#its so fun but i think im about to cry

[gimmeurmoneyagh]

BRUTUS pt.1!!

THIS IS A SONGFIC RAHHH

summary: uhoh yu jie go a lil’ cray-cray 🤪🤪🤪 lil peice of lore drop!!

ive been watching him for my entire life

“Oh what’s that!“ my younger brother squeals digging through my cupboard filled with stories.

I try to supress a grimace, as he rips out pages hazardly. I want to shout, to scream. But I know I’ll be punished.

i hate the air he breathes, his foolish decrees

He grins up at me light shining in his eyes. Oh how desperately I wish to put it out.

his words so contrived

“When I’m older I wanna be just like you Yu Jie!“ He says splattered in colorful paint, while Father ruffles his hair and whistles. and i hate the way the townspeople gather outside “Wow! This is a work of art!“ My mother gasps as she holds out my brothers newest work of trash. A bunch of scribbles is what it truly was.

they hang on every breath, cling to his chest “Yu Jie! How dare you make fun of your brother!“ My mother cries, I clench my fists as I look down at the ground. “Answer me!“ She raises her hand quickly, and I flinch. My first mistake. She narrows her eyes down at me before pinching my arm, “Listen here young lady, we do not disrespect our male relatives“ Tears streak my cheak as I try not to cry from her grip. She pinches tighter. “Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear.“ “...Yes Mother.“ home to his heart full of pride

“Awwwww... ʰᵃ́ᵒʸᵘ̀ this is a beautiful poem!“ Mother gushed over him while Father smoked a pipe and coughed all the smoke over the kitchen table.

’Why do I never get proper recognition? Just why?’

the oracle told him to beware the ides

He looks down clearly sad, I don’t care but Mother and Father would get on my case for not asking why.

“What’s wrong?“ I nudge him slightly wth my foot not wanting to get closer

“N-nothing...“

I narrow my eyes, he was always bad at hiding secrets.

and id be lying if i said i wasnt wishing

He giggles holding up a red toy, red.

Red was all I could see.

for untimely death or demise

“What do you mean Scarlett??“ I glare down at the girl trying so hard not to cry, creasing the newspaper almost causing rips in the paper.

Idiot. You can’t rely on anyone ever since the princess came to power...

“I- Well I just-“ She babbles on, I grimace and snatch it away from her and open it up.

He was on the front page.

I was not.

or am i wishing i could be like you

He grabs me by my ponytails and throws me in the cellar.

His beady eyes watching me.

Forever judging.

He wouldn’t do this to him.

Of course not! He’s the golden child after all...

that the people would see me too as a poet

’She ruffles my hair and looks down at me, the light shining in her eyes.’

’Oh how I ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ my mother...’

’And oh how she ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ me...’

and not just the muse

I woke up. Bedroom was as small and dusty as usual.

I should get a maid, but Mother only says ’dignified’ children get servants.

Then why does he have one?

Tagging!!

@babyghoul138 @cheerleaderman @twtysevapr @jewelulu

@beneathsakurashade @bunniehunn @the-rini-rush

@theolivetree123 @teighveepao @skrimpyskimpy @skibidibabygirl

@cloudiepuffs @kuragebride @4necdote @blood-red-bumblebee

@quartztwst @anonymousplant @gl00myb3arz

@imafrealinrainbow478484 @justyoureverydaytwstsimp

@angelwishezz @lavanda-fanstamal @amai-sakura-chan

@lpendergast @verysadsnail @ghostiidasponk @oya-oya-okay

@shinysparklesapphires @lilpainter123 @h0neybane

@buttholesparkles @day-dr3aming @mhedusard @tsubomisno1fan

@teighveepao @jadenui @rainesol

PLS LEMME KNOW IF U DONT WANNA BE TAGGED OR DO :33

[m1d-45]

bloodletting

summary: a budding god needs a place to test their new powers, and childe was always a little too eager to lose a fight... a match made in heaven!

word count: 1.7k

-> warnings : minor AQ spoilers ? just like, general gi plot.. fairly graphic depiction of blood + other injuries (might be classed as body horror???). generally obsessive tendencies (childe <--> you). i cannot stress this enough, reader is 110% a sadist.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

power was not something that came easy. it was fought over, stolen, defended with teeth and claw, tides of blood shed just so one could have power over another. social, physical, financial; no matter the leverage it provided, power was hard won. to give someone power was to admit defeat, a certain death that tartaglia had learned and taught more than his fair share of times. nobody undeserving of power ever held onto it for long; it was an acknowledgement that you were better, that you deserved it, that you’d won. power was a fickle resource that childe would kill to keep, only ever laying down his blade for a precious few.

the tsaritsa, of course. his fellow harbingers, skilled both on and off-field, who themselves could rival the archons. his family, for whom he’d happily give the world.

and naturally, who would be more worthy to hold power than you?

you, not just a god but the, the highest authority across all of teyvat. you bore a hundred names and a thousand monikers, your worship the one thing the world could agree on. granted, nobody could quite agree on how, but that was fine. childe did not need external powers to tell him what to do. he knew, in his deepest heart, that he had gotten it right.

he knew—and, on occasion, flaunted—that he was your favorite. of all the vessels you had chosen, you returned to him time and time again, wishing on his stars until his vision gleamed. his bow shone with power, even his weakest weapon more than enough to push his strength to new heights. part of him wondered what he could do if you’d granted him swords, or a claymore… but that was speculation for another time. didn’t it say something that you had still chosen him at his weakest?

the thought always made him smile. thick in the heat of puppeteered battle, before the sun to after dark, your presence was a constant in his life. at every altar, with every offering, when his hands stung from the rash of leather and his blade was covered in rust, your name a prayer behind blood-soaked teeth. he could not remember a time when his pocket was not weighted with a charm.

his devotion was no secret. he wore your bow with pride, entirely phasing out his other weapons. it didn’t matter that he was technically more controlled with them, for you had chosen this path for him. your word was his guide, a polar star through bitter nights.

he did not doubt when your presence ebbed or flowed. who was he to dictate when or where you spent your attention? no, his faith did not waver. it had no reason to. he waited patiently, going about his regular duties, lingering in snezhnaya for no other reason that he just felt like he had to.

who was he to question to buzzing in the back of his head? who was he to decline when he felt an instinct to leave, to go for a trip far past the city gates? who was he to think himself better than the guiding light that had never led him astray?

for you, he was whatever you needed. and so he went, armed with a thick coat and snowboots, hands shoved deep in the pockets to hide the slight shake. down the main road, an arbitrary turn into an alley and down an abandoned path, into a part of the city he’d never traveled. but a golden thread had tied itself around his heart, pulling without hesitation. he easily hopped over the fence gate, not bothering with hauling it open through the snow. the path beyond was covered in a thick layer of powder, his foot crunching through a foot of it before hitting solid ground. still, he continued.

snezhnayan winters were not warm. they bit and dug into every gap in your clothes, stealing away the precious warmth within. and yet, with his half-done coat and incomplete guard, he was not cold. or, rather, he couldn’t feel it. his hands were pink with frost, stiff at the knuckles, but he couldn’t feel the resistance. his body was not important, not now.

the snow began to thin. it fell from his knees to his shins to his ankles to his toes, until he was face to face with a thick wall of bramble, impossibly overgrown. he was beginning to overheat in his jacket. twin blades made quick work of the wall, and the sight behind it easily dispelled any breath left in his lungs.

the air that washed out of the bubble was thick and heavy, like a humid spring instead of snezhnayan woods. his breath came in short gasps, a shameful wheeze that he hoped was missed beneath the howling snow. he didn’t want you to see him as weak, as someone so easily tired by a short trip to a falling star; he didn’t want you to think of him as anything other than his best.

but you didn’t push him away. you helped him up—his head was buzzing with delusion, he could hardly see, when had he fallen to his knees?—and brushed the snow off his hair, not pushing him away when he leaned into your touch. he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely collect himself enough to recognize that he needed to get you inside, away from the wilds.

that was power. to so effortlessly take over every thought in his head, to hold his mind in your hands and pull it into your liking, that was the power he adored you for. gods were figureheads of power, a physical incarnation of their dominion. a god of the entire world would only naturally have power to manipulate that world to their liking. how blessed was he, that he could be the first you made yours.

he was with you when you first stepped into zapolyarny palace, looking around at the chandeliers and fine tile. he opened the door for you to her majesty’s throne room, sucking in a sharp breath as you brushed by. he was by your side when the tsaritsa swore you her fealty, delicately placing the gnoses in your hands.

and oh, how he’d fallen to the floor right then and there, dizzy from the wash of power that rolled off you in waves, an ocean that he willingly dove into. the floor was cool beneath his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin as sweat quickly began to bead. he didn’t bother pushing himself up on his hands, teeth sinking deep into his lip again to control his panting breath. copper bloomed over his tongue, filling his mouth and clogging what remained of his senses.

dimly, he was aware that he was being pathetic, that this would surely change your mind about him. he heard your voice, faint through the fog of his mind, your wisdom lost to his own inadequacy. and yet, despite his weakness, every part of him was tuned into you. he knew it was your hand whispering across his shoulders, he knew it was your influence that stole the breath from his lungs. he knew it was you, because it was always you. you were all he could think of, and now you were finally able to leverage your full power over his self.

he’d woken up in a hospital bed. saline dripped into his arm and the lights pierced his eyes, his head full of snow and iced over. and yet, the moment he was cleared for release, he found himself desperate to be back to your side, racing through the tiled halls of the palace and following the urgent burn in his chest. you would have been right to turn him away, to deem him too weak to stay by your side, but you didn’t. you smiled when he lost his breath and laughed when he wavered, brushing off his concern. you invited him with you—his lungs burned with the need for oxygen—as you twirled the gnoses between your fingers, as if they were toys or paperweights rather than objects of divine power.

divine to him. child’s play to you. a courtyard of snow was cleared in an instant, ripples of pyro melting permafrost while keeping the flora beneath intact, a lazy show of power that pulled little more than a slight hum from you in response.

he wasn’t so much a fool as to think he could teach you everything, or even something, about being divine. and yet he clung to your side like a sailor in a storm, watching as you grew familiar with the elements. he watched, stubborn and weak, as you stopped hesitating.

flowers bloomed as you walked by, crumbling to ash with the slightest look. electro jumped from your skin to his, a painful spark that drew his mind from his head, finally seeing your amused eyes instead of just mindlessly staring. you could—should—have just left him behind, but you didn’t. you instead asked for his help, taking his hand in yours and leading him to a quieter hallway of the palace. you didn’t comment on his thundering pulse despite the fact that you could certainly feel it, tracing a finger along the crease of his palm.

“i wonder…”

a claw of geo cut across his skin, a sharp sting that quickly welled with blood. he barely felt it, watching with detached awe as it filled up his hand, sliding over the edge and dripping to the floor. you didn’t show any emotion, just… watching. his heart beat in his hands, a pool collecting on the floor, and still, you just watched. your other hand moved over the surface, barely an inch away, the blood collecting in a bubble beneath it. with a hum, your fist tightened, pain lighting up his arm. a strained grunt slipped between his teeth, hand flinching closed, brushing against the ball of his blood you had pulled from his veins. his hand was stained red, shaking in your grasp, minutes stretched into hours.

all at once, it dropped, forced back into his body as forcefully as it was removed. with a snap, the skin stitched itself shut, and you were again dragging him along like a child did their favorite toy.

you did that a lot. pull him aside and experiment with whatever new reaction you had discovered that month, week, day, hour, watching his reactions with unabashed delight. and he let you. every time, without fail, he eagerly followed, knowing full well he’d end up rigid with lightning or with ice crystals studding his throat. it was worth it, though. you always fixed him up, squeezing his hand with a whispered ‘good job’ that never failed to make him dizzy.

it didn’t matter what you did to him. it never did. even when his mind was hazy with pain and he couldn’t quite stand on his own, he never regretted it. unconsciousness licked at the edges of his vision, burning black stains that lingered even after you stopped, but he never once hesitated.

if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. if you felt like holding him underwater, he’d cherish every bruise. to be kept as a toy was still to be kept.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

sharing is caring <3

[realpokemon]

You must get a lot of asks, how do you decide which ones to answer?

‎

[applecranberryjuice]

Something something it's a metaphor. Hair as a form of communication but also as passage of time and also as a way for letting people in and also as a detail etc etc you get it

Actual explanation in the tags btw

I'm really nervous about this comic actually, is not the best. It doesn't make sense, and the art is mid, but I put love in it and I think that's enough

[skitskatdacat63]

Fernando Alonso & His Relationship With Cards

I'm sure we're all familar with the cards on the back of Fernando's Vegas GP helmet by now, but did you know his relationship with cards goes a lot deeper?

I. Magic Tricks

You've probably seen or heard someone at least mention Fernando's propensity for card tricks. As far as I can tell he was doing them(publically) as far back as 2003 all the way to as recently as 2018. Even once performing a card trick, with a condom and a teddy bear(!??!?!??!!), in front of Valentino Rossi who said "How was that possible?"(x)

But how did this start? According to James Allen, "Fernando admits to having been heavily influenced by his grandfather, a mercurial figure, who taught him magic and card tricks, still one of his passions away from the race track."(x) And I'm not sure the validity of this one, because I couldn't find an actual source, but apparently he once said: "My parents are responsible for the two things I like doing most - driving and magic tricks. They bought me my first go-kart and a magician's kit."

In several interviews he described it as his hobby off track, and that he loved learning new tricks and surprising others in the garage with them! So clearly cards are pretty important to him both as a hobby but also to who he is as a person since they've been with him just as long as racing has.

II. Card Symbolism in His Helmets

This is the reason I originally made this post, but I thought I should also explain the origins of his card fascination first. As I said, we probably all remember the cards on the back of his helmet in Vegas, but did you know that wasn't the first time he had cards on the back of his helmet?

From 2008-2013, he used to have a pair of cards on the back of his helmets. The symbolisms of the cards themselves as well as the evolution of their design is really fascinating to me! Even more so with the recent development of the card choice in 2023.

Fernando said he wanted to reference his two titles in some way on the back of his helmet and after his friend sent him several ideas, he decided on having two cards(an ace of clubs and an ace of hearts, sometimes pictured with 05 and 06 on them as well), saying: "I picked the cloverleaf [the ace of clubs - Ed] to give me luck, but the only pity is that it doesn't have four leaves!"(X)

2008.

Here's the very first appearance of the cards! They're displayed flat, with the 05 and 06 clearly visible

2009.

Very similar to 2008, but with a slightly different design, and they're maybe a bit more straight with less shadow?

2010.

This is the first major change! I was sad they didn't have the years on them anymore, but then I realized they're sparkly to match with his signature lightning bolts on the top of the helmet!!

2011.

Honestly I'm still somewhat unsure if this is the actual 2011 helmet? It's pretty difficult to find clear photos of the back of helmets from older seasons. It's easiest to find them on replica sites or auction sites so I'm not 100%? But anyways, I like that this has the championship years on the underside of the cards

2012.

This is when I started getting weirdly emotional about the helmets. Do you see how they've progressed from being a centerpoint to being curled up and sad at the bottom of the helmet? Not listing the year anymore??

2013.

Same thoughts as 2012. And after this season, they cease to exist (just like his ferrari chair in the garage, WOAH CALLBACK), until cards make a reeappearance in his Vegas helmet, albeit in a different form

2013 Monaco(Honorable Mention):

For some reason 2013 helmets were easier to find proper pictures of, so I happened to witness this absolute beauty. The creativity of this helmet genuinely blows me away??? Wanting to keep the card motif, but making sure to incorporate it into the rest of the puzzle piece design?? Mwah! There was another special 2013 helmet but they didn't change the cards at all so I really applaud this one

2023 Las Vegas(The Return of The King):

The magnificent return! But look! The cards are different cards! Instead of being two aces, it's now an ace of hearts, a four of hearts(his driver number of course!) and, the, now iconic, representation of himself as a Joker. I literally could not believe my eyes when this helmet was released and I saw the Joker card, what a fucking silly old man....I really wonder if he felt nostalgic having cards on his helmet again or if he didn't think about it all and was just like, "ah cards because Vegas!!!"

III. Why Does This Matter?

*The rest of the post was factual, this is moreso my personal thoughts on the symbolism of the cards/designs

This post spawned from me recently watching the 2010 Bahrain gp and noticing "hey wait a minute...are those CARDS ON THE BACK OF HIS HELMET!?" It's a really tiny detail that's unfortunately covered up by the HANS device pretty much whenever he's wearing the helmet, so it's really difficult to spot! But I became fascinated with the fact that he had cards on his helmet before that recent helmet, and now here we are!

There's something to me about how the design of the cards evolves over the course of six seasons from the cards being front and center to being smaller, more folded up and closer to the bottom of the helmet. As I said, the 2012-2013 ones genuinely made me depressed because it feels, symbolically, like his hopes for getting another Ace are becoming more and more unlikely and falling away until they eventually fall falt and fade away entirely after 2013 and disappear for basically a decade.

But when they return? They're not the same cards! Instead of representing Fernando's championships, they now represent him as a person, displaying his driver number and his persona of being a Joker!! Though I do think it's interesting he happened to keep the Ace of Hearts, even though he talked more about the Ace of Clubs before. I'm not sure it's actually this deep in reality, but I like to think that it's him not letting his championships(and the lack thereof) define him, but rather letting who he is as a person shine and be the centerpoint instead! But on a sadder note, as @suzuki-ecstar said to me, maybe the Aces aren't there anymore because he's lost all hope for a chance at a third Ace entirely :(

[ratatatastic]

"Someone said it, I forget who said it but, like, 'you dream your entire life on being on a team that freakin' good.' Right? It was meant to be—it was destiny. That save Bob made not even fucking looking? Like I bought the t-shirt! 'The Bobbery!' It's—" "Fuck, yeah!" "Bob—What's he like?" "That's the kind-of shit that you realise is just destiny...in my opinion..." "Does he talk?" "Does he smile?" "Bob? Yeah! Bob's awesome! Yeah, yeah—again, one of those perfect people."

The Cam & Strick Podcast | 7.30.24 (x)

even ekky isnt immune to good merch hats off to breakingt thats ekkys most prised possession now XD

[umem1ya]

"I adore you // love you too baby" YOU COOKED SO GOOD ACTUALLY, love the characterization details in ur works!!

HEY ANON LOL DO YOU WANT ME TO CRY??? DO YOU WANT TO SEE ME CRYING MY EYES OUT?!?!

but hm hi. 🤚 hello thank you for speaking about that hello hiiii 🤚 can I talk for a second about it pls 🤚

about endo never truly learning the idea of being lowkey about anything. about him being intense in every aspect of his life, about loving and being infatuated so deeply by everything he even dares to care about.

about how being in a secret relationship would hold him back so much. and he'd be pissed about it but he would understand it so well because he doesn't want to give up on fighting and also he doesn't want to give up on you. so it's whatever, he will try it. for the sake of having fun without hurting what you have, he will try it.

I wrote that part specifically by the idea of his s/o being aware of who the relationship is with. you gotta know that he adores the ground you walk, that he's obsessed with being around you, just like he's with other things, and that just means he loves you. its kinda fucked up. but when he says those stuff you can only hear "I love you" and honestly, takes a while to get used to it, but what else can you ask?

it's about the idea of helping him through it too, you know? constant reminder that when the infatuation is gone, there's still love. when the fights aren't fun or when shit happens, things get messy, there's still your love. :)

[teethcake]

man can i say i love the creepypasta fandom on here. in my experience on tumblr posting it then and now its been nothing but warm and welcoming and so helpful. i love it, everyone so nice and its fun indulging in old media to making it something new and more creative.. i love it love you guys <3 you all are invited to my slenderman mansion sleepover

[bunny-snot]

i went into dungeon meshi thinking it was about sapphic monsters and elves but came out of it obsessed with Senshi.

also i love Laois and i think if he could eat his freinds without harming them he probably would and that cool, we could always use more cannibals

[milksnake-tea]

sometimes i think about the way sunday is 100% fine with doing fucked up things as long as he thinks the people he’s doing those things to deserve them

[dead-salmon]

this is me ranting about season's of blossom/hamin's flower, so TW SUICIDE, but anyways i don't know what's worse:

->hamin sacrificing his freedom so that jaemin could live freely, yet that freedom making jaemin feel like he's suffocating years down the line

-> somang's speech on how it's because of everyone that hamin killed himself, yet how it's none of their faults, especially not hamin's own

-> them using the phrase "disappeared from this world" to describe his suicide, not outright saying he killed himself

-> the theme of radiance. hamin feeling like somang was the radiant one and he was drenched in darkness, thus trying to distance himself from her. yet somang describing the summer with hamin her most radiant time, only because of his presence in her life, because he shined the brightest to her

-> jaemin who loved the rain because good things always happen to him then just for hamin to kill himself on a day where it rained non-stop. hamin who hated the rain but learnt to love it compared to jaemin who loved it but now dislikes it

-> hamin's suicide indirectly preventing gaeul's and dongchae's attempts. somang being unknowingly destined to lose a loved one either way

-> jaemin's parents not knowing how to handle hamin's suicide, his mother depending on him to be happy and his father being distant and too lax on everything. driving him further into his own abyss. hamin having sacrificed his happiness and acting too grown up for his age to protect jaemin from their parents strictness. jaemin ending up doing the same for his mother, faking a smile and comforting her about the pain of hamin's suicide

-> hamin not having heard the latter part of jaemin telling seonhui that while he resents hamin a little, he still loves hamin most of all. hamin having died thinking jaemin hates him, somang's last words to him calling him a coward

-> jaemin being lowkey passively suicidal and even trying a form of self-harm to understand hamin and deal with the pain of losing hamin

-> the fact that we start hamin's story already knowing how it ends

[restinpeacesensei]

suggesting something,,

[lightbulb-warning]

i used to freehand comics all the time as a child and since the part i liked was the drawing part i would just draw panel after panel because i didn't want to stop drawing to think about icky icky words, plus the story TOTALLY still made perfect sense! to me! and noone else, but 'whoooo caaaaares omgggg its not like comics and sequantial art are a communicative meeediummmm lmaoooooo'. i spent my entire childhood telling myself stuff like "oh pfft I know this story by heart- ill SIMPLY remember the dialogue and write it later" ...and. I can't help but admire baby maiora's (call that a minora ba tm tsk) fucking audacity? hubris? confident wrongness? kid couldn't even remember to finish the comics in the first place? INCREDIBLE levels of unearned self assurance, wish that were me, genuinely- what an icon!!! anyway i think i have forever cursed myself

[soupmanspeaks]

you ever wonder if the Glamrocks's face tracking acts up when they look at Glamrock-Freddy, like they'll look at his face, and the recognition will register as Freddy, but their systems for whatever reason or another think that there is a face overlapped on Freddy's do you think they see two small squares next to him, at his side, roughly child sized, but no one is physically there.... right...?

[moeblob]

Amazing, take some of the side character demons from Evil Bound.

Vincie is a menace to Chuck and Chuck alone so in Hell, Chuck hexes his hand behind his back so that he isn't grabbed as much (and it's harder to pet him). Chuck is like the most irresponsible older sibling ever to demons though so Kelvin recruits him (as an older sibling vibe) to go help him get his ACTUAL older sibling from Earth. Chuck agrees. And then drags Vincie from Hell with them because no one else wants to babysit him and he refuses to unbind the hex just to re-hex when he returns to Hell.

In Hell, Kelvin actually doesn't appear much different than his human form! Like Kronos, the lines under his eyes are red in Hell but black on earth. Chuck however? In Hell he has wolf-ish ears and has a fur lining his neck (note the neck scars in human form). In addition to that he has four eyes in Hell (note the scars under his eyes in human form). Vincie just has horns in Hell. And! In Hell the hex doesn't have a silly looking "tied up" look, it's invisible unless Vincie strains it with movement and then its red text. But it shifts on earth to be visible.

Vincie's biggest agony for the entirety on earth is "dude it's colder here than in Hell I want a jacket to slip my arms into BUT I CANT BECAUSE IM BOUND".