#i swear it wasnt like that before..

[sheepthatgobaa]

I think my ibispaint possessed... He kinda cute tho..

[starry-bi-sky]

im on my hadestown bullshit again but im also still on my SVSSS bullshit too so au where Shen Yuan gets transmigrated into a nameless NPC sometime after Bingge merges the realms and becomes the demonic emperor over like, basically everyone. And Shen Yuan manages to become an immortal cultivator and has a few years to himself to explore the world he's in, conveniently avoiding Bingge the whole time. Until eventually Shen Yuan joins what is essentially a traveling theater group.

They all love the strange stories he tells, ones he claimed he learned from far away places, and eventually ask him to write one as a play so that they can share it with the world. He does one better and writes a musical and slightly xianxia-izes Hadestown so it fits with the times better.

Eventually they learn everything, the music is st up, their lines learned, and the group rents out some kind of low-class stage for a night in a town that's neither too big nor too small. One that Bingge is conveniently passing through.

The actor for Orpheus falls 'sick' the opening night, and Shen Yuan gets convinced into taking the role by his. He has the prettiest voice, and he knows Orpheus' lines and character the best! Shen Yuan agrees.

Bingge attends that night too, and sits in the far back, in a seat where nobody can see him that well.

There is nothing to prepare him for the Tale of Orpheus and Eurydice.

Not the actor, who looks distressingly, uncannily similar to Shen Qingqiu, from the sharp curve of his jaw to the sound of his voice. It's Shen Yuan's saving grace that he has just enough differences that Bingge doesn't fly to his feet immediately.

Not the character Orpheus either. Who shares a distressingly similar worldview to the one Bingge once had a long, long time ago. A young man, a boy really, with so much hope for the world around him to near the point of naivety. Who believes that there is still good in the world and the people around him.

There's nothing to prepare him for Epic III. A song the lone Orpheus sings to convince Hades to let him and Eurydice go, one that rends Bingge of his flesh and leaves him feeling raw and wanting.

Suddenly he's no longer watching the stage; he's on it, standing in Hades' place, jaded and bitter and cold and reigning over all. Having become cruel like Shen Qingqiu once was. He stands in Hades' place, tall and imposing and powerful.

And there is a shadow of the past sitting at his feet. A boy in love with the world looking up at him, stripping him down to his soul, and asking him where he's been. Bingge stands in Hades' place, and just like that, becomes a man again.

[gunsatthaphan]

literally who tf is that??¿¿

[pikhachu]

sighh late night extra bc i got pissed off and what i feel she feels

[ribbononline]

frye fits i might as well share since i doubt ill do anything w em

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Ok well i had the brief thought “what about an ER nurse Eddie au?” and then this popped fully formed into existence so fuck it Friday pt 2.. warnings for smoking and vague references to critically injured kids

“That doesn’t seem very healthy.”

Smoke curls up from the cigarette held loosely in Eddie’s hand. “It’s not, particularly.”

Buck’s hands are in his pockets as he strolls away from the glass doors out into the ambulance bay where Eddie is doing the mature, professional equivalent of playing hide and seek. He comes to a stop barely a foot or two away from where Eddie leans against grimy concrete. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”

“I’m not,” Eddie sighs, “Particularly.” He looks over Buck’s face as he takes a drag, cataloging bruises and cuts. He hadn’t been the one to look him over before he was discharged, probably because he was out here avoiding having to do so. “Only when it’s- only after the bad shifts.” And only once a month, even if the bad shifts come again and again. He bought this pack in January, it’s stale as shit.

Buck’s eyes follow the smoke as it drifts skyward. “Rough one today?”

Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t have to explain to Buck that it’s sometimes better when a kid is dead on arrival so he doesn’t have to try his best to administer care he knows will be useless. He doesn’t have to explain a day where nothing goes right and he loses more people than he can save and he still has to walk away from someone’s parent or wife or sister, left behind forever in a waiting room on the worst day of their life, and go on to lose the next person too. Doesn’t have to explain why he’s out here, and not in there. “Mm. We’ve got this repeat customer, always hate to have him back.”

Buck’s eyes flick to his face before they settle somewhere around his elbow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I worry about him. He’s here too often.”

Buck doesn’t look up. “What was he in for this time?”

“Minor concussion. Bruising. Lacerations.” Eddie sucks cancer into his lungs. “Heard a house fell on him.” Exhales it into the night.

Buck does look up this time, eyes a darker blue out here in the shadows. “Part of a house. Just a staircase and the- like, the balcony, really.”

“Maybe he should stay away from those.”

“From houses?” Buck asks, half his mouth twitching into a smile.

Eddie rests his head on the wall behind him. “Guess that’s not really practical.”

“No.” Buck is quiet for a moment, one hand slipping out of his pocket and running through his hair. Eddie wonders what he looks like, when he’s not here. He’s more styled, sometimes, when things aren’t very bad. He wonders if he’s usually all gelled up and neat. Eddie kind of likes the loose curls. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Making your day worse.” Buck looks genuinely apologetic, and Eddie shakes his head.

“The guy made it out okay this time.” Buck is just close enough that Eddie can kick at his boot with his sensible orthopedic sneaker. “You didn’t even need stitches.”

“That’s good.” Eddie’s left foot is pressed along the inside of Buck’s right, and Buck is staring down at them. “His favorite nurse was on break. I would have missed you if someone else had to do them.”

Eddie laughs, just a few bursts of soundless oxygen. “You gotta find new ways to see me before something happens that I can’t fix.”

Buck moves, taking the few steps necessary to lean against the wall beside him. Carefully, he takes the cigarette from Eddie’s hand, holds it between two of his own fingers, and takes a drag. Eddie watches it happen like he’s monitoring somebody’s pulse ox, and when Buck coughs he laughs again, louder this time. “Fuck,” Buck says, laughing too. “Thought that would be cooler than it was.”

“Smoking isn’t cool, firefighter Buckley,” Eddie says, taking the cigarette back and pulling from it again between smiling lips.

“Hm,” Buck says, grinning out into the night. Then he sighs, and rolls his head along the concrete to look at Eddie. “I think there’s nothing you can’t fix.”

They’re very close. “There’s lots I can’t fix.”

Buck shrugs like he disagrees. “I also think I’d like to find other ways to see you.”

Buck’s eyes are even more in shadow at this angle, and they’re the color of the lake back in El Paso that he and a bunch of kids went to after graduation, drunk off beer somebody’s cousin got for them, skinny dipping with breathless terrified delight under bright constellations. “Then ask me.”

Buck inhales as Eddie exhales. “What time’s your shift end?”

“5:30 AM. So, probably 6:15.”

Buck traces the two fingers he’d used to hold the cigarette down Eddie’s arm. “You wanna get breakfast with me?”

“Yes. I would.”

Buck smiles, and Eddie snubs out the cigarette on the wall between them. “I’ll meet you here?”

“Alright.” He takes a step forward, then a step to the right so he’s standing in front of Buck. “Two hours.”

“Uh huh.”

He should really get back inside. They’re understaffed, as always, and there are too many patients, as always, and not enough beds, as always. “See you then.” He doesn’t make any move to leave.

“See you then,” Buck almost whispers. He leans forward, and Eddie still doesn’t move, so he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth for just a moment. His lips are warm. Eddie hadn’t noticed it was cold outside.

Buck pulls back and leans against the wall again. Eddie smiles, puts a hand in his pocket, and walks back toward the doors.

[sonknuxadow]

it just hit me that the movie is coming out next month imgonna throw upppppppp

[randomwriteronline]

I wonder if the toa mata recognized themselves in their own memories from before mata nui.

I dont know, i think theres possibilities to be explored about that. Suddenly remembering yourself and what you find being a complete stranger is a common thing for amnesia plots i guess but also i think this could be even more jarring. Like a more genuine difference between killing machine and living being.

Its less a matter of nature vs nurture and more a matter of nature with a certain type of nurture. Nature dictates they are powerful and driven and well meaning, but the way they are brought up produces completely different people.

Their first taste of life was a sterile room with nobody but each other and a disembodied voice reading out their duties, establishing an arbitrary hierarchy within them, and then sending them to a glorified bootcamp where a ruthless instructor worked on making them into skilled combatants and nothing else, teaching them how to use their elements as tools and weapons without indulging in them; they got a vague sense of what and how a community feels like with the Av-Matoran - as outsiders, as its protective shield, there for them but not with them - only to get that stripped away from them too because their role as life saving tools to be preserved under glass just in case of a crisis was more important.

I wonder if the Toa Mata, the ones who were taken to the Koro of Mata Nui and listened to the Turaga's tales and reprimands and would have moved mountains for the Matoran who treated them like older siblings, return with their minds to things they said or thought or did from before the Island of Mata Nui and stop in their tracks. Whose memory is that, they think? That can't be mine. I am not like that. My siblings are not like that. Some things are perfectly right, they cant deny that; but just as many if not more are so wrong that they almost feel like a really cruel joke somebody planted into their heads.

Kopaka and Tahu got along, even if they dont want to admit it because they need to bicker like children or theyll die, but are more surprised that they werent as tentatively close with anybody else. Lewa remembers so much frustration and tedium and anger that if he stalls in his memories too much he genuinely starts feeling queasy, Pohatu has remnants of bitterness and passive aggression that still cling to him like the smell of a cigarette on someone who gave up smoking, and they both hate that because its nothing like them. Onua and Gali feel like theyre peering into some kind of imperfect clone's brain when they try to remember - its themselves, they know that, it has to be, but there are certain things they know about themelves that are just completely missing and its kind of dizzying to realize that.

Im not even sure they liked each other. They work together because its their destiny, but they don't seem to seek each other out for fun or anything else. In their training days they had to be shoved in each others direction or they would have never solved their obligatory group assignments.

I wonder if their terrors and flaws could partially come from this first life that they had too. Gali's fear of her anger and Lewa's disregard for duty stemming from Hydraxon's methods - she internalized his reprimands about feeling guilt for living enemies, but without any memory of him she believes the words resurfacing in her mind from time to time are her own, and is appalled by their cruelty; he was forbidden from enjoying himself, from indulging in any form of fun, of entertainment, of joy, and unconsciously now he rebels by shirking away from responsability to do whatever he wants.

The responses to Tahu's decision regarding the codrex haunt him, the whole situation, really; how he stripped his siblings of any say on their fate because he was the leader, not even telling them or explaining himself until they had no other choice, and if he could treat them like that once then what would stop him from doing so again and again until he doesnt even think about it? Kopaka is uneasy about it too. He knew the plan and supported Tahu only because he tagged along, but hes very, very acutely aware that he would have been left just as much in the dark as everybody else otherwise, and he would gave not even had anybody to seek any comfort from because hes fairly certain none of the others would have liked him enough to care.

Onua as @cantankerouscanuck pointed out to me mightve taken Hydraxon's teachings to heart, hence why he's so quiet: no use in expressing weakness, right? But karda nui must have been hellish on his senses, with all that light - a tangible physical discomfort that would bleed out into an emotional one as he becomes conscious of how none of his siblings go through this, thus he must be damaged in some way, faulty, out of place, and so he seeks to be alone, digging himself away. And its not hard to imagine how Pohatu (who hasnt had the chance to grow into the affable, kind toa his siblings can always lean on when they need to yet) would become convinced of his uselessness within the team and seethe about it.

They arrive on Mata Nui as broken war machines with no clue who they even are and suddenly find nature and community and love, and in a moment theyre people.

I wonder if the environment helped. Being thrown upon a beach in the open air with nothing but a whole world that is so alien and yet feels so right beckoning them to come closer. Discovering their powers and their domains freely, immediately - first thing they did was dive into their respective elements without a second thought, naturally magnetized, taking after them like it was the simplest thing in the world, because they are the first toa, the first beings capable of harnessing these powers in their whole universe, and its in their nature to be so connected to them. Maybe it helped. Maybe it made them feel connected to their own selves enough to figure themselves out in a way they couldnt have done so before.

Maybe it helped to find out their collective destiny each on their own, in their own environment, at their own pace, surrounded by younger siblings who look at them with awe and curiosity and frustration sometimes, guided by people who know how being alive works with all its good parts and messy bits and who can tell what having so much power means when youre barely aware of how to use it or what to do. And maybe it helped to find out who their siblings were in a similar way, introducing themselves as they wanted, as they felt like, without a specific order, and learning to recognize each other as siblings with all the things that make them insufferable and all the things that make them the best and what makes them happy and what makes them angry and how they sound when theyre worried and how likely they are to chase you down to the other edge of the island for doing something stupid, and like real people they grow and develop and change and stay the same, and then they meet the memory of themselves from before becoming people and its...

Idk. Its like the realization of who they used to be and the distance between themselves and those selves, and the fact that they dont like them.

[whomeidontknowthem]

Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 5.

Previous part. Masterpost.

Content: institutionalized slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, it/its for an inhuman whumpee, pet whump, whipping, blood, physical abuse, withholding of food, training, torture, intimate whumper, carewhumper, mentioned pet death, tell me if i missed something

Lord Teelo didn’t strike. 

He lowered his arm, eyes never straying from holding the creature’s terrified gaze. The room reeked of blood, now streaming down the lord’s fingers in a warm waterfall. He worked hard on pushing his fury back, taking it under control as many times before. He was in control. He would show it, careful and persistent and levelheaded. He would make sure it remembered the lesson forever. The crop was not meant for punishments, it was too short, too soft – he hadn’t meant to punish it. He was going to be a kind and gracious owner. It had left him no choice!

He opened the door, finding the redheaded guard still in the corridor.

“Get a proper whip,” he ordered. “More chains – gods damned handcuffs, whichever idiot thought of leaving it like this?! And a knife, scissors – or whatever, something to file its atrocious claws.”

The guard stared at him, not in the face – at his arm. Lord Teelo felt it – the consistent drip-drip-drip of his blood. He didn’t feel the ache yet. Nothing but the quiet, cold fury he couldn’t wait to unleash at the world. Haltingly, the guard started, “Should I bring someone to take a look at–”

“I have told you what you should do,” his voice came out as a hiss.

“Yes, my lord,” the guard saluted and hesitated only a moment before running down the corridor. 

Lord Teelo closed the door with a loud crash. He paced inside, steps echoing around the room, as the pain slowly started to radiate out. He hated it. Oh how he wished he could slice the thing’s skin just this moment, not waiting for anything and anyone. He picked up the crop once more, stoped before the creature – it cowered to the very corner between the wall and its cage, never letting its eyes away from him. Oh, now it was looking. It dared to look! 

“You think yourself smart?” the lord hissed. “Think you did something good for yourself? Oh, no, you’re gonna regret this. You’re gonna regret this so much.”

The pain seeped into his consciousness with every heartbeat, radiant and nauseatingly familiar. He held a handkerchief to the cuts until it filled with deep red. He threw it away – it landed in a wet disgusting lump on the table, by the bowl of wet disgusting meat. Oh how the lord had tried to be a nice host, how he had tried to accommodate this, this– 

“Damned, ungrateful, hateful beast!” Lord Teelo roared. The glass of the bowl nearly slipped from his bloodied fingers when he grabbed it, and then shattered to thousands pieces to the side of the creature’s head. Its dinner fell onto the floor, useless. Oh, it wouldn’t get any, it would have to work, to beg for any crumb from then on – it would regret, regret it so much!..

The door slid open soundlessly after a short knock, letting in the heavy footsteps and the clanging of metal. The lord turned on his heels, facing the guard. “And why in the world have you not brought a damned healer!” he hissed. “Can’t you see I’m bleeding out!”

The guard blinked. “But you have–” 

“YOU DARE ARGUE WITH ME?!” 

He was struggling to breathe, chest heaving with effort. The blood was still warm down his arm, still bright on the broken glass and light wood of his floors. How could the idiot not understand!

There were chains in the guard’s arms and a leathery length of the whip. Lord Teelo snatched it and demanded, “Chain it up!” The guard hesitated, opened his mouth. “NOW!” 

He did. The lord watched as he came to the beast, careful with his steps, cautious of it. It squeezed itself deeper into the corner. Lord Teelo could see it shaking. He was delighted to see it shaking. The guard reached out, the first cuff prepared, and Lord Teelo watched from a step away as it lifted its hands up, close to its chest. Its teeth were bared, pupils wide and eyes wider. It tried saying something, but what came out was only a mess of sounds with no meaning. 

The guard squeezed its arm even as it tried to avoid it. It whined and fought back, tried getting out of the grasp, tried pushing him away, tried and fought and struggled as he cursed under his nose. Its claws went through the skin of his palm ripping out a sharp hiss. It managed to raise its hind leg as the cuff clicked around its wrist, its claws scratching against the metal in an effort that only delayed the inevitable. 

Lord Teelo had little patience left. He stepped forward, connecting his heel with the middle of the creature’s tail. It yelped, flinched backwards – its head connected with the wall, and before it could regroup the second handcuff was in place. After that, restraining its legs was only a matter of time.

“Turn it around,” the lord ordered. Chains clang as it fought in an ever increasing panic. “To the wall, yes… yes, just like that.” The locks rattled, forced closed. The guard let the key fall onto the ground, forcing the creature to kneel. It hid its tail between its legs, whining as its head was pressed into the wall. “Is the chain short enough? Will it be able to move?”

“I don’t think so, my lord,” the guard answered. 

Lord Teelo played with the whip, trying it out. “Good. Go fetch the healer– wait. I need – something sharp, something – to secure on its tail. See how it hides it? I need something it can’t hide from.”

The guard looked puzzled. He eased his hold in a test, and the creature threw its whole weight backwards, fighting the chains. They held. Kneeling, with its tail hidden and only back visible, it looked strikingly like a human. “Perhaps clothespins, my lord?” It wasn’t what he had in mind. What he wanted – it wasn’t that. Not this easy, tame solution.

“It would work,” he drew out. He would go to the smith when he had time. He had an idea, oh, that would be a genius idea. “Just this once."

He flexed his left arm and rubbed his right. It hurt as all deaths, but it had stopped bleeding. He failed to crack the whip the first time but managed it the second, inches from the creature’s back. The guard bowed, taking it as a sign to leave. 

The creature mumbled and mumbled more, sounds a meaningless mush falling from its tongue. If Lord Teelo was generous, he could see it as an apology; he would not even entertain the possibility of giving in to it, of course. 

The second crack was right by its ear. It flinched and curled up further but couldn't hide.

It wailed when the whip connected with its back – so loud, so quickly, taken by surprise. Lord Teelo bared his teeth in a smile and struck again, violent purple already flowering on the gray of its skin, and struck again without waiting – three, four, six, twelve hits in a row, as it flinched and writhed and cried out.

He paused afterwards, and saw as it tensed, first, its whole body shaking with the effort of breathing, hiccupping in what sounded almost like sobs. He waited, watching how it trembled more and more. He let it marinate in the anticipation, the fear coiling and coiling with no release, the stinging of its sore back growing as its patience ran thin. 

When it raised its head, just barely, as if to look, the whip snapped through the air again. 

It screamed out. He didn’t give it time to recover. 

The lord hit it with no pattern, pausing and continuing at his leisure, until his arm grew heavy with pain and the creature nearly silent. Lord Teelo could only hear its labored breathing, air forced out of its body with every strike. Its back bloomed with purple that gave way to red when the skin opened, the new lines covering the rainbow pattern in an unstructured, repulsive mess.

Oh, he nearly pitied it, trembling pathetically in the corner. Then he rubbed his arm and the sharp pain was enough to remember why he didn’t. 

He struck for the last time, lazily, with his left, and then a few more for a good measure. When a polite knock announced the guard’s return, he felt pleasantly tired, like after a good work out. He called out for the man to enter. 

The guard did and the healer, an old woman the lord knew for most of his life, followed in. She looked the room over with stony, unreadable expression, and Lord Teelo met her gaze with a nice enough smile. “You’ve got your toy,” she stated and that was all the attention the creature got from her. 

She made a quick enough work of the wounds: cleaned and bandaged them up after applying that miraculous numbing cream the lord appreciated since early childhood. The creature would appreciate it even more, he thought, glancing at the pathetic thing. It had shifted at some point, stretching its legs just a bit but keeping its head hidden. Its body shook violently, trembling so much it in itself looked tiring. 

“Should I look it over?” the healer suggested, all business. 

The lord huffed, “What would the point of a punishment be then?” 

The woman looked him over with that annoying, unreadable gaze. “Call me whenever you change your mind,” she bowed and left when he dismissed her. 

Lord Teelo tried the clothespins with interest, forcing the spring to coil and then letting it go softly around his finger, just a tad, until it started hurting. “Good enough,” he concluded finally and got up. 

The creature flinched when his boots stopped by its form but didn’t try anything. “Poor thing,” he drew out and crouched, ran his fingers along its back lightly, brushing fingertips over the painful ridges of future bruises. Its breaths hitched, but it didn’t make a sound. “And all you needed was to not act like a brainless brat to avoid all this. You have no one but yourself to blame, silly thing,” he told it. It didn’t answer, shivering under his touch but not attempting anything stupid. 

“But maybe you can learn,” he hummed and moved his hand down to where its tail started. It tensed even further, if it was possible at all. “Let’s just make sure the lesson sticks, huh?” It curled up even further as he tagged on its tail, releasing from under the creature’s body. He flickered it back and forth and rubbed between his fingers and was satisfied when it sobbed and shuddered but remained motionless otherwise. 

“Like this, yes,” he muttered. With the softest touch of his second hand, he stoked its head. “But look at me now. Eyes on me,” It didn’t understand. He caught a fistful of its fur and tagged. “Eyes on me.”

Too drained to resist, it lifted its head as he guided it. “Eyes on me,” he demanded again, and it either guessed or truly learned – its gaze settled on him, focusing to the best of its ability – and, oh, what a pathetic mess it looked, eyes bloodshot and wet in ways he’d thought only a human's could be, dark lines from where it pressed into the floorboards marking its cheeks. There was something red around its mouth – did it bite itself, the poor thing? 

Lord Teelo clicked his tongue, smiled softly and released its fur. It settled back instantly, curling up again. Its tail remained in his hands. 

He picked up the first pin. 

It must have assumed at first that he was just playing like he had been, – at least, it didn’t seem to tense up too much, nor expect the sharp pain when he released the spring around its tail. It shuddered, head whipping up, staring at him once again. He smiled. Picked up the second clothespin. 

It tried to get its tail free – oh, it tried as much as it could without hurting him, but he tightened the grasp and played with the pins as it couldn’t help a new whimper, and hushed it and urged it to sit still. “That’s for you to remember the lesson better,” he told it pleasantly. It must have cried, body shaking again, and tried to kick just once, the movement stopped halfway through by a short chain. 

Lord Teelo wondered how many pins would be good for it – should he go with the whole set the guard had brought? He settled on five, at the end, a nice even number not even halfway through what he had. He was feeling rather merciful and forgiving, and it sounded just so pathetic. 

He called the guard in to urge it into the cage when it was done. It didn’t even try fighting, following the man's tagging and pushing until it was inside, drawing its limbs close and curling up to fully fit. Nearly immediately, its fingers itched towards the pins, human-like thumbs ready to work on the problem. Lord Teelo snapped his fingers to get its attention.

“No,” he said, words dripping with finality. He reached through the bars and tagged its tail outside. “The clothespins stay here for the night,” he told it. It probably didn’t understand – there was so little thought in its eyes. He let go of it hoped for its sake it understood what he meant. He didn’t want to have to punish it so soon for their lack of common language. 

When he went to sleep, the shaky breaths and the rare clanging when it tried to settle more comfortable sounded like a lullaby to his ears.

In the morning, his arm stung mercilessly and unendingly, and no melodies of birds and gentle sunrays could make his mood better. He turned lazily, letting his eyes fall onto the cage. The creature was curled inside of it, eyes shut tight and ears flickering restlessly. Its tail fluttered too, freed at some point from the pins, one of its hands curling around it protectively. 

Lord Teelo felt stuck between endearment and irritation. He moved and the cuts on his arm ached, and irritation won. 

“Hey… you,” he called and realized he hadn’t come up with a name. He should think about it as some point, he decided grimly, and banished the thought of the last pet he’d named, back in childhood. That was a just a cat, a stupid spoilt creature with too much attitude. The lord remembered the way it looked, painted red and unmoving, after crossing one too many lines. 

The creature didn’t move at his call, either. He picked up an extinguished candle from his bedside table and threw it towards the cage. “Hey!” 

There was no reaction. With an undignified groan, he forced himself on his feet and towards the cage. He rattled the key across the bars, the way that always seemed to get the creature’s attention.

It didn’t react. It was outright ignoring him! 

Had it learned nothing?!

He reached through the bars and tagged on its tail, finally getting some response in return – it flinched weakly and grimaced. Slowly, its eyes fluttered open, but didn’t settle on the lord. They looked as if through him, unfocused and dizzy, and a pang of worry cut through the just rage when they closed back and its chest heaved, struggling for breath. 

Something was wrong.

He reached through the bars and towards its forehead, forgetting for a second it wasn’t a human. The skin under his fingers was blasting hot and sickly wet. It moved closer to his fingers, all but nuzzling against him. 

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Updates every 7-10 days (depending on how much time I have and how obvious the poll result is) (unless something goes wrong and it takes me too weeks to get myself to write something. I'm so very sorry about the delay!)

@isikedmyself878, @fraugustends, @otterfrost, @fuchstastisch, @3-2-whump,

@the-lone-youth, @will-o-the-wips, @catnykit, @granny-aaravos, @mj-or-say10

Tell me to be tagged in the new parts!

[schnee-gheist]

dp fanfic ideas are getting to me again goddammit

[definitely-a-clod]

I'm getting condemned to the infirmary for this one 🔥🔥🔥

[tenebrous-dream]

ok i still think that the first style boutique/savvy game is the worst in the series, but im playing it a lot recently (after not really touching it in a while) and its better than i remember it being

[mamawasatesttube]

one thing that is kinda wild to notice is the way fic seems to have gotten a shorter and shorter lifespan over the years. granted, i only have my own anecdotal experience to go by, and there's plenty of factors that can contribute to that, but it's wild because like i remember posting fic in like 2015 would get so much more engagement over time than posting fic today. in 2015 if i posted something i generally would get comments and interaction with it for a week or so before it tapered off into obscurity. today, its like. you post a fic and after 24 hours its dead in the water. odd.

[infinite-bleps]

I'm so late about a bunch of choices books. Why did no one tell me there was a "crossover" book with Open Hearts and Hearts on Fire and that the cover looked like this?

This genuinely looks like a shitpost meme edit. I almost choked on food while laughing.

[tamymew]

character that unironically came to me in a dream??

[noisytenant]

a really interesting customer service philosophy that my boss explained is that we should, essentially, act out the client's anticipated feelings so that they don't take it out on us.

so, if i need to share bad news that something's delayed, i should express frustration and even indignation if it seems like that would be the client's response.

people generally don't want to escalate when another person is already emotional, and it also makes the client feel like you "care" about the situation and understand their feelings. they don't feel the need to rush you because you make it clear that you're already rushing.

it's really fascinating since i feel like most customer service philosophies are very much about minimizing oneself and coming across endlessly polite and patient... i think it's a little specific to this more b2b line of work where we do a lot of liaising with larger systems, but it does see applications in other fields.