#shes so mean im sorry :///

[hinamie]

tiger lily

[crnl-chicken-tots]

[civetside]

the doodles i doodled while i listened to the nona audio book babay! (plus my favorite pyrrha dve quotes)

[loop-lover-central]

Sorry Loop guess you're his now

[dietmimo]

HSY: *feral screaming and cursing*

DKOS: I said I was sorry.

HSY: *feral screaming and cursing INTENSIVES*

----

[ID: Animated Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint fanart. Kim Dokja is in Demon King form, and he's much bigger than Han Sooyoung, who's comparatively tiny and is clinging to his nose and face while furiously yelling and thrashing around as Kim Dokja nervously tries to appease her. End ID]

ID by @princess-of-purple-prose

[mrmeepsmadmind]

i love when ppl draw bumblebee like the happy little creachure he is but also i love when people draw bumblebee like he's had 500 beers in the last 1 hour and still the pain won't even ebb

[cabbagestrand]

oh, to be taken care of

[baeshijima]

mmm thoughts of private executioner!blade, who is high priestess!kafka's bodyguard. well, more like her guard dog, as many fearfully seem to think.

he is aloof and gruff and rough around the edges, his name capturing it perfectly. when in the eyes of the public he either keeps to himself or stands ready by kafka's side, but when out he lurks in the shadows ready and waiting to carry out her death orders.

you, yourself, haven't had very many pleasant encounters with him... if you can even call them that. that being said, you haven't had many pleasant encounters with anyone. notorious for your... less than pleasant disposition, for a lack of better words, you have more people who'd rather see you run through than those you can call a friend.

in a dog-eat-dog world, you had no choice but to protect yourself. that, however, ultimately became your demise.

"oh? so you're the one sent to kill me. can't say i'm all that surprised."

standing before you is the feared executioner. his sword is tucked inside the sheath attached to his hip, that ever-present dark swirl of an aura stifling the air. he doesn't say anything, instead opting to silently stare down at your slumped and worn-out form. you find that his gaze doesn't bother you; rather, it's oddly comforting knowing someone will see you in your last moments.

"i've never asked you for a favour before, so this will be my first and last request for you." in all honesty, you're not sure where this chattiness stems from. considering you're currently in a holding cell under the crime of attempted murder towards kafka (a poisoned wine you were most definitely framed for, though you can't say you were surprised) and are awaiting for your turn to be under the guillotine for your public execution, you probably should be a little desperate towards the private executioner in front of you.

and yet, your mind is nothing if not peaceful.

with a huff, you relay your request, "can you make sure it's quick? painless, preferably, but i'd rather you just get it over and done with."

silence blankets the cold chambers. moisture accumulated along the cobble ceiling drip in a steady rhythm, like a clock ticking away the seconds. it's unnerving, almost, how there is not a single sound other than your impending countdown.

"why?" comes his low mutter, effectively causing a ripple within the stagnant air. you almost think you misheard him, but his following words cease the thought, "why won't you ask me for help?"

had it not been for the abrupt shuffle and clanging against the metal bars, you would have never looked up to see him in your last moments.

his scarred hands gripping the metal until his knuckles turn a ghastly white and blood dripping from his palms is what greets your sight. as your gaze slowly trails up, you almost let loose a laugh of disbelief; who would have thought blade, the infamous guard dog of the high priestess, could make such a desperate expression? one looking as though his whole world crumbled before him, in which he can do nothing but sit and watch.

(you will never know of the anger and desperation which coursed through his veins the moment he heard of your predicament. had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. but you're not anyone else; you're you — unapologetically, wholeheartedly. it didn't take him long to hunt down those behind it, cutting them down without thought and putting an end to their miserable lives. he rushed as soon as he could when kafka gave him the order, no thoughts other than you, you, you, occupying his mind.

you will never know of the anguish which overcame him when he found you in such a state, your once healthy complexion and defiant gaze reduced to nothing but a tiredness which had always sat quietly behind your disposition. he's almost positive the muscle which unwillingly keeps him alive tore at the seams from your request, the acceptance in which you displayed causing his mind to go astray. even as he damn-near begs you to rely on him for help — to run away with him to some place no one knows of you and start anew there — you merely smile, resigned and peaceful.

you will never know of how much blade is willing to put on the line for you, for you never made it to see the complete and utter carnage he wrecked in your name.)

[scalpelsister]

Morrigan, Witch of the Wilds

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[insertdisc5]

btw In Stars and Timers here's a certain Odile battle portrait. for the wuluwuhs and lesbians in the audience. you're welcome

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

yall i have a confession to make….i fucking hate slowburn.

[flyingbuddiies]

i hope taco permadies in the finale. i hope she’s a victim of circumstance. i hope she dies convincing herself its for the better. that it’s her final punishment. that there was no other ending than this. that if her attempts to apologize for all the hurt she’s done didn’t work, she’s fully irredeemable. that there is no other fate best-suited for her other than death, and that in life there is no further point for her. i hope she dies believing she deserves it.

i hope she never gets the chance to tell microphone she loves her. i hope microphone is eternally left in the dark. i hope she never discovers the true extent of tacos remorse. her guilt. i hope she is left in silence to only ponder about how taco felt, hoping and praying that she meant anything to her. even a tiny bit. clinging onto any fraction of hope that taco could possibly feel the same way she does.

i hope microphone never finds out she’s dead. i hope she is led to believe that taco moved on from her. that she never meant anything to her. that she wasn’t enough again.

[clownwhims]

And when the voices of her dead siblings became too loud, Lullah covered her ears. Scrunched over on the bed, tears silently welled up in her eyes as they were the only things she could focus on. Even without her hearing-aids, it felt as if the whole world was screaming at her.

And just then, a hand touched her.

She could almost imagine it to be scorching hot, despite it barely grazing her. Her eyes snapped open with a startled gasp, looking down towards the touch.

There was a small girl. Smaller than her when she was found in the attic ages ago. And the girl is looking at Lullah, smiling at her. She’s never seen this kid before but the eyes, the smile, the hair, her hands-

Something in Lullah’s heart tells her that she knows her. As she blinks, the girl is gone. She looks down at her hands, realizing how cold they are despite the little ones that were just holding them. When she looks out of the window, the world is quiet and her heart is left with a little bit of hope.

[ambigrueity]

Incredibly long post about Trey and Riddle's Relationship that I vaguely said I'd do in the tags of my posts somewhere

Disclaimer: this is not intended to be shipping in any way I very much view them as family, even more so after these updates. To start with I'm going to separate their relationship into 3 distinct stages and focus on their perceptions of each other at each stage. I think their relationship is wonderfully written As usual, I ramble so sorry in advance, but I really want to analyze how complex they are.

Stage one: Childhood: ||Riddle|| A friend: Trey and Chenya were Riddle's first friends. Riddle had spent his whole life knowing the four walls of his home and his mother and both Trey and Chenya were his gateway to experiencing the world outside his windows. As such, they're immensely valuable to him. Under his mother he had no other way to grow socially, so when provided with a logical reason for going out and playing (Chenya stated his grandpa believed play is a form of study) he jumped at it because he wanted that connection. Trey specifically was his ideal. I think he looked up to him a lot. Normal home life. His mother didn't confine or trap him in any way. And he could eat whatever he liked. That's why when Trey said that one or two slices of tart wouldn't hurt, it was good enough to sway Riddle. All his life he'd grown up hearing about sweets being poison. But Trey seems happy and fulfilled so surely it's not as bad. However, breaking his mother's rule made him lose everything. The momentary friendship he'd built and any chance of freedom. It impressed upon him the importance of following the rules because breaking them lead to loss. And on top of that, it left him with guilt. I talk a lot about Trey's guilt in this situation (and I will talk more) but Riddle has his own guilt too that just manifested in a different way. More on that later.

||Trey|| A brother: While Riddle might have viewed Trey as a friend (no doubt because he was an isolated only child with a different perception and a lot of baggage tied to the world family), Trey saw him as a brother. He expressly states in his dream that Riddle was smart enough to identify plants and flowers and had enough magic control to get their soccer ball out of the trees, and he felt proud to have a smart little brother. And this sort of label is easier for him because he comes from a rather healthy family with siblings and has a blood brother around Riddle's age. Instinctively, Riddle became someone he wanted to care for, spoil, and cherish. That's why after knowing Riddle wanted to try a tart he wanted to let him. Later on, he tries to dismiss or come to terms with his actions in various ways, stating that it was not his place and of course anyone would get upset if their house rules and dietary restrictions weren't being respected. He tries to make it out into a joke, saying it's become a family incident of sorts that they just laugh about. "Who gets that mad at children playing." But underneath all those attempts to bury his own trauma, lies guilt. Because he feels, deep down, that as a brother he should have protected Riddle better. And instead, after just 2 months, he had to see everything that made Riddle happy stripped away again. More on this later. Stage 2: Riddle's First Year

||Riddle|| A stranger. Riddle's changed. He's developed some of his mother's anger. He's been confined for years. And because of that one incident with the tart, he firmly believes that growth and by extension fulfillment can only happen under the rules. Moreover, since Trey represents that period of his life where he learned that lesson rather harshly, he ices Trey out, pretending he barely knows him. After all, they might as well be strangers after all these years. Especially since Trey is banned from his house. This is a result of the guilt I mentioned earlier. He failed to follow his mother's rules and the punishment put Trey and his peaceful family that he looked up to in the crossfire. I think a part of him doesn't know how to face Trey after all that, worried that he might hate him. However, he cannot fully erase his own memories. So it is Trey he consults when he asks how to challenge a dorm leader for the seat. Even if he's distancing himself by calling him "Clover-senpai" Trey still remains someone he trusts to a degree. After Riddle takes the throne he makes a decision I find interesting. He doesn't select a vice, instead he leaves it to the popular vote. This could be read two ways IMO. Either, he didn't feel the need to have a vice because he was so confident in his own skills, but was aware that it was customary to have one so it didn't matter to him who it was. Or, deep down, he was afraid that no one would be willing to work with him. After seeing his dream, I do think it might be the latter. All of the darkness versions of his card soldiers showed some form of disloyalty. Willing to go along with the idea that they might jump ship, or that Riddle could be overpowered. It's this insecurity born from his own fear of his mother. He knows he's become a reflection of her, and he's worried how other people might react to it. In the end, he's still chasing those relationships from childhood, but is stuck believing that rules are the only way to keep what little happiness he has which alienates him from Trey to a degree. ||Trey|| A brother still: Despite the years, Trey's feelings about Riddle hadn't changed much other than being swamped with underlying guilt. Upon realizing that Riddle was going to attend NRC, his first instinct was to create a space for him. Trey generally, is introverted but excited to see his childhood friend again, he ends up talking to the people around him saying that Riddle was a quiet but studious boy and he hopes that people will welcome him. That was at least, before he saw what Riddle had become (he ended up fighting Floyd at the entrance ceremony) leaving Trey with the realization that this was not the boy he knew anymore. And worse, he was pretending not to know him. I'm sure it hurt, but even so, when RIddle asked about dueling the housewarden, he did try to accommodate him (after getting over his initial shock). The thing that gets me the most, however, is that Trey still saw the good in him. Trey in the rose maze part of Riddle's dream tells Ortho that the first thing Riddle did when he became housewarden was tend to the roses. To him that was a sign that Riddle was still somewhere in there and he was willing to support that. He would have been resigned to accepting that he was a stranger to Riddle if he hadn't been elected vice, but regardless of how Riddle felt, Trey still felt responsible for him. Both out of guilt and because he was still family.

[oynonrings]

"given the way you live, you never will". no matter how you interpret it this is objectively hilarious

serafima: