe and sound beside you, if not a bit sore and tired… but you don’t need to worry yourself about an imagined future when I’m warm and real and perfectly alright right here.”

Marcia looked unconvinced and Anetra sighed, trying to brainstorm another way to get Marcia to see, but before she could speak up again, Marcia’s look had turned to something more determined.

“Move in with me, then. If you’re going to insist on these stupid dangerous fights, I don’t want you going home to an empty apartment where nobody can make sure you don’t have any lasting issues.”

It was the last thing Anetra expected Marcia to say. And honestly, Marcia hadn’t expected to offer that. But she couldn’t bring herself to regret the offer.

Anetra let out a slightly nervous laugh. “Are you… are you sure about that? We’ve only been officially dating for four months…”

Marcia squared her shoulders, once again determined to hide any nerves. “I’ve never been more sure, babe. If you’re gonna be doing risky things you need a safety net. And besides. You already spend more time at my place than your own, why keep paying rent for a place you hardly touch?”

Anetra stared at her wordlessly for a moment and Marcia began to fidget nervously, worried she’d accidentally ruined something by asking too early. But before she could psych herself out too much, Anetra’s face shifted to a soft smile, and she leaned in to capture Marcia’s lips with her own.

“Alright, kitten. Okay. I’ll move in with you.” She murmured into the kiss, feeling Marcia smile against her lips as her words sunk in.

“Wait, really?” Marcia asked after a minute, pulling back from the kiss and looking down at her girlfriend with wide eyes. “You’ll actually do it? For real?”

Anetra’s tongue darted over her lips as she watched Marcia. “Yeah, for real. I love you. I’m serious about us.”

Marcia blinked a few times before speaking again, voice softer. “You love me…?”

“I—“ Anetra’s face went pink as she realized what she had just admitted, eyes darting away. “It’s okay if you can’t say it back yet. I know it’s early. I’m. But I—“

She was cut off by Marcia’s body crashing against her own, arms wrapping tightly around her despite the grunt of pain Anetra let out. “Of course I love you too, oh my god. You fucking idiot. I love you. I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t say it back…” Marcia breathed out in between excited kisses.

Anetra ignored the soreness from the fight, ignored the injuries she probably needed to tend to sooner rather than later, too focused on the blonde in her arms, professing her love. Anetra held onto her tighter, kissing back just as sweetly.

“Come on, my love. Let’s go home.”

[kg2hub]

kindergala? more like: lou singlehandedly revives the kindergarten tumblr rp community part 2 electric boogaloo /lh /silly

[iiep-wop]

Right first chapter for a hypothetical Jedtavius fanfic I might write, THIS CHAPTER IS VERY MUCH NOT EDITED YET I literally just finished writing it 😭 The premise is that Jed is in a shit ton of trouble and finds out that there is a way for it all to go away. It all requires the tablet.

Human AU where Octavius is Museum Curator and Jed is just some random guy in a heap of trouble.

Tw: slight mention of thought about su1cide

Anyway here it is, I really hope this makes sense 💀

(holy hell I only just found the read more bar thing, sorry it was talking up all of y'all's feed before 😭)

“OhShitOhShitOhShit”

This is all that went through Jedediah’s mind as he raced through crowded streets, the air thick with the stench of car fumes and suffocating summer heat. Looking round wildly, he ducked swiftly into an alley, hiding himself behind a dumpster. He only hoped he’d been quick enough to not be seen. Three large figures stormed past as he held his breath, waiting silently as the shouts of his pursuers melted away into the regular noise of the city. He hesitantly stood up, casting a glance around the hiding place, eyes quickly adjusting to the gloom of the dingy path.

You could hardly call it an alleyway; it was long, and you could probably fit a small truck in it if you tried. A large garage door sat on the opposite side from the dumpster, red paint cracked and peeling enough to show the rusted metal beneath it. Beside it, a small sign read: “Loading Bay entrance, please do not obstr-” in bold letters. The last few letters had been covered by a tattered sticker; colours faded and stained by time.

Now he had calmed down, Jed was curious. He’d not been paying attention to where he was going before, only running to where they weren’t. Cautiously peering round the corner, he was met with the entrance to the Natural History Museum. Or the stairs up to it at least.

God why was that building’s entrance so high up.

Stepping back into the ally, he raked his hand anxiously through his sandy hair as he thought of a plan. They weren’t ever going to stop looking for him, that was for sure. He just needed somewhere to hide for the day until he was sure they’d gone.

Then it hit him. There was no way that they’d think to look for him in the museum. Hell, there was no way he’d think to go in under any other circumstances.

Jedediah Smith was a man in debt.

It wasn’t his fault; he’d kept telling himself. He just happened to have gotten himself mixed up with the wrong people on the wrong day. And now he was certain they were going to kill him if they found him.

It also probably didn’t help that he thought he could fight his way out of paying the man in charge back.

At this point, he might as well disappear. No one would notice, it's not like he had anyone left to go to anymore. If it were possible, it’d be the only way he’d be able to save his own ass from the shit he’d gotten himself into.

Putting on his hoodie, Jed walked hastily into the museum, quickly checking to see if anyone was around. Seeing how empty it was, he relaxed, sauntering up to the reception with a relieved grin on his face.

A small woman sat at the desk, typing quickly into the computer, dark hair obscuring her face.

Jed slammed his hand dramatically onto the counter. “Mornin’ sugar”

The receptionist looked up, glaring at him through her hair.

“One ticket please.”, he continued, placing a handful of various pieces of change onto the desk.

She lifted an eyebrow, sighing as she counted the coins into the machine.

“Thank you for supporting-”

Jed had wandered off before she could say anything else.

Sidling around the museum, Jed mused at how empty the whole building was. He could understand why, the place was fuckin’ boring. Nothing really interested him, although it wasn’t like he was paying attention to any of the exhibits anyway.

Absentmindedly, he strode into a dimly lit room, large, display cases built into the walls. He stopped a moment, intrigued, peering down at the tiny scene in front of him. A small western town bustling with tiny, still, life. On the platform of the train station, a small figure stood, commanding a crowd of workers watching him from the opposite side of the tracks. A plastic hat sat jauntily on top of his head, obscuring his face from view, as he pointed at the rails.

“He seems to know what he’s doing,” Jed thought to himself amusedly “God I wish I was that put together.”

Suddenly, he heard a faint chuckle from the bench in the middle of the room.

“Enjoying the miniatures?”

Jedediah whipped his head around to see a man, not much older looking than him, sat calmly in the centre of the room. Notebook placed on the seat beside him.

God how long had he been there?

Jed turned around properly, quickly standing up straight and scowling.

“So what If I’m interested in ‘em?”

The man pushed his glasses up his nose in amusement, “I didn’t want to interrupt, but you did look like you were going to fall in.”

His voice was clear, resonant sounding and Jesus Christ, he was British.

“Yeah, thanks for tellin’ me.”

Turning back around, Jed rolled his eyes, silently mimicking what the man had said.

“The miniatures are new, you know. We got them in today.”

Why won’t he shut up? He just wanted to come in here to get away from the guys chasing him, not to be pestered by some curly haired, European prick.

Jed looked back at the man and smiled sarcastically. Or at least tried to. He’d never been great at getting the expression right.

“Look, I know you’re tryin’ to be friendly and all, but I’m kinda busy.”

He began to stare intently at the diorama again, he didn’t know why. He supposed that if he was gonna say he was busy he might as well look it.

Even if it was a bullshit attempt.

The man sighed and picked up his notebook, “Evidently.”

“What?”

“Well evidently you’re busy. Staring at the same miniature for ten minutes, god it must be such hard work.”

Now Jed was actually getting annoyed. The man had begun to scrawl into his notebook, hunched over slightly as he wrote. His slightly greying hair was neatly combed back, a few flyaway curls softly resting on his forehead. Almost cherub-like, in a way. If a cherub was some tall, British nuisance.

“Now who even are you? D’ you just come here to watch people wander round?”

“No?” the man said questioningly, looking up from the notepad “I work here.”

He gestured at the plastic name badge pinned wonkily to his jumper. Jed could barely make out what it said in the dim light, but it appeared to read “G. Octavius, Museum Curator”

“And? Still doesn’t make it any less weird.”

“For your information, I was in here first. I was sketching the diorama before you came and put your ass in the way.”

“Alright. I’ll leave if you tell me one other even vaguely interesting thing in this here building.” Jed stated defiantly, “Then I’ll get my ass out of the way of your drawing ‘o curator’.”

Octavius lifted an eyebrow, as if to say “you fucking idiot”, before lazily pointing his pencil down the hallway.

“Just down there, we’ve got the tablet of Ahkmenra. I’ve heard it’s got some pretty mystical properties.”

Jedediah frowned, raking his hand through his hair. The hell did he mean “I’ve heard”? If he was curator surely he’d know. He practically owned the fuckin’ thing anyway.

“Fine, I’ll go.” He drawled, rounding the corner “You can get your pretty little drawing done in peace princess.”

Octavius’ lip quirked into a charmed smile as Jed peered accusingly back round the corner. How long would he have to spend hiding in this godforsaken museum with this man before he could be sure it was safe outside.

And now, he’d been kicked out of the most interesting room in the building, to go and see some- tablet.

The room holding the tablet had a strange air about it, it was long, the path down the middle guarded by four dark jackal statues. Jed stuffed his hands into his pockets as he walked, feeling a strong sense of unnerve as he approached the coffin and tablet at the far end.

Small spotlights shone on the shining tablet, illuminating the intricate carvings etched into the gold. As much as Jed hated to admit it, Octavius was right, it was pretty fuckin’ interesting.

Nine individual squares were indented into the metal, seemingly on a rotating system, each one bearing a symbol Jed didn’t understand. There was something alluring about it, calling him to reach out and just touch it. Even for a second.

He froze, hand mere inches away from the smooth gold. Even if he did hate this place, he wasn’t just going to touch some ancient artefact. Who knows what kind of security they’d have on it.

His eyes were then drawn to the plaque besides it. He thought as he read. Something weird was happening to him, he’d never enjoyed places like this. They bored him. So why was he so interested all of a sudden.

The words “make various objects or people disappear” hit him flat in the face as he read absentmindedly.

He’d been hoping to disappear since he got caught up in all of this debt business. Wouldn’t it all just be better if he didn’t exist anymore? Jedediah had been thinking of various ways to do it, but none of it was really... disappearing. Was it? Besides, he still had so much to live for. Or that’s what he’d been repeating to himself.

He was in so much debt it would make a banker cry, had a sub- par job which he was on the cusp of losing and lived in a shitty flat with no more family to crawl back home to. It all sounded like not alot to live for really. The idea of disappearing that this plaque had proposed to him made everything sound so simple.

Blinking a few times, he snapped out of the trance he had sent himself into. Was he really going to believe some plaque in a boring old museum that told him he could disappear?

But the idea had settled uncomfortably in his mind now. He was right there, he could take the tablet and make himself disappear with it. It would make everything so easy wouldn’t it?

With that, he made his plan.

He would find somewhere to hide once the museum closed, and then, before anyone noticed anything suspicious, he’d make it all go away. Press the buttons on the tablet or some shit, and then he’d vanish.

If he had been thinking straight, he would have realised the flaws in this plan. But the idea had set itself into his mind. The tablet was calling out desperately to him and the only way he could stop it was by doing what it wanted him to do.

Disappearing. Simple enough.

Jedediah kept an eye out for good spots to hide in throughout the next few hours, all the while trying to avoid Octavius and his damned smile.

The night guard whistled cheerily as he did his pre - lock up round, barely taking the time to check for people as he dragged a long grey duffle bag behind him. Jed watched silently from a concealed corner under a flight of stairs, hoping desperately not to be found.

The call of the tablet had begun to wear off, doubt beginning to spread through his mind again. Why the hell was he following the imaginary orders of some tablet? He was going mad, he was sure of it. However, it was too late for any second guessing. It was now or never.

The warm glow of sunset seeped through the narrow windows in the tablet room as Jedediah entered, bathing the jackals in orange light. He slowly approached the tablet, gingerly reaching out for it as the sunset deepened. Gently, he pulled it off the wall, sinking down onto the floor with his back pressed against the glass of the sarcophagus. Jed sat silently for a moment.

How the hell was he supposed to do this? Why the hell did he do this?

Quiet footsteps began to echo through the halls again, startling him. He needed to figure out how this worked now.

As the footsteps neared, the tablet began to glow dimly in the now darkened room. Jed’s eyes widened in fear. He was going to be found out. Why the hell was this blasted thing glowing, and why now of all times!

Step, step, step.

The footsteps sounded like they were outside the door of the room. They were.

The light emanating from the tablet was now more of a shine than a faint glow, illuminating his face as he looked up guiltily at the man in the doorway.

“What the FUCK are you doing?”

It was Octavius, his eyes were wild and furious, glasses clenched in one hand, a long tan coat in the other.

Dropping the coat, he ran over, grabbing the other end of the tablet from Jedediah.

“You don’t understand! It was callin’ for me!”

“I know I said it was interesting but this is too far sir!” Octavius grit his teeth, features sharp and angry in the bright glow of the tablet.

Jedediah tried to move his hands further up the tablet in order to snatch it back, fingers scrabbling on the edges of the individual squares in order to gain traction.

The tablet glowed brighter as his hand reached the central square, every segment shining like a floodlight into their eyes, blinding them.

Octavius threw himself backwards in shock from the light, covering his eyes as the tablet clattered to the floor.

The world went far too bright for a moment, every colour fading into pure, blinding, nothingness.

And then it all went black.

[aur0raaura]

Ok so now that reddit folk are migrating here, can they find ways to make the mobile experience better haha pls

If they could do it with reddit, they can do it with this place

[kimio7]

TYLER THE CREATOR X LEWIS HAMILTON

[jujutsustraycats]

“He who sees no meaning in life feels alive in death.”

~ My thoughts on that part of Dazai's character.