#cries in side character

[pey-no-attention-to-me]

I went into yipppe mode

[hinamie]

congrats on your recovery n all yuuji but unfortunately for you I thought the scars were cool >:/

[idontcaboose]

Haunted Car Au part 13

Previous. Masterpost

“You done figuring out the sound files yet?” Duke asked while tapping on the hood of the Batmobile.

He was excited to hear a campy “Yes, Sir!” Come out of the open windows of the car.

“Neat, first off, any files that have your name in it?” He was a little disappointed, but still snorted to hear the tragic ‘Noooooo’ from Darth Vader.

“I think Red Robin has some pronoun type files in there, what are yours?” A mix of sir’s, dude's, and bro's were played until Duke had to stop the guy.

“Ok, what about age?” He wasn't expecting to get a straight answer, but when the car played a Scooby-Doo cut of ‘those meddling kids’, he was confused.

“So a kid?” Duke questioned. He got a weird mix of 'Ehhh', 'Kinda', and 'close enough' type files.

“We can worry about that later, any ideas how you got stuck?” A short ‘Nope’ with a pop on the P played.

Talking to the car guy was strange. Getting answers could be easy or turn into 20 questions trying to clarify an answer. So far, Duke knew the person:

is male or male presenting

a meta

has no clue how he possessed the car

has a good understanding of current memes

was possibly in their teens (probably a bit younger than Duke, but older than Daimian)

was a street kid? (When asked where he lived the car played “Why should I worry” from an older Disney movie about homeless animals in New York or something. He had to look it up.)

has a good sense of humor

and is taking their situation in stride.

Duke really had to wonder what their life has been where this is not a vast problem to fix…. And whether or not he should argue his ‘notification tone’ being a choir singing.

He really does not get paid enough for this, but it is better than the other stuff Gotham throws at the Bats.

“Mind if I get you up on the lift and check the engine? Might give us some clues.” After an affirmative from the car guy, Duke got to work.

Next

@kizzer55555 @sebas-nights @candeartist422 @trappednyourheart @fandom-life-corrupted-me @tkiesai @2lbballpeenhammer @admiralwidow @rewrittenwrongs @whotfevenknowsanymore @symmetricalastigmatism @thespacedragons @atinygracie @okami-love @lesbian-spider-drone @1n0sss @forgetmenot-bluepurple

[clockworkreapers]

look at all of these beans

[olasketches]

so I've made a chart

[leviiackrman]

Might as well have the salt before the sweet; so here is Rin's Finished Timeline!

Tag list (ask to be added or removed): @carrionsflower @statichvm @risingsh0t @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @kanos @confidentandgood @unholymilf @florbelles @thedeadthree @shellibisshe @roofgeese @aezyrraeshh @faerune @tekehu @jackiesarch @minaharkers @sergeiravenov @carlosoliveiraa @rosenfey @greenecreek @queennymeria @heroofpenamstan @tethrras @jamessunderlandgf @d-esmond @solasan @bigbywlf @delzinrowe @fenharel @imogenkol

[magniloquent-raven]

yall mfers need to stop

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: death, weapons, violence, murder, attempted murder, implied sa references, descriptions of dead bodies, blood, wounds, loss of parents, loss/refusal of cultural identity

AO3 link

Chapter 27 - Inej

For a while, Inej had just sat there and stared at the body. Ten people. She had now killed ten people. 

“You’ve got to stop keeping count,” Jesper had told her gently, months ago, after the sixth.

A guard on duty during a museum job, the sixth one. Inej had cried, afterwards, when they got back to the Slat and she finally had a chance to be alone. Jesper had found her and they’d sat together on this very floor, his arm over her shoulders, as she wept silently and tried to pray. Some had been worse than this - this was quick, clean, as close as she could hope for to painless - and some had been better. She didn’t cry for all of them, but the ones she did she knew the tears had been building behind a dam for too long and this was just the final shove that sent the wall crumbling and the river flowing free. Her mourning rose up and crawled over the edges of that deep, aching well inside of her, where all the tears she’d been too afraid to spill were waiting in the darkness to drown her, and she wondered if the grief was for the strangers or herself. How terrible of her, to grieve for the girl she’d been instead of the corpses rotting in her arms. 

She didn’t cry this time, but the threat was ever-present. Time seemed to pass strangely and in slow bursts until Inej realised that the sun had set and risen, and that at some point she had dozed where she knelt. Her leg was stiff and the pain was almost unbearable, but she could not sit here like this anymore. Liesbeth’s blood was pooled into the underside of her body with nothing to keep it moving, hanging in ugly purple blotches along the base of her neck, her bare arms, leaving her face ghostly white. When Inej dared to touch her she found that her limbs had long since gone stiff. They would stay like that hours yet, but that was fine. She had settled her moments after she fell, her mother’s knife pressed to her chest, her legs straightened, her puncture wound covered. There was little Inej could do about the blood that had spilled or the fact that Liesbeth’s other arm was refusing to be moved from where it had drooped across the floor, but she arranged the woman’s hair over her shoulders and briefly pressed their foreheads together as she whispered a prayer of safe passage. It was as close to dignity as she could give her. 

“Where is it?” asked Kaz, barely even looking up from his desk. 

It had taken all of the energy Inej could muster and more to get herself to the Crow Club. The pain was unbearable, a silent scream gathering inside her with every step and reach and climb she forced herself to do through gritted teeth, and the beast of a thing very nearly released itself when she tumbled through a Crow Club upstairs window and nearly fell right down the stairs. Luckily for her, Kaz had been on the mezzanine watching the progress of play across the floor below. He beckoned Pim to cover for him, then let Inej follow him to his office. Pim had stared at Inej as though she’d started to scream at the top of her lungs and do a tap dance, but she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by that if he’d seen her coming in. The Wraith did not fall, did not falter, did not stumble. 

As soon as they were inside Kaz’s office and the door was closed behind them, Inej fell so hard against a chair it almost collapsed. She proceeded to groan into it until she’d run out of breath, her forehead pressed against the wooden back even for a minute after she was done so she was pretty sure she was going to leave a temporary indent in her skin, before she finally managed to lift her weight back up on her good leg and move herself to sit properly. Kaz stood, watching her, leaning against his cane in silence. She felt the blood rise in her cheeks, some horrible frightened thing crawling inside her with shame and fear and maybe even fury, and before he could even say anything she managed to spit out:

“It’ll be fine. Give me a week, maximum, and it’ll be fine,”

He’d just raised a slow eyebrow, and then taken his seat across from her. There was silence for a moment, as Kaz began to glance through some of the papers on his desk and did not look up. 

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve dragged yourself across rooftops on an injured leg and tumbled into the middle of my club wearing nightclothes with blood around the cuffs?” he asked, as calmly as if he’d been asking whether she was available to switch a shift, “Or are we waiting for another exciting surprise?”

Inej could have choked. She’d forgotten she was wearing her pyjamas, not even given it the briefest thought. If it was possible for even more blood to rush into her face than what already had, it definitely did. Saints, if the ground opened up beneath my chair right now I’d probably say thank you. 

“I-” Inej almost coughed. Words had left her and her voice was trying very hard not to exist, “I don’t-”

Kaz watched her for a moment, then stood up and crossed the room to one of the cupboards that lined the wall. His cane thudded loudly against the boards. Inej barely had the presence to let her eyes follow him; the pain and the panic and the something else - the thing that had been borne inside her holding Liesbeth Stoevelaar in her arms and sitting with her body for so long - were so blinding, thick and heavy like a fog that would not lift or a hand too strong for her to free herself from its hold. She had to fight not to flinch when Kaz dropped a small stack of clothes onto the desk in front of her, and for a moment she just stared at them as he walked back out of the office. That was what Kaz kept in his cupboards? Clothes?

Inej tried to get changed quickly, but with every movement her leg was screaming at her. When she was finally dressed and Kaz had returned, she told him that Liesbeth was dead. She didn’t tell him everything. 

She didn’t tell him that she’d thought she was going to die, in that moment when she saw the woman in her room and the pain was too great for her to move. She didn’t tell him that Liesbeth had wept in her arms and she had held her until she took her final breath. She didn’t tell him anything really, except that she had killed her. 

“Saints,” Liesbeth had said, as she stepped into Inej’s eye line, “I thought she’d never leave,”

Inej had really thought that she was going to die. Liesbeth didn’t seem to notice.

“How’s the leg?” she asked, smiling like a wild cat about to pounce. 

Inej said nothing. Her hand crept slowly towards the night stand, praying she would manage to open the drawer and collect her claws in time. Liesbeth pushed the little dining chair that Nina had brought in across the room and in front of the door - “To make sure we have some privacy,” - and then sat down in it. She was less than a metre from Inej’s feet. 

Inej did her best to shuffle slightly farther from Liesbeth, as though that would somehow make a difference, pulling herself up with shaking arms and dragging her leg behind her. Liesbeth crossed her legs and then leant forwards, planting her elbow on her knee and her chin onto her hand. 

“I’m very sorry, Inej,” she said, after a moment, “I want to make sure that you know that,”

“For this?” Inej managed, nodding towards her leg, “Or for what you’re planning to do next,”

“Well, in all fairness that wasn’t quite my fault,” she said lightly, “My blade wielded by another’s hand - on that, I don’t suppose you still have my knife, do you?”

Inej stared at her, then pulled the drawer of her nightstand open and picked up the dagger that Nina had forced out of her leg mere hours ago. Liesbeth smiled. 

“Oh, I’m glad,” she whispered, sounding disturbingly earnest, “Thank you,”

She stood up and tried to take the knife, but Inej leaned back and gripped it tightly in her palm. Liesbeth stood with calm patience as Inej turned the blade over in her hands. It must have been of some significance to the woman, because its heavy black handle deterred it from being an obvious choice and Inej’s blood was encrusted inside the grooves of a blooming rose engraved across the wide base of the metal. 

“Who gave it to you?” she asked softly, lifting her eyes to flick over Liesbeth.

“Doesn’t matter now,” she sounded less convincing this time, “The hopes and dreams of dead men exist in that knife, and I am relieved to have them returned to me,”

The hopes and dreams of dead men. Did she mean the potential of what the lives she’d taken could have become? Were Inej’s dreams to join this blade, forge this dark and heavy metal? Inej didn’t even know what her dreams were anymore. 

“If you tell me who gave it to you,” she said, voice still soft and low, “I’ll give it back,”

Who was she, but a thief of secrets? Even now. 

Liesbeth squared her shoulders, but did not falter when she said:

“My mother,”

Inej nodded.

“Let me draw my knives,” she gestured to the open night stand, “And then we can talk,”

“You can hardly move,”

“Correct. You might stand a chance,”

Liesbeth laughed, and Inej was surprised to realise that it was not at her expense. 

“Oh, Inej, I’m so sorry. Yes, take you knives, and give me mine. I really did like you, you know?”

“I quite like you, until you tried to kill me,”

Inej wasn’t looking at Liesbeth then, her focus was on the nightstand as she reached slowly to her weapons, so when she glanced back up she was taken considerably aback to realise that the other woman was crying. Silvery tears tracked down her cheeks and droplets glittered like diamonds as they formed in the corners of her eyes. 

“Liesbeth?”

“My knife,” she whispered, and Inej held it out to her, “Thank you,”

Inej nodded slowly as Liesbeth took the blade, not sure what else to do but continue to tighten her grasp on Sankt Petyr in her palm. 

“I’m sorry,” Liesbeth whispered again, “Really, I am. But I have to,”

“You don’t,” 

“I do. I can’t… I can’t let him do that again. I have to fix things or he’ll- I have to fix things,”

“Do what?” Inej managed, trying to back herself far enough away that the wall would somehow magically disappear and let her try to flee, “Who’s-?”

“I can’t do that again,” she shook her head, and Inej could see her fingers shaking, “He’ll make me, unless I put things right. Unless I prove that I’m still worth something more to him than that,”

“Liesbeth-”

“I’m so sorry, Inej,” she lifted her blade with shaking hands, “There are gods, there are mortals, and there are sacrificial lambs,”

Inej could barely piece together what had actually happened in that moment. The blade was moving towards her and, perhaps more on instinct than intention but she wasn’t really sure, her own knife had flown upwards. She must have moved just fast enough, or Liesbeth must have hesitated just enough, or maybe both or maybe neither; maybe this was just as it was supposed to be. Maybe it didn’t really matter how, but Sankt Petyr’s blade was lodged between Liesbeth’s ribs and both of them knew that she was dying. For a moment nothing happened, then Inej pulled her blade back to the safety of her arms. Liesbeth choked quietly, her knife falling from her fingers, and collapsed. 

Inej almost fell from the bed as she hurried to catch Liesbeth, and had to drag herself messily to the ground so she could kneel, bad leg stretched at the only angle she could stand, and hold Liesbeth’s quivering form in her lap. 

“My knife,” Liesbeth managed, through tight and failing breaths, “Please…”

Inej picked it up and pressed it back into Liesbeth’s palm. 

“My mother,” she whispered, tapping the rose engraving, “She didn’t call me Liesbeth. That’s the Kerch version. It changed when she died, when I was suddenly to be Kerch and Kerch alone. But my mother was Ravkan. I am Ravkan, somewhere in here,” 

Inej nodded, trying to smile at her, brushing a piece of hair away from Liesbeth’s eyes.

“She named me after her,” she pointed to the rose again, “That’s my name. My real name. Can you…” her voice caught in her throat, fresh tears springing to her eyes, “Can you say it? Please,”

Inej thought she might start crying too, but the press of tears slipped silently inside of her instead and found its pathway to that well. 

“Lizabeta,” she said, cradling the woman as though she could protect her, as though she weren’t the one who’d hurt her.

“I wish I remembered her story. I… I tried to pray, lots of times, but I don’t remember how to. I was so little when my mother left, and we weren’t supposed to speak of Ravka after that,” her tears continued to fall, “Do you think she’ll still accept me, on the other side? Even though I stopped praying?”

“She will,” Inej nodded, almost frantically, “They all will. You didn’t stop, Lizabeta, I promise you. You found new ways to pray, and she heard every one of them,”

There was a pause. Liesbeth, Lizabeta, probably only had seconds left. But still Inej slipped her fingers between hers and whispered:

“Do you want to hear her story?”

“Yes. Yes, please, that… yes,”

Inej knew that the woman was dead before she finished the tale, but she sat and told it to the final word anyway. Sankta Lizabeta of the Roses; the woman who turned the tide of an army with a swarm of bees, the woman whose blood stained white roses red. And eventually she lay the Sankta’s namesake on the ground, pressed her mother’s blade beneath her palm, and prayed for her. 

“Goodnight, Lizabeta,” she whispered, “Goodnight, Liesbeth,”

[power-handmaiden]

Day 289: Pounded By The Realization That Chuck Tingle’s Erotic Works Are A Singular Piece Of Art That Skewers Conservative Fears Of Moral Decay By Repurposing Them As The Promise Of A Sex-Positive Utopia

This tingler feels like a continuation of the one I read yesterday. Not in terms of the plot, but in the sense that Dr. Tingle is processing his feelings through tinglers, and there are still some things he's working through. There are some huge similarities between these tinglers from the start: they take place from the perspective of artists who are struggling with expressing themselves through their art, and those artists are also dismissive of Chuck Tingle's work.

Both stories examine Dr. Tingle's place in relation to his audience and his critics. Looking at skeptics and critics with a sympathetic view, while asserting the value of his art- the value of all unique voices that share their creations with the world. Yesterday's tingler was tied to the existence of his horror writing alongside his erotica, while this one is just about the erotica. Obviously, if you have any idea what I'm doing here, I agree that the erotica deserves its own story and the focus it gets here! Tinglers are something special. They're a window into someone's unfiltered joy and self-expression. A series of worlds that represent what's important to Dr. Tingle and what he wants to see up here on the top layer. I've mostly been taking these works one by one and making individual connections when it's relevant, but the Tingleverse as its own work of art really is beautiful!

[hecksupremechips]

My madoka magica hot take is I like sayaka/kyoko as a ship more than madoka/homura

[isolabellz]

never not obsessed with them

[brucequeensteen]

character wrapped 2023 💥

tagged by @davidtennantpussytulpa ^-^ i didn't know how many to do so i copied tara and did top 10. i know the severance guys are Four Of Them but i can't separate them theyre all equally important to me

will graham (hannibal), em haywood (nope), aziraphale (good omens), mark & dylan & helly & irving (severance), hawkeye pierce (mash), martha jones (doctor who), ivan karamazov (the brothers karamazov), kim kitsuragi (disco elysium), stewy hosseini (succession), ruescott melshi (andor/rogue one)

i will tag... @fagician @britomart @libraryfag @roadwhores @majorbaby @globuspolski @hadleyfraserfaggot @tenderscience if u want to ^-^

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Not going to lie, I've been unsure how to feel about a lot of things writing, but I just made myself cry writing a character death that I've had planned since I plotted this novel out and that is reassuring to me for some reason.

[loderlied]

mmm essay about sally and kid gort in the tags (cw for child abuse, mentions of suicide, animal cruelty and a murder attempt. i always hope i don’t have to say this but just in case: i don’t excuse or condone any of her or gort’s behaviour at all.) this is literally not even touching upon everything i have to say because i hit the fucking tag limit lmao. NOBODY READ IT’S BAD BRAINSTORMING I JUST NEEDED TO GET IT OUT SOMEHOW

[moonchild-in-blue]

I finished Fleabag s1 and omg.

Trying to control myself and not go through the show's tag to avoid spoilers but !!!! It was so good!!! I have so many thoughts but geez. The sisters relationship dynamics are really messing with me. And Boo!! I love her. What a beautiful person.

Phoebe you beautiful, beautiful writer.

(A cut here so you don't have to hear me Going Through It. Feel free to ignore it, I just need to let this all out and it got a bit long.)

Claire and Fleabag's relationship reminds ne a lot of me and my sister. We barely hug each other and say "I love you", but I know that she does and I know that she know that I do too.

That moment when Claire admits she'll leave Martin and go to Finland and help with the café was so incredibly emotional to me. And the stolen statue!! I understand why Claire would be scared to leave her alone - I'm the eldest of us two and in many ways I look at her as if she's my daughter too. It's a strange feeling.

To see her then go back to Martin and throw Fleabag's mistake to her face in such a cruel way broke my heart. I don't think I could ever be as cruel to my sister as she was - and yet I know I must've been already.

Fleabag's final admission that feeling worthless and "unfuckable" was the hardest part was... Something else. And yet, isn't that how it is? We all crave validation and wanting to be desired, in some way or another, and when you go through a cycle of cheap, easy, makeshift connections, and even those end, what do you do?

The Banker's speech on ep4 about wanting to wash his cups at home and seeing his wife drink from them in the morning?? Yeah. I cried. It was such a lovely moment.

Anyways. I'm not gonna touch on Boo's death and Fleabag's role in it because I'm really not in the right mindset to do it. But yeah. Oof.

I do gotta hand it to her for putting up with the Evil Stepmom for so long. I'm the farthest thing from a people pleaser (which is its own flaw but we're not talking about that rn), so the second she would lay her hands on me, I'd cut her ofd immediately. The exhibition thing really really irked me. The finger snap??? What a bitch.

Their father has his moments, but to see him constantly choosing his new wife and not taking his own daughter's side??? Yeah, no. Absolutely not.

I love Harry. He's so precious. Hugh Skinner my beloved.

[suffarustuffaru]

Just wanted to say thank you for the ottosuba posting you've done lately. The English speaking fandom is absolutely barren with Otto content, let alone ottosuba content. So to have someone as awesome about it as you post via Tumblr posts, fanfic, fanart, etc. on a good(-ish) website like Tumblr is like finding a diamond in the rough. Anyhow, looking forward to any future ottosuba content from you!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

anon you made my day fr these are very high compliments T^T <3 i appreciate it a lot pfft a part of me is always like "I CANT REVEAL HOW MUCH MY BRAIN IS ROTTING OVER THESE CHARACTERS..." bc i get a little embarassed a little shy bc what if i am posting the same things too much...??? but then i simultaneously go "lol my blog my rules anyway im gonna make a gazillion billion content *clicks post*" which is how all the otto and ottosuba content gets churned out alsdflj. especially bc - like you said - the english speaking fandom is a BARREN DESERT when it comes to otto and ottosuba content T^TT ive been thinking about it lately bc they seem to be a lot more popular in the japanese speaking fandom i think, but theres next to Nothing with the english speaking fandom :o interesting difference there.

but regardless :o yeah i keep making otto and ottosuba content bc i am in Desperate need of it... its a desert and i gotta feed myself too HAH theyve always been interesting to me but in the years ive been into rezero that Interest has skyrocketed bc of all the interesting developments pfft (and also the lack of english fancontent for them HAH). i just think theyre so underrated in the english fandom.... thank you for liking my stuff anon <3 :DD