#listen. listen.

[demaparbat-hp]

Izumi of Jang Hui died young. She was sixteen and unwed. A kind child, protective and lonely—thus unfit for this world.

Izumi of Jang Hui was murdered. The Painted Lady was born out of hatred and grief. Her skin is painted red with the patterns of her scars. Her home is the river where the Dark Water Spirit dwells—he who found her, drowned and beautiful.

Build shrines by the river and pray for her good will. Harm her land or people and pray for mercy.

[sheepdotpng]

peepaw jogo ft. baby mahito (they found him in a wet cardboard box all alone)

[feddy-34]

[atthebell]

i just think that

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

listen... we didn't get "my ugly one" or the actual "dear friend" letters (the fucking episode title and "this is my... dear friend" from geralt in s2 don't count) brought over from the books to the show until s3 even though we expected them way sooner... but we still fucking got them... and geralt is finally at a point where he's being openly soft and caring about jaskier so my point is here's how "you must be insane with fear if you could think I'd leave you" can still w

[writterings]

bruh im gonna be so for real im usually all for the "reality is a construct and you can choose what construct you believe as long as it benefits you as a person and doesn't hurt anyone" but god. god those people who think you can willingly acquire mental illnesses get to me. saw a post where the op was encouraging people to make shrines to people to force their brains to obsess with them, force themselves to get upset over small things, and to voluntarily lash out at their "chosen fp" so they can become more "affirmed" in their "trans BPD" identity. like. hello. hello. i think we have lost the plot.

[sci-the-superb]

its almost 3am

[shivunin]

Hey! 7 or 16 for the Rook story time prompts!

Hey! Thank you so much!!

For 16. Rook falling in love for the first time:

(prompts)

On Love and Its Definitions

(Rook Ingellvar/Lucanis (and past Ingellvar/OC) | 1,248 Words | CW: Mention of corpses, suggestive intro)

The heat always took her by surprise—the heat of a living person’s skin against her own, hands lifting to touch her, lips against her cheek. 

Ingellvar had grown too used to the cold rigidity of corpses, the waxy sheen their skin took on when they’d been dead too long. But this—for someone who had gone most of her life without being touched by anybody, this was a revelation. 

Edeline was already unbuttoning Lenore’s shirt, nimble fingers dancing over her starched shirt and below, tracing the edge of her underthings with the tip of her fingernail. Lenore couldn’t pull her mouth away long enough to speak, but if she’d been able to she might’ve told the other woman to slow down. They had all night, after all. They slept only a few feet and a thin wall apart from each other and nobody was going to interrupt.

There was no need to rush; they could’ve made it to one of their beds instead of doing this on the settee. Edeline never seemed to care about these facts.

“You were late again,” she said, mouth dragging over Lenore’s lips and lower, where her throat met her jaw. “I was waiting for hours.”

“I—have my practical Tuesday,” Lenore said, and parted her legs readily when Edeline pressed her knee between them. “Had to finish—I needed to—mph.”

Heat—skin touching her skin. Ah, she never felt as alive as she did when this was happening. It was foolish, she knew; the late nights, her increasing lack of focus on her coursework, and—and everything else. She was putting her future at risk by doing this, but it felt so good. She was drunk on it, tilting her head away so Edeline could press her teeth into the soft skin of her throat. 

Touch me, she wanted to say, touch me, touch me—but she was already being touched, hands sliding over her ribs to her hips, sliding off her shirt until it trapped her shoulders in place. 

“I was all alone,” Edeline went on, drawing back to tie her long hair back, “waiting for you.”

She was beautiful. Disastrous, but beautiful. Lenore stared up at her for a moment, eyes wide, and wondered: Is this love? It was difficult to know. She’d never loved anything but the Necropolis, had never been loved by anybody but Grief, so much as the embodiment of mourning could love somebody it hadn’t lost. 

“I want you,” Edeline went on, bending once more to her. 

Was it love? She didn’t know. The heat against her skin, the breath catching in her lungs—that had to be love, didn’t it?

Yes, she decided as she lifted her head to kiss her roommate again. This is probably love. 

|

“Rook? Do you need to go?” 

Lucanis’s soft voice roused Lenore, who sat on the cot in his room. His hand brushed her elbow, finding bare skin at her forearm below. If he had touched her arm with lightning, it would not have electrified her more. 

“No,” she told him, dragging her eyes open. “No. I’m awake.”

“It isn’t the best place to sleep,” he told her, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Not that I have tried to do so very often myself. You would be tired in the morning.”

Lenore smiled and stretched her neck one way and then the other. Dozing in this position had been a dreadful idea. Her neck already hurt from a few minutes of it; surely a whole night of it would make tomorrow a nightmare. Still…it was tempting, just to have an excuse to stay. 

“I will still be here in the morning,” he told her, his voice still soft. 

His eyes lingered on her face, her mouth. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. They hadn’t done that, though he’d made his interest clear. Their near-kiss in this room was the closest they’d gotten. She found she didn’t mind as much as she might’ve expected. Something about being near him made it difficult to question. 

“Promise?” she asked. 

“You have my word,” he told her, the corner of his mouth twitching again. Leaning back against the wall while they’d been talking had mussed the back of his hair slightly. It was…endearing, she decided. She’d never seen his hair messy like this before. 

“You will sleep better in your own bed,” he added after a moment. They were so close. She could kiss him right now. She could lean forward right now and—

“It’s generous to call it a bed,” she told him and stood, stretching her back, “but I take your point.” 

“I will walk you to the door,” he said. 

“Bodyguard duty now, too?” she asked, opening the door to the pantry. Nobody was in the dining room beyond. Fortunate. “Overachiever.”

“Yes—I won’t charge you extra for it.”

Lenore laughed. She might’ve thought of something to say in response to that, but his hand found hers as they passed the table and any thought fled immediately from her mind. 

His hands were so warm. That made sense, of course. She’d felt his hands before. He’d helped her up when she’d fallen in combat and passed her dishes at the table, among other things.

But he hadn’t ever held her hand before. He held it loosely now, as if ready to let go at any moment. It was difficult to hold very still and walk at the same time, but she tried it anyway. Anything to hold onto this moment a little longer. Could he tell that she’d slowed down? It was such a short distance to the door. She didn’t think she could drag it out terribly long, but…

“Thank you,” she told him. “For spending time with me tonight, I mean.” 

“I could say the same to you.”

Drat. Here was the door already. 

“Here,” he said, swinging the door open.

Beyond, the Fade looked more or less like it always did. There was no night here. That had certainly taken some getting used to. 

“See you in the morning?” she said. His thumb ran over her knuckles, touching each in turn. 

“Mm,” he said, and lifted her hand to his lips. 

Lucanis kissed her, lips brushing against the scar over her third knuckle. It was hardly any contact at all, but he may as well have driven a blade through it for all the shock she felt. 

Oh, she thought. Oh, dear. 

“Goodnight, Rook,” he said, and she took three steps through the open doorway before she could think of anything to say in return. 

“Goodnight, Lucanis,” she told him. He ducked his head and closed the door behind her. She was left blinking at the too-bright world beyond. 

Before her, skeleton lovers embraced, the statue towering over the courtyard. The Caretaker had replaced a wolf statue with it one day when she’d been sleeping. It was almost precisely the same as the one she’d tended for years in the Necropolis. It seemed like a sign somehow that it was standing before her now. 

No matter how long Lenore stared at the statue, it offered no guidance. 

“Oh, dear,” she said, because it was all she could think. 

Exhaling shakily, she raked her shorn locks back from her face and stumbled down a set of floating stairs toward her room. A fierce fullness in her chest, a song under her skin, a heat in her cheeks—that’s what love felt like. 

If nothing else, she supposed it was good to finally know.

[starheirxero]

Multiverse's most mentally stable Sun

He's fine 😁 (lie)

[riveracheron]

as above, so below

[ladysqueakinpip]

have some leo and splinter memes in these trying times

the last 4 pics are based on [this video] where this news reporter's supposed son kisses him on air

do not tag as ship ~ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[a-drama-addict]

me dragging this drawing along with me: THIS TOO IS YURI

[rayar32]

I know I don't go here for a while but have you considered Zeon!Suletta and her unholy Kshatriya Silver Bullet?

because I have so here's some funny Sleeves Suletta committing funnel murder

[altruistic-meme]

fuck it, handwritten fic ✍️

[blog-sekai]

If polysho has million fans, then I'm one of them. If polysho has one fan, then I'm THAT ONE. If polysho has no fans, that means I'm dead.