#once I finish creating it

[reallygroovyninja]

Part 1

Clarke turned off the main highway and onto the winding backroads that led to her inheritance - an old Victorian house that once belonged to her Great Aunt Becca. As she drove through the dense woods, the sun started to set, casting long shadows across the overgrown road. 

Up ahead, she spotted the battered mailbox with "Woodhaven Manor" painted across it in fading letters. She pulled into the long, gravel driveway that cut through the trees, branches scratching against the car windows as she slowly made her way towards the secluded home. 

In the dim light, Clarke could just make out the shape of the three-story mansion, with its peeling paint and creepers snaking up the walls. The place looked forgotten by time, exactly as her aunt had described years ago when telling young Clarke stories about her eccentric old home. 

Pulling up to the creaking front porch, Clarke put the car in park and took a deep breath. She had inherited this place after her aunt's recent passing, sight unseen. As she stepped out into the cool, evening air, she felt both excitement and apprehension about what awaited inside. 

The woods surrounding the old manor house took on an eerie vibe at night. Clarke grabbed her bags quickly and headed to the front door, ready to start unraveling the mysteries held within the walls of this secluded, vintage mansion left all to her. 

Stepping onto the creaking porch, Clarke fished the old bronze key out of her bag, the one the lawyer had given her. She slipped it into the rusty keyhole and turned it slowly. The front door let out a long groan as she pushed it open, revealing nothing but inky darkness within. 

Clarke pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight, casting a dim glow over the entry hall inside. She could just make out the silhouettes of sheet-draped furniture, dusty floors, and a sweeping staircase. 

The lawyer had told her the power was still connected so she just needed to locate the light switch. Clarke waved her phone around, spotting cobwebs in the corners and peeling wallpaper. She found the switch, flicking it on with hope. 

The entry hall remained drowned in shadows. Just the faintest buzzing indicated the electricity was running, but the old bulbs had apparently burned out. Clarke sighed, using her phone to light the way as she gingerly stepped inside. 

Her footsteps echoed across the creaking floorboards as she explored the first room. Aside from her phone's beam, the house remained pitch black. She couldn't wait to get some lights on and really see what this timeworn manor held within its walls. 

Passing through an arched doorway, Clarke entered what appeared to be the living room. Her phone flashed over a vintage sofa and chairs, all covered in white sheets. Clarke noticed an old lamp sitting on a nearby table. She headed over, turning it on with hopes the wiring still worked. 

The lamp flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the room. Clarke could now make out more details - the intricate molding along the walls, the heavy drapes blocking the windows. Over the fireplace mantel hung a large, gilded frame. 

Stepping closer, Clarke illuminated the portrait within. It was of a beautiful young woman with long, chestnut brown hair, piercing green eyes, and a soft smile. Clarke knew this wasn't her Great Aunt Becca, who had blonde hair like Clarke. She wondered who the mysterious woman was. 

With the lamp now giving off some ambiance, Clarke spotted a light switch by the doorway and flipped it on. The antique chandelier overhead came to life, fully lighting up the spacious living room. 

Clarke gazed around, taking it all in. This room seemed rich with history and secrets waiting to be uncovered. She already felt herself growing curious about the house's past inhabitants, particularly the striking brunette immortalized in the mantel portrait. 

After checking out the living room, Clarke ventured up the creaking staircase, her phone lighting the way. She wished she had booked a room at the cozy inn right off the highway instead of staying in this dusty old house her first night. But it was too late now, so she'd have to make do. 

"You just had to try and save money by staying here, didn't you Clarke," she muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs. 

On the second floor, Clarke peeked into several bedrooms draped in sheets. One room looked more inviting than the rest, with a polished wood bedframe and floral wallpaper. Clarke entered and opened the curtains, moonlight streaming through the window's stained glass. 

"Well, at least this room doesn't look completely ancient," she said, running a finger over the furniture and examining the layer of dust. 

Searching the closets, she miraculously found clean linen that didn't smell too musty. Clarke made up the bed, coughing a bit as dust flew up from the nightstand when she spread the sheets. 

"Guess this will have to do for the night," she sighed. 

Too exhausted to explore further, Clarke set her bags down and changed into pajamas. As she climbed into the creaky bed, she heard the house settle and groan around her. 

"Please let me get some sleep and not run into any ghosts tonight," she whispered into the darkness. Despite her unease, Clarke's eyes soon closed, giving in to much-needed sleep. 

That night, Clarke drifted into a deep but fitful sleep. Strange dreams came to her in fragments - she was wandering the house's halls at night, hearing whispers around each corner. Shadowy figures flickered at the edge of her vision. She called out for them to show themselves but woke up before anything appeared. 

"That was strange..." she mumbled in her half-asleep state. 

Another dream found her standing in the overgrown garden outside. The brunette from the living room portrait walked by Clarke with a sad smile. Clarke tried to call out to her but couldn't make a sound. 

"Wait, come back!" Clarke wanted to say but the words wouldn't come. The mysterious woman disappeared into the hazy garden mist before Clarke could follow. 

Clarke stirred briefly from these unsettling dreams but exhaustion kept pulling her back under. When morning finally came, sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, rousing Clarke awake. 

She sat up in bed, momentarily disoriented by her surroundings. "Where...oh right, the house," she muttered, remembering the night before. 

Then the previous night came back - the long drive, arriving at the inherited mansion past dark, making a bed in this dusty room. 

Clarke rubbed her eyes and stretched. "At least I got some sleep in this old place." 

She felt well-rested in spite of the strange dreams. Ready to explore the house in daylight, she got up and changed into fresh clothes, eager to learn more about her new home and its history. 

After getting dressed, Clarke made her way back downstairs. Sunlight now streamed through the living room windows, giving her a clearer view of the space. She paused to examine the portrait above the mantel again. 

"Hmm, you look familiar," Clarke murmured, gazing at the painted woman. "Wait..." 

The young brunette woman gazed back at Clarke with her piercing green eyes. Something about her elegant features stirred a memory in Clarke's mind. Then she recalled glimpsing this woman in her dream last night, wandering through the misty garden. 

"That's so weird..." Clarke said out loud. She hadn't noticed the resemblance when first seeing the woman in her dream last night. She stared at the painting, trying to determine if she was imagining things. 

But the more she looked, the more the woman resembled the figure from her dream. Clarke shook her head, laughing softly at herself. "Get a grip Griffin, just a coincidence," she muttered. With a last lingering glance, she turned and continued exploring the first floor. 

Leaving the living room, Clarke wandered into what appeared to be a formal dining area. A long, polished wood table was surrounded by high-backed chairs upholstered in faded green fabric. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, covered in a layer of dust. 

"Fancy," Clarke murmured, running her fingers over the intricate carvings in the chair backs. "I bet they hosted some elegant dinner parties in here." 

Moving through an arched doorway, she entered the kitchen. It looked straight out of the 1970s with its mustard yellow appliances and linoleum tile floors. The cabinets were made of a dark stained wood that matched the dining table. Avocado green countertops completed the retro look. 

"Hello 1975 called, they want their kitchen back," Clarke chuckled to herself as she opened the refrigerator. Not surprised to find it empty and switched off. 

She tried the faucet and was relieved when cool water sputtered out. "At least the plumbing works," she sighed. 

Clarke opened drawers and cabinets, mostly bare except for some faded cookware. "Sure wish these cabinets could talk," she mused. Clarke wondered if a family had once cooked meals and laughed around this kitchen.  

After exploring the main floors, Clarke's stomach started to growl. She realized she needed to go pick up some groceries and supplies. The lawyer had mentioned a small general store in the nearby town that would have basics. But for more options, there was a MegaValue and bigger stores about 20 minutes farther out. 

Clarke decided to try the general store first. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed out the front door. The fresh air felt nice after being inside the musty house. 

She drove down the long driveway until she reached the two-lane road. Following the lawyer's directions, she made her way toward the center of the small rural town. 

Pulling up to the general store, Clarke could see it looked like something straight from the 1950s. She went inside, greeted by creaky wood floors and floor-to-ceiling shelves stocked haphazardly with food and goods. 

Clarke grabbed a basket and started perusing the aisles. She picked up bread, peanut butter, cereal and other non-perishable items. At the back, she found the cleaning supplies and opted for natural cleaners to help freshen the house. 

Clarke brought her basket of items up to the antique register. An older woman with curly grey hair and kind eyes smiled at her. "Find everything ok, dear?" 

"Yes, thank you," Clarke replied. 

The woman rang up the items while making pleasant small talk. "Haven't seen you around before, just passing through?" 

Clarke explained, "Actually, I just inherited the Woodhaven Manor house from my Great Aunt Becca." 

"Old Becca!" the woman exclaimed. "Oh I knew her well. So sorry for your loss. That's quite an estate she's left you." Her expression grew serious. "But you know, some say that old place is haunted." 

Clarke's eyes widened. "Haunted?" 

"Rumor is there was a murder there long ago," the owner whispered. "Folks claim to see a ghostly young woman wandering the gardens at night. Beauty with long brown hair." She leaned in close. "But mind you, I don't believe in ghosts! Just bored townspeople letting their imaginations run wild cause it's an old creaky house." 

Clarke nodded politely, hiding her unease. She paid for her items and said goodbye, the owner's words lingering as she drove back to the manor. 

Back at the house, Clarke brought her supplies inside. "Okay, let's get to work," she said to herself. 

She put away the food and decided to start cleaning the bedroom she'd slept in last night first. 

Heading upstairs with some all-purpose cleaner and rags, Clarke pushed the furniture to the center of the room and began diligently dusting. "Geez, look at all this dust!" she coughed as she wiped down the surfaces. 

Once everything was dust-free, Clarke began scrubbing the wood floorboards to restore their shine. "These floors are so gorgeous under all this grime," she remarked as she scrubbed on her hands and knees. 

At the windows, she washed away years of dirt, letting sunlight stream in. "That's better," Clarke declared. The white lace curtains were dingy, so Clarke made a mental note to replace them. 

Stepping back to survey her work, Clarke smiled with satisfaction. "Much improved!" The room already looked one hundred times better. She felt motivated to tackle the rest of the bedrooms next. Breathing deeply, she caught a hint of lemon from her natural cleaner, a refreshing change from the previous mustiness. 

After spending the day cleaning, Clarke was exhausted. She tidied up the cleaning supplies and washed off the day's grime. 

Too tired to eat, she quickly changed into pajamas. As Clarke settled into the freshly made bed, she deeply breathed in its clean scent before instantly falling asleep. 

That night the dreams returned. Clarke found herself standing in the overgrown garden from before. She spotted the chestnut-haired woman from the living room portrait sitting on a stone bench reading a book, looking deeply sad. 

Clarke slowly approached, wanting to comfort her. But the woman suddenly glanced up, startling at the sight of Clarke. She quickly rose and hurried away, disappearing into the mist before Clarke could call out. 

"Wait, please!" Clarke tried to yell, but no sound came. She attempted to run after the fleeing woman but found herself moving in slow motion. 

Just before the mist enveloped her completely, the woman paused and glanced back at Clarke with mournful green eyes. Then the garden faded to black and Clarke woke with a gasp. 

Catching her breath, Clarke stared out the window at the moonlit yard. The dream had felt so vivid. She shook her head, trying to make sense of it all before exhaustion pulled her back into slumber. 

Clarke slept soundly the rest of the night, with no more dreams of the mysterious woman. When morning sunshine filtered into the bedroom, she awoke feeling rested. 

As Clarke got ready for the day, her thoughts returned to the strange dream from last night. 

"Who is that woman?" she wondered aloud. "And why do I keep seeing her in these dreams?" 

Clarke shook her head, confused by it all. She didn't put much stock in dreams usually.  

"Maybe I've looked at that portrait in the living room too many times and my mind is inserting her into dreams," Clarke mused and laughed softly to herself. She was probably making this into something bigger than it was. Still, the dreams left her feeling unsettled, like the woman was sad and needed help. 

"Get it together, Clarke," she muttered. "It was just a dream." She finished getting ready and headed downstairs, eager to explore more of the house. 

Over the next several days, Clarke worked to clean every inch of the old mansion. She scrubbed floors, washed walls, and cleared out cobwebs and dust. Slowly but surely, the beautiful home began to shine again. 

During her exploration, Clarke searched for more clues about the house's previous inhabitants but found very little. The identity of the woman in the portrait remained a mystery. 

Each night as Clarke slept, she would have the same dream again and again. She was in the misty garden, chasing after the fleeing brown-haired woman, calling for her to stop, but never able to reach her. 

Every morning Clarke awoke puzzled. She started to wonder if these dreams meant something more, rather than just being random figments of her imagination. 

The woman was clearly connected to this house in some way. Clarke wished she could communicate with her, help ease the sadness that seemed to linger around her. 

But each night the dream remained the same - the woman always staying tantalizingly out of reach. Clarke resolved to keep digging through the house's past, hoping to uncover the secret of the woman's identity and why she lingered here. 

After a long day of cleaning, Clarke's cell phone rang. She smiled when she saw it was her best friend Raven calling. 

"Hey Raven!" Clarke answered. 

"Clarke! How's the mansion life treating you?" Raven asked. 

"Oh, you know, lounging by the pool while my butler keeps my drink filled," Clarke joked. "But it's coming along well. I'm almost done with the main floors." 

"That's awesome," said Raven. "What's next on your list?" 

"The attic," Clarke replied. "From what I could see, it's totally jam-packed with furniture, trunks, boxes. I'm hoping I can find some valuable items from the previous occupants." 

"Ooh, mysterious," Raven said. "Found any ghosts up there yet?" 

Clarke hesitated. "Well, actually, I've been having these really vivid dreams about a woman here." She described the recurring dream of chasing the brown-haired woman through the misty garden. 

"Whoa," Raven reacted when Clarke finished. "Think it's the ghost of someone who used to live there?" 

"I don't know," Clarke admitted. "It feels so real when I'm dreaming it. I want to find out who she is. I'm hoping the attic might have some clues." 

Raven whistled through the phone. "Well now I'm thoroughly intrigued! You'll have to let me know if you uncover anything juicy." 

Clarke smiled. "Will do. Talk soon Raven!" They hung up and Clarke felt motivated to explore that attic first thing tomorrow. 

That night, for the first time in over a week, Clarke did not dream of the mysterious brown-haired woman. But when she awoke the next morning, she still felt oddly tired, as if she had slept at all. 

"Ugh, so sleepy," Clarke grumbled as she dragged herself out of bed. She shuffled to the kitchen and brewed a full pot of strong, black coffee. 

As she sipped, Clarke mentally prepared for the task ahead - tackling the attic. She was eager to uncover any treasures hidden up there, especially if they held clues about the woman's identity from the portrait in the living room. 

"Here goes nothing," Clarke said, finishing her coffee. She grabbed her flashlight and ascended the rickety attic stairs. Unlatching the door, it swung open with a loud creak, revealing a dark and dusty space crammed with trunks, furniture, boxes, and cobwebs. 

"Whoa, jackpot!" Clarke exclaimed, stepping inside. She opened a large trunk first, coughing as a plume of dust erupted. Inside were aged garments, hats, gloves, and shoes. 

"Fancy stuff," Clarke murmured, holding up a beaded flapper dress. She searched the trunk thoroughly but found no clues. 

Moving on, she pried open a cedar chest filled with vintage books. She flipped through them one-by-one, but they revealed no hidden notes or inscriptions. 

Several more trunks contained only moth-eaten linens and faded quilts. Clarke started to feel discouraged but pressed on, determined to leave no stone unturned in her search to uncover this house’s buried secrets. 

Clarke spent hours searching through the attic's dusty contents. As she opened each trunk and rummaged through the boxes, she discovered the attic was packed with antiques. 

There were ornate mirrors, carved bookshelves, embroidered footstools, globe stands, and many other vintage furnishings. She found a silver tea set that just needed some polish, along with framed paintings of landscapes ready to be hung. 

"Whoa, look at all this stuff," Clarke murmured in awe. The shelves contained rows of leather-bound books, many first editions. 

Clarke realized she would need to call in an appraiser to get estimates. While she hadn't found any family heirlooms to keep personally, these antiques would surely bring in good money at auction. 

"I bet I could get the house renovated just by selling a fraction of this," Clarke thought excitedly. Still, she hoped to uncover objects with deeper meaning related to the house's history. 

For now, Clarke vowed to keep digging through the attic's treasures, imagining the fortunes it may hold. But first she had to clean off the layers of dust coating each antique item. "So much cleaning ahead," Clarke sighed. 

As Clarke searched the attic, she noticed an old trunk peeking out from under a rocking horse. Intrigued, she pulled it out and opened the lid. Inside were bundles of aged letters tied with ribbons, along with some charcoal drawings. 

Clarke carefully picked up one of the letters and examined the flowing script. It was dated 1871 and addressed to someone named Lexa. Clarke read on with excitement: 

My Dearest Lexa, 

My father insists I am to marry Bartholomew Smith. He is a 40-year-old widower with two children who owns a small farm. Father says it is a good match, but I confess I find nothing appealing in it. Bartholomew is so boring and stern, not at all like my beloved. I wish I could run away with you, my heart's desire. Please write and give me strength. 

Yours always, Costia 

"Hmm who is this Lexa that Costia wants to run away with?" Clarke murmured aloud. The letter suggested Lexa and Costia shared an intimate bond. Clarke’s mind spun with questions as she eagerly reached for more letters, hoping to uncover the true nature of Costia and Lexa's relationship. 

Clarke eagerly opened another letter from the trunk, this one dated a few months after the first. The flowing script read: 

Dearest Lexa, 

My misery deepens by the day. Bartholomew insists on visiting my chambers near every night, reeking of spirits and the farm. He wishes me to lay with him and provide an heir. I can barely stand when he paws at me with his grubby hands and fetid breath. 

My only hope is to quicken with child so he will no longer force his vile affections upon me. My heart recoils at his very touch. I often imagine I am in your tender embrace instead, the only one who stirs passion in my soul. Please write again soon, I cherish your words which give me strength. 

Ever Yours, Costia 

Clarke felt her heart ache for Costia as she described her appalling marriage. She longed to know if Costia had managed to find happiness, and what became of her relationship with the mysterious Lexa. More compelled than ever, Clarke returned to the trunk seeking the next letter. 

Clarke became so engrossed in reading the letters, she didn't notice the attic growing dark as the sun began to set. When she finally glanced up, she saw dust motes floating through the last rays of light streaming through the window. 

"Wow, I didn't realize how late it got," Clarke said aloud. She carefully stacked the aged letters she had read so far and stood up. 

Clarke stretched her stiff muscles after sitting hunched over for so long. She was eager to continue reading more but would need better light. Clarke carefully picked up the stack of letters, murmuring, "You're coming with me - I need to know your secrets." 

She left the attic, closing the door behind her. Clarke descended the stairs and headed to the cozy den, where she could curl up near the fireplace to read by lamp light. 

Settling into a leather armchair, Clarke placed the letters on the side table. She added some logs to the fireplace and lit a match, soon filling the den with flickering warmth. Clarke picked up the top letter, thirsty to uncover more clues about Costia and Lexa's tragic tale. 

Clarke unfolds another of Costia's letters, this one expressing despair that she has not yet conceived a child. 

My Dearest Lexa, 

My womb yet remains empty, though not for lack of my husband's efforts. Each night he insists on visiting my bedchamber to perform his conjugal duties, no matter how I wish to refuse him. His rough affections repulse me, but I endure them in hopes of conceiving the child that might grant me reprieve. 

My spirit grows wearier by the day under this barrage I cannot stop. I pray fervently that his labors soon take root so I may have respite from his unwanted touch. 

It shames me to confess these intimate troubles, but you alone understand the true nature of my heart. I cherish the love we shared, untainted by obligation or duty. Thoughts of you sustain me as I await the day I will be freed. Please write again soon, your words shine light into my darkness. 

Yours Most Faithfully, Costia 

Clarke's heart ached as she finished reading Costia's latest letter. "Oh Costia, I'm so sorry," she whispered sadly. 

She couldn't imagine the pain and humiliation Costia must have endured, trapped in a marriage to a man she didn't love. Forced to share his bed night after night. 

"You deserve so much better," Clarke said aloud. She got up and stoked the fire, as if wanting to bring light and warmth to Costia's long-ago suffering. 

Clarke thought back to the love and passion Costia had shared with Lexa. Their relationship seemed one of equals who cared deeply for each other. 

"At least you had your true love for a time," Clarke murmured. Though they were separated now, Lexa had given Costia comfort and strength when she needed it most. 

Clarke wished she could reach across time and give Costia a real friend to support her through the difficult trials of her marriage. But perhaps these letters had been Costia's lifeline to survive. 

Settling back into the leather armchair, Clarke opened the last letter from the stack she had brought down. Unfolding the worn paper, she quickly scanned the flowing script. 

Dearest Lexa, 

The day I have long prayed for is finally here - I am with child! My husband came to me one last time before propriety dictates we must refrain relations until the babe is born. 

While this child is his, you remain my one true love. The passion we shared lights my world in a way duty cannot. I cherish the memories of our time together and keep them close always. 

I confess I wish with all my being this babe had been created from our love, not obligation. But I will care for this innocent life fate has granted me. 

My only solace through the difficulties ahead is knowing our hearts remain entwined, no matter the distance between us. I eagerly await your reply, as your words are like water on a parched soul. 

The love we share keeps my spirit alive. Stay true to me, as I will to you, until the blessed day we meet again. 

Ever Yours, Costia 

Clarke slowly set down the final letter, leaning back to absorb everything she had read. Costia and Lexa had clearly shared a powerful, loving relationship. But then Costia was forced to marry Bartholomew against her wishes. 

"You two deserved so much better. At least you had each other for a time," Clarke said softly. She could tell Lexa had been Costia's lifeline. Their poetic, tragic tale had Clarke hooked. 

She wondered what ultimately became of Costia and Lexa. Did they reunite? Or were they forever kept apart by the circumstances of their time? 

Clarke hoped there were more letters tucked away in the trunk that could give her insight. "Please let there be more," she whispered, eager to learn the full story of the two star-crossed lovers. Their passion and perseverance deeply inspired Clarke. 

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for an incredible 500 days of love and support. I offer you: answers to questions that no one has asked.

(As always, more can be found in the tags <3)

[breadmecoshy]

Oumota comic, Part 2

Headcanon - Kaito has nicotine withdrawal during the events of Danganronpa V3 (among other things, what happens to him there). Just a cute little comic

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/breadmecoshy/736606178824650752/oumota-comic-part-1?source=share

Plot Twist - After finishing the main game (which we all want to believe was a simulation), Tsumugi became so attached to the guys at V3 that she talked Danganronpa's company into launching a spin-off in romcom format in which she would try to bring together the couples most popular with viewers

joke (or maybe not)

[tennessoui]

brain will not let me sleep until I say

same age padawans au where they’ve been in a weird wired frenemies thing for ages but now that they’re both mature adults (all of 24/25 years old) they’re more friends than enemies….

And it’s Obi-Wan that Anakin tells when he’s decided he’s going to leave the Order, not anyone else. He has a wife. There was a pregnancy scare a few weeks ago and it made her want their relationship to stop being a secret so they could really have kids. He has to leave the Order. Doesn’t Obi-Wan understand?

Obi-Wan, who has been a little in love with Anakin since they were younglings, does not understand. Not one bit. Instead of wishing him well and helping him pack, he goes to the Council and requests a mission in the Outer Rim….perhaps a month long or more…perhaps undercover? No contact with anyone on Coruscant. And maybe they could assign Anakin Skywalker as his back up? He can help with the undercover aspect.

And at first, Anakin is pissed because he was planning to resign from the Order in the next few days, but Obi-Wan convinces him to go on this mission with him….one last mission as a Jedi. To say goodbye to the Jedi life.

Obviously, Obi-Wan sort of wants to go on one last mission with Anakin because in his dreams, he wants the mission to go so perfectly that Anakin stays with him the Order. But realistically, he mostly wants to go on this mission to say goodbye to Anakin and then let him go, soaking up all his warmth and light, memorizing every casual touch bestowed on him because he knows they’re ticking down to the last handful of seconds together.

But then obviously the mission works TOO well and Anakin falls in love with Obi-Wan but doesn’t admit to it even to himself before they’re on the ship about to head back to Coruscant and Anakin realizes he doesn’t want to leave this planet because he doesn’t want to leave Obi-Wan if it could always be like this so he crashes the ship during take off so they can stay longer because he’s 24 and doesn’t know how to handle the immensity of his love except through destruction

[muffinlance]

Hi! Hope you're doing well! I just wanted to check in and see if there is an ETA on epubs for anyone who's ordered them recently - I ordered epubs of both Fox's Tongue and Kirin's Bone, and The Skin Stealer's Son on the 31st of May but haven't gotten them yet. No pressure! I totally understand if you're just inundated with orders or busy, I was just curious 🤗 Anyway, thank you so much, hope everything is going good!

Very very soon! I ran into some issues with a corrupted file, which meant I had to go back to the version before that, which didn't have the final typo fixes because of course it didn't so I've been cleaning those up all week, blerg. I'm 90% done now--hoping to finalize the epub tomorrow and start getting them out the day after, assuming my computer doesn't eat things again. Since I'm now compulsively saving to three locations every few hours that should hopefully not be an issue again.

Sorry for the delay, and thank you for your support!

[moonwoodhollow]

mum & daughter time 🎵

[bvidzsoo]

So, I’m working on it…

Guys…ngl this oneshot is taking too much effort for me to write (I’ve been feeling unwell lately ngl) so unfortunately there won’t be a “Love Me Like A Rockstar” update this week because I really want to finish up this story. I’m sorry and I hope you understand! 🫶🏻

[buwheal]

eeeyyyy, got bored and tried to draw you from memory.

how good is my memmory?

[stil-lindigo]

emily carroll has once again permanently changed my brain chemistry

[hersurvival]

City streets rapidly claimed,

An intersection moved in upon by rebels,

Guns and dogs and trucks,

As I am in the middle of crossing the street.

Grabbed, dragged, abducted.

A warehouse filled with girls,

Taken. Same as me.

These are trials, competition,

Impress the boss, their leader,

You will survive.

But what am I if not a caretaker?

Time's up and I've helped everyone else

Except myself.

And as the guards come round

To make their judgment,

The panic of being a disappointment,

Of not being perfect,

Has me collapse.

A man straddles me

As I am hyperventilating,

Shoves two fingers under my ribs,

Demanding I focus, sharp pain.

In and out, too bright,

Somehow too dark.

I lock eyes with two girls up high,

Attempting to escape through a vent.

And what good am I if not to protect?

What more can I do as diversion, distraction,

But stop breathing all together.

[quick-catton]

💌 hiiii felix catton i'm free on february 14th jsyk if you're not busy on february 14th i'm also not busy on february 14th ah hah ha 🎀

[puppyeared]

I made a lmk oc

[kori-senpai]

[madeofbees]

me: I hate that I can never focus on books or reading, I need to go to a cabin in the woods with a stack and not be disturbed until I finish, there’s nothing like the feel of a paper book in your hands and the smell of an old, well-loved favorite and even the chunks that fall out bc you’ve read it over a hundred times and the binding is fragile books

me when the Wi-Fi goes out: böōōkš ?? never heard of her

[l-e-i-k-o]

𝒮𝒾𝓂 𝑅𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉 for @invisiblequeen ≽^•⩊•^≼

[hamletunfortunately]

sometimes when i think of the infinights campaign i get so fucking mentally ill and want to cry and scream and shake and draw my feelings and talk to someone. but just because I think about how much fun it must have been to create and be apart of. imagine how much fun they all had while it was going on? oh my.goodness