#i wouldn't be able to for a while

[umblrspectrum]

3 years of this godforsaken show

[daily-odile]

I was able to get my hands on a plushfrin and odile pin because of some very cool friends... made them hold on to her for safety

[lucabyte]

Different standards

[dkettchen]

she would've told them unlike her canon! version who decided not to be an ally smh

[egophiliac]

I’m not a Ride Kamens player but I’m looking to be. Saw your art and was wondering if you could tell me how to pop on pls 🥺

(also wonderful art. it tastes like fruit gummies. to me specifically)

thank you!! :> right now Ride Kamens only has a Japanese version; if playing it directly works for you, there are download links and more app info on the official site! they've started teasing part 3 of the main story coming out soon, so it's not a bad time to jump in. 👀

if playing in Japanese isn't an option, then unfortunately I think English translations are still pretty difficult to find...I know there's some floating around YouTube and various blog sites for the first couple of main story chapters, plus a handful of card stories, and I think that's about it. :( I have heard there's a fan discord with rough translations/summaries(?) of most of the main story + events, but I'm not sure about the details on that?

I think it's definitely worth checking out if you can though! come join us all in agreement about who the best character is and why it's Leon

[warpedwings]

Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles - JIB15, April 2025.

📷: MurielF DaiyanneI MonicaD n_e_davis Kitty [1], [2] Nutty4Armstrong [1], [2], [3], GIF JusInBello

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[serpentface]

Pylidaigh

(A story to teach children about winter safety.)

Thirty years ago was the worst winter in living memory. Even in the lowlands the rains came only as blizzards and pelting sleet, and in the mountains the snow was so deep it almost came up to your knees, and the cold was so bitter that you could feel the blood freezing in your cheeks. The winter barley was dead before it could be born, and cattle and horses starved and perished in huddled, shivering masses. Many people died that year.

I speak now of one of them. He was a stubborn old man, still quite fit in body and defiant to the point of foolishness, and so he had deigned to travel even in these conditions. Only a short distance, mind you, a path between two villages that would be a breezy two hour's walk in good weather. But this was not good weather. The journey had taken up most of the daylight hours, and there was still a good ways to go. The sun was setting red across the low plains far to the west, and a mass of dark cloud loomed in the east. The old man was growing very, very tired.

He passed into a thick copse of pines where the snow was shallow, and he considered stopping to rest until morning. It would be a miserable night, to be sure, but he could tough it out. He had the warmest of woolen coats, and there was plenty of fuel about for a fire and good shelter if the weather turned. But now, in the distance of the valley beneath him, he could see the lights of his village. He was so close! He would just have to trudge his way down a little longer, and then he would be bundled in blankets in front of a warm hearth with some hot mead, and this sorry excursion would be no more than a bad memory. A little snow couldn't defeat him.

So he set out with renewed vigor, leaving the trees behind him. The eastern wind whistled past his ears, picking up now, and a crow flew right in front of his face and lit itself on a lone pine. It cawed three times in warning. He cursed at it.

And soon the wind had turned into a gale, and it carried with it a terrible storm. The snow fell again, heavy and wet, and the lights of the village were lost to him. And the wind only blew harder, and the blizzard became so thick he could barely see the hand on his outstretched arm. His clothes were becoming soaked down to his very skin, and he shivered ceaselessly. There was great fear in his heart now, for he could grudgingly acknowledge that he had made a terrible error. But there was still hope. If he could just keep moving downhill!

But his fate was decided, for the cold madness began to take him. Even as he trembled, the old man felt as if his flesh was burning. He took off his hat, then his coat, and then his tunic. He took his boots off, then his pants, until he was walking through the blizzard naked as the day he was born. He felt none of the cold though, only a terrible, bone-deep weariness. He lay down in the snowdrifts and curled up into a ball. The old man died where he laid.

The blizzard raged on for two bitter days and nights. When it was over, the bad weather broke and the day became was sunny and mild. But the reprieve came too late. The old man’s corpse was completely covered beneath the snow. His very soul had frozen over.

Those in the village below had been looking for his return on the night he died, and by now were quite certain of his fate. His family wept and mourned for the beloved old fool, but none dared to go look for his body, for this had its own dangers.

"We will search for him as soon as we can, but not yet," the old man's son said. "If he froze to death in that storm (and he certainly did), waiting a little longer won't make any difference. We will find him when the snow has melted."

But the dead man's grandson had inherited some of his grandfather's obstinate bravery, and was having none of this cowardly talk. The day was beautiful and clear, and so fair that he could have gone out bare-chested with little discomfort. This was hardly the kind of weather in which one was met with an icy death, or any of the worse things that a bad winter can bring. So he set out, in secret, along the path to the upper village.

The youth did not have to travel very long before he found signs of his elder. There was a hat blown up against a shriveled old oak, and a boot stuck out from a snowdrift. But there was no sign of the old man himself. The boy had already stepped right through the place where the man had lain dead, but he noticed nothing. There was nothing for him to notice. The body was gone.

He kept on walking and looking for signs. And as he traveled, he started to hear something. It was the sound of footsteps, crunch, crunch, crunch. And the sound of something dragging over the snow, sssssss. The youth saw nothing when he looked around, but the sounds continued, growing closer and closer. He grew more fearful, but he could make out no movement against the white snow until the footsteps were almost upon him.

There stood his grandfather, but not as he knew him. His naked flesh was so pale he could barely be seen against the snow. He was little more than skin and bone, looking more like a skeleton than a man. His arms were longer than he was tall, and they dragged behind him as he walked, quickly now, crunch, crunch, crunch, ssssssssss.

The youth started to run, and the pylidaigh ran after him, crunchcrunchcrunchcrunch sssssssssssssss. He was a strong and athletic young man, so he began to gain a lead. But then the hissing stopped. The next thing the boy felt was cold hands wrapping around his chest. The pylidaigh had grabbed him, and it reeled him in with its terrible arms. It was much stronger than the boy, and he was pulled helplessly against the ghost’s freezing, shivering chest.

A pylidaigh is not a truly evil spirit, you see. There is little malice within it. There is little in it whatsoever, save for the endless, horrible cold, and dim memories of what it was to be alive. It remembers what it was like to feel the sun on its skin, hot tea in its stomach, the warm touch of a hand. A pylidaigh can never feel this warmth again, and yet is consumed with a terrible desire for it.

So it held its grandson close, but it wasn’t enough. The heat from the youth's body could not warm its frozen skin. It had to have more.

It pulled him in tighter and tighter, so tight that the boy's bones started to crack and his tongue squeezed out, and it still wasn’t enough. It had to have more.

So it sunk its teeth into its grandson’s neck and ripped out his throat. The hot blood sprayed out, all over the pylidaigh’s skin and the snow around it, and it still wasn’t enough. It had to have more.

So it sucked out all of the blood, until the boy was almost as pale and shriveled as the pylidaigh. And when that wasn’t enough, it bent down, frenzied, and slurped up the rest of the spilled blood from the corpse, and from its own frozen skin, and from all the snow around it.

The pylidaigh was swollen up like a tick now, but not even a man’s entire lifeblood could warm its frozen body. It had to have more. So it left what was once its grandson dead in the snow, and wandered towards the fires of the village.

It arrived in the cover of darkness. The people heard it before they saw it. First, a brave dog barking, then a long, terrible silence. Then a sound outside- crunch, crunch, crunch, ssssssss. It approached each and every hut, seeing the lights of warm hearths within. But it could not gain entry. The villagers had wisely cleared away the snow from their doors and windows, for winter spirits cannot cross over the bare earth. All the same, it scratched at the doorways and reached through open windows from a distance, its arms searching blindly through the air for anything that breathed and bled. Old men and small children alike huddled in far corners, and wept at the sight of its empty white face and black eyes.

The night passed in horror, but the ghost was gone by the morning light. The next day was even warmer and sunnier than the day before. A few days later, the snow had melted until only little patches remained, and so a search went out for the remains of both the old man and the young boy. But there was nothing to be found, not even of the poor boy, for he had frozen beyond help too. The two ghosts had fled high into the mountain, where the snow still lay in thick sheets, and where they could wait in hidden, icy grottoes through the summer's heat.

Neither has been seen again by any who lived to tell of it, but they are not gone. In winters when the snow falls thick and lasts long, pylidaigh come back down the hills. The wise do not wander needlessly, stay inside at night, and keep their doorways clear of snow. But on nights when the snow falls heavy, you may hear them outside. A scratching at the door, the chattering of teeth, slow footsteps, crunch, crunch, crunch, and a dragging hiss, ssssssssss.

[springtz]

some halloween themed testaments... AH! so scary!

[stellocchia]

I think Killer would enjoy tea. He would enjoy having to follow a strict set of rules and have flavored water as a result.

He would especially enjoy teas/infusions that aren't particularly strongly flavored I feel like. Less overwhelming that way. Especially if it hasn't been long since he ran away from Nightmare.

Drinking pure water may feel dull for him (there are no rules to it, there is no process with which he can earn it), so infusions are a good way to keep him hydrated.

Getting him to eat would be much harder. Maybe it's easier if Color lets him take over cooking duty, because then he'd be working for it and following recipes which is basically like following rules, but it's harder to find extremely bland foods...

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

🌸 !!CHAPTER TWELVE POSTED!! 🌸

Title: Four Walls

Tags: Slow burn, domesticity, friends to lovers, smut, pining post sias/pre am era

Summary: Disillusioned with LA and on the heels of a breakup, Alex goes to stay with Miles in London.

[bitethedevil]

Writing smut is such a weird and unsexy process (for me at least). I'm just sitting in the middle of my living room with a confused expression and occasionally looking wistfully out of the window while I try to think of an alternative word for pussy.

[shroomerr]

Kenny Week, Day 5 - Genderbend

The two most gender ambiguous people you've ever met, whether genderbent or not.

anywaysss just an excuse for me to draw nb boy Hanh <33 they are so very special to me

[lacecap]

happy april. thank you for being born

[mobius-m-mobius]

#a man who DESERVES A SLICE OF PIE

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

just for fun and curiosity..

if you had to choose which you feel more personal investment in, attachment to, understand better, feel more emotional about, wtv. who would it be?

[thelostgirl21]

I randomly saw this and...

Based on the way they both dress in the same environment (in a context where Jaskier wasn't just kicked out half dressed from someone's apartment), I'm going to take a wild guess which is which...

What Radovid said: "Redania’s not a bad place. Bit cold in the winter and humid in the summer, but the food is spectacular!"

What Radovid meant:

"Back home, I'm a sad wet cat that likes wearing a thick and heavy fur cloak over a long sleeved shirt and a puffy quilted doublet. I also prefer letting my hair down my shoulders to keep my neck warm, and will enjoy sitting at the very end of the table with my back directly to the fire..."

"But I can be convinced to move away from a direct source of heat with food..."