#it's been marinating in the brain. for a while.

[nonsensical-pendulum]

"hey gang, wouldn't it be wild if we weren't persecuted for having a sixth sense" snowballs into roommate shenanigans with one of the most wanted criminals in an alternate-history 1940s europe

make me want to read your book in one sentence.

[shalomniscient]

as the world caves in. || multiple x reader

AND HERE IT IS / OUR FINAL NIGHT ALIVE / AND AS THE EARTH BURNS TO THE GROUND / OH GIRL IT’S YOU THAT I LIE WITH / AS THE ATOM BOMB LOCKS IN / OH GIRL IT’S YOU / I WATCH TV WITH / AS THE WORLD CAVES IN

cw. major character death

notes. felt silly

arlecchino

You find her against a broken pillar.

Her once pristine suit is in tatters. You can’t even discern anymore where red fabric ends and blood begins. The black feather-like horn in her hair has cracked, revealing crimson enamel, pulsing in tune with the balemoon above both your heads. Her curse, once up to her elbows, has creeped up to her shoulders, her neck, and just below her jaw. Each breath she takes is labored, pained. One of her wings lies uselessly by her side, while the other is just a stump.

She will die here.

But that’s fine, because you plan on dying right along with her.

Arlecchino’s head snaps up as you hobble over to her. The second coming of the cataclysm hadn’t exactly spared you either; a rifthound’s cursed teeth had sunk deep into your thigh. The wound is likely fatal on its own, though the abyssal corruption spreading through you at an alarming rate only solidifies your death sentence. Still, it doesn’t stop Arlecchino from snapping at you as you approach, brows furrowed, her clawed hands digging into dead soil.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses. You really know the extent of her injuries and exhaustion now—if she was in even slightly better condition, she’d have picked you up and flown you right back somewhere safe. But she isn’t, so you let yourself slide down the pillar next to her with a snort.

“What does it look like?” you huff. “I’m here for you, idiot.”

She gives you a look between incredulity and despair. “You—“

“If you think I’d ever leave you behind, I’m going to smack you.”

Arlecchino quiets at that briefly. You lean your head back against the pillar, a remnant of a building ravaged by the angry surge of the Abyss, and shut your eyes. You can feel Arlecchino’s eyes bore into the side of your face, tracing the line of your jaw, the swell of your cheek, then the shape of your lips, as if to memorize you. When she speaks again, her voice is remarkably soft.

“You’ll die,” she whispers, and you turn your head to her with a smile, meeting her eyes. You take her larger hand in your own—your wedding bands meet with a soft clink of metal.

“I’d follow you to oblivion and back, Peruere.”

Something in her expression shutters, and Peruere leans down to press her forehead against your own. She’s so close, like this. Close enough for you to see the way the veins and arteries in her neck pulse under curse-marked skin to a beat that mirrors your own; close enough for you to feel the way her breath fans over your cheek; close enough for you to kiss her.

And you do, free hand cradling her cheek while the other cups the nape of her neck. Peruere returns the kiss like she’s trying to press her soul against your lips. To give it to you instead of whatever higher power will claim it in the end. Her hand in yours squeezes gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. Her remaining wing rises, a little shakily, and wraps around you, pulling you closer. You smile into the kiss, even as wetness gathers in your lashes.

Peruere wipes them away with her thumb. Draws back just enough to look you in the eyes one last time, selfishly. The earth wails in the distance, cracking and splintering, and the wind howls above your heads. The crimson balemoon shines impassively down as the herald of the apocalypse, cold and unfeeling. But Peruere’s wing around you is warm, and her palm caressing your cheek feels like being at home.

“To oblivion and back,” Peruere whispers, and then the world ends—

—but at least for you and her, it ends in love.

shalom

Shalom has always known you would meet a solitary end. She had said as much to you, back in the bureau when she had first met you—or rather, when you had first met her, in your fragmented memory. And some part of her was content with the fact. She’s smart, diligent. A HUSH. She could learn you utterly and completely, dive into and discover the depths of your heart before her time runs out.

She does achieve her goal, in the end. But she also falls terribly in love with you, and now the thought of being without you makes her unbroken heart constrict in her chest.

Now here she stands, in this field of lillies she once haunted. This realm of Mania, deceptively beautiful, with a cloudless blue sky stretching on endlessly. She can feel the gaze of the Illusory Moon crawl up her spine, but that is not her concern. No, her concern is you, standing off into the distance, alone—a solitary figure of grey against the blinding white. And somehow, you just know she’s there; like Orpheus for Eurydice, like something bone deep in you compels you to turn around and look.

But Shalom doesn’t disappear like Eurydice. Instead, she steps forward and slots herself into your arms instead with a hum, her hands splaying on your shoulder blades, holding you close. She buries her head in your neck, breathes in your scent—lillies, always lillies—and speaks.

“This is it, then.”

You nod. Card your fingers through her wine-red hair. “This is it.”

“It’s quite peaceful,” she muses, shifting to rest her ear against your chest. Your heartbeat thuds, calm and powerful, and Shalom lets her eyes flutter shut at the rhythm. You manage a small chuckle.

“For now. It’ll get quite ugly soon, at least on the outside,” you murmur. Your lips press a kiss to the top of her head. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She laughs at that. “There are many things I shouldn’t be, and yet, here we are. Mostly because of you, you know.”

“You know what I mean,” you huff, and she smiles. Of course she does. This is your solitary end, the cold calculus of the universe that demands your life in exchange for the world. If she was still HUSH, she’d see it as a bargain. But she’s not HUSH anymore, just Shalom, and suddenly the price is too high, too unacceptable.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m selfish,” she admits, voice barely above the breeze rustling the flowers by your feet. “I don’t want to be in a world without you.”

Not when you are the one who gives it meaning.

You’re silent for a moment, before a rueful expression pulls at your lips. You shake your head with an affectionate sigh, resting your forehead against hers. You know better than to argue with her. Your hand finds hers, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently. No words are exchanged between you, but no words are necessary. Her hand squeezes back, and then you’re turning, facing the growing light at the end of the horizon. You’re her Orpheus amidst the flowers, leading her forward step by step until the light devours you both. To life, or to death, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t quite care.

For like Eurydice, what else mattered besides the hand in her own, the proof that she was loved?

kujou sara

Sara once thought she knew pain. Cuts and bruises, arrowheads and sword slashes—none of these are new to her. Her body is a canvas of scars from her time as a warrior, some pale and faded, while others are pink and freshly healed. Pain is inevitable, in a profession such as hers. Sara once thought she knew pain, but nothing could have ever prepared her for the agony of seeing tears paint your soft cheeks as you lie in her arms, staining the burnt soil below you red with your blood.

It feels like someone has reached into her chest, fingers curling around her heart and squeezing tight. Everything else has faded to a dull sensation; the arrows lodged in her wings as she shields you both from the world; the gash in her side from an axe-wielding hilichurl; the throb in her skull from when an Abyss Herald had managed to get a lucky hit in. The war around you both is now an afterthought, even as the skies rage and the Abyss spills forth like a hellish tide. No, the only thing she can focus on is you, as your lips painted red part and whisper to her brokenly.

“Sara,” you choke out, “I love you.”

Sara leans down, pressing her forehead to yours. Her golden eyes meet yours, and she hopes you can see the sincerity within. “I love you too, dearest.”

Your breathing rattles ominously in your chest, and Sara holds you tighter. Closer. A small comfort as death approaches you both on silent feet, ready to collect. Your fingers grip the front of her uniform tightly, staining her white uniform red. “Promise me,” you rasp, and Sara exhales shakily.

“Anything.”

“Find me again,” you plead, your voice so small she would not have heard you, were it not for her tengu senses. “In the next life, promise you’ll find me again—“

She grips your hand tightly. “I promise. I promise, my love, so wait for me.”

She doesn’t even know what awaits either of you beyond this. Is there even such thing as a next life? Heaven? Hell? She doesn’t know, but she doesn’t care. If there is a next life, she will find you, over and over again until the end of time. If heaven doesn’t exist, she’ll build it with her own hands for you. It it does, she’ll meet you there. If hell exists, she’ll carry you out on her back herself. Sara would do anything for you—all you have to do is ask. She kisses you as your breathing slows, your final breath mingling with hers. As death’s shroud settles on her shoulders, she memorises every line on your face, the set of your jaw, the arch of your brows like they’re her north star, to shine forever in her sky and lead her home. Home, wherever you are.

(In another universe, a pair of crows roost on a powerline. In another, a black obi is tied around a beautiful kimono. In another, a museum’s display katana rests peacefully in its delicate sheathe.

In another, she stands hand in hand with you again, looking at them all.)

[ruija]

How many Turtles and Goongala-guys does it take to change a Battleshell tire?

[imadhatt3r]

This is going to sound really weird, I know, but I seriously feel like there's a number of like, British communists who desperately wish they were Eastern European??? Like they think that by being into political side of communism (usually not the kind that existed in Eastern Europe), they can be chummy with people who actually grew up in Eastern Europe and were raised with the communist era somewhere in the background their whole life, usually without knowing the nitty gritty of theory but with a lot of cultural herritage from that time...

Like no, there's a big difference between being British, being raised in British culture, with cultural institutions, history, traditions, then getting into communist theory and just assuming that you know everything about life in communist Eastern Europe, and then pulling a "how do you do fellow commies" to people from Eastern Europe whose associations with communism are much different, and they will see you as detached and insensitive at best.

[capseycartwright]

when all is shaken, be my safety

Carla had said that he knew how it was, at that age - except that Eddie didn't know how it was. His defining memories of being eleven, and twelve, when everyone around him were having crushes for the first time, and holding hands, were memories of confusion and isolation. He hadn't understood the appeal, and he hadn't understood why, either.

He understood now, though.

- or, Eddie comes out to Buck.

ao3 link

“You didn’t say anything about your first kiss – or crush.”

It felt like Eddie’s throat was closing up, as Buck’s words washed over him. He had tried his best to avoid contributing to the conversation – and maybe everyone else hadn’t noticed, but apparently Buck had, and Buck was asking. Eddie couldn’t blame him – Buck was a naturally curious guy, and he was also a hopeless romantic, in his own way, and so it made sense that he wanted to know who Eddie’s first crush was, who his first kiss was.

It was just –

Well, it was a conversation that Eddie wasn’t sure how to have with Buck, or anyone else actually. He had barely begun to have the conversation with himself.

Eddie squinted at Buck, the bright early morning sun watery. “Do you want to get a coffee?” he suggested, because Buck had sort of given him the opening, now, and maybe it was about time that Eddie told someone. Buck would be a good place to start – because Buck would be kind about it.

Confusion flashed across Buck’s face, but he nodded, all the same, following Eddie as he bypassed their cars, heading out into the already busy Los Angeles morning. There was a coffee shop around the corner that they all tended to favour – Buck, especially, because they served all sorts of nonsense non-dairy milk – and Eddie knew it had a quiet terrace around back.

They walked – and queued – in silence, Buck practically bristling with anxiety as they headed for a seat. “Eddie, you’re – you’re kind of freaking me out,” Buck admitted, shuffling his chair closer to Eddie as they sat down.

Eddie took a sip of his coffee, letting the coffee settle into his tired, aching bones for a minute before he spoke. “I don’t know where to start,” he admitted, because that was the truth – it was the kind of conversation that didn’t feel as though it had a particular beginning, no sensible starting point. Could he just dive right into it? He wasn’t sure.

It’s not as if he’d done this before. Eddie had tried to have this conversation with himself, in the quiet darkness of his own bedroom, in front of the mirror, when he’d felt a little more brave, but he’d never had the conversation with another person. Not yet.

Buck would be the first.

(That felt fitting, somehow.)

“You can start wherever you’d like to,” Buck reassured, gentle, always gentle, his eyes wide and sincere as he looked at Eddie. Eddie didn’t know how he got lucky enough to have Buck – kind, generous, understanding Buck – as his best friend. He wasn’t going to question whatever power, higher or not, put Buck in his life - he’d just be grateful he had him.

“Carla said, when we were talking about Christopher – and crushes – that you know how it is at that age,” Eddie said, pausing. He remembered being eleven. He didn’t really remember it clearly – because listen, he was thirty-four years old, and time was a thief – but Eddie did remember it because that was the time his friends were starting to have crushes on the girls in their class. His best friend at the time, Noah, had spent every day for a whole week asking Jessica Mackenzie to hold his hand until she had finally relented during Friday recess and held his hand for a whole five minutes. It had made Noah’s entire day, and Eddie had watched on, confused.

He hadn’t really understood the appeal.

That – that was the first time Eddie felt as though there was something fundamentally wrong with him. On reflection – now, especially, as an adult, as a father himself – it was sad to think Eddie had been a child himself the first moment he had felt there was something wrong with him. Children shouldn’t – children shouldn’t feel like there was something wrong with them because they didn’t want to hold someone’s hand.

Buck nodded, still looking concerned.

“I don’t know how it is,” Eddie admitted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t – I don’t know how it is because I didn’t have a crush when I was Christopher’s age. I – I thought maybe it was just that I was just a bit behind my friends, on that front, but, um – I think there’s another reason why I didn’t have crushes on girls the same way my friends did.”

Say it, say it, say it.

Eddie sort of felt like he was yelling, internally – just, say it. It couldn’t be that hard – it shouldn’t be that hard.

“You can trust me with anything,” Buck reassured fiercely, reaching across the small table they were crowded around, stopping just short of touching Eddie’s hand. Eddie was sort of glad of that – he might just crumble if Buck touched him now.

Eddie gave Buck a tiny smile. “I know,” he confirmed. “I – the reason,” he took a deep breath, and another, and another. “The reason I didn’t have crushes on girls the same way that my friends did growing up is because I – I don’t like girls. Or, well – I’m not interested in women,” he corrected himself, because he was a grown man. He could say it. He’d grown a lot more comfortable with the word, in the weeks he’d been saying it - comfortable enough that a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he said it aloud, something a lot like pride beginning to coarse through his veins as he discovered who he really was.

Buck was listening intently, his expression encouraging.

“I’m gay, Buck,” Eddie said, and relief hit him with the force of the freight train as he said it to another person for the first time.

(“I’m Eddie,” Eddie said, his own expression fierce as it was reflected back at him, the yellow lighting of his bathroom hardly the most attractive. But, it felt like a safe space to say it out loud. “I’m thirty-four, and I’m a dad - to the best kid in the world - and I’m a firefighter,” he continued, reeling off all of the things he felt defined him: his son, his career.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie looked at himself carefully - there was a time he looked in the mirror, and he didn’t recognise himself, didn’t feel ownership over the body he inhabited. There was a lot of reasons for that, but this - this was one of them.

“And I’m gay,” Eddie said. The world didn’t come screeching to an end, as he said it - nothing changed, really, except the expression on his own, fierce turning to - relief. He was relieved. Eddie had worried, it wouldn’t feel right, when he said it out loud, but his own expression was proof enough that what he’d been battling with for so long was simply the truth. He was gay. “I’m gay,” he repeated, laughter bubbling up out of his chest as he said it again. The tears in his eyes - they weren’t sad ones. No, no - those were tears of complete and utter relief.

“I’m Eddie Diaz,” he repeated, wiping roughly at his runny nose. “And I’m gay.”)

Buck’s face softened, and he gave Eddie the kind of smile that felt like it had the energy to power half of Los Angeles - bright and brilliant, the same way Buck was. “Thank you, for telling me,” he closed that lingering distance between their hands, giving Eddie’s wrist a gentle squeeze.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told,” Eddie admitted.

“Well,” Buck shifted in his seat. “I’m honoured - to be the first.”

Eddie nodded, glancing down at his sneakers, for a second. They were scuffed, at the toe - not that he was precious about that sort of thing. Buck was, but Eddie never minded - the scuffed toes were just a reminder that he was living his life, truly living it - in ways that he could have only dreamed of a few years previously when the weight of his life felt like it was crushing every last breath out of him, leaving him listless, lifeless, a shell of the person he could be if life had given him a different set of circumstances to work with.

He was better now - really, he was.

“When Carla said that,” Eddie continued. “I just - I couldn’t stop thinking about when I was that age, and how I felt like - like there was something wrong with me,” he admitted, brow furrowing. “I didn’t understand. I was too young to understand, and no one had ever explained that there was - there was more than one option. That I didn’t just have to like girls.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck said, and Eddie’s confusion must have shown on his face. “I’m sorry that the adults in your life let you down like that, Eddie.”

It was Texas - in the 1990s, to boot - and so Eddie wasn’t convinced any of the adults in his life had been too convinced there was another option either. The church, and their state - which, depending on who you asked, were the same - didn’t allow for it.

Still -

Eddie was sorry too.

He wondered sometimes, how life might have been if he had been raised in an environment more accepting of sexualities outside of heterosexual. He didn’t often think about it - because it tended to cause a spiral he wasn’t so sure how to deal with - but sometimes he allowed himself a moment or three to imagine how he might have been if he’d grown up knowing it was okay to be gay, or bisexual, or whatever it was you might be.

In another universe, Eddie hoped, there was a version of himself who knew that acceptance, and peace - and he was happier for it, Eddie hoped.

That wasn’t his universe, though.

“Yeah,” Eddie gave Buck a sad smile. “I am too.”

They were quiet, for a second.

“There’s something else,” Eddie admitted, and this was the bit he’d only recently figured out. If he was honest, he’d known for a long time that he was not straight - even if he didn’t have the words for it. When he looked back, with the benefit of hindsight and a better understanding of the world, Eddie knew that he’d gazed wistfully at Noah at lunchbreaks when he’d started dating Jessica for real, when they were in middle school, not because he was jealous of Noah for dating Jessica - like Eddie had convinced himself he was - but because he was jealous of Jessica for being the one who got to hold Noah’s hand. He had wanted to - and he knew he never would. There was a whole laundry list of moments like that that Eddie could draw a line between, all leading to the same conclusion: he’d always been gay, he just hadn’t been ready to admit it. No, that bit he understood.

This - this was new.

To him, at least.

“You know how, when I dated Ana,” Eddie began, waiting for Buck to nod. As if anyone could forget those painfully awkward few months. “I was never really comfortable with the physical part of our relationship.”

Something sad flashed across Buck’s face. “I’m sorry, Eddie.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie said, and maybe it wasn’t, but it had to be - otherwise, he’d probably just dwell on it forever. “I - I thought it was the gay thing,” he gestured vaguely. “It was a bit, the whole, being gay, thing,” he admitted. God - he didn’t know how to say this. “Have you heard of asexuality?” he tried. Maybe he could start there.

Buck nodded. “It’s - it’s when you don’t experience asexuality, right?”

“Yeah - kind of,” Eddie paused. “Not really? I - I’m just learning about it.”

“Tell me,” Buck encouraged. “What you’ve learned, I mean.”

Eddie nodded. “Asexuality is - it’s a spectrum, right? Like sexuality.”

Buck nodded. “Yeah - like, you can be bisexual, like me,” he said, clearly trying his best to understand. Eddie appreciated that. “But I’ve tended to date more women - it doesn’t mean I’m not bisexual. I’ve just - I’ve had more crushes on women. So far, at least.”

Eddie nodded. “Asexuality is like that - it’s a spectrum,” he explained. He’d done a lot of research - he’d have to show Buck all the tabs he’d bookmarked. Buck would be proud. “Some people don’t experience sexual attraction at all, and others do, a bit - it depends, right? The same way everyones sexuality looks different.”

“What does it look like for you?”

Eddie huffed. “You joined up those dots, huh?”

Buck shrugged. “I figured you brought it up for a reason,” he hummed.

“There’s this - there’s something called demisexuality,” Eddie explained. “It’s when you’re only sexually attracted to people you’ve got like - an emotional connection with. I think that’s me - and I think that’s why Shannon was so - was so important to me, because maybe I’m not attracted to women, but we - we had that deep emotional connection, and it made it easier for me to convince myself that she was the one. You know? And I realise now that I - I’d have been denying myself more, for the rest of my life, if we’d stayed together like we planned, because maybe we had that emotional connection, but…”

“You’re gay,” Buck supplied helpfully.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I just - I’m still getting used to the idea of it, you know? Because like - every article I read about coming out when you’re older, and only figuring out you’re gay when you’re an adult is like - telling you to get out, and date, and explore your sexuality.”

“And you don’t want to,” Buck finished for him.

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “I don’t want to - because the idea of ever having sex with someone that I don’t know, and feel safe with, kind of terrifies me.”

“You don’t have to,” Buck said. “You know that, right? You don’t need to have sex with another man to - to validate your sexuality, or whatever.”

“I know,” Eddie said. “But it’s nice to hear it from someone else.”

“I,” Buck paused, scraping back his chair. “I’m going to hug you now,” he informed, looking terribly serious.

Eddie loved him.

“Okay,” Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, standing up too. “You don’t need to ask permission.”

“I know,” Buck said, and he scooped Eddie into his arms in that same way he always did, his arms strong around Eddie’s back as Buck held him close, his best friends face tucked into the groove of Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie pressed his face into the soft material of Buck’s t-shirt, the soft, powdery smell of his fabric conditioner familiar - they used the same one, after all, so they could buy it in bulk.

Eddie breathed in, and out, slowly counting to ten and back. It had been sort of overwhelming, to tell Buck - well, everything.

“Thank you,” Buck said. “For trusting me.”

Eddie nuzzled his face into Buck’s shoulder a little more. He didn’t care that they were in public. “Thank you,” he hummed.

“For what?”

Eddie let out a breath it felt like he’d been holding for his entire adult life. “For always making me feel safe.”

And that was the point of it all, really. Buck had, from the moment they’d become friends, created a space so safe for Eddie, and for Christopher, that it felt inevitable that Eddie would finally come to terms with all the things he’d been avoiding for as long as he could remember - Shannon, the army, his family, his sexuality - and Buck had carved out a place where Eddie had felt comfortable to do that, all because he had Buck to rely on.

He couldn’t quite articulate how much it meant.

Buck’s grip tightened, in a way that should have felt suffocating, but only made Eddie relax more, comfort and safety sinking deep into his bones. “Thank you,” Buck returned, and Eddie didn’t need to be able to see his best friends face to know Buck was crying. He could hear it, in the way Buck’s voice cracked a little as he spoke.

Eddie wasn’t worried, though - he knew Buck would explain all the reasons for the way he’d been acting these last few months, once he was ready to.

“For what?” Eddie hummed.

Buck was quiet, for a second. “For giving me a family, Eddie.”

And, well -

Eddie couldn’t argue. That was what he’d been trying to do for years, after all.

They broke apart, Buck wiping roughly at his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re the one who just came out, and here I am - crying. I feel like you should be crying.”

Eddie was quiet, for a second. “I don’t feel like crying about it,” he admitted. “Because I’m not scared, or upset about it - not anymore. I feel…”

He trailed off.

“I feel free,” Eddie admitted. “For the first time in my life - I feel completely free.”

“Oh God, you’re going to make me cry again,” Buck was blinking furiously. “I’m going to start sobbing in his coffee shop, and it’s all your fault.”

Eddie laughed, nabbing his coffee from the table. “Come on, you big crybaby,” he teased. “Let’s go home.”

Buck nodded, pausing to pick up his own coffee before he slung an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, guiding them back out onto the street. “So,” he hummed. “What next?”

Eddie grinned up at his best friend. “I have absolutely no idea.”

And he couldn’t fucking wait.

fin.

[shellbuddies]

Go for the knees

[whetstonefires]

I really enjoyed Witch King and think it's Good but need to announce the ludicrous brass balls involved in the title.

Because it's named after the main character, who is known by that title, we establish that right out the gate.

Fairly soon after, we establish that he, like Dorothy, is not a witch at all. Although he is on good terms with them and uses some of their techniques.

Bit after that we learn that witches don't hold with kings, or indeed with governance. Kai says eventually that they don't have enough communal norms to even rebel against if you wanted to. Fascinating.

The flashback-to-origin-story half of the narrative terminates before we reach the point where people started calling Kai the Witch King.

We never find out how that happened! We never even really see anyone using the title except when he's being introduced to one major supporting character by another in the first or second chapter! It's wild. Witch King without Witch King. Garfield without Garfield.

This is so funny to me I can forgive the letdown, because to be quite honest by the middle of the book I was counting on the origin of the title as a sort of tying-together moment for the whole narrative, linking the end of the earlier timeslice to the beginning of the later one, and was astonished that it didn't come. It makes the novel feel weirdly unfinished to me, like Wells accidentally left off the last few chapters somehow.

I have been denied catharsis about the title of the book. 🤣

[savage-rhi]

Magenta kinda?

[agent-gladhand]

Okay, curious, would anyone be interested in getting these Gear Station patches I made if I were to sell them? They're iron on patches, though I wanna look into and experiment with a stick-on patch type if people would prefer that. I've also got two different sizes for the pattern; a 3-inch (bottom) intended for a cosplay hat (still working out a patter to make one for myself) and a smaller design that's about 2-inch.

Here's a poll for an interest check, and also feel free to write in tags/reply about any thoughts (especially on iron on vs stick on) on this!

[goblin-enjoyer]

Ok concept: seadweller trolls live in the ocean right? all high class and crabp. going by "series that has an aquatic people in it that they don't delve too deeply on if they are freshwater or saltwater" rules it would be safe to assume that they could live in water. concept convergence: violet troll that lives in like a lake,river or swamp or something. I will be pondering this while I go try and find a fanfiction that sounds interesting that i saw fanart of on twitter.

[phantamic-moriori]

Is Bashe’s sash a Shen Gong Wu?

Yes, kinda... Maybe?

See, the story behind her sash is connected to her family's history. Thousands of years ago, her family had the curse of being able to turn into giant snake demons; however, the power was very hard to control. Her family was nortorious for stealing Shen Gong Wu and keeping it for themselves, daring anyone to try and take what they had. When Dashe came along, he defeated the head of the demon clan: Èdú. After facing a humiliating defeat through a Xiaolin Showdown, he realized his errors and pleaded for Dashe's forgiveness.

Dashe was... Confused, to say the least. He told Èdú that the thought was nice, but he needed not to do that (to him at least). As a sign of friendship, Dashe gave Èdú The Sash Of Purity. This sash would allow their clan to control their demonic powers throughout future generations. The sash would grow with them as they learned to right their wrongs. Once that has been done, Dashe appointed them as guardians of whatever Shen Gon Wu is needed to be protected.

So I guess I would say that it is, but it's only something that can be used by Bashe's family.

[drop--pop--candy]

kicking my feet and giggling. i love having synthesasia im out here unlocking Shrimp Friendship

[transannabeth]

much to consider about jordan not drinking alcohol but liking something in her hand. about her calling nick an accessory as well. therefore heavily implying her preference for woman and lack of romantic and sexual interest in men

and then after myrtle is killed and she invites nick in for a birthday drink, he says ‘you don’t drink’ and she replies ‘well maybe i should start!’

interesting

[the-prince-rambles]

Thinking about some of my old writing projects I want to restart, namely a one act play I wrote (about two best friends in love, and quite possibly one of the cutest confessions ever), and a short story about an eldritch library thats very Welcome to Nightvale - esque. (sort of--)

Anyways I might rewrite those, or start making more solid concepts once I figure it out. (or perhaps I'll add the library to an already existing universe I have, it would fit well.)

[thebeautifulfantastic]

<3

[eltheabberation]

Messy panel redraw for a crack au I made :> (original panel is from :re chapter 2)