#session diary

[laimabynight]

♚ Kingmaker Session 1 ♚

Player characters:

Gredelur, Human Cleric of Erastil (Kalle)

Lory, Goblin Ranger (Killed by Cuteness)

Mirae, Fairy Kinetecist (Nena Celine)

Marquis Donatien Jaque de l'Ostrove, Elven Swashbuckler (Lia/Me)

24th Calistril, 4710 AR As the sun dipped low behind the rolling hills, casting long shadows over the path, four travelers approached the gates of an luxurious estate. The company had journeyed together for several days, bound by the winds of fate and the summons of a Swordlord whose renown reached far across the land. Among their number was Gredelur, a stalwart human cleric devoted to Erastil, his staff a steady guide and his faith a light in dark places. Beside him walked Lory, a goblin ranger with a keen eye and a spirit as restless as the wind, her bow ever at the ready. Mirae flitted about them, a diminutive fairy kineticist whose presence seemed to carry the warmth of sunlight even amidst the brewing storm. Last came Marquis Donatien Jaque de l’Ostrove, an elven swashbuckler clad in fine garments, his movements graceful and precise, as though he danced even when he walked.

Overhead, dark clouds gathered, rolling in with the promise of thunder. The estate loomed ahead, its tall gates adorned with iron filigree and crests. The guards at the entrance, clad in polished armor, eyed the travelers warily but granted them entry upon hearing of their purpose. Beyond the gates, a grand hall awaited, its doors heavy with age and rich with carvings of past glories.

Inside, the travelers found themselves in a wide and imposing hall, where music and laughter echoed off high vaulted ceilings. A warm fire crackled in a distant hearth, and the scent of roasted meats lingered in the air. The companions stepped into the hall, though Lory hesitated at the threshold, her sharp eyes scanning the gathering before she reluctantly followed.

The party was directed to a long, empty table where they could rest and observe. Around them, the hall bustled with life. At a nearby table sat a loud and boastful warrior woman, recounting tales of her conquests, while a halfling at her side diligently penned notes into a small, leather-bound book. Elsewhere, a cluster of dwarves kept to themselves, drinking deeply and speaking in low tones, while a man in dark clothing flitted from table to table, his gaze sharp and calculating.

As the music softened, two figures entered the hall. One was Josef Emelius, the mayor of Restov, a man of evident authority but warm demeanor. At his side stood the Swordlord herself, Lady Jamandi Aldori, a half-elven woman of regal bearing and fierce countenance. The hall fell silent as they welcomed the adventurers, thanking them for answering the call to chart the Stolen Lands. The Swordlord promised a feast that night, with the details of their mission to be revealed on the morrow.

The music resumed, and the travelers settled in for the evening. Plates of food were brought forth, and the hall was filled with conversation and merriment. Yet not all was as it seemed. The halfling chronicler sketched figures and scenes with unusual precision, the warrior woman’s tales seemed to grow grander with each retelling, and the elf seated at a nearby table bore a pallor unnatural for her kin.

As the storm outside raged on, whispers passed between the companions. Gredelur, ever perceptive, noted strange markings on the elf’s skin and murmured to his comrades of a suspicion—she might not be among the living. Donatien, with his noble charm, approached the mysterious elf and confirmed his fears: she was undead, a being both proud and weary, who introduced herself as Jaethal of Kyonin. Donatien couldn't stop himself from mentioning her undead condition, after which Jaethal quickly left the hall - much to Donatiens dismay, as he would loved to talk a bit more to the woman.

Meanwhile, Lory struck up an conversation with a dour dwarf clad in heavy armor. He bore the symbol of Groetus, god of the end, upon his gloves, and his words were steeped in the pessimism of his faith. The goblin ranger, undeterred, shared a drink with the somber cleric who introduced himself as Harrim, finding camaraderie even in his grim outlook.

As the evening wore on, the feast began to wind down. The companions introduced themselves to Lady Aldori. Furthermore they drank and made friendship with their tablemates, namely the aforementioned halfling Linzi and the barbarian Amiri. Also they got to meet Maegar Varn, with whom Donatien struck up a friendly conversation. Lady Aldori addressed the hall one final time, bidding all a good night and promising that the morrow would bring the first steps toward their great endeavor. The adventurers retired to their chambers, weary from travel but eager for the journey ahead.

Yet, their rest was short-lived. In the dead of night, they were roused by a scream that pierced the stillness. Shadows moved in the dark, and hushed voices whispered of mistakes made too loudly. The companions armed themselves swiftly, meeting their first trial in blood and steel. Three intruders had come under cover of night, but they were no match for the resolve of the adventurers. By the time dawn crept over the horizon, the bandits lay defeated, and the company stood united, ready for the challenges yet to come. Thus ended the first chapter of their tale.

[sirrencia-the-tubular]

Well, we had our first session of ICON 1.5! It went okay. Had a couple hiccups with the narrative system, as it’s not anything I’ve used before. Some mild issues with role playing too, because I haven’t done that for nearer to 2 years. The players were a bit confused, but one guy gave it an honest go and helped the others run through it. I will need to watch maybe an actual play to see how I ought to be running the FitD system.

Tactical combat could have gone better, but that’s not a system issue. I rolled insanely well, and I watched 4 players roll well below a six for 2 rounds. The combat ended around round 6, but that was the end of the session. The monster system is really nice, but this combat was built exceedingly simple. Not too much terrain changes or cover, but several tables to flip over. Players didn’t realize how cover worked, so I’ll try to telegraph even more to put that ball in their court.

Main issue was one player who was under the impression that he could just, I dunno, learn via osmosis and not read any reading. No idea how his character worked, no understanding of his traits. We drilled down to it around round 3, and things went much better when 1/4 of the party was willing and able to contribute. Next session is in a couple weeks, theoretically the next one will go better.

[nodalstudies]

whereabouts of february 11, 2024 🗒️

can’t believe it’s already week 6 and my first proper nursing class is starting up soon! every day has just been a choice between discipline and comfort. i love myself enough to keep fostering my growth academically and mentally.

i also got myself a valentine today <3 a win for sapphics everywhere!

[moonwoodhollow]

just worked on existing wips today. 1. getting somewhere with Oasis Springs, it takes so much time though (dreading the other worlds btw) 2. & 3. Ciudad Enamorada - little café area in a mini mart + a glimpse into the community centre.

[jurygarroth]

[yang-jin-seo]

Day 59 🕟

2024.10.29

[ghost-proofbaby]

if it were anyone else (e.m.)

warnings: strong allusions to depression, disordered eating/rough relationship with food, mentions of smoking, description of a sort of panic attack. very sad. hurt/comfort? not edited.

wc: 1.6k+

a/n: this is literally entirely self indulgent and written entirely after i sat and cried and thought "i wish i had eddie here right now to hold me". maybe in like thirty minutes tops. this is for me and only me. go figure lol. sorry. yeah. anyways.

if you relate, my askbox is always open, and i'm very sorry you've felt this way as well. i hope you all take care of yourselves. drink some water, call a friend. be kind to yourself.

“I’m worried about you.” 

Four words that always manage to strike a certain type of fear in your gut. You don’t know how to react as he says it, how he wants you to react. You can only stare blankly, you can only wish harder for the earth to swallow you whole.

“What do you mean?” you laugh nervously, following it with a hard swallow.

You’re playing dumb. You know it, he knows it. The tremor in your bones and your numb appendages know it, too. 

“You’re…” Eddie stalls, licking his lips, letting his eyes rake over you, “You’re getting bad again.” 

You’re quick to shake your head, forcing another hollow chuckle from your chest, “It’s not that bad. I’m fin-”

“You’re not fine.”

The look in his eyes could crack your spine if you stare too long. Wet eyes, a trembling bottom lip, worry lines etched into his forehead that you realize might be caused by you.

You’re causing him worry. The last thing you want to do, you’ve accomplished. You’re on a fast-track to becoming a burden – the first step is always acceptance. 

You’re still unsure of how he wants – no, needs you to react right now. This conversation is a landmine for both of you, and you hold every breath with every step as you try to navigate it. If you make one wrong step, it could cause an explosion that spares no survivors.

You don’t mind if it tears you apart limb by limb. You do mind if it hurts him. 

“How… How do you know that?” 

It’s not a sarcastic snipping or defensive deterrence. It’s an unfiltered response of genuineness – you want to know the signs, you want to know what has exposed the rot this time.

And then, maybe next time, you’ll be able to better shield it from him with this knowledge. 

“How could I not?” he takes a deep breath in through his nose, and you focus on the flare of his nostrils rather than any of the tears beginning to gather at his waterlines, “It’s been happening for a while now, though, hasn’t it?” 

Your throat is a cage, tight and restrictive and ringing with a bitter metallic taste in its tenseness. You can’t respond with words. You can only nod. 

He chooses to answer your question more properly now that you’ve admitted it, “You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground. Picking up distractions like they’re going out of style.”

“Hey, they might be. We never know-” you cut yourself off when your eyes meet his. Now’s not the time for jokes, “Sorry. I… I know. I’m sorry.” 

He’s right. Fuck, he’s right. 

“I want to ask you something, and I need you to answer me honestly,” his own steps across these landmines are just as delicate, just as feathery light, as your own. You hear it in his tone, see it in his body language. You wish your body could sink into the mattress you’re sitting on the edge of as he crouches in front of you, warm palms connecting with your knees. Grounding you. Tethering you. Holding you back from that sinking you crave. “Are you… Sweetheart, are you okay?”

If anybody else had built up to such a stupid question, you would have laughed in their face. You would have shoved those warm palms right off of your skin and you would have thrown up those ice cold hands of your own, shouted obviously not. 

Obviously not. I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay, it’s a bit comical. I am drowning. I am treading in freezing cold waters and I am barely capable of keeping my head above the waves. My engine is fucked, my tank is empty. I don’t think I’d even know how to be ‘okay’ again if you did manage to pull this mangled body of mine from these depths and sat me down on safe, solid ground again. 

You can’t say any of this, though. Not because you don’t trust him, not because he would judge you. But because the moment he asks the question that should make you scoff, you let out a sob instead. Something like a muffled, broken wail that tears from deep within you. It had already been ready and poised, laying in wait for a perfect moment like this one to escape. 

His eyes aren’t the only glossy ones anymore. 

“I-” you start, breathing already stuttering and chest already constricting, “I- I-”

“Hey,” he palms smooth up your thighs, carrying their warmth with them, as if he were trying to spread it across you. As if he had heard your thoughts. As if he already knew all about those dark, treacherous, freezing waters you were stranded in. All you can do is spew out another cry, strangled as you tried to swallow it down before it entered the atmosphere between you two, “Hey.” 

You only notice the tears when you crumple forward and he meets you halfway. Those warm palms, those hands so capable of safety and promise, cup your cheeks and his thumbs make quick work of swiping away the salty streams. 

“Hey, baby, breathe for me,” his voice is tragically gentle, “Just one deep breath, okay?” 

To demonstrate, you watch his chest expand dramatically, his hands forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

You can’t see through the bleariness. 

“C’mon, sweetness,” he encourages again, “One breath. Just one.” 

If it were anyone else, you’d turn into a fit of rage at the coddling. You’d break everything in sight. You’d scream until your already burning lungs finally collapsed as they’d been yearning to for so long. 

But it’s him. It’s just him, it’s just Eddie. 

His chest rises dramatically again, and this time, yours does as well, albeit through stifling hiccups. You’re dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the flood of emotion that was wrecking you. 

“There you go!” his voice rises ever so slightly, and when you flinch a bit at the sudden volume, he retracts, “Sorry, sorry. But that’s it, sweetheart. Another one, okay?” 

Another breath. Another sob. Another wave of all the pain you’ve been battling off. 

You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground.

He was right and it fucking killed you. None of those are things you could ever shield him from. You didn’t have the heart to pull away those numb and icey fingertips every time he’d reach out for your hand, or try to cover the shivers that managed to rack your bones even in the middle of summer. The sleeping situation had been spiraling, a pendulum of sleepless nights that would end in a sleep so deep that you could have been mistaken for resting with the dead. Maybe the smoking you could have hid, especially when you’d been so boastful about quitting. 

You weren’t running yourself into the ground. You had already collapsed into the dirt, you had already joined the worms. You’d buried yourself alive, six feet under, and nothing could have stopped him from sniffing out that scent of decay on you. 

The death of a soul and mind. The death of the thing that had propelled you forward for so long. No amount of sweet perfume, or hour long scalding showers, or minty gum to occupy your mind rather than a proper meal, can erase that stench. 

You never could have shielded him. He always saw right through you. Always had, always would. 

“I’m sorry,” you end up crying out. 

You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but you echo the words again. Over and over, on repeat, until he’s rising from the ground. Until he’s sat beside you. Until his arms are suddenly encasing you and you’re awarded a warmth you didn’t feel deserving of. 

He doesn’t smell like the decay you’d surrounded yourself with. He smells like slow waking in the morning, dreary and calm and at a reasonable time. He smells like warm baths that only relax your bones, and don’t have to blister your skin in the process. He smells like three meals a day, all comforting and all effortless and that never linger with a sense of regret.

He’s not decay, never even treading close to death. He’s home. He’s the promise that you could be okay. Even if it isn’t right now. 

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, squeezing you tighter into his chest, not even blinking an eye at the patch of wetness you leave behind from where your cheeks bury against him, “Never apologize. Ever. Not with me, sweetheart. Keep the sorries. I don’t need them.” 

If it were anyone else, the holding would have suffocated you. But it’s him. It’s Eddie.

You don’t fight him when he pulls you fully into his lap, situating the two of you comfortably on that mattress. 

You don’t know how long you let him cradle you like that. How much of that time is spent filled with your cries, or how many breaths he gently urges you to take with him. He never once has to verbally say what you already know; he never once promises aloud that it’ll be okay. He doesn’t put that pressure on you, not yet. Not today. Not when he knows the journey to okay is still such a long one. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers to you instead, “I’ve got you, now, sweetheart.” 

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t believe them. 

But it’s him. It’s Eddie. 

And he’s got you, for now and for as long as you need.

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Agatha: Day 767

Wanda: “Agatha, did you have a first edition of the Odyssey? Or maybe the Iliad?”

Agatha: “The Odyssey, the Illiad- The epic Greek poems from antiquity?”

Wanda: “Yeah!”

Y/N: “Ooo, did you attend the book signing? Did you meet Homer? Was he an instant phenomenon then or was the line really short because he was an emerging author?”

Agatha: “Alright, ignoring the fact that that those stories may have been created through oral tradition and thus might have gone through many iterations before the first written copy or even is the work of solely Homer, do you REALLY think I am that old?”

Y/N: “Well - didn’t you say you were the inspiration for that one character? The one with the face that sunk a thousand ships?”

Agatha: “The face that LAUNCHED a thousand ships”

Wanda: “Was it to get away from you?”

Agatha: “SHUT UP”

[thelaurenshippen]

ID: a bracket with the title: "Pick your favorite Atypical show" and the pairings are The Bright Sessions vs. In Strange Woods, Breaker Whiskey vs. New Year’s Day, Look Up vs. Greenhouse, Life With LEO(h) vs. Dashboard Diaries. At the bottom, there is text that reads "What show are you going to recommend to a friend next"? END ID

I love all of Atypical's shows equally but I also love chaos.

[studyhrs]

27th oct 2024, i know it’s actually the 29th and i haven’t updated for almost a week but here’s what i did do (very little omg). so first of all, the horrible cold i was suffering from litera -lly wiped me out good for nearly three days lmao. i did watch several videos from allery chemistry on module 5 - it actually started to make sense lol. i got a haircut that i think i hate on friday. i then went over enthalpy which i completely forgot and module 5 & muscle contraction on saturday. on sunday i finished off transport in plants ( because my old notes had so many gaps ) & made some/went over psych flashcards. hope have a much more productive week because those exams are coming up fast. yesterday i tidied my desk because it was an abomination and today i will be hopefully actually have a nice long study day. see you later, happy studying, rara ♡

[laimabynight]

☥ Giovanni Chronicles Session 4 ☥

Reflecting on Lord Hardestadt’s intentions, the group finds themselves divided. Vasco questions whether protecting beings like themselves—vampires—can ever be seen as noble. He recalls his recent loss of control, the bloodlust that nearly overtook him, and wonders if he is a danger to the humans he once swore to protect. Anastasia, meanwhile, is driven by her newfound hunger for knowledge and power, though her curiosity about her transformed nature burns just as brightly. Francesco, ever the pragmatist, suggests they proceed cautiously. Together, they resolve to gather more information about the conspirators before deciding their next move.

As they approach the inn—a dilapidated structure cloaked in shadow—they are stopped by Vasco's dog Ruben. It startles Vasco by speaking to him directly, saying, “You’re different now.” He reacts with amazement, as this is the first time his owner has acknowledged his communication. The dog cryptically adds that others like them are waiting inside and that a woman claimed to know Vasco but wasn’t certain if he still lived. This unsettling exchange leaves the group uneasy, but determined to continue.

Inside the inn, the atmosphere is oppressive. The innkeeper barely acknowledges their presence, his demeanor unnervingly cold, while a young girl sweeps the floor with a vacant expression. The group splits up to investigate. Anastasia and Vasco remain downstairs, observing their surroundings and questioning the innkeeper, while Francesco and Tarik decide to take a look in the cellar.

There, they encounter Marico Lucino, a ghoul who offers his allegiance to the group. He warns them, however, to tread carefully—exposing their nature to the mortal world would bring ruin upon them all. Meanwhile, Ruben hints at hidden belongings and secrets buried within the inn, urging Vasco to trust him.

The tension rises as Claudio Giovanni finally makes his entrance. His presence is commanding, almost hypnotic. He acknowledges the group’s survival, a feat he did not expect, and presents them with an enticing yet dangerous proposition. If they denounce Hardestadt and align themselves with Giovanni’s faction, they will gain his protection and influence. The group reacts with skepticism, questioning Giovanni’s motives. Vasco, in particular, remains wary, his anger simmering just below the surface after the betrayals they have already endured.

Throughout the night, the coterie interacts with their respective sires:

Francesco and Valdemar

Francesco, a now tormented soul driven by ambition and desperation, sought the wisdom of his sire Count Valdemar, the master of shadows whose reputation for cruelty was as dark as the abyss he commanded. But from the very first encounter, it became clear that Valdemar’s expectations were insurmountable. The Count was a harsh and unyielding mentor, his words laced with disdain and his instructions designed to push Francesco to the brink of failure. Every lesson was a trial, every moment an opportunity for humiliation.

“Is this all you can muster?” Valdemar hissed that evening, his piercing gaze boring into Francesco as shadows coiled around the room at his command. The young vampire strained to replicate the elder’s feats, but his efforts were clumsy, his control over the darkness slipping through his fingers like water. “You lack discipline. Focus,” Valdemar snapped, his voice sharp and cutting. “Do you think power comes to those who hesitate? You are weak, Francesco—unworthy of the gifts you’ve been given.”

Francesco felt the weight of failure settle over him, the Count's scorn leaving an indelible mark on his already brittle confidence. The shadows seemed to mock him, shifting and writhing in shapes he couldn’t command. With every attempt, his doubt deepened, and Valdemar’s disappointment grew more evident.

Anastasia and Voivode Mieczyslaw

Anastasia stepped into the dimly lit chamber, her heels echoing softly on the cold stone floor. Voivode Mieczyslaw was already there, seated at a table strewn with ancient scrolls and weathered books. The light of a single candle flickered over his pallid, angular features, casting sharp shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. He looked up, his piercing gaze locking onto her. "Ah, my brilliant child," he said, his voice rich and resonant, like the deep tolling of a cathedral bell. "Come closer. Let me see what manner of creation you have become." Anastasia approached cautiously, her fingers trailing along the table's edge as she took in the strange, almost surreal atmosphere of the room. Her curiosity burned brighter than her apprehension. "You summoned me," she said, her voice steady, though her heart—dead though it was—felt as if it might beat once more under his penetrating stare.

"I did," Mieczyslaw replied, rising to his feet. He was impossibly tall, his figure both imposing and elegant. With a deliberate motion, he lifted his shirt, revealing his torso. “Have you ever wondered what lies beneath the flesh?” Caught off guard, Anastasia hesitated. "I... I suppose I have." "Then come," he said softly, yet with a command that could not be refused. "Examine me. See what we are made of."

She reached out with trembling hands, her mind torn between scientific fascination and a primal unease. Slowly, she pressed her fingers to his skin, feeling its unnatural coolness. Then, with a nod from him, she drew a blade from the table. "You need no blade," he said, his voice like velvet. He gripped her wrist, guiding her hand lower. “Feel the truth of our form.” With her fingers, she parted his flesh as though it were clay, and what lay beneath stole her breath—a body devoid of the organs she expected, save for a still heart that resided not in its usual place but nestled to the left.

"The heart beats only when we wish it," he explained, his voice low and intimate, as though sharing a sacred secret. "It is a tool, nothing more. Our humanity, Anastasia, is behind us. Do you mourn it?" "No" she whispered, though the weight of her words surprised even her. "Good," Mieczyslaw murmured, stepping closer. "Then you are ready to learn more. Together, we will uncover truths that will shatter the heavens themselves."

Tarik and Al Nazir

The night was still, the air heavy with the scent of earth and ash as Tarik stood alone in the courtyard. A shadow moved in the periphery of his vision, and before he could react, a blade was at his throat. "Still too slow," Al Nazir said, his voice a low growl, laced with equal parts amusement and reproach.

Tarik did not flinch. Instead, he turned his head slightly, meeting his sire’s dark eyes. "I wasn’t expecting you." "You should always expect me," Al Nazir replied, sheathing his blade with a flourish. He stepped back, his movements fluid and feline, every inch of him a predator. "But perhaps I was too harsh before. Tonight, I bring you an offer." Tarik arched an eyebrow. "An offer?"

Al Nazir nodded, his expression unreadable. "Seven years, Tarik. Seven years to train under me, to hone your skills until you are the weapon you were meant to be. Together, we will reclaim the honor that was stolen from our bloodline."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you will go your own way," Al Nazir said, his tone suddenly colder. "But you will do so without my protection. And make no mistake—there are many who would see you undone." Tarik hesitated, his thoughts a storm of loyalty, defiance, and longing. "You speak of honor, but what of freedom? Am I to be a blade that serves only your hand?"

"Freedom is an illusion," Al Nazir replied, stepping closer. His hand cupped Tarik's chin, forcing him to look up. "But power... power is real. And I would see you wield it, not as my servant, but as my equal."

Finally, Tarik nodded. "Very well. I will follow you. For now." Al Nazir's lips curled into a rare smile. "Good. You may yet become worthy of our blood."

Vasco and Lady Dimitra

The forest was alive with the sounds of night—the rustle of leaves, the distant howl of wolves. Vasco crouched low, his senses sharper than they had ever been, yet he still felt clumsy, out of place. Beside him, Lady Dimitra moved like a shadow, her every step silent, her every motion deliberate. "You’re trying too hard," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Stop thinking like a man and start feeling like a predator."

"I don’t know how," Vasco admitted, frustration seeping into his tone. Dimitra laughed, a rich, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "Oh, but you do. You’ve simply forgotten. Here," she said, gesturing toward a clearing where a wild boar foraged. "Show me. Let your instincts take over." Vasco hesitated, but the hunger burning in his veins pushed him forward. He moved carefully, circling the animal, until with a burst of speed, he pounced. It was over in moments, his teeth sinking into its flesh, its blood flooding his mouth. When he looked up, Dimitra was watching him, her expression unreadable. "Good," she said finally. "You’re learning. But there is more to this existence than hunger. There is balance."

"Balance?" Vasco asked, wiping the blood from his lips. "Yes," Dimitra replied. "We are beasts, yes, but we are also more. To survive, you must embrace both sides of your nature. Deny one, and you will fall." She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his cheek. "You are of my blood, Vasco, but I do not wish to tame you. I want you to become the predator you were meant to be. Can you do that?"

Vasco met her gaze, the fire in his veins answering her unspoken challenge. "Yes," he said, his voice steady. "Good," she said with a smile, turning back toward the forest. "Then let us see how far you can go."

After the trials, Tarik and Vasco meet ab at the barn - alone. It was cloaked in moonlight, its silence broken by muffled breaths and the creak of wood. Talking between the two soon turned into a heated moment, as Tarik’s black hair fell like silk onto Vasco’s skin, curling like serpents that clung to their prey. His touch was deliberate, fingers tracing Vasco’s arm before gripping the hand clenched in the blanket, his hold commanding submission. Then came the bite—a sharp sting that sent fire through Vasco’s veins. Pain and pleasure blurred as Tarik drank deeply, his body pressing Vasco’s into the wood, each moment tightening their connection. Vasco clung to him, overwhelmed, consumed by the hunger and the unrelenting intimacy of the act.

The eventful night continues on and takes an even darker turn when Valdemar reveals his monstrous tendencies for all to see, and no one to ignore. In a horrifying display of power, he assaults a young girl named Vinia, draining her of life. The group is forced to intervene, and a brutal confrontation ensues. Valdemar’s mastery of shadows makes him a formidable opponent, and the coterie struggles to overpower him. Despite their efforts, they are left battered and shaken by the ordeal. Vasco, consumed by rage and guilt, demands justice, his fury erupting as he smashes furniture and doors in frustration. Francesco, burdened by his own sense of failure, questions his ability to lead and protect.

In the end, it is Al Nazir who takes decisive action after being confronted by Tarik. Entering Valdemar’s chambers with cold precision, he dispatches the elder vampire with ruthless efficiency. As Valdemar crumbles to dust, the group is left to confront the aftermath. A mysterious book is discovered among Valdemar’s belongings, its contents hinting at deeper conspiracies.

Amidst the chaos, moments of humanity and connection emerge. Anastasia offers aid to Vinia and her brother, giving them a treasured relic from her own family as a token of protection. Francesco, ever the tactician, ensures their safety by calling on his loyal ghoul to escort them far from danger - far from any Vampires.

[nyctoheart]

deleted over 1k videos from my watch later today, most were video about our world or the internet going to shit. Going to replace them with nature and world history documentaries and videos on self improvement. because I cant fucking take it anymoreeee

[nodalstudies]

whereabouts of february 10, 2024 📰

i’ve picked up the study techniques of time-blocking (setting aside time for one task) and the 5-minute rule (committing to 5 minutes of studying, which helps build momentum when starting feelings intimidating). lovely strategies!

the sky was clear for the first time in weeks <3 it was a great day. i got coffee, bought some cosmetics, did some pilates yoga, and had fun social time.

[re--laaaaaxer]

21:42

I am pushing the last bit of effort on a Friday night before I can unwind this weekend. It occurred to me this evening that I had been putting off my manuscript, which I was supposed to revise a week ago, and it is due in two weeks. Silly me.

No rest for the wicked, so let's push, push, push!

If you have something you need to work on on a Friday night, you got this okeh. Sending you lots of love and lots of motivation from this side! 🫶

[jurygarroth]

you dislike mcd aaron because he became aphmau's endgame love interest in the span of a season. i dislike mcd aaron because he undermined aphmau's possible arc of mastering her powers to open the irene dimension

[yang-jin-seo]

Day 101 🌵

2024.12.10