#don't feel obligated to reply!!

[destinationtoast]

🐈💔

I'm sad to report that Little Kitty Fantastico, aka "Tico," passed away earlier this week, at age 9, after a heart failure. He died at home, surrounded by love and cuddles.

He was such a good and beloved little guy. He was bonkers for lettuce & other greens, and he absolutely could not be trusted around salads. His skills included perching atop walls and keeping watch on everything below. Like his sisters, he was long and had arms that went on forever. He was usually both the goofiest and the floofiest of all his sibs, especially when he was begging for belly rubs.

He was exceptionally sweet and snuggly. (Especially with Winter, who is very sad now. 😿) We will miss him so much.

[lilacerull0]

i just hope he knows i don't hate him

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[doublejango]

[for @themosthatedbeingg - because it's fight day! Apparently! Please tell Lucifer I am so sorry for my muse's behavior xD ]

-

This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea and Blitz knew it. It was a terrible idea--but fuck it, it was the only idea. The imp had been pacing for hours before he actually issued his challenge to Lucifer, and now that that emperor of Hell had accepted? There was no turning back. Not that Blitz would have turned back even if he could--this fight was a long time coming.

He quickly pulled on what was clearly the only attire appropriate for fighting Lucifer Morningstar himself: leather pants, a leather jacket, weapons all over the damned place... and a pin on his lapel with an image of a little rubber ducky crying.

Yeah.

This was going to be fine.

He was gonna die, but it was going to be worth it. Blitz sent a few texts to the people he loved most, trying to say goodbye without actually saying goodbye, grabbed the few angelic-steel knives he had, and hurried off to the parking lot of doom where he and Lucifer were going to meet.

The second he saw Lucifer, two things happened: Blitz immediately wanted to protect him, to keep this man safe from all harm, to help comfort away his grief, to ease away whatever fears his trauma left him with... and he started growling. The spines between the imp's shoulders rose, and his tail started swishing in sharp, angry esses.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually have the balls to show up," he snapped, a blessed dagger in each hand now. "And you know what? It's time to answer for your fucking creations. You made us to serve the Sinners, created this whole fucking class of imps to look down on and laugh at, and you abandoned us. And I'm tired of it. Imps deserve more. If we were made in your image, and let's be fucking for realsies here, we all know we were--why the fuck did you leave us to become the forgotten punchlines, janitors, and jokes of Hell?" He was literally shaking, he was so angry--all the more so because Blitz couldn't help loving Lucifer. He didn't want to, but who could help it? One look in those eyes, eyes of an angel, a being of pure light and creation, eyes that had lost everything, and who could fail to love him? But for all the pain Blitz had gone through, all the abuse Fizz had suffered, all the mockery and belittling and misuse every imp had to put up with at the hands of all of Hell's more powerful denizens--

This was a long time coming.

Blitz knew he wasn't going to last long. He was going to die today, but fuck it, he was going to die for a good reason. Standing up. Demanding answers.

He didn't attack yet, wanting to give the beautiful royal the chance to answer--but fuck, the imp was trembling with the need to fight him, to start and end this, here and now.

[tragedia]

INBOX CALL. i'm losing my mind at work, so like this and i'll spawn myself in your inbox.

[windsfavored]

he  stands  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave  —  a  deceptively  innocent  figure,  silhouetted  by  the  moon's  pale  glow.  the  wanderer's  eyes  appear  just  a  touch  too  bright  to  be  entirely  NATURAL,  as  if  subtly  lit  by  some  strange  light  radiating  from  within.  it's  the  only  visual  indicator  he  is  anything  other  than  a  simple  human  (  too  CURIOUS  for  his  own  good  )  passing  through.   ❝  don't  misunderstand ...  those  demons  are  yours  to  conquer,  oh  vigilant  yaksha.  i'm  not  interested  in  shouldering  some  THANKLESS  BURDEN  for  nothing  in  return. ❞   the  words  come  out  callous  —  and  perhaps  they  are,  but  ren  has  long  since  ABANDONED  any  desire  to  blunt  his  sharp  tongue.  if  what  he  has  to  say  evokes  ire  in  the  people  around  him,  so  be  it.  the  truth  is  under  no  obligation  to  be  gentle,  and  neither  is  he.

the  scent  of  blood  hangs  heavy  in  the  air  like  an  overpowering  cologne.  he  spares  the  hook  a  glance,  yet  still  takes  a  step  closer  —  FEARLESS  in  the  way  only  a  creature  untouchable  by  death  could  ever  hope  to  be.  ❝  but  when  you  really  think  about  it ...  licking  your  wounds  in  the  dark  like  this  is  just  another  form  of  self-flagellation.  not  to  mention  awfully  inefficient. ❞   ren  would  know.  his  relationship  with  pain  and  injury  is  more  intimate  than  most  —  he's  no  stranger  to  tearing  shrapnel  from  his  own  body,  fingers  prohibitively  slick  with  blood.  it's  ANNOYING.

❝  let  me  guess.  if  i  ask  you  to  let  me  help,  you're  going  to  be  STUBBORN  about  it  —  aren't  you? ❞   he's  still  going  to  ask  regardless,  because  he's  nothing  if  not  STUBBORN  in  his  own  right.

@grislyintentions from HERE.

[mad-hunts]

jokethur asked: ❝ that's not the worst thing i've ever heard but it's certainly up there. ❞

one might argue that the way barton huffed through his nostrils in a wry sense of disbelief at what he heard come out of the other's mouth, rather than at the terrible thing that was just said through his own lips without an ounce of shame, told you everything you needed to know about him; that he was a brutal and very unfeeling person. but honestly, even if those things were the least bit true, barton thought... he was only saying what everyone would be thinking in their heads if they knew what was really going on behind the scenes. they just wouldn't want to say it aloud for one reason or another, whether that was due to the fear of being ostracized by their peers, or frowned down upon by society as a whole. kind of like how he was currently by the man standing beside him.

barton took a long drag out of his cigarette and averted his gaze from one of the big, bright displays that decorated the skyline to meet the others eyes. the displays were showcasing what looked like the latest news: and that was what barton seemingly was making a comment on, as the death of a cop that was rather infamous for being a ' pinnacle of kindness and care to their community ' was the main headline for that day. except that man was everything but in reality. it was just so rich to be seeing him regarded as some fantastic guy, when barton knew for a fact that he was a sleazeball who he had seen hanging around his old boss, as he was secretly in their pocket and doing their dirty work. and if there was one person that barton held contempt for more than anything... it was the man who used to treat him like he was something less than human. or, less than dirt, actually.

but of course, barton would never tell the gcpd of his corruption because he knew that rainer (you have to put a face to the name for these people) would realize that it was him who'd sold him out. and besides... since when did he have faith in the gcpd, or even like the police? they were all a bunch of pigs to him. so, barton let him continue on with his little game of playing the role of the well-beloved police officer while he was helping people get killed on the side. he rolled his eyes then, ❝ well, if i had known that you were such a big fan of the police, then i likely wouldn't have said anything. but i rest my case: a lot of people do deserve to die, stranger, and he was one of them. so i don't feel sorry for him or his family at all. ❞

barton stated this all in a very matter-of-fact manner, blowing smoke out through his nose from his cigarette before he continued, ❝ i mean, where was this guy if he was so good whenever the city got flooded? i didn't see him among the people who were helping other's whenever everything went to shit. in fact, i bet he was probably sitting in some place really safe and warm whenever it happened, because i knew the real kind of person that he was. a total prick who certainly wasn't the golden boy that the news is trying to make him out to be, ❞ he flicked his cigarette down on the ground and smushed it underneath his boot, successfully putting out the fire on its other end. barton turned to face arthur completely with an unamused look in his eyes.

❝ now, are you done preaching to me about how wrong it is that i said that? you don't really know the first thing about the pig after all. but i do. though you didn't hear that from me, alright? ❞

[wolfishmoon]

@messrsmcrauders

It didn't happen often that Remus got this drunk or high, as he didn't like loosing control of himself as a rule - a mental kind of scar left by his monthly transformations no doubt. And he wasn't even sure what had got to him tonight, whether he had drunk too much, or if any of his drinks had been spiced with more than he had thought was in the cup. But the fact was he was absolutely sloshed, finding his way to a quiet corner... and realising with delight that it was the same spot Sirius had chosen to catch a moment of rest too.

"I think they spelled the whiskey." He informed him as he dropped on the tiny sofa beside him, the world spinning a little. "Or I've caught Pete's lightweight disease between last week and today."

Shifting, he threw his arm around the backrest of the couch, getting his long limbs more comfortable, and leaning against Sirius in the process. He tilted his head to watch him and if Sirius replied anything to his comment Remus didn't catch it. His attention was captured by the way the dim lights played in Sirius' grey eyes, by the shape of his nose, the line of his lips and height of his cheekbones. So fucking pretty, he thought to himself, for a hundredth, thousandth time perhaps. Pretty in a way guys had no business being, and frankly not so many were. Mostly it was only Sirius who caught Remus' attention so, his intense eyes, his cocky smiles, his loud laughter and sharp jokes. The dizzying wonder of his affection.

Remus wanted him, and he had wanted him for years now.

He wasn't sure what exactly prompted him to move. The proximity? The enticing curve of Sirius' smile? The warms of his shoulder against Remus'? Finally, the excuse of his drunkenness giving him a false sense of safety, perhaps? He moved and cupped the other's face, and breathed him in for a second, face hovering close, before closing that distant in a flash. A kiss, swift, intense, and thoughtless. Sweet with Sirius' taste, the heat of his lips, tinge of alcohol on both their tongues.

And then - the reality of what he was doing, the depravity of it. He pulled back, head spinning and heart hammering in his chest. What had he done? He got up to his feet on shaky legs, brown eyes panicked. The consequences... oh they were bound to be dire and Remus couldn't face them. In his cowardice, he stumbled away, near tripping over his legs, catching his balance with a hand on the wall then away, away from that corner they shared, away from the shame, the fear. Through flashes of faces, passing through the party, through the deafening music and conversation, and deafening hammering of his pulse in his head. Out, out - to gasp the cold air and try to ease the unbearable knot in his stomach.

Oh what had he done?

[sjonni33]

this is like. super embarrassing but yeah :/ i ripped my only pair of jeans today, which really sucks :( disability support has until nov 8 to decide over my case and until then i have 0 income except from the tiny bits i scrap by. uhm if anyone could like, spare a euro maybe? i'd be very grateful. i also have things listed in my shop, some are only 1 cent (or whatever you want to pay for it), i also have some stickers here, here and here. some prints here and here . shipping is as low as it can be <3 and i also offer discount codes (use RATASSES for 5% off!!) you can also commission me!!

i'd appreciate any help, even just in the form of sharing this post or reblogging/sharing my art!!

GOAL HAS BEEN REACHED!!!!!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!

[lilacthebooklover]

acephobic people are actually so wild to me. like why??? do you care?? if a stranger wants to have sex or not?? it's ridiculous

[not-poignant]

@letsoulswander replied to your post “i'm listening to the sdv soundtrack right now and...”:

One of the things I really liked about Wind is that a few of the prominent emotional moments landed on in-game cut scenes for the characters. It helped my mind click them together into one story, instead of rejecting free-play video game story plot.

​That's fair! It was easier to link Elliott and Alex in that sense because Alex spends all his time on the beach in summer, and Elliott lives there. And it was a much shorter story so I was using much more 'obvious' in-game links (especially since I jettisoned all the gameplay elements).

Stain is a lot longer and I feel like I'm not locked into forced cut scene-type moments. Maybe it's just that I've seen that scene like 15 times now and written a version of it that it's not that I'm burnt out on it so much as like... Alex hasn't been using it in the story so far, he's been thinking about his mom a fair bit, and she's not an entirely positive memory since he lost his grandparents (since he's been reflecting a lot more on how difficult his upbringing was in a different way to Wind, which frankly didn't really address anything in depth in some ways on that front aside from a handful of memories).

For me because Stain is a deeper story, I can go a lot deeper and I don't need to rely on the music box to do it. I can understand if other people need that! It'll just mean my story's not for them if I don't include the scene. However if, on the other hand, they've gotten 20+ chapters in and they like the story, they probably don't need that scene either. :D

[through-fire-and-flame]

@abandcned

"Lands Between? Lands Between what? Looks to me like it's Lands Between two great big bloody oceans and enough gold to shame a Carim noble," Laurentius mutters.

[teamrockethr]

@devotionblind continued from here

This was a mistake.

Yuurei's hands were on their face and waist, but on a emotional level, they were using Lark's heart as a speed bag. They can't help the miffed sigh or rolled eyes.

"You don't have to tease me about it. Just forget I-"

Rei's lips silenced the rest of Lark's sentence. It didn't really matter what they were going to say anyway. Their hands hovered awkwardly over his sides, unsure of what this actually meant for their friendship. Friends kiss, all the time, really. But at work? Best friends? They were scared they fucked it all up, and for what? The single sweetest kiss of their life.

To hell with it, they thought, as they mollified their fears and settled their hands on Rei's hips.

[dreadark]

12 & 37 if they haven't been asked already :]

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

not really i've only become more of a hater over the years askjdjka

ig i've become more okay with having characters who are terrible parents without just brushing them off as 'irredeemable' but that's not a trope is it

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

i'd say my newest one but it's only existed for like a week so i don't think it can count yet lmao. should be a bit more patient

but generally I'm pretty happy with the attention my fics get...? the fic i'd say i'm currently happiest with is this one gbf fic (...from 2021... yeah...) and by numbers it's one of my lesser popular ones ig but it got some really nice comments so i was rly happy

then realized i don't really care about numbers just that... something I wrote actually reaches someone

ppl who leave super long comments on fics are truly the backbone of our society o7 but any comment rly... it means someone actually liked what you wrote to spend some time on that... ? the best feeling is when you have lines/scenes you think are really impactful while writing and then someone actually notices that in particular it's like (sicko voice) yesssss

...speaking of i have some fics i should go back and leave comments on lol...

ask me fic questions

[guqin-and-flute]

OKAY. I have been doing some really good blocks of writing over the past few weeks--like several sessions with ~2000 words. Unfortunately, a lot of it has been skipping around on different fics (I'm trying to be better about unhealthy sleep habits, so I'm not writing in huge, hyperfixated chunks. Or trying not to 😬).

So, if you would like, feel free to poke, request, remind so it stays on my conscious mind! Do not feel obligated, this is only if you feel the urge, it will get done either way!

[theaccursedninth]

@thebadtimewolf has stumbled upon the Lost Doctor...

It was quiet. Eerily quiet. The sort of quiet that rolled through a community with delicate fingers, making note of every crevice, every soul tucked safely away for the night, only to return with biting teeth with little to no warning. That was usually how the story went, he thought to himself, looking out onto the city below. Always when we least expect it.

His dominant hand, the right, fell to the hilt of his sword: one among them would not rest easy tonight, and he had chosen that mantle when he'd decided to guide these primitive people so many centuries ago (How many had passed since that day? He used to know that.)

They'd come far over the years: graduating from shelter in hollowed mountains to brick-and-mortar civilization. Still working on electricity and vaccines, but what was evolution without trial and error? Wasn't that what the Greats all said in that regard? Maybe...but something's wrong. Something he couldn't place.

The old doors and pathways rooting around his head had grown murky and dark, but he remembered basic history and this society he'd nurtured wasn't growing in the right direction. The jagged, angular buildings jutting up into the sky, the blueish-green fire lighting their homes--the language they spoke that didn't quite land as he remembered and the smoky sky swirling above in shades of midnight grey, and that was without listing off the way they'd physically evolved. He'd never met a gallifreyan whose eyes glowed in the dark.

A thin, hard line pressed into his mouth. He mumbled something in his native--sorry, in their native language, climbing down his perch. He dropped to the dusty roads on silent feet, the light armor he wore clacking together like wind chimes after a storm. That's a word for it, he thought bitterly, beginning the trek back to his own quarters. Ah well, he thought, trying as he always did to brush away his concerns. Every great planet underwent a period of hardship, did it not? Maybe he'd just...missed that history lesson.

It was when he'd gotten a couple of yards from his home (new home, current home, it would never be Home) that he stopped; instincts gathered from a life too long settling in. His own eyes scanned his surroundings now, sharp and keen despite the limited light--and then he saw it. A lone figure in the distance. His hand again fell to his hilt, but he didn't draw the blade, not yet. Not until he knew who (or what) he was up against. After all, he may not be the only one out for a stroll this evening (although hadn't he set up a curfew specifically to keep them all safe?)

"Halt," he said cautiously, the word framed in the echo of a northern accent. His step slowed, and a sliver of moonlight passed over him, illuminating his ghostly complexion: hollowed cheeks and dark circles under his eyes…eyes that glowed in the dark, though he'd be the first to deny it. “State your name and business."