#lite of passage

[dutchjan]

December 08, 2024

[neoneun-au]

ARRIVAL; C.SC

―PAIRING: choi seungcheol x reader ―GENRE: angst, romance, floaty in between sort of fic, lite!farmer au ―WORD COUNT: 2.3k ―WARNINGS: rewritten from my old blog for svt.

The old house comes into view over the horizon. The weathered white boards of the house’s exterior are bathed in the soft pink-gold of dusk as it sits as a proud sentinel on the hill overlooking the expansive fields and orchards before it. Gnarled apple trees, trunks twisted with time, heaving their bounties towards the home; sun dappled honey wheat fields rippling with the wind but always sighing towards the white watchman above. And you, similarly facing, steady gaze directed like a ship to a lighthouse.

It looked the same as it did the day you left, all those years ago. Watching it fade into the quiet mist of the morning as you left it behind to walk forward into the unknown. And now it sits still, unchanged, if a little more weatherbeaten, watching as you walk back into view–travel-worn suitcase clutched tightly in your grip. 

Gravel crunches underfoot as you make your way down the path towards the house–nervous anticipation fluttering in your chest with each step. Hope and fear intermingle in the hollow of your stomach–dancing together like two birds. 

You hadn’t planned your return. Not really. 

When you set out to find yourself in the world beyond the village, you left without a plan in mind. Simply answering a call to your soul. You couldn’t say how long you would be gone or even what it was you were setting out in search of,  but somewhere inside you knew the day would come–whether it be the next day, year, or decade–when you would hear a similar call to return. Back to the fields, back to the house, back to the boy you left behind. 

The splintered boards of the veranda creak under your weight as you walk to the front door–an audible sign of your approach. For a brief moment you pause, hand poised over the doorknob, and inhale deeply. The air smells as crisp with the scent of the morning air and the apple orchard nearby as you remember it. The faint scent of spring lilac and inherited dust. 

Suddenly you feel out of place. An intruder at the threshold of someone else's home. Someone else's life. It was easy to convince yourself as you explored the world that everything would be the same when you eventually made your return. That the house, and Seungcheol himself would still  be there, frozen in time, waiting as he had said he would. But now you were not so certain. The walls of time collapse around you, and you run your hands along the length of them. Feeling the passage of it. How long it has been. 

With a shaking breath you pull yourself back to the present and retract your hand from the knob, opting instead to rap your knuckles against the door. 

You sent no word ahead about your return. No letters or postcards. Just hopped on a train and then all of a sudden, here you were. So you weren’t sure what the welcome would be like. Whether or not you would even be welcome. Was he even home? 

Footfalls on the staircase inside answer your question as your hand falls back against your side and you wait–body coiled in a tight rope of tension, ready to snap at any moment. You take a small step backwards as the door swings open to reveal Seungcheol–sleep still crowding at the corners of his eyes as he blinks you into focus. 

“You’re back,” he states–voice a half-whisper–eyes widening with the surprise of your presence before him. Standing on the porch, coated in the soft morning glow of the sunrise. 

“I am,” you nod slowly, adjusting the suitcase in your grip. Time stretches between you for a moment–thousands of unspoken words flitting in and out with the speckles of dust in the air–and you stand across from each other in silence; the closest you have been in years, but still miles apart. 

Seungcheol clears his throat and steps aside, gesturing for you to enter the house and you let out a shaky exhale before stepping across the threshold. 

The interior of the old farmhouse, much like the exterior, is virtually unaltered from your memories. The same generations of Choi family portraits hang along the staircase, the same light blue eggshell paint adorns the crown molding, and the same floral wallpaper covers the bare boards of the walls. You take a cursory glance around, heart beating with the pulse of a thousand memories, and breathe in the past. 

Seungcheol takes your suitcase from you as you look around and hauls it upstairs without a word. In his absence you take a moment to walk around the ground floor of the house, running your finger along furniture and tabletops. Curious as to how he has filled his time and his home while you’ve been away. The vase of fresh flowers you always insisted he kept in the kitchen window are still there–slightly withered and in need of replacement soon. A small stack of books you had left unread on the side table still sits stacked in the same order you left them–carefully dusted, but unchanged. You briefly wonder if he had picked them up at some point–seeking some answers, some connection to your thoughts in the wake of your departure. 

“Have you eaten?” he asks as he steps into the kitchen behind you, hand ghosting over your back as he slides past you towards the fridge.

“No,” you shake your head, slipping your coat off and draping it over the back of a kitchen chair before taking a seat. With a soft smile you watch as he busies himself gathering a last minute breakfast of assorted fruits and breads. His back is turned to you but you can see the change in him even through the fabric of his sweater. His muscles are more hewn with seasons of work–formed in careful dedication over time. The Seungcheol of your memory is fresh faced with the kiss of youth. Rounded and soft. But the Seungcheol before you now has grown into himself; his jaw has sharpened slightly, his mouth is set in a straighter line. Seriousness creases itself around the skin of his eyes. You try to adjust your image of him to match the current reality but the boy you remember stealing kisses from in the orchards outside remains. 

“If I had known you were coming, I would have gotten some more groceries,” he says by way of apology as he sets the platter of food down in the center of the old kitchen table. 

You shake your head in dismissal and reach for a slice of green apple. Crisp and fresh–no doubt plucked from one of the trees just outside the windows of the house. “It’s fine. This is perfect.” 

You make no move to speak further and he follows suit. Instead you settle into a rhythm of eating in silence. Allowing yourself to slip back into space together–atom by atom getting used to the proximity once more. Birds chirp outside the window, passing the time in chatter and short flights to and from their nests as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky. 

Seungcheol heads into the fields after breakfast. 

You watch as he disappears over the horizon, tools slung over his shoulder, and gets to work tending the crops and plants. There isn’t much to be done this time of you, you recall. Just simple trimming and harvesting a few ripened fruits before they fall to the earth and belong to the insects and critters below. But even what little there is to do takes time, so you take the opportunity to head upstairs and finish recollecting your memories of the old house. 

He had set your suitcase down in the guest room immediately at the top of the stairs. The blankets were pulled taut over the mattress–clean with lack of use–and your favourite pair of slippers were placed on the floor next to the nightstand. You drift out of the guest room and venture further down the hallway, sparing a passing glance into the reading room and the bathroom as you make your way to the bedroom at the end of the stretch. 

A similar feeling of not belonging settles back over you as you lift a hand to push open the door but you brush it aside–curiosity overwhelming any desire to tread lightly. 

The whole house feels like a time capsule. You felt it earlier as you stepped cautiously through each room–your presence a traveler through the ages, unbidden and disruptive to the daily minutiae. As if all of those years you spent chasing some unknown aspect of yourself across the other side of the world ceased to exist the moment you crossed the threshold into this old wood-framed home. No where is that feeling more potent than inside the master bedroom. 

You feel twenty again. Standing on the precipice of your new life. Kissing your first love goodbye and making promises that you didn’t know you if you would even be able to keep. The comforter on the bed, slightly messed still from sleep, is the same as all those years ago when you tangled yourself up in them with Seungcheol–skin against skin. The only indication of time that makes itself known in the room is the collection of postcards on the nightstand. 

Dozens of them. More from the first few years of your journeys, when you still dotted your ‘i’s with hearts and ended each letter with ‘xoxo’. 

With a swelling heart and shaking hands you pick up the stack of letters, flipping through each one and noting the smudges of ink and indentations of fingerprints on each of them. Some are more worn than others; all clearly read over a hundred times. 

You absorb yourself in the postcards–trying to place yourself in Seungcheol’s shoes when he had received them. Monthly at first, as consistent as you could be considering the complications that invariably accompany a life of travel. Then every few months, every six months, and finally almost no word for a year and a half until you arrived at his front door out of the blue. 

He could be difficult to read when he wanted to be. When his thoughts and feelings felt like heavy burdens to bear and  were thus kept close to his chest, unvocalized until they had to be. Simmering under the surface of steadiness that he presented on the outside. Aside from the small alarm bell you saw ringing behind his eyes this morning, you weren’t sure where you stood with him currently. Whether he felt you as much of an intruder in his space now as you did. 

You lose yourself in reminiscence and don’t notice Seungcheol’s arrival in the room behind you until his arm snakes around and plucks the stack of postcards from your grasp. “I wasn’t sure if you would come back,” he says, dropping the cards into the nightstand drawer. 

“I said I would,” you respond softly, voice on the edge of cracking. “I didn’t think you would still be waiting.”

“I said I would,” he says before slipping past you and heading back down the hall, leaving you with your swirling thoughts.

The day dissolves into night. The thread of the unknown is pulled taut between you as the hours drag onwards and you get ready for bed down the hallway from Seungcheol. Owls hoot in the distance–the only sound breaking up the running of water from the shower in the master bathroom. 

You slip under the covers, curling up on your side, and close your eyes. It had been years since you had been somewhere so quiet. It was almost disconcerting. No sirens, no people, no traffic. Only an owl and the quiet footsteps of one man as he slips into bed two rooms away from you. You lay awake for what feels like hours–blinking into the darkness of the guest room. The silence, unlike the idyllic calm of the daytime, was almost suffocating. It had been so natural when you were younger. Darkness descended and along with it, the world went to sleep. Sound disappeared. But now, after so many years of noise and colour, it was difficult to readjust. It felt like at any moment the long arms of darkness would reach out and grab hold of you where you lay. 

You sigh and before you can rethink the impulse, you push yourself out from under the covers, slip your bare feet into the prepared slippers, and pad down the hallway towards Seungcheol’s room. The door creaks slightly on its hinges as you push it open–a hallmark of its age–and you wince, but Seungcheol makes no indication of waking as you step further into the room. 

Seungcheol lets out a soft sigh as you climb into his bed next to him–eschewing all thoughts of propriety and hesitation that flood your brain as you do. “Is this okay?” you ask, and as soon as he hums his approval you sink into the mattress. Tucking your body into the familiar curve of his side. 

“Where have you been?” he asks, voice quiet–reverent. He shifts his body next to you, adjusting so that your head falls onto his shoulder and his arm is tucked up underneath you, hand coming around to rest against your back. Finally, you think.

“All over,” you answer, afraid that if you give too many details you might break the spell of the moment and remind him of the distance.

“Well,” he sighs, shifting once more. His breath fans out of the skin of your cheek as he leans in to press a soft kiss against it, “welcome home.” 

“Happy to be back,” you smile, feeling the warmth of tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you do so. The final remnants of the lingering energy of intrusion melt away in his arms. You do feel at home–finally after so many years of trying to find it elsewhere. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks, words broken halfway by a yawn. 

“Yeah,” you nod, sinking further into him as he drifts off to sleep, “I think I did.”

© 2024, neoneun-au. all rights reserved.

if you read and enjoyed this, please consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought ! its really the only reason i keep writing anything

[manonamora-if]

did someone say update?

This was the last step on the Update everything because SugarCube broke everything with the last update tour: the templates. As of today, all the templates are now compatible with SugarCube 2.37.3 (passage code + APIs!).

The changes also include some fixes in the explanations, as well as reformatting the interface (a bit). The whole log of all the edits can be found by clicking on the link below:

The older versions of these templates (2.36 compatible) have been archived on my GitHub. And as of today, any new template created for SugarCube will only be available for 2.37 (too many changes).

If you liked a/some template/s, consider sharing the following posts:

User Interface Template:

Simple Book

One Page (à-la-Chapbook)

Space/Tech Double Whammy

VN-lite RPG

Title Page

Code Template:

Settings

Character creator (+ Guide/Tips)

Also, don't forget to change the IFID when using a template!

[witchofthesouls]

How are the mornings between Tarn and the wife?

Because Tarn is Tarn and his headspace is very weird, he didn't develop a sex addiction... he developed one for intimacy instead.

While many things changed with your inclusion, the most crucial parts hadn't. Tarn begins his cycle by reciting the passages of Megatron's works that speak to him or the next Listed the most beneath his Lord's cold visage immortalized in glorious pieces. He still does it, but in the comfort of the berth, where he includes the newsparks in the exercise.

He does it quietly inside in mind, careful not to stir you or the clutches. The first trio had tumbled their way back to the shared quarters, curling up between you and him, encased in the nest of sheets and padding, purring in their sleep at Tarn's return and your presence.

The second clutch is tiny. More head and tank with stumpy limbs and swaddled in Vos' newest pieces that feature hooks and bloody gears. They sleep nestled above inside a hollowed space that once served as a datapad rest and a charging point that's been repurposed to a controlled cradle. Under the carving of Megatron's stony expression and your knife-sharp observation.

Tarn is well-aware of what the other Decepticons are saying, and they can't be further from the truth. You're not a soft individual. You're a vicious one, and you turn that ferocity onto yourself.

In the wetlands where the third clutch was sparked, you bared your spark the same way you bared your teeth: possessive with brutal efficiency. Tearing through the induced heat with the same intensity as you tear through Deadzone's corpse or refined Overlord's downfall.

You have never known peace. Whatever softness that isn't part of the natural reaction of your swelling protoform during carriage, you had to incise it from your scarred spark. Gentleness is a lost word to you. It's buried beneath so much Energon and violence that you need to claw it out from nightmares to raise the sparklings with a softer touch.

The sparklings are open and guileless with a trust that leaves him floundering at times. Small and completely reliant on others, on him.

You never held it against Tarn. Instead, you guide his hands on how to hold and care for them and guide his field on how to modulate the newsparks' rapid tempo into something more slow and easy without overwhelming them.

Tarn's habsuite has become more sacred than a Primal temple, graced by an intimacy greater than any physical joinery or scent marking. Beneath the aroma of newborn metal, sparking fuel, faint ozone and bodily fluids, and the tang of polish and oil, all of his personal belongings have the echoes of the little family imprinted upon them.

After the Overlord incident, Tarn now works his way through the cupboard to ensure each sheet and cover, every blanket and pillow had been utilized by you and the clutches long enough to lock in the unique biosignatures.

Everyone knows that he burnt the last berth with all the articles due to Overlord's and your Energon upon them. Tarn never spoke about how much he loathed how Overlord destroyed the biosignatures, engulfing it all under the Phase Sixer's field until all was left was sadistic bloodlust, your feverish triumph, and the second clutch's confused terror at the forced emergence.

(Quietly and only his spark, he mourns that he doesn't have anything that's been touched by both carriages. Nothing will have the little tinges of both clutches' development within your frame and biosignature.)

You either have an excellent sense of timing or deep awareness for private matters because Tarn finishes the silent deliverances, and you're staring at him with half-lite optics at his bared face. Without a word and careful not to prod the sparklings, you straddle Tarn, sinking upon him with a well practiced motion. You pull the leash taunt, Tarn's vocalizer clicks uselessly, purposely rendered impotent in the fear he damages the bitlets, and he shivers at the stony expression between you and Lord Megatron. Fields still in careful moderation to not jolt the sparklings, but when you place a hand over his neck, digging sharpened talons into the scarring where you bit him. Between the firm possessive touch claim, your clenching valve, and the fresh scent of his own Energon, Tarn can't even whimper as he overloads.

[bg-sparrow]

★ [The Boy Who Leapt Through Time (and Time Again) on AO3] ★

(Bracelet Masterlist Here) TWIN PINES MASTERLIST

Mountain Dew Hat Man [F]

Video Rental [F]

Peanut Brittle [F]

Backyard Cookout [F]

"Don't Need Money, Don't Take Fame" [F]

Lite Beer [F]

Back in Town [F]

Manure Truck Driver [F]

A New Puppy [F]

Rite of Passage [F]

Baking Joey's Cake [F]

All-nighter [F]

Campfire [F]

Jennifer's Porch Swing [F]

"I think about it all the time." [F]

Synchronicity [F]

Dave's Night Off [F]

"Roll With Me, Henry" [F]

Playing Hooky [F]

Local Legend [F]

Babysitter [F]

"Duded-up, egg-suckin' gutter trash" [F]

Marlene's sleepover [F]

Out in the Desert [F]

The Honeymooners [F]

Clara's Diphtheria [F]

Twin Pines Mall Santa [F]

On the Radio [F]

24-Hour Scientific Services [F]

Blindspot [F]

Pepsi-Free (Free Day!) [F]

LONE PINE MASTERLIST

Mountain Dew Hat Man [F]

"Something very familiar about all this" [F]

Book Signing [F]

Hell Valley Biker Gang Ride [F]

"I Got to Double Back, My Friend" [F]

Biff's Grand Opening [F]

High School Sweetheart [F]

Wrong House [F]

Stolen Idea [F]

Point of No Return [F]

Reading George's First Draft [F]

The Easy Way [F]

Weather Experiment [F]

Jennifer's Bad Dream [F]

"Erased from Existence" [F]

Paradox [F]

Linda's Boutique [F]

Hill County Asylum [F]

A Sight for Sore Eyes [F]

Sleepyhead [F]

Bodyguard [F]

Lifelong Secret [F]

Marlene's Plan [F]

The Bottom of Clayton Ravine [F]

Tennis Match [F]

"YOUTH JAILED" [F]

Lone Pine Mall Santa [F]

Boarding School [F]

Something in the Mail [F]

Automobile Accident [F]

Pepsi Free (Free Day!) [F]

[jupiter-dragonsong]

If you were given five million dollars to open and run a museum, what kind of museum would you create, what sort of things would be in it, and why?

Okay. Wow. What a question. I love love love museums, I have been to many museums in many places and always wish I could stay longer. One of my greatest dreams is to be locked in the Louvre and/or Victoria and Albert and/or the London Natural History Museum and/or the National Museum in Edinburgh overnight. Science museums, art museums, all varieties of museum! I love them!!

That being said, I think it would be fun to run a children’s museum. But one adults can enjoy as well, because some of us have not lost our sense of childlike wonder. Here are some ideas:

-Cave Maze. You crawl along in total darkness until you reach a cavern full of glowing crystals. Or a passage with stalactites and glow worms (fiber optic) and dense moss. And finally a room full of cave paintings, with a “fire” in the center to cast shadow puppets and (faux) furs to sit on. Perfect for telling stories.

-SPACE AREA. Fiber-optic star ceiling is a must. All the space and physics goodies. Prism glasses with a spectrometer, gravity well thing, a little Hab where you can look out the windows onto different planets. Heck, let’s have a speculative astrobiology exhibit. Why not?

-On an unrelated note, one of my favorite field trips when I was younger was to the “space center.” It was an elementary school with four whole classrooms built to look and feel like sci-fi spaceships. Everyone was assigned a role on the ship and we carried out a mission together (they had actors in another room who would talk to you over the comms system.) anyway that was one of the cooler things I’ve ever done.

-Ancient Crafts area. Throw pottery, spin wool, weave, make stone tools, turn gourds and seeds and strings into simple instruments. Everyone gets to leave with an object they made!

-My local children’s museum has a really cool Trading Post, where you can trade in shells or minerals or postcards (used to be feathers too, but alas! No more) for points to get something else. So probably one of those too.

-Scale model of whatever city this is in. INCREDIBLY detailed scale model. Little pigeons in the trees, items in the shop windows, moving train if there is a train. The model of the museum has another scale model of the town inside it.

-Some sort of “Leave your Mark” room, an ever-changing art exhibit. Maybe a Lite-Brite room? That could be fun…

-Hall of Languages. No idea what that might entail but it should exist.

-Gift Shop full of objects. The most important part of any museum experience.

If I have more ideas I will share them! Thank you for the ask, this was glorious!

[sillygoblinantics]

It’s a bit dusty oh?

I’d reblog if I wasn’t blocked but hey that’s fine I blocked you back Lily so this is for folks who wanna learn.

Let’s get to it shall we? This is also my way to share with yall my own content and stories and shtuff too since Lily uses her own writing so why not?

Let’s talk interpersonally

Sillygoblinantics take on writing relationship dynamics and how to do it effectively without getting incesty

By Bri/Gobbo

I think it’s a universal thing to know what relationships are and what they mean but to people in the back let lil gobbo give ya the spark notes of this concept:

As many species are, humans thrive on community and communication, its survival instinct to stay in numbers and bond to reproduce. In modern times it’s a crucial part to our mental health as isolation can be detrimental to our well being and often leaves us unable to integrate and connect.

Human stories focus on the connection we have or form amongst each other it can be any emotion honestly: love, hate, empathy, comfort etc. it’s familiar and easy to recognize.

And one thing that aids in writing relationships is through experience, personal experience. We can understand from what we read and watch in media but the best tool in a writers arsenal is what they know and experience.

I have many characters and many who have a variety of dynamics, none of which being a certain genetic taboo.

From my Pokémon Ribbons & Leagues story:

Brid and Ripley are childhood friends who lost touch after something pretty traumatic and literally world shaking occurred. They do what they can to keep in touch but after a while the replies slowed until roughly a decade later they meetup in Paldea. Both have changed and are very different people to who they once knew. They have conflict and fight but they have to learn and get to know this stranger they’re traveling with. And over time they open up. It’s a slowburn but it’s natural but they’re still goobers.

(Shameless plug for my side blog but go follow for Pokémon and slowburn shtuff @pokemonribbonsnleagues !!!)

Lite Life is about experiences and interpersonal and intrapersonal relationships.

I have trauma bonded characters who start out trying to keep the other up and prevent them from sinking below the surface. They slowly get to know the other and form a friendship that either remains platonic or eases into a mutual reciprocated romance. (Gale and Meno)

Duelists who are matched in skill and combat who have a strong respect for the other, training along side to beat the other but end up at a stalemate that they laugh off. (Aylin & Lucian)

Adding to the previous: both skilled fighters but meeting under unfortunate circumstances (assassination right of passage ceremony) but a shift in one fighter that causes a fumble and feeling of loss only to be welcomed and given value and respected. (Aylin and Koray • Lucian died long before this btw)

Outside of romantic stuff (because there’s a lot of that… teehee)

Friendships that form from after clearing up a misunderstanding (a lot); shared interests (many)

Familial: found family, and literal found family.

Most of my character relationships are built on both standard ways of finding these relationships but a lot stem from a personal part of me, a feeling of safety and security in being understood and heard as well as shown empathy and vulnerability.

To summarize my point:

A show of trust isn’t just being able to share a bed. It is through honesty and vulnerability with someone who understands and can show some sign of empathy or sympathy and acknowledgement to the humanity of the real experiences and struggles, not holding them to impossible standards and pointing to their personal flaws and private life. It’s knowing that you can trust a person to keep these secrets without worry of them using it as a weapon to hurt not just others but you.

Thank you for those who have read up to this point. I know it’s been a while since I’ve been part of the Lily crit community but I wanted to at the very least contribute this with yall as it’s something I tend to write about.

[daryfromthefuture]

🎵 MCFLY JULY 2024⭐️

have you ever wondered what marty's life looked like prior to his time travel escapades - in both timelines? for this year's mcfly july, i am uncovering his diary entries, one prompt at a time!

format: 🌲🌲/🌲

mountain dew hat man

video rental/"something very familiar about all this"

peanut brittle/book signing

backyard cookout/hill valley biker gang ride

"don't need money, don't take fame"/"i got to double back, my friend"

lite beer/biff's grand opening

back in town/high school sweetheart

manure truck driver/wrong house

a new puppy/stolen idea

rite of passage/point of no return

baking joey's cake/reading george's first draft

all-nighter/the easy way

campfire/weather experiment

jennifer's porch swing/jennifer's bad dream

"i think about it all the time/"erased from existence"

synchronicity/paradox

dave's night off/linda's boutique

"roll with me henry"/hill county asylym

playing hooky/a sight for sore eyes

local legend/sleepyhead

babysitter/bodyguard

"duded-up, egg-suckin gutter trash"/lifelong secret

marlene's sleepover/marlene's plan

out in the desert/the bottom of clayton ravine

the honeymooners/tennis match

clara's diphtheria/"YOUTH JAILED"

twin pines mall santa/lone pine mall santa

on the radio/boarding school

24-hour scientific services/something in the mail

blind spot/automobile accident

pepsi free (free day!)

(i took the banner picture myself. i know, hard to believe i know marty mcfly in person 😎)

[bgsbracelets]

★ Bracelet Edition! ★

TWIN PINES MASTERLIST

Mountain Dew Hat Man [B]

Video Rental [B]

Peanut Brittle [B]

Backyard Cookout [B]

"Don't Need Money, Don't Take Fame" [B]

Lite Beer [B]

Back in Town [B]

Manure Truck Driver [B]

A New Puppy [B]

Rite of Passage [B]

Baking Joey's Cake [B]

All-nighter [B]

Campfire [B]

Jennifer's Porch Swing [B]

"I think about it all the time." [B]

Synchronicity [B]

Dave's Night Off [B]

"Roll With Me, Henry" [B]

Playing Hooky [B]

Local Legend [B]

Babysitter [B]

"Duded-up, egg-suckin' gutter trash" [B]

Marlene's sleepover [B]

Out in the Desert[B]

The Honeymooners [B]

Clara's Diphtheria [B]

Twin Pines Mall Santa [B]

On the Radio [B]

24-Hour Scientific Services [B]

Blindspot [B]

Pepsi-Free (Free Day!) [B]

LONE PINE MASTERLIST

Mountain Dew Hat Man [B]

"Something very familiar about all this" [B]

Book Signing [B]

Hell Valley Biker Gang Ride [B]

"I Got to Double Back, My Friend" [B]

Biff's Grand Opening [B]

High School Sweetheart [B]

Wrong House [B]

Stolen Idea [B]

Point of No Return [B]

Reading George's First Draft [B]

The Easy Way [B]

Weather Experiment [B]

Jennifer's Bad Dream [B]

"Erased from Existence" [B]

Paradox [B]

Linda's Boutique [B]

Hill County Asylum [B]

A Sight for Sore Eyes [B]

Sleepyhead [B]

Bodyguard [B]

Lifelong Secret [B]

Marlene's Plan [B]

The Bottom of Clayton Ravine [B]

Tennis Match [B]

"YOUTH JAILED" [B]

Lone Pine Mall Santa [B]

Boarding School [B]

Something in the Mail [B]

Automobile Accident [B]

Pepsi Free (Free Day!) [B]

[alex-a-fans]

🌠🌲MCFLY JULY 2024🌲🎇

Doodles, drawings of different scenarios! (+tiny drabble sometimes)

🌲🌲:

Mountain Dew Hat Man

Video Rental

Peanut Brittle

Backyard Cookout

"Don't Need Money, Don't Take Fame"

Lite Beer

Back in Town

Manure Truck Driver

A New Puppy

Rite of Passage

Baking Joey's Cake

All-nighter

Campfire

Jennifer's Porch Swing

"I think about it all the time."

Synchronicity

Dave's Night Off

"Roll With Me, Henry"

Playing Hookie

Local Legend

Babysitter

"Duded-up, egg-suckin' gutter trash"

Marlene's sleepover

Out in the Desert

The Honeymooners

Clara's Diphtheria

Twin Pines Mall Santa

On the Radio

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[comfymoth]

Soo a explanation on why i think being a nidere warewolf would be the worst thing that could heppen to you in ordem paranormal universe (in canon!)

Sooo starting small, the basic warewolf transformation would be catastrophic, imagine the pain of your flash bein inverted? All nideres have a open sthomic imagine having to deal with that? (I mean it would cure it self since nidere's healing is very op tbh)

But what gets me is nidere being a death element creature, the element of death has two main things going for it, the spiral of the passage of time, time is like THE main theme for death and also the parasitic nature of the element, so this lycanthropy (in ordem canon) would be SUPER parasitic taking your sanity in every moment you transform AND the time aspect makes me INSANE

Because like 1 second is 1 hour and three months are 3 decades to the element of death, nidere literally has an ability that can rot your flash god damit! (Ps: is not AS op as it sounds in therms of game mecanics but bare with me) so how long the transformation lasts? Like it could be 1 hour but feel like décades, imagine seeing poor emi being a monster for 1 hour and the transforming back like a 20 year old that lost her youth?

ALSO!!! How can you be só sure you just wont bacame a other side creature? Lite a warewolf nidere is basicly a person that is one step away form being a monster 100% so their only hope is somebody doing their enigma do medo and killing them

Sorry for being angsty and kinda spoiling a au that ware supposed to be cute tho, i have s severe ordem brain rot so i just wanted to put in perspective in canon in my head

OHHH HOLY SHIT……. mannn would that be fucked up or What!!!!

see, my original plan was to just make nidere a plain old werewolf instead of, well, nidere, and i think i might still end up making some changes to him/blending the two for simplicity— but like. thinking about how bad it Could be if i didn’t and just stuck with canon. man that’s fucking insane, holy SHIT!!

god i fucking love the sanity rules though, i definitely want to do something like that with this au. like, i think nidere in this universe is a person who’s lost themself— he’s practically just a monster at this point, there’s little to no human mind left. and whoever he bit just has to live with the fear of wether or not that will happen to them eventually. is it inevitable? or is there a way to hold on?

[litcest]

Incest and the Medieval Imagination, by Elizabeth Archibald: Chapter 3: Mothers and Sons: Incest Averted

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 Part 1 | Chapter 3 Part 3 | Chapter 4 Part 1 | Chapter 4 Part 2 | Chapter 4 Part 3 | Chapter 5 Part 1 | Chapter 5 Part 2 | Conclusion

Even more frequent than adaptations of Oedipus-like, were the "almost Oedipus" (Oedipus-lite?) stories, in which the parricide and incest were prevented in the nick of time by a sometimes comedic and sometimes tragic recognition scene.. Theses type of tales begins much like the other ones, which a male child being exposed after birth, usually due to being the result of a clandestine relationship, and often end with the family happily reunited, and the parents legitimately married.

As such, this form of story marks a third usage of the Oedipus narrative: instead of villainizing the protagonist (like in Judas) or allowing him to be redeemed through divine grace (such as Gregorius and Albanus), this stories frame the reunion of mother and son as a chivalric rite of passage, in which foundlings of noble origin must seek their roots and prove their maturity and virtue by avoiding incest and parricide.

Romance Versions: Incest Averted

One exemple is the 14th Century English poem Sir Eglamour. The titular Sir Eglamour is in love with Cristabelle and she is in love with him, but her father forbids the marriage. Still, they two engage in sex and Cristabelle falls pregnant. She gives birth while Eglamous is away, completing quests for Cristabelles's father and when the father discover that Cristabelle had a child, he exiles her. The baby is then kidnapped by a griffin and eventually adopted by the king of Isareal, who names him Degrebelle. Cristabelle, meanwhile, finds herself in Egypt. When Eglamous finds out that Cristabelle and their son had been exiled, he goes to seek them. Fifteen years go by while he tries to find his beloved, Cristabelle is given in marriage to the winner of a joust, Degrabelle, who wears as a crest a picture of a griffin carrying a child. Cristabelle asks about it and he tells her that it's what happened to him as a child. She recognizes him as her son before the marriage is consummated and Eglamous arrives in Egypt just in time to marry Cristabelle himself. The trio then go to France and settle there, with Degrabelle marrying a princess.

This story doesn't feature the inicial incest often found in the previous set of stories, and the child is exposed along with the mother. This double exposure, added to Cristabelle's father's reluctance to allow her to marry may play into the Jealous Incestuous Father trope, in which the Father does eveything in his power to prevent his daughter to marry in order to keep her to himself, which definitely carries incestuous tones.

While the Oedipus-like tales most often have the child as the protagonist, these Oedipus-lite tales frequently have the father in the center of the story, with his struggles and misfortunes being the central theme. Indeed, while in this summary it may not seem so, this is the case with Sir Eglamous, as the title character has his many adventures narrated, with the focus being the chivalric deeds he does while trying to prove his worth to Cristabelle's father and later while he is on his journey.

Another similar tale, also from the 14th Century England is that of Sir Degaré. It begins with a king who also doesn't wish his daughter to marry. But instead of falling in love, this princess is raped by a fairy knight, who gives to her a sword to be passed to the child that will be born of this rape. When the baby boy is born, the princess exposes him, but he is found and is raised by a hermit, who names him Degaré. When Degaré grows up, he becomes a knight and wins the hand of the princess in battle. Before the marriage is consummated, the princess realises that Degaré is her son because he carries the gloves that he had left the baby with, and gives him the sword that the fairy knight had left for him. Degaré eventually finds the knight and brings him back to the princess, who marries him. Through the story, Degaré chivalric adventures are highlighted and his values and courage are highlighted. (However, I can't get over the fact that he brings his mother's rapist to her, what a great son).

Very similar to Degaré, similar enough to speculate of perhaps a shared origin, we have the story of Richars li Biaus, dated from the 13th Century. It beings with a king locking his daughter in a tower to prevent her from getting married. However, a knight manages to sneak in and rapes the princess, leaving her pregnant. When Richars is born, the king orders that he be killed, but instead a baron finds the child and raises him. Richars grows up and learns that he was adopted when his foster father suggests that he marries his foster sister. Deciding to find his biological parents, Richard embarks on a journey, during which he defeats an evil king, not knowing that it's his own grandfather. After this, he frees the princess from the tower and they are instantly attracted to each other. Before anything can happen, she recognizes the baby clothes that he carried, the ones that she had dressed her son in when he was taken by her. Then Richars decides to go after his father and defeats many knights in contests, until he finally meets a ones who brags about raping a princess in a tower, leading to Richars recognizing him as his father.

In 13th-century French heroic poem Parise la Duchesse, not only the incestuous marriage is avoided, but while father and son fight, the son is aware of their kinship. (Archibald doesn't gives any more details about this poem and I couldn't find a readable version in English, so there's not much I can add myself).

Next, we have a heavily edited Spanish version of the story of Pope Gregorius appears in 1576, in a book titled El Patrañuelo, by Juan de Timoneda. This version removes the consummated incest by having the mother, here named Fabella, recognize Gregorius just in time. This leads to Gregorius marring another woman, and since he never sins, the motif of repentance is erased in this version, with the story becoming much more focused on Gregorius' knighthood than in his religious potencial. While Gregorius incestuous marriage is avoided, he still is the result of brother-sister incest. He doesn't however becomes a saint or pope, instead marrying a steward's daughter and seemingly inheriting Fabella's throne.

A special case of this diversion of the Oedipus motif is the story of Mordred, in the Arthurian Cycle. It's different because Mordred's story gradually does include much of the tropes discussed in the other tales, but avoids completely the mother-son incest. Attached to Mordred's birth is the prophecy that he would bring disaster upon England, which is similar to that about Juda. Both characters also die without redemption after having betrayed a friend (Mordred betrays Arthur much like Judas betrays Jesus). While Mordred never marries his mother, he does plan on marrying his step-mother, which can be seen as an stand in for the incest. There are clear influences of the Oedipus motif, especially when one considerate that Mordred was, from the 12th to the 13th Century, transformed from Arthur's nephew to the offspring of Arthur's incestuous affair with his half-sister Morgause.

[nonbinarylocalcryptid]

MAG10 - Vampire Killer

*turns around in the most ugliest coolest yellowest office chair like a Bond villain, petting a baguette-shaped cushion* so, you came here from MAG9 without expecting the whiplash. Don't worry, you are not alone lmao

Trevor Herbert is like a homeless Chuck Norris, a shaggy Terminator, a Van Helsing lite (the Hugh Jackman one, not the original). He looks in your head like the dog in The Lady and The Tramp but in human version.

And the very first thing this mf says when he writes his statement is "I've been procrastinating this shit for 50 years, but hey, I finally came to the Magnus Institute". So better late than never and all that jazz.

Quoooooooting timeeeee:

"I hear someone even made me a page on the Internet and it got a few thousand likes. I don’t know exactly what that means but it sounds nice." - Trevor Herbert, July 10th 2010

Aww, doesn't he sound nice? :D

"Obviously that’s not why I’m here, though, is it? No, I’m here because I have also dedicated my life to finding and killing vampires." - Also f*cking Trevor

Sorry u wHAT

" (...) but I do not have proof to give you except for the vampire teeth that I will leave with this statement." - Trevor "I brought you a souvenir" Herbert

" I killed my first vampire in 1959." - Trevor Herbert, THE LEGEND THE MAN THE MYTH

You wish you sound as badass xD

"I was hit by a stale, coppery smell that I did not recognise as old blood at the time, since I was barely 16 and did not have then the experience I have now." - Trevor, barely 16 but already a poet

I find upsetting how many statement givers were so young they didn't know they were smelling blood.

"The furniture and wallpaper had clearly not been changed in many decades, and a thick layer of dust covered everything." - Trevor, 16, also an offended interior designer

LOL the landlord when he tells you " I just painted everything, it's all new"

"I remember wondering whether Sylvia McDonald walked exactly the same route through the house always, as I saw other clear lines of passage in the rooms we passed through." - Trevor "WTF" Herbert

" It was 1968, I remember because that was the year United won the European Cup, (...)" - Trevor "Yes, I'm British, why u asking?" Herbert

"I do not know if you’ve ever felt your blood being sucked out of you, but I would not recommend it." - By Trevor, 0/5, no stars

"Regardless, there is substantial evidence to support the version of events told by Mr. Herbert in all aspects except the vampirism." - Jon Sims, April 13th 2016

He really said "I believe everything except the vampire bullshit" XD

"(...) It may be that they take Mr. Herbert’s statement far more seriously than I do." - Also Jon

He sees that a lot of government and law people takes this statement seriously and goes "hm how weird, why tho, it's all bullshit"

Small review:

The vampires in the tma universe are so freaking weird, disturbing of course, personally I can't really tell if they are scary tho, but I'm certain they are a mystery.

Gotta say, RIP Nigel, he seemed nice :(

I must admit Trevor is quite an interesting figure, he's intelligent and resourceful, can do much with almost nothing and put together every piece of information he has in a way he can reach a satisfactory conclusion. And then he just sticks with it. There are these monsters, which I know how to kill, and so I do it. Simple. Efficient. Practical as hell.

This is also the second time going clubbing has ended horribly for someone in tma, and honestly? Wtf

This guy just die in the break room, like, lmao. He really said "no time like the present, may as well reach supersaiyan state in that couch over ther", and he fucking did it

And then Jon ends everything by showing a lot of evidences while acting the sceptic part and it's so goddamn funny. He should be a comedian.

General overview:

Vibe: this one is so fucking wild, nice homeless grandpa ends up being the modern Van Helsing and "dies" in a couch at paranormal research institute. Iconic

Horror: there are cryptids in it, that's horror genre coded

Audio: pretty ASMR in general

Humour: hilarious Terminator Grandpa, feat.Jon being Jon

Score: 10/10

[manonamora-if]

(def not Disco Elysium but for Twine... and a bit more mobile accessible)

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VN-lite RPG Template!

This was inspired by the interface of VN programs like Narrat, and RPG games like Disco Elysium. It includes a menu, basic saves/settings, and space for atmospheric backgrounds and portraits. Passages and code have been annotated for use/edits.

Itch.io Announcement - GitHub Repo - Rate on Itch.io This template is free-to-use under the CC-BY license.

If you are looking for the 2.36 version of this template, it is archived on GitHub.

[abridurif]

La disparition occupe une place centrale dans plusieurs œuvres de Felix Gonzalez-Torres. Ainsi les Stacks, piles de feuilles de papier de grands  formats,  sont  destinées à être épuisées par le pillage progressif de l'œuvre par le spectateur, qui peut en emporter  avec lui les éléments constitutifs. Littéralement abandonnée,  dans le sens d'un abandon fatigué, désespéré, érotique, l'œuvre remet son sort entre les mains de l'autre. Effet pervers, le geste s'inscrit dans une parfaite connaissance des mécanismes contemporains de communication : emporter l'œuvre pour ce qu'elle est, c'est aussi emporter, parfois accidentellement, son sens. Les larges feuilles de papier sont effectivement imprimées d'un court texte, une phrase, un mot. Parfois seulement leur titre habille l'œuvre : Untitled (National Front) est une pile de feuilles rouges bordées de blanc. La disparition progressive de l'œuvre sera parfois déjouée, gratuitement, avec une injustice et une prodigalité dont la mécanique est au cœur même de la vie. Autorisant des "copies sans fin" (endless copies), l'œuvre affirme ainsi un modèle et son contraire, comme ces deux stacks présentés en 1989 portant,  l'un, la mention Nowhere better than this place, et l'autre, Somewhere better than this place. L'œuvre se régénère de son propre épuisement : invincible elle ne craint aucune diminution, ne redoute aucune mort, aucune extinction. Son principe personnel crâne devant ceux de la vie, Gonzalez-Torres explique que l'idée de ces pièces est précisément concomitante d'une époque où il était en train de perdre quelqu'un. L'œuvre montre à la vie le mépris qu'elle entretient pour la faiblesse de ses systèmes. À l'occasion de son exposition à la galerie Andrea Rosen en 1990, Felix Gonzalez-Torres avait écrit ce texte qui tenait lieu de dossier de presse :  l've been trying to work on the press release... I feel that this particular installation is about vulnerability, about having nothing to lose, about the possibility of renewal through the re-contextualisation of each piece every time it's taken by the viewer. It is also a comment on the passage of time and on the possibility of erasure and dissapearance, it is about the poetic of space, presence and beauty of chance. The same chance that makes love possible. lt is about lite in its most radical definition or demarcation : death. Like all art, it is about leaving this place for another place, maybe better than this place. — Eric Troncy, 1993.

[bunnygirl678]

Story Time!

Y'all wanna hear about the time I had a "demon" exorcism?

No? Then don't click read more lmao

So back when I was a middle schooler (like 11-13ish i think) my dad had us going to a "Spirit-filled" or "Charismatic" church, which really translates to a bunch of people who had mental health issues who were not being medicated (seriously they looked for that dopamine hit with the church i realize this as an adult)

Anyway, services lasted anywhere from 4-8 hours, I had already decided it was all BS (actually I wasn't sure where I stood on my faith, I've since figured it out), so I started reading during it, during middle school I was really really into Meg Cabot (She wrote the princess diaries and a ton of other stuff), I was reading one of the books from the boy series (romance stuff which makes a lot of sense if you know that i'm an absolute hopeless romantic, emphasis on the hopeless lmao)

The pastor and my father decided that because i wasn't paying attention to their 2 hour singing and dancing (remember i also had undiagnosed adhd so focusing in general was horrible) and speaking in "tongues" (if you want a theological debate feel free, i've read the passage about it in the bible it's not some bs angel language, the holy spirit just allowed them to know other languages without learning them), so they brought me to the front. Now at this point I was also going through my Emo-lite phase, I was exploring fashion, and I'd read that one scott westerfield book about starting fashions (i have no clue which one it's been like 15 years) so i was dressed a little wild, you know like your average nerdy 13 year old.

Anyway i sat at the front on a weird stool and all of the church members came up and put their hands all over me and started spouting gibberish while the pastor told the demon to leave me. And i wish so bad that i would have fucked with them like started shaking and speaking what little latin i knew, or saying bs like 'the time is near we will rise' just for funsies, but i'm a lot more creative as an adult lol.

they did that for like 30 minutes, then they were all crying and said the demon was gone, i walked back to my seat and picked up my book and went back to where i was.

like these people were unhinged lmao

another time the pastor was giving out prophesies to everyone and they made me get one, the pastor knew i was in trying out for volleyball because my dad and him talked constantly and we had to get lunch with them every week.

Anyway the pastor says, "you will be the star, the power of the holy spirit will be with you, you will be the best at volleyball" or something my dad still has the recording on cassette lmao

So when it came for volleyball in school, i sucked ass (this had nothing to do with the prophecy i have zero hand eye coordination, i can literally only run and play golf haha) i ended up sucking so bad i made C team (we were a small school so everyone got to do something) there was A team then B team, two separate teams, then there was C team, which only got to play on B team when there were home games. Like the only reason i was there was because the coach felt bad and didn't want to cut anyone hahahaha

Long story short, I spent a few years with some deep seeded hatred of religion, I've since worked it out, but still damn