#narratives and similar

[sisterdivinium]

Stopping Jillian would betray too much urgency so Mother Superion only watched, growing pale as her guest absent-mindedly pulled on the little pile of magazines.

“… Ah,” Jillian said, blushing somewhat at the covers.

She didn’t know what to expect. Her own face staring back at her was certainly not it, however — wearing suits or standing next to her inventions or looking casual depending on the articles and interviews within.

“To better understand your projects,” Superion explained and lied as Jillian presently leafed through wild speculation on her own love life.

She grinned.

“How about I give you a scoop, then?”

[monteruu]

feeling displaced

[image id: digital illustration of john egbert from homestuck. he is standing partially behind a floating panel with large yellow and blue clouds and a bright sun with the words "Thanks for Playing" floating in the sky being slightly cut off. john's windsock hood is seen trailing off in the white background behind him and draped partially over the panel next to him. he has no expression as he stares at the camera. end image id.]

[composeregg]

edit (10/23/2024) now that the poll is over: Original version, with 10 questions, from April 2023 here

And, given that the original is from April 2023, that means I can very easily say:

No, this was not an ISAT reference!

Just because I use parentheses and 2nd person pov and love the same concepts of what a time loop can do to a person doesn't mean it's ISAT

(Yes, I like ISAT, the original poll is why I was recommended the game! But if you look at the original, you can see all the origins of the options to choose from, including what spurred me on with the moss option from the replies)

If I were going to make something for ISAT, I would never be so vague, you can simply look at my ao3 for proof of that

[sisterdivinium]

Vanity is a sin.

She always had to remind newer recruits of that when they bemoaned the lack of mirrors at the Cat’s Cradle, thinking that the OCS’ liberties extended further than the handful of lavish concessions it already had.

But Mother Superion wasn’t home now. She stood in front of a large mirror that captured the entirety of her body — the myriad little imperfections of a sinner, the deepening creases of ageing skin, the salient muscles and faded scars of a soldier… And yet the largest of those scars was no more. Her face had been cleansed of it along with her soul.

She had had no need of mirrors to know it was always there, but only by staring into her reflection now could she begin to be convinced of how it had vanished.

She saw how weight settled differently over her skeleton nowadays: some fat and hair appeared in new and unexpected places compared to how they behaved in her early youth; experience gathered plentiful around her eyes, some skin drooped where once it had been taut… And still, despite these novelties, it was the unblemished face gawking right back at her that shocked her most.

Mother Superion turned away, grabbing the clothes she had set upon the nearby bed. Doctor Salvius would be waiting outside the door, curious to know whether they were a good fit or if she should go rummage through her closet for something more adequate to lend; the nun had taken much too much of her kindness already. The offer alone had been extremely courteous and, even if Mother Superion had long forgotten what it was to wear anything other than her habit, she was thankful — thankful for Beatrice, who insisted on mending the damaged habit once it was clean, and thankful for Jillian Salvius, who had been under no obligation to house them in the first place, much less clothe her.

The uncustomary fabric slid over her bare torso, covering her with easy comfort, hanging slightly from her frame.

If the colours were familiar and welcome in their sobriety, the texture startled her for, as simple as the pieces were in cut and hue, their softness was worlds away from the rough, humbling touch of her usual vestment. Jillian Salvius’ shirt might appear unassuming, but to Mother Superion it was smooth luxury.

She did not check the mirror, assessing only how the clothes felt rather than how they looked — the sensation was alien enough already.

They wrapped around her body, loose and lazy, inviting her to relax and indulge as she hadn’t done in years; they gave off a faint scent that betrayed how little their owner actually used them (perhaps as averse to rest as Mother Superion herself) but smelling of her still, enticing and dangerous. Her movements were free, limitless; she felt not like a weapon, kept always sharp and at the ready despite the nicks time had forced on the blade, but like a woman, unrestricted, made of flesh and blood and heat.

Mother Superion had long relinquished her liberty.

It made things difficult, it facilitated and fomented temptation. She could not have it, she could not keep it, steer it, even now that Ava had pulled her to the right path; those clothes could not be, they roused something in her, they felt of—

“Are you alright in there?”

Jillian Salvius.

Mother Superion opened the door.

“Yes.”

They looked at one another.

Whatever Jillian saw, it was not a stern nun…

Caressed by that sensuous fabric that brought to mind only Jillian herself, Mother Superion was not able to command herself to dislike or decry such a gaze, open and daring as it was.

“Are you cosy?”

She raised a hand and shot the nun an apologetic look. A confused nod authorised her and Jillian pulled at a few places so as to correct how the tissue sat upon Mother Superion’s figure. The brush of her fingers against her body might not have had any consequences if she were in her black armour, if she still wore that impenetrable helmet of a scar, but Jillian had held her through her last breath and not blamed her for failing the mission; Jillian had cared for her as the woman that she began to understand she was, rather than discarded her for the useless, rusty weapon she had been led to believe she should be.

There would be no refusing those clothes or what they ignited in her now, no fleeing from that freedom which so frightened her — which so pleased her.

“I am, thank you.”

Jillian all but forgot her hand upon Mother Superion’s shoulder.

“… You do look very good,” she said, unthinking.

Liberty begets liberty, tinted red though it came.

Jillian was a forward woman, but she herself had not predicted this, judging by how abruptly she removed her hand and turned back with an awkward smile, leaving Mother Superion to herself before she could utter a single word in protestation.

The nun twisted herself slowly towards the mirror again.

Jillian’s touch reverberated all over her skin. She was embraced by it even in her absence, sensing it all around her, upon her, like a hundred, thousand of those hands stroking her at once.

Vanity is a sin — but one less harmful than refusing a gift from God so generously given.

Knowing not what to say but needing to speak still, Mother Superion exited the room in search of Jillian.

let's talk about suzanne wearing jillian clothes after being resurrected

because my girl was on the run so she didn't have any luggage or anything likely and ain't no way the sisters's clothes could fit her so there's only jillian's.

and jillian is a little taller than her so her clothes are gonna be a little oversized on suzanne and i can't stop thinking about it

this is so personal to me i'm gonna cry

[juniemunie]

[Abandoned by the Lightners, his heart became cracked with hatred.]

Hitting a lil' too close to home?

[puppyeared]

Wyrm on a string

[anassemblageofpassions]

The thing abt john winchester is that he is too complex for the majority of the spn fandom and for a good portion of the writers on the show too.

Because at his core john is about love over everything else. When he looks up at his sons (yes, up, the fact that they’re both taller than him>>>>>), there is love seeping achingly from every single pore of his being even as he abuses them, as he destroys their souls beyond belief. He does it all entirely out of love. And he is so, so wrong for it. A part of him knows it. But he wants to keep dean alive, and he wants to keep Sam pure. And he loves them so much. And he damages them so horribly. John Winchester is the foundation upon which they are both built, they only become more of what he made them as the series goes on. Sam stops fighting it, Dean continues to mold into his image no matter how hard he tries to fight it.

Hell puts them both on steroids, but their individual trauma responses that influence this are the foundations that John built into them. No wonder azazel wanted sam to win so badly. John Winchester crafted his sons into alastair and Lucifer’s ideal victims, respectively, and dean was a better (worse) john than John ever was. John held out in hell. Dean acquiesced to his abuser despite all of his efforts to fight him, and he’s never been the same since.

Sam fought like hell, and he fought destiny, but at his core, he did what John always wanted him to by doing what dean wanted him to do, and then he stops fighting at all, loses the fire he showed john in adolescence that john immediately notices when he returns in s14.

And the sad thing is. They filled their roles so well that John is saddened by what they’ve become. He didn’t want dean to break. He didn’t want Sam to be dimmed. He’s sad to see what Sam is like in s14. In the process of recovering his wife, he ensured he would mold his sons into what he wanted them to be, and when he got what he wanted, he was devastated.

John Winchester is so driven by love and grief and he’s so filled to the brim with both that it’s painful to watch him on screen because he destroyed his family because of it. And he wanted this all along but he didn’t realize what he’d have to give up to get it.

[arielluva]

was trying to figure out how to draw their faces

[terranceholdsapencil]

Twissy nation this one is for us

Closeups and some other stuff under the cut

[blessyouhawkeye]

i think mash should have inferenced hawkeye can hear the laugh track. just once. like hawkeye cracks a joke, the laugh track doesn't play, he looks around and then to whoever's standing next to him and says "i guess they didn't like that one". and then it's never brought up again

[sisterdivinium]

Sometimes she wondered whether Beatrice knew.

Ava hadn't had the nerve to say anything when first she noticed Beatrice would wake earlier than her but let her rest, lying beside her with open eyes, sometimes since dawn. She hadn't been able to relinquish the simple pleasure of knowing Beatrice was there, merely breathing, as motionless as herself — floating in time, peaceful as their intensive training never allowed for.

The alarm sounded.

Ava shot up, mumbling, playing her part — letting Beatrice play hers.

She wondered if Beatrice knew; she wondered if she might ever tell her… And end the act altogether.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

Cross examine the parrot is extremely funny but what's funnier is the way Von Karma saw this coming and reprogrammed the bird's responses like only a insane person would do that for real.

[shimmershy]

Buttercups and Golden Flowers

[mendingbone]

River— ᴀᴇsᴄʜʏʟᴜs, ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʀᴇsᴛᴇɪᴀ//@ɢᴏᴏsᴇᴋɪᴅ ᴘᴏsᴛ//ɴɪᴋᴏʟᴀʏ ᴅʏʙᴏᴡsᴋɪ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟᴇxᴀɴᴅʀᴀ ɢᴏʟᴜʙᴇᴠᴀ, ᴘᴀᴛʜᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄ 𝟸: ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀʀʙʟᴇ ɴᴇsᴛ//ᴡɪᴋɪᴘᴇᴅɪᴀ, ᴘʀᴏᴘʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛ ᴛᴇɴsᴇ//ʀɪᴄʜᴀʀᴅ sɪᴋᴇɴ, ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛ ᴏғ ʟᴏᴠᴇ//ᴄᴏɴᴏʀ ᴏʙᴇʀsᴛ, sᴀʟᴜᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴs//ғʟᴏʀᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴡᴇʟᴄʜ, ɪ’ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ʟɪᴀʀ//ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇs ʙᴜᴋᴏᴡsᴋɪ, ʀᴀᴡ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ//ᴀᴍʏ ᴡᴏʟʟᴀʀᴅ, ʟᴀᴜʀᴀ ᴘᴀʟᴍᴇʀ ɢʀᴀᴅᴜᴀᴛᴇs//ᴅᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴀʟʟᴏʏ, ᴛᴀɴɢᴏ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇʀ.

[cy-blade]

[clambuoyance]

[DC] doodled these two a lot this week