#everything's pretty but nothing's real

[dreamsy990]

some of the less nice thoughts about being aroace

extras below the cut

sketch

closeups on my favorite panels

bonus: adios

[qoldenskies]

Babagril I adore clipped wings and you are feeding my insatiable hunger for heavy angst and impeccable writing but I am a littol concerned about how fast you're putting chapters out recently. I know they've been on the shorter side compared to the beginning but plase don't push yourself too hard okies? We can wait, I just don't want you getting burnt out or something :(

Also you are so meanies to us why must Donnie constantly go through the horrors its the fic ive always craved and I am sobbing, thank youuu

hey hey im fine!! i should probably clarify that im genuinely just a fast writer and im. yknow. an unemployed 18 year old who doesnt have much to do other than stuff like this, and im fed and moved along by all the praise and kindness. you dont have to worry about me!! honestly a HUGE thing im aiming for while writing CW is the joy of getting to complete something, i actually crank these chapters out in like a sitting if im in a good mood LOL (theyre kind of scrappy, but im trying to combat my perfectionism. pretty much every time ive said im gonna take a bit i find myself too excited to, ive got a big hyperfixation on CC at the moment and all of the good reception has gotten me even more hyped bghdghfh. you have NO idea how much i stare at the fanart you guys have made for me ily....). for my next project i plan on writing a lot in advance and pacing myself better (especially because i want to do longer chapters for it), but for CW im happy to just speed through!!

^^ helped along by the fact that im trying to avoid making chapters long for the sake of it now. i dont really have a goal in mind for wordcount with this next set, because i think i want to think in what progresses more than that

and thank you!! teehee the thing i want to move to next is so much sillier but i do enjoy taking a real good dip into The Horrors....... not sure where i'll be going after wwww but its planned to be a HUGE undertaking anyway. but i will probably be returning to the horrors. and maybe CVD ive missed her my love

[lafresnaya]

what if I reached through the page of my kindle and strangled him

[phagodyke]

the masculine urge to take a saucepan off thr draining board and bash myself repeatedly over the head with it until I pass out and no longer have to experience feeling Bad 😍

[harellan]

So apparently I just slept through a fucking tornado

[psychiclounge]

biggest tragedy of our time is how everyone immediately forgot garrett had blue eyes in tdp

[mariocki]

The Forgotten (Don't Look in the Basement, 1973)

"Perhaps I shouldn't have come here at all."

"I don't think there's any point in our talking about your leaving, Miss Beale. You forget, you were very anxious to take this job. I made special provisions for you to be here."

"I realise that, but I don't know what to do!"

"I'm the doctor and you're the nurse, and what I do decides what you will do!"

[mcalhenwrites]

Still alive, writing and editing a lot and even drawing (mostly dragon sketches at work). Seasons has some new chapters now... I saw something earlier about writing being something you can hone by doing lots of reading and writing. I wonder when that will apply to me. I've read a lot of books this year. I have almost hit my goal of 90 books, and while a couple are nonfiction and half are comics, the rest are novels. I expect that to increase again, now that I'm going back to the library. (I stopped with the bed bug scare.) Then I'm setting aside time each week to write. I work on stories at work, even if it's mostly just planning. (My laptop is falling apart so I just gave up taking it to work.) Yet here I am, still the same idiot who doesn't have anything appealing enough for most people to read. I can't get 99% of my followers interested. Sales of Geckos have dropped to next-to-nothing. Nothing else I put out there matters either. The fault lies with me. I'm not good enough. After having this stupid blog for 12 years, I want to delete it. I want to delete my twitter account. I want to delete every single account and shut up for good. There is nothing I can offer. My writing is a good hobby for me. I can get pats on the head for doing a little thing for myself. Aww, look at the cute little dumbass adult doing wittle storwies!!! Isn't that silly!!! They're not good, but he's having fun during the process. Too bad he hasn't figured out that not even 39 more years of practice can save what he's handing out.

[lunarharp]

little bit of modern au (SPOILERS for the zelda game.)

[mozukumi]

my one (1) big nitpick of the PJO tv show

In a lot of the marketing material, Percy is wearing this green flannel and it seems to be his Primary Outfit.

WE ALREADY HAVE A BLOND CURLY HAIRED GREEN FLANNEL BOY IN THIS FANDOM!!! Every single time I see fanart I get jumpscared.

[ccaptain]

   heavy curtains are pushed aside, and the bright light of the sun pours in the bedroom.

   ' Good morning, Dr. Wuchlock! Rise and shine! '

   from the blankets, slowly and cautiously, rouses a figure: tousled salt-and-pepper hair first, a confused face with an opaque right eye second, a wrinkle in the pillow having been stamped in the skin of his cheek. nn hand clenches almost convusely at the bedsheets, the other hand confusedly going for his glasses-

   the stump of his forearm clashes with the wooded nighstand, making him jolt and groan in pain.

   ' Steady now, ' the young nurse is at his side in a moment, gently steadying the arm away from another trouble. glasses are placed on the man's face, hair carefully brushed away from his forehead.

   the man sighs. ' Thank you... Melany, ' he struggles to remember her name as if his mind was shrouded in fog. ' No matter how many years pass, sometimes I still like to pretend I have my hand... it's a bit frustrating, at times. '

   ' That's alright- very normal, doctor. Do you remember what this phenomenon is called? You taught me yourself! '

   another minute or so of silence. while Melany busies herself with straightening the blankets, the man slowly utters ' Phantom limb Syndrome? '

   ' Exactly! Nothing you can do about it, now- it is a persistant condition, after all, ' she chirps, pulling the blankets back from frail legs. ' But now, out of bed. I'll make you a nice breakfast, and then we'll see about the day, hmm?

   there's a somewhat sad smile on the old man's face now. ' Ah, Melany... what would I do without you? '

   ' Not much, doctor! ' she chides him motherly, playfully, an hand gently tapping atop of his head. ' And this is precisely why I'm here to assist you! '

 ' Steady now, ' Melany repeats, holding the old man by his forearms as she guides him to his deambulator. after a small intake of breath, she supervises him starting to move, and claps her hands once to express how proud she is of him for this simple, small feat. ' Now, slowly- to the table. Once you're about halfway through the room, I'll go make you breakfast, and still keep an eye on you! '

   ' Melany, ' he reassures her, legs gaining steadiness with each step. ' That's most unnecessary- this small walk doesn't tire me... '

 ' Just to be on the safe side, ' she answers back, keeping a watchful eye on him. true to her promise, once the item has carried him halfway across his goal, the living room table, she vanishes into the kitchen to start the food.

   as frail as he is, there's still some leftover determination in his old bones: steadily, step after step, he's almost there-

   a movement in the corner of his sight catches him off guard.

   there's a young man sprawled on his couch.

   cobalt hair have been woven in an high, elaborated ponytail, posture relaxed: a leg is elegantly crossed under the other, the realization that he's reading a familiar book and taking his time to read through the pages making him blink in confusion-

   blink. gone.

   the man is gone. the couch is unoccupied, uncreased.

   Melany's name is halfway out of his lips before he stops himself.

   there's part of him that grows scared of an home invasion- but interrupting Melany and worrying her is something the dying ember of his pride prevents a possible call for help. he's not yet victim of hallucinations- perhaps it's something else. perhaps he hasn't been sleeping well, and it's catching up to him. just that.

   with a sigh of mild frustration, he gains the upper hand on the table, safely landing in his chair as the scent of sizzling eggs fills the air.

   the vision fades into the back of his fogged mind, forgotten in favor of the promise of a good breakfast.

   ' Are the eggs good as every morning, Dr. Wuchlock? ' Melany asks, a cheeky smile on her face telling her that the answer is going to be the same as always:

   ' Excellent, and perfectly well-done as every morning, ' the old man confirms to her with a tremulous smile. ' you are very gifted: not a single time you have overdone them- though, I'd still eat them if you did, dear girl. '

   she laughs, cheeks coloring red with the carerfree sound. ' You're such a flatterer! Since I'm this much of a good cook, you better lick your plate clean, mister! '

   and how could he not? eggs and bacon, with a precisely toasted piece of bread. it's simple and filling, and delicious to boot. the old man has no need to be told twice. the plate is sparkling clean, having used the bread to scoop up the bacon-flavored oil from it.

   life can be good, sometimes. he leans back in his chair, listening to the familiar sounds of Melany humming and cleaning around the house, buzzing like a bee-

   ' Every time I come here to look at you, I don't know how to feel about it. '

   the foreign voice makes him jump, the fork clattering on the plate hard before it disappears under the table.

   the young man with cobalt hair abandons the couch, the book in his hand dangling between two slender fingers before he drops it to the ground. 

   an home invasion. for a moment, the old man is paralyzed to the core with fear- he isn't in his prime, and can't protect her from an ill-intentioned stranger. 

   the stranger moves towards his large cabinet, the one containing a myriad of colorful, differently shaped bottle of liquor. it has been a long while since his eye rested on it, and an even longer while since he sampled one- Melany strictly forbade him to drink anything other than water and some very diluted soft drinks to not aggravate his condition.

   the cabinet is locked- yet, with just a pressure of his finger over the lock, the glass door creacks open. gloved hands start rifling through the various bottles, an hand under each one with an unexpected care to not drop the heavier ones.

   ' My dad tells me that if I keep coming here, I'll never heal. ' a pause, the sound of words making the doctor tense up, on guard. ' But maybe I don't want to heal. I don't know. I'm conflicted. '

   stress turns into perplexity, an anciently buried doctor's instinct: the surviving eye scans the young man for any of the injuries that he claims he's not wanting to heal from, and finds none: no tears in the skin, no bloody gashes. no bandages. the unharmed home invader appraises a skull-shaped bottle, studded with little Swarowski diamonds, and blinks at it with what Wuchlock can only call curiosity. he has not stolen anything... yet. But it seems that the alcohol has his full attention. he could do without a few, for all those were worth-

   ' Perhaps... ' he starts, throat dry. a little cleaning of it helps. ' Perhaps you should listen to your father...? Surely, he's well intentioned... '

   the man stops any movement, going still as stone. it's the sudden expressionless, hard stare that pins the frail man to his seat, makes his surviving hand shake. 

   and suddendly the fog in his mind dissipates-

   his forearm grows numb and burns like liquid fire all the same. a trail of thick blood left behind him- a young, blond woman ishelped out of a septic tank, wrapped up in an unfamiliar dark robe, is tackles by a small, brown-haired boy as they both cling to eachother like lifelines. bloodshot, blue eyes look at him with nothing but hatred and contempt, judge him like many before.

   ' I hope this hurts, ' she hisses, holding her son close.

   Jakob has escaped their clutches. all hopes to the grasp they had on the blonde being to test on is now lost.

   all because of him.

   the demon with mismatched, empty eyes staring at him as he bleeds out on the floor- an expressionless face, hair wild and loose around it. an hunting, bloody knife in his hand. the one that hacked away his forearm, that still has his blood on it.

   ' Damn you and your kind, ' the wounded man hisses, tiles cold against his cheek before he lifts his head with the last of his strength. ' You ruined EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING, do you understand?! '

   it says nothing. it simply stares, unforgiving and unbothered by the explosion of anger, the other members of its group escaping behind it. and then, just as its about to turn, it utters the words-

   ' an average human male can die by losing from two and half to four liters of blood, ' it coldly informs him, before closing the heavy metal door of the experiment room with a calm that's deliberate.

   effectively trapping him in a grave of his own making.

   a familiar face...

   a voice reaches past his memories. ' No good morning for me today, Doctor? '

   another pang of recognition: they had this conversation before. one in front of the other, the biologist bubbling with barely contained anger and the being, indifferent and sarcastic. it feels like this stand-off happened ages ago.

   the name comes to dry lips almost automatical, familiar. ' Alberich? '

   Alberich stops his rifling through exotic bottles, turning to look at him. there's a faint, sourly satisfied smile on his lips that doesn't reach his eye. ' It always takes you a while to remember. But I'm patient- I have all the time in the world. '

   there's a whimper coming from the man, hunching down in his chair, preparing for the worst: a lash out, another one of his limbs being removed by force- but the young man simply stares at him, long lashes blinking before he resumes rustling in his private collections.

   Wuchlock doesn't know what to make of it. every muscle of his body is taut, trembling with every fever of his being. ' What do you mean- that it takes me a while to remember? '

   ' I come here every month, ' he explains, a shrug of bare shoulders as he perouses to his liking. ' Sometimes, you remember as soon as you see me. Sometimes, it takes you half a day- but I don't mind waiting, as I said. '

   this is the end of the line, is it? there's a sense of finality that Wuchlock can perceive, that makes his bones shake until his teeth are chattering from pure fear. he used to not feel fear, before meeting the being that was Kaeya Alberich. 

   ' Why are you here? ' he asks, pitifully trembling like a leaf. he's no match for him. he was never any match, and he should have expected it. 

   what he doesn't expect is for the Emanator of Enigmata to stop his actions. it turns to stare at him, seemingly lost in thoughts.

  ' I am familiar with the concept of revenge. ' it starts, then stops, and starts again. ' It implies that the person who has done a terrible deed gets... comeuppance. is this the word I could use? retribution. But I'm not a Galaxy Ranger, so the deeper meaning of it escapes me. Perhaps, one day, I'll ask one of them about it, and I'll have a more precise answer. '

 a non-answer. Wuchlock doesn't understand if he'll be executed, or if he gets to live another day. the insecurity and fear fuel his frustration. ' Alberich! ' he barks, and frosty diamond settle back on him at the display of the familiar tone. ' Enough of these verbal enigmas of yours! Can you never give a straight answer? Would it kill you to? '

   there's a long pause, eye leveling the other as Kaeya seems to have come to a decision on what to pick: a large bottle of whiskey, coloring it gold, one of the least elaborated ones.

   ' Schadenfreude, ' he speaks in a perfect German accent, almost as if another person was speaking. ' The emotional experience of delight at one's misfortune. '

   and then, he starts laughing.

   chuckling, more like. something rumbling in his throat, dark and foreboding with a slight curl of soft lips. he shakes his head, letting cobalt bangs hang from his forehead before he speaks again. something damning:

   ' Hannah has no intentions on forgiving you, ' it's explained to him, the curl fading from his face. no myrth or amusement left on it- just an hard stare. 

   ' But it doesn't matter how much I try to force you to aknowledge this; even when mutilated and lucid you're still convinced that you're the misurestood hero of the situation. ' another, dry chuckle. ' Then, this is the end that awaits such an heroic soul. '

when Wuchlock tries to respond, his throat is dry and tight with anger. he's shaking, his disabilities forgotten. 

   for a moment, it's back to the middle-aged biologist standing in front of a being with an hospital gown on, towering over him.

   Alberich seems so pleased with himself: his posture has relaxed considerably, pale diamond full of unspoken mockery. ' Cheers to the hero of the world, Edward Wuchlock, ' he lifts the stolen bottle, lips revealing a snarl of pearly white teeth. 

   and then, just as he has appeared, he's gone.

   he finds himself alone in the room, wobbling in place as the mental fog envelopes him once again: with numb surprise, he realizes that his hand is fisted impossibly tight and that his joints hurt, hurt even more when he slowly releases his grip on nothing and everything creaks and cracks.

   ' Melany? ' he calls, helpless and suddendly scared, terrified. ' Melany! Melany, please... '

   ' Oh! ' the girl turns to stare at the living room where the desperate, frail call is coming from, fingertips pressing against her lips to stifle a grin. ' You really put the fear of God into him! Last time he was just confused by the time you were leaving. '

   no answer from the cobalt-haired fellow on the open door, almost on his way: just a mischievous smile, a tilt of his head, and a better tucking of the bottle under his arm.

   she eyes it curiously, an identical tilt of her head mimicking his. ' Not that it's my business, but- why do you always steal one of his bottles? '

   a small chuckle does come out of him. ' It's fine to ask. Let's say that I have... a friend that really enjoys it. And it's not like the doctor will drink or miss any of this. It's less bottles for you to clean, ' he teases, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

   ' Oh, shush, you! ' a swat over his bare arm makes him laugh harder. ' Being his personal maid is a favor I'm doing to you- plus! I'm curious if you'll end up killing him, one day. The least you can do is damn right make things easier for me! '

   ' Okay, okay, ' hands are lifted in playful surrender, ' I will do just that. See you, and thank you very much for your help. '

   after a scoff from Melany, the door slowly closes behind him, his shadow being thrown clear across the living room.

   and, for just a moment, Kaeya Alberich towered tall as a king.

ITEM OBTAINED: The Bushmills '84: 'Even Dead Men Can Sing!' Dark Oath Single Malt Whiskey A collector's item originating from a far away planet, worth thousands of credits if left unopened. It is said that the punch it packs could reanimate a corpse and make it sing an old ballad as an ode to the taste- this is precisely what is named after. There are currently only 6 bottles scattered across the galaxy- one of which purchased by the famous doctor and biologist Edward Wuchlock, for the modest price of ████,███ credits.

[meirimerens]

you know i must have been bone-tired when this part of the herb brides lore didn't come to my mind when i discussed how the Kin fundamentally differs from the cultures it is inspired by um There Is The Human Sacrifice part. like it's an important part of pathologic 2 that you are doing human, or anthropomorphic (if you want to see the Herb Brides as closer to spirits, which comes with its own set of problematics regarding how to approach their oppression) sacrifice. it's an important part of pathologic 2 that you kill a woman, as part of the journey and in direct resonance with you ritualistically killing cattle earlier, and she offers herself to you with cultural and religious significance.

human sacrifices have been done across the globe for millennia, but i cannot, for the life of me, find any source at all that mentions the Buryats (since that was the discussion point) partaking in human sacrifices by the turn of the 19th-early 20th century (or even anything past the 16th). every single source mentioning offerings and sacrifices i've read mentions animals, things such as milk and vodka, and often both at once. would love to read anything about these rituals if papers exist, but i'm personally drawing a blank.

the Kin has Obvious and very Visible influences but it also differs from specific (in this discussion's case, the Buryats) or wider (here, turkic/mongolic as a whole) cultures from the area by so many pieces, big and small, that i wouldn't have enough appendages on my whole body to count them all. and sister. i have plenty of appendages.

[butterflieswhisper]

hhelp wait this is so funny. didnt you follow me forever ago after a scott themed october song analysis . sorry if you dont remember that and this ask doesnt make sense but this is still funny to me

hi!!!! yeah. it was the cherri crane lives art i think and also where you made your flower husbands tag! I have never really interacted with fh outside of you (and like, seeing pretty fanart) but i am nonetheless deeply invested in your interpretation specifically!!! I honestly haven't watched jimmy outside of rats and the beginning of empires2 either i genuinely have no clue what they get up to you just seem to have a lot of fun with it

[sskk-manifesto]

(*・ω・*)b♪

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

OH SHIT DUDE RIGHT U WATCHED SEX ED AS WELL. i still haven't watched the newest season even tho there IS an ace character i heard??? but THE GUY WHO PLAYS ERIC!!! THE NEW DOCTOR!!! so cool that he landed that role i'm so happy for him

YEAAH IM SO HYPED HES ACTUALLY SO ICONIC AS THE DOCTOR OMGG

LIKE AAAAAH

[kim-dokja-hate-blog]

thinkin abt how no matter what llyod, it won’t change what happened in his world. no matter how many debts he settles, his parents still died from theirs. no matter how many pets he cherishes, he’ll never get his old dog back. no matter how much safety he instills in his workers, he won’t be able to save the workers of corrupt bosses who cut too many corners. no matter how many tragedies he prevents, the tragedies of where he’s from march on, ensuring that no matter how much he wants to help as kim suho, he will never be able to do what he does as llyod frontera.