#marion babbles

[asolitaryrose]

guess who just downloaded da: inquisition for the first time and is considering maaaybe playing it

[lunebris]

Why does Uther hate magic?

I've been thinking about this. For years. I've come up with different "back stories" for his character because I think the show is being very vague and superficial about Uther's past and inner world.

The show lets the viewers believe that Uther despises magic and magic users because magic killed his wife and, perhaps most importantly, magic users are a threat to the kingdom. But I've been wondering... why? What led him to think that way? (let's just humorously say that the ENTP in me got activated and now I wanna babble)

Anyway, in my opinion the show doesn't give Uther's character enough depth so I'm doing it myself lol. I've been reading this one book, "The Mists of Avalon" by Marion Zimmer Bradley. It's a story from Igraine's perspective, before the time Arthur was born. I haven't yet finished reading it so I'm not exactly sure what's happening in there AND the way BBC Merlin interprets the legend differs from Zimmer Bradley's interpretation BUT this book has given me a new background idea for Uther. Here are some thoughts and... book stuff:

The book begins when Igraine is 19 years old and she is married to Gorlois. Her "sister", high priestess Vivienne tells her that there is a prophesy she needs to fulfill. The prophesy is that she is to marry Uther Pendragon and give birth to a son that will unite the lands (where "new religion" (christianity) was fighting against "old religion"). It specifically needed to be Uther she needed to have the child with because, in fact, Uther was "of pagan blood", and the prophesy told that the current mighty king Ambrosius was going to die and needed a follower. A "half pagan" follower would appeal to both sides, the new and the old religion, and unite the lands. Uther doesn't find the new religion that meaningful to him but he acts that way because it is an important political strategy for him. Igraine meets the 25yo Uther and they get to know each other. Uther learns that Igraine is raised by the old religion - the same religion he has to hide to survive among the other lords who have turned against it. He starts finding Igraine interesting and eventually they fall in love. Shortly = Uther feels seen with Igraine because of their shared religion / beliefs / worldviews.

...which gave me a follow-up thought: What if, in the show, Uther doesn't hate magic because it killed Igraine but because it was "his own people" (Nimueh, old religion...) who killed her? I mean, yes, he must have felt hurt when he lost the love of his life, but to dedicate the rest of his life to get rid of magic and every magic user...? To me it sounds like there's something more fundamental hiding underneath. I imagine it's because he, a "pagan", felt betrayed by another "pagan". After all, his goal had been to achieve peace, right? (I don't remember rn when exactly did Uther slaughter the sorcerers and magic users in the show... Was it before or after Arthur's birth? I somehow remember that it was after Igraine died but I'm not sure.. anyway, this idea is based of my memory that he started the witch hunt after Igraine's death) In the show Uther does express that Nimueh lead Uther to believe that using magic to bring him a son was a good idea (or at least that he had no idea about the "price" of it) and Nimueh is just like "oh but you know, the law of nature... to give life is to take a life". I mean... did she intentionally leave that crucial part out? To me it seems like not only one thing (Igraine's death) lead Uther to "flip sides", to go against the old religion. Maybe it was something that had shadowed his life all the time. The thing being the old religion he also was (sort of) a part of. ((Counter-argument: Why didn't he defend the old religion then if he himself was a part of it? My argument: it was because he didn't want to choose. He was young and already in a high position, he needed to survive so he sort of balanced between the two. Until he felt deeply betrayed - and then chose.))

Then a random thought: In the book Vivienne gives Igraine a moonstone necklace and when she meets Uther, Uther starts showing interest towards her. She suspects that the moonstone is enchanted and is causing the "love". ...I haven't yet finished the book so I don't know if that was the case - BUT what if it were? As far as I've read it has seemed like Vivienne (Nimueh?) has her hands everywhere, guiding people to do this and to that "because it's the prophesy" (that suspiciously benefits her the most?) So maybe Uther was "manipulated" somehow too? Anyway. Just a thought. Just a thought...

[leslie057]

wip sunday

please enjoy the first 1700 words of a very long fic about nancy and jonathan’s adoption experience. entitled “shut-eyed firebirds.”

“Who is that?” she asks softly, cross-legged on her childhood bed. She scruffs up the fur on the plush toy’s head with quick fingers, wanting to draw attention to it. “Is that your sheep? What does he—hey, look. Look here, what does he say?”

An uninterested Carey burrows her face into the mattress yet again, perhaps seeking warmth.

Nancy nudges Sweet Cream Sheep closer to her tiny playmate. “I heard him say ba, can you say ba?” Carey picks up her head (she’s able to do so with ease, though it was once quite the challenge for her), and it seems all she has to offer is that bewildered fawn expression everyone tends to gush over.

Bed’s covered in toys, old and new. There are upwards of fifteen options to choose from here. Poor thing never knows where to start, never knows what’s expected of her. Though she’s very curious, it can be hard to get her to play. She usually just wants a pair of arms to hang out in. With an uncertain squeak she reaches for the plush farm animal and pulls it in, babysoft lips finding one round, well-worn ear. She begins to suck rhythmically on the material, the puckered seams, the surrounding tufts, which have been known to shed. Before Nancy can pry away the choking hazard, her infant willingly gives it right back to her.

“Oh, you want me to have this one? Huh, lovie? I hang onto this one, you take something else?” It’s in moments like this that her pitch just shoots up into space, that her speech comes out all high and glassy, no more forgivable than a C8 on piano. Mike coined it her possessed doll voice, on an especially bad day, as in—you're gonna have to quit with the possessed doll voice, we’re all pissing ourselves.

She figures her sickly sweet questions do come off a little creepy, on occasion. Does Carey want to play a game? Does Mommy need to sing a pretty lullaby? Should we set Mister Meerkat next to your crib so he can watch over you?

Doesn’t matter. She can’t help herself.

And besides, “motherese” has scientifically proven benefits. She read pages and pages about it in this parenting book by some prizewinning psychology genius, packed with case studies, cross-linguistic perspectives, brain research findings, the works. IDS (infant-directed speech) most definitely aids in language development, as babies show increased neural activity when they hear it. So what if her whiny mom talk is like nails on a chalkboard? Exaggerated sounds and rhythms might really set her daughter up for learning phonics.

Not that Carey is ahead of the curve…

She is more on the quiet side.

Sure, she coos. Birdlike sounds, soft sighs. She doesn’t babble properly, vowels are her thing—only vowels. It wouldn’t bother Nancy so much, wouldn’t bother her period, if it didn’t feel like she was failing. At a job she’d chased after like she would die if it were entrusted to anyone else. She was selected, after all. Selected to claim this tiny precious creature (through a terribly grueling, terribly unconventional adoption process), and there’s so much pressure on her because of it. Any woman can have daughters and let them down, that makes you average. You cannot beg for someone else’s daughter and then proceed to fail her; that makes you pathetic.

Jonathan struggles with similar insecurities. The idea of being derelict in his duties as a provider and everything. A provider of care, a provider of protection, of comfort, the list goes on. Such a touchy subject, his fear of becoming his dad. He was actually seeing a therapist at one point, right after they found out his father had died. It had been an unattended death. Body was found in his home on a Friday. The ME’s report (that Nancy totally didn’t swipe from the Marion County Coroner’s Office the next time she happened to be in Indiana) (which was a risky and idiotic move on her part, but she was feeling snoopy) said he’d likely snuffed it that Monday or a bit earlier given the state of the corpse. It was a loss that went unnoticed for days, unfelt for days. What a testament to how unloved someone can be.

His liver probably wasn’t too keen on him, either. She believes his mistreatment of it was what landed him that funeral.

The feelings of inadequacy, they’re…they’re like ivy, or something. Vines. Coiling around Jonathan, choking the life out. Which makes no sense to her because he’s the only reason they ever had a shot at getting Carey. He has this way of exuding the capability for handling small, defenseless beings. You can just look at him and tell.

The thing is, they adopted a baby from a baby. Nancy met Carey’s biological mom Reese through reporting, such an innocent, brave little diamond of a girl, sixteen and pregnant, who’d rightfully put her high school in hot hot water over a bullying case with sexual battery allegations. Pregnant teens get hell at school, and she gave it back in spades before ultimately transferring mid-year, her family’s lawsuit having fizzled out. The details of the case were disturbing, to say the least, and perhaps that’s how Nancy got sucked in so deep. She crossed an absurd amount of lines, lost an absurd amount of sleep, used an absurd amount of expletives while arguing with a coach who swore his varsity basketball team would never corral a female student into their shower room. Certainly not one in her first trimester.

She thought she could make everything right. And when she realized she couldn’t, she thought Reese could use another trusted adult in her corner. Someone in media to help her and her family navigate the media attention.

In other words, she was overstepping. Big time.

From the moment she got involved, something inside her shifted. The desperation she dealt with that winter was pure torture. She had no idea why she felt so ready to take this unborn kid off the hands of a teenager she barely knew, a teenager she’d essentially stalked, but she did. Baby fever was becoming unmanageable, exacerbated by her then-doctor’s recent confirmation: she was infertile. Not her spouse, her. They’d both been tested, and as it turned out, she was “the problem.” Crazy high FSH levels for her age, decreased ovarian function. She’d love to blame any and all of her body’s shortcomings on repeated exposure to toxins in an alternate dimension…and yet, she had a sneaking suspicion Dr. Preston Donahue III wouldn’t take well to her going off about all that in his office. He doesn’t take well to outbursts of any kind. (Unfortunately he’s the best OB/GYN in the state of New York, or that's what someone told poor sweet Jonathan Byers when he awkwardly asked.)

She began visiting Reese not as an ace reporter, but a concerned friend. She ditched the briefcase, ditched the notepad, ditched the high heels, ditched the questions. Got up early one Saturday morning for a bake sale at the high school, set out to buy a carload of steeply priced vanilla bean cupcakes from the girl’s beloved Key Club. She presented herself in a warm, precise manner: an on-the-nose pair of mom jeans, some scrunched socks and chunky sneakers, a neon windbreaker. Kept her curls big, her eyes big. Kept her wallet open and giggled along with the club members. She wasn’t manipulating anyone. She just needed to establish herself as an option. She needed a chance. I can be more than a journalist, she wanted to shriek. I can be likable! Pick me, pick my husband. Pick us.

Because Reese was having her baby. Nancy’s honest opinion was that her immature body had no business carrying a child to term. But she was having it. Having it, and giving it away.

She shouldn’t have said a thing to Jonathan. He full body shivered when she brought up that the expectant teen she’d met in November had every intention of giving her newborn up for adoption, come spring. He got attached, attached like she was. Their desire to be parents had them in a vulnerable spot. And who knows what happened there…it was a desire straight out of left field. They had been around 26 when they exchanged their first real words about children as a couple. Prior to that? She’d said nothing, and he’d never asked. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them to not talk about it, but then they woke up one day, and it was all either of them could think about.

Of course, before that, there were a few charged moments. Spread out over the years. Jonathan talking in his sleep about misplaced pacifiers once or twice (which left her awake for hours, staring at the ceiling), Jonathan mumbling about how hospitals should allow depressed people to spend time in the NICU when he got high with her on the night of her college graduation (which left her confused), Jonathan choosing Penny Serenade whenever she told him to put on a black and white movie for background noise while they cleaned their apartment. It was originally his mom’s tape. But he could quote it well. He’d always stop the vacuum and give his full attention to the scene where Cary Grant and Irene Dunne check their baby’s breathing in the nursery.

It really was all him. Nancy hadn’t dreamt of being a mom, not sincerely. Fine, so she drafted a baby name list when she was thirteen. Who in her friend group didn’t? Barb and Ally’s influence. Aspirations of theirs often came packaged with domestic elements. She can’t get this one image out of her head: a younger, chirpier Barb, waist-length hair, bangle bracelets, not anywhere near 5'9" yet (but still pretty tall), in her favorite pajama set, throwing the end of a white feather boa over her shoulder as she stepped up onto Ally’s ottoman with a boldness that rarely accompanied her to school, declaring that she was going to be a serious actress and have a gorgeous husband and he was going to be the guy on set that holds the light. She alluded to dreams of being a West Coast girl, of popularizing sunburned skin and a round face, of raising a baby with him in the City of Angels. She said everyone from home would be shocked and invested and perhaps a bit envious.

[bates--boy]

//Okay, yeah, I've been thinking about Peter's trust issues and paranoia, and fuck it, that ask was a clear invitation to write about it, lol.

Anyway, losing Marion and then to have Lissy as a nanny clearly fucked Peter up to his core and crushed his sense of love and belonging. It's bad enough when your first primary caretaker and guardian, basically your first parent, dumped you in the middle of nowhere when you no longer served any purpose and probably hoped that you would just die and not be a nuisance to him, but then you meet this kind, gentle, fun-loving woman who'll listen to you babble on, who'll make you soup and wrap you in blankets when you're sick, and just show you what genuine love and care your little child heart craved.

Then she dies, and decades later, you meet another woman that you hoped would be the mother you needed, especially since it's her job as a nanny, who beats the shit out of you repeated, and its worse when it happens in drunken fits, because she blames you for "leading her nephew astray" and making him violate you every time you're around. Whatever small idea of parental love you had is tainted. You have no one in your corner, but you crush your own little heart still hoping, until you give up on that aspiration of family because you can only yearn so much before you finally get the fucking hint and realize that you weren't meant to have a family, which morphs into you don't belong anywhere no matter how much you try to squeeze yourself into other people's lives.

[causeihatetheclipboard]

🍓 THIS ACCOUNT IS 18+ : DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18

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🍓 CURRENT FIXATIONS : SPRINGFIELD MAFIA + THE GODFATHER + JOHN CAZALE

🍓 PREVIOUS FIXATIONS : HAZBIN HOTEL

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🍓 TAGS : [ BLACK CLIP ] . NSFW WRITINGS ; [ RED CLIP ] . NSFW REPOSTS ; [ PINK CLIP ] . NSFW BABBLES

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🧺 RULES

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🍓 I don't write pedophilic or incestuous content

🍓 Age gaps are fine (the reader is always 20+ by default)

🍓 There's some kinks I won't write but I'm mostly open (for reference, I will write gunplay or knifeplay content but not piss kink content. Pain and thrill related kinks are usually open, I'm just really squirmy about the more unsanitary ones lol.)

🍓 That's about it <3 I'm pretty open!!

🧺 CHARACTER OPTIONS

🍓 GODFATHER : Santino "Sonny" Corleone , Frederico "Fredo" Corleone

🍓 DOG DAY AFTERNOON : Sonny Wortzik , Salvatore "Sal" Naturile

🍓 THE SPRINGFIELD MAFIA : Marion "Fat Tony" D'amico , Louie Walters , Maximus "Legs" Legman , Giovanni "Johnny Tightlips" Silencio , Frankie the Squealer

🍓 MASTERLIST

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🧺 THE GODFATHER

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╰ Good Fredo :

🧺 DOG DAY AFTERNOON

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╰ Angel :

🧺 THE SPRINGFIELD MAFIA

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[paige-fierce]

Ello ello

Oh how the TIMES have CHANGED. Let's go through a quickie review of my ever-evolving storyline since we last chatted...which was August 2023?

July-August 2023

Existential crisis is just forming, like a small acorn, dropped from a giant oak tree last autum, cozily nestled under just the right amount of earth...and try as I might to fight the feeling or burgeoning nihilistic turmoil and crippling self-doubt, nature finds a way *out bursts the first sprouting of a tree*

My deepest fear, that I wouldn't know shit about fuck at my new job has come true! I am surrounded by brilliant, kind, wonderful people who are so intimidating in their relevant-to-the-field accomplishments that I barely ask any questions for fear of revealing how much of a fool not only I am, but they have been for hiring me. My personality is all I have now...and that's starting to suffer as a result of basically everything else I post from now til December

My best friend (not drunk girl definition of best friend, but the proper definition of best friend akin to what is described in Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics) goes off the handle in a way that is only worth diving into if I create a spin-off blog dedicated solely to that Game of Thrones-level plot twist that was without a doubt a significant effect modifier in my emotional and mental fissuring this side of 2023. Agnes and Tangerine by Glass Animals are played on repeat.

I cry almost every day on the train, sometimes going to Rotterdam, mostly on my way home after expertly compartmentalizing my like a bento box of emotions that I sample from throughout the day. After 5 pm is when the soy sauce (my salty tears) flows.

I attempt dating at the encouragement of my roommate, only to find it is fertilizer for the inner unrest eating away at the fibers of my morality.

I do, however, manage to make some friends along the way, in spite of my downward spiral

September 2023

I start Dutch classes as an attempt to quell my inner demons that are pressuring me to assimilate HARDER, better, FASTER, stronger (important note: no one is putting any pressure on me, just myself, per usual) ((now I am curious what the ratio of my accomplishments/successes/moments of overcoming adversity are results of high-functioning anxiety)) (((at the risk of my inner peace and sleep, I PERFORM)))

Work is very much a deep stressor of my life, though I have gotten better about vocating my need for clarity, which releases enough pressure on the valve attached to my sad/scared mind so that I do not explode.

I'm very sad about aforementioned best friend, but coping...we've stopped speaking but it's what I need in order to not be a puddle of weird leftovers from the craft store mixed with beer.

I'm finding it hard to talk to people in a way that's natural. I don't feel like myself. In fact I can't remember the last time I felt this unlike myself. I am so thin and sad...it's pathetic, and almost funny. She used to be mine by Sara Barielles plays on repeat.

I started going to therapy and she's amazing. Can I just become this woman? Is that part of her treatment? She is the stabalizing force I desperately need. Like a kindly-meant slap to the face for a poor sap babbling about nonsense, Marion brings me back to reality.

October 2023

Dutch is coming along fine...Ik denk?? Maar het is heel mogelijk to learn a new language while also learning a new job that essentially has its own language components (and if you count when I randomly use R, that is a language SO)

A reset in the progress with grief-fueled by BFF breakup. Fuck I'm sad.

Mom and godmother come to visit...mixed emotions. I'm not at my best therefore I treat my mom poorly. We have a very important but hard conversation surrounding that. All for the best. Getting old is weird, giving my mom advice is strange ?

I turn 29. Just fast forward me to 30, I'm over being in my 20s. I suddenly understand Jenna Rink's desire to fast forward from 13 to 30 based on the fictional magazine Poise's promotion of being 30, flirty, and thriving.

29, saltier than brine, and crying :,)

Everyone at work thinks I'm 22. I suppose I should be flattered, but it just encourages my suspicion/paranoia that they think I'm a simpleton and personality hire.

November 2023

Jesus this weather sucks. It's cold, it's rainy, and I should be writing melancholic poems or pulitzer winning prose in this kind of weather. Instead I'm NOT working out, I'm sleeping with an absolute fruitcake who brags his intimidation tactics at work and plans to get crown moulding put into his apartment (are you there god, it's me Paige)

I'm making friends with colleagues and other people! I suspect it's because I'm feeling like myself again...She's been lurking, coming out at random moments and surprising those around me. "who is this exotic creature, so odd yet fun, so nice yet blunt, she's attracti--wait what the fuck did she just do with her face?"

Have I mentioned I have a crush on a colleague? His face looks like it was carved by Michaelangelo, he dresses like someone with a good relationship with his parents, and is very serious but always cracks a smile at my jokes. Consequently, I am spinning out over my lust.

December 2023

Halfway through this ragged, damp, brisk month and I'm back in the US...

Somehow what sticks out to me most in the highlights of this month is the fun AF office Christmas party??? All the office personnel who I (very likely, incorrectly) perceived as having sticks up their billen (Dutch, look it up) let the walls comes down and the singing and dancing come out. Karaoke is the great unifier baybeeee

Annnnnnnnnd Florida for 2 weeks...that was nice, but why do I feel an inarticulable sense of dread? I am happy and a bit excited to go back to NL but but but something about seeing both my siblings families and their general stability is not sitting well with me.

[slumpcd]

it felt so comforting to talk to the other, even if it was just mindless babbling in marions case. " try it? jesus. i barely get out to date men anymore andrea. " because what was the point? when she was a teenager everyone always said that boys took longer to become mature but it seemed like they weren't fully developed, even when they got to their 40s. a chuckle then slipped, " really in right now? " it sounded ridiculous. dark hues met the others gaze — clearly andrea was just trying to make her feel better. that was all. " what? come on, you don't want to kiss me. " and marion didn't need a pity kiss. that would make her feel even worse.

she   gave   a   halfhearted   shrug.    "    i   mean   i   guess   ,    but   relationship   stuff   is   never   easy   no   matter   who   you   like   ,    right   ?    i   talk   to   a   few   of   the   kids   about   it   sometimes.    i   don't   know   how   much   of   a   role   model   i   am   but   it's   nice   for   the   girls   to   have   someone   they   can   ask   about   that   stuff   ,    you   know   ?    "    her   thumb   traced   a   gentle   pattern   around   her   friend's   palm   as   she   listened   ,    tone   a   little   softer   ,    more   accepting.    so   much   of   it   is   ,    to   her   eventual   shame   ,    the   wine.    "    no   no   no   ,    i    .   .   .    please   don't   apologize.    i   didn't   really   know   you   had   thoughts   like   that.    "    by   then   ,    she'd   practically   started   holding   marion's   hand.    "    it's   really   hard.    it   doesn't   come   naturally   to   anyone   ,    but   if   you   really   feel   like   that   ,    why   don't   you   go   try   it   ?    you're    .   .   .    "    she   mumbled   ,    mind   still   hazy   ,    until   she   could   scoot   closer   with   a   wine   soaked   grin.    "    you're   beautiful   ,    you're   so   smart   ,    and   honestly   older   women   are   really   in   right   now.    "    the   little   tease   ended   with   a   laugh   before   she   could   catch   marion's   eyes   again.    she'd   gotten   a   lot   closer   than   she   intended.    "    .   .   .    if   you   wanted   ,    "    her   voice   had   dulled   to   a   whisper.    "    .   .   .    i   could   kiss   you   ,    see   if   it   does   anything   for   you   ?    "

[onbeinganangel]

hi! just here to tell you I adore your tarot drabble series so so much! every single one is magical✨ you tell beautiful stories with so few words 💌 I don’t know much about tarot so I was wondering (only if you’d like, of course!) if you could talk about your process in connection to the cards? I would love to know more about how their meanings inspire your writing!!

omg hi 🌳🌳🌳🌳!!!

you are so kind! I have been dragging this series around like my wee dog does his blanket (which is to say, I love it and want to see my task through but also jesus fucking christ why is it under my feet I can’t stop tripping oh fuck ouch bloody! stupid! blanket! aaaaggghh) and it just means the world to me that you are enjoying my teensy little drabbles!

(before I talk out of my arse, I want to say that I know tarot is a very loved, powerful, and special tool and practice for a lot of people. I am by no means a savant and I do it very informally, the way I was taught by my aunties and then later by a group of friends. my practice may not match your practice. such is the way of the world.)

I grew up around a remarkable group of wonderful women that taught me a lot of things, from how to make bread to getting stains out of fabric to — you guessed it — how to read cards. but then I was a teenager for a dreadful little time so I lost that for a while, and for a few years now I have been trying to reconnect to that. my practice is rusty but I love how the cards still feel right, like I know them.

so, back in like march (?) or so, in an attempt to practice and study two things I was feeling very weak at but love dearly, I decided to get back into writing by pulling a card and trying to make something out of it. a lot of tarot has to do with intuition and reading of imagery so whenever I’d start on a new drabble, I would pull out the physical card and let it speak to me. in fact, for the most recent ones, I have been pulling the same cards from two or three different decks and looking at them for guidance (sometimes a different illustration will put more emphasis on something so while I know the meanings of the cards by heart, the deck you use can also influence your reading)

all cards are easier to read when applied to a question/problem/situation (and also you usually pull a few in a reading and they are much easier to understand when together rather than just a lone card), so there is a lot of freedom when writing because I am not necessarily going in with any of that in mind. sometimes I go in with just a pairing and look at the card and see if anything comes to mind, sometimes I throw in an extra prompt or ask myself do I want fluff? angst? smut? or do I want this to be an AU, etc.

for a lot of the cards, I have used them really liberally. so, while the meaning of the card always comes to play — sometimes very obviously, sometimes very subtly — I have been trying to really put the card against the pairing and/or genre, and then let it lead me.

as a quick example (I’ll shut up soon I promise), I wrote this open ending drarry one for The Hermit card, which is traditionally a card that means introspection and isolation but it is also about seeking wisdom and knowledge, despite not quite knowing the way — which is sort of where I got the open ending from! visually, most depictions of The Hermit have him holding a lantern and I actually used this motif very literally for this drabble: as the bright light that sets everything off. the drabble starts with Draco’s magic (“hot and bright”) and ends with Harry’s (bursting into “pure brightness”), so while the meaning of the card is also there, it’s obvious I also took a lot of visual inspiration for it. 

and that’s basically how I go about most of the drabbles! I will pick an element (a lot of the cards have sooooooo much you can take from them, all the little details in the illustrations matter) and come up with a situation and it all snowballs from there. sometimes it’s very hard to keep it at the 100 words. but yeah, that’s it : ) I am not taking myself or the series very seriously, and I lost steam along the way a lot, but it’s been a fun excuse to practice short form, to try out new pairings and study my tarot all at the same time!

thank you for this question and I AM SO SORRY FOR RAMBLING I don’t know how to shut up sometimes oooopsies. anyway thank you thank you, you are really very kind for asking! I hope at least a third of what I just wrote makes sense x

[jaxyscreams]

I want to do a cosplay thing or one of those October makeup things & ofc I am indecisive

like,, Ruby of The Sea?? Jester?? Taako?? Akko?? Lydia?? Six test?? Do a fae look for facetober??

[asolitaryrose]

not me barely waking up on my side of the world just in time for the Witcher 4 trailer reveal

we're getting Ciri as a protagonist??!? Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lady of Time and Space, whom I made a witcher at the end of tw3?????!!!!??

[teaandinanity]

Every time an indie otome dev gives me a canonically demi/aspec/enby character it’s like that ‘you are safe now my sweet child’ meme because it really DOES give me life.

[multimask]

oh shit giving marion one of the amulets...

[bandtrees]

not to toot my own horn or anything but im rereading unpersoned and man... it slaps if I do say so myself

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057036 simon fans come get y’all juice this fic is my pride and joy of the outlast fandom

[lightofherces]

“It’s a love potion! What could possibly go wrong?” - Fred for George or Marion

Witchy Starters|Accepting!

@demagia

“Everything!” George and Marion said at the same time, eyes wide as they stared at him.

“Fred Weasley, I swear to the gods if you make that I’ll sock you!”

[decaflondonfog]

passing hope along after being reminded it’s absolutely true no matter how dark some days may get: whit's fur ye'll no go past ye.

[yesstaffnurse1]

Girl’s Best Friend

Edgar looked over with a mixture of fear, resentment and self pity at Marion and her pet dog, Charlie. The nurse grinned at the tied up and gagged burglar cheerfully. “I know this must be a bit embarrassing for you, my friend,” the young woman smiled, “but the police said they would be here in the next hour or so.” Edgar had been shocked when he heard the front door of the house he had broken into, open and a weary female voice downstairs talking to herself. But the fact the house owner was female buoyed him and he soon clattered down the stairs to confront her. What he hadn’t bargained for was Charlie! The black labrador growled gamely at the intruder as Marion shrieked in alarm. Luckily, Edgar had an absolute phobia about dogs. “Keep that thing away from me!” he babbled in panic. “Charlie?” answered the nurse, frowning, “He wouldn’t hurt a….I mean, yes, he is a real guard dog, trained to protect me at all times. You had better give up, pal!” The pale faced Edgar simply nodded continuously. “Yes, yes, I surrender, ma’am,” he babbled, “only don’t let that thing bite me!” Marion made a great play of telling Charlie to “sit!” and then put the terrified burglar into an armlock and walked him back up the stairs to her bedroom where she kept a washing line she hadn’t put up yet. She sat the miserable Edgar on the bed, tied his hands behind his back, bound his ankles and gagged him with a strip of duct tape. After calling the police, the young nurse rejoined her captive with Charlie in tow. “He really wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she told the doubtful looking Edgar, “but he really is a girl’s best friend!”

Sources: retrorope and Nurses Uniforms and Ladies Workwear on Flickr