#someone is more accurate

[turnip-root]

im really really high energy for it being like half an hour out from bedtime

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[o0kawaii0o]

"Oh farmer! Good morning!"

[mushiver]

Hi 🩷💌 what do you think Mabel friends chairs are? Hope you're having a good day sweetie 🌷🩷

I am, thank you!

Expanding the chairverse

[isjasz]

[Day 261]

When the idea is stargazing but neither of them are looking at the stars uh (idk i just wanted to draw stars bc studying for my test has filled my brain with them)💫

[vantablackdraws]

Bad dreams never affect me I'm not afraid of the concrete

(alt colors down below ↓)

[aphel1on]

AURGH auwarghh the autistic parental trauma... the epi was wacky hijinks then dropped this on us out of nowhere... (sobs) laios... laiiiiooooos

[mayordeas-clone]

was wishing there were more non-miku vocaloid trinkets sold at an art fair i went to recently, then started thinking about which characters would be well-known enough to still turn a profit with a general audience and i literally sounded like this

[weirdglassthing]

It’s IRONIC. god. Nobody understands satire humor these days

First attempt at drawing Gideon and Kremy went surprisingly well maybe I’m destined to become a scaly idk. You guys have no idea how hard it was finding a pose that was easy to draw with Kremy’s alligator mouth. I probably forgot like 400 fey curses I barely remembered gideons flower crown. I’m not drawing that thing but imagine the dulcet tones of the worlds greatest bard (morning Ross) playing in the background.

Guys you can’t blame me I just watched episode 15 and I was possessed and blacked out and woke up staring at this

Ft. Some drunk pixie wives and the only three people that cared about Thaco (I did not look up a reference I just drew a clown)

Anyways pose under cut

It had to be adjusted a bit

[commsroom]

Okay! Obviously, I love Wolf 359. The available scripts for Wolf 359 are recording scripts, meaning they're inaccurate in a ton of places when it comes to finalized or improvised dialogue, and don't function well as transcripts (especially since the scripts for the live show and some of the mini episodes were never made available.) That said, I think everyone should read the scripts; the sheer amount of physical description that you can feel in the show, even if you can't see it... I guarantee it will enhance your listening experience. Most visual show to ever be an audio drama. So, in pursuit of both of these goals at once, I went over every word in the scripts, and wrote up new scripts for the unavailable ones. Some of the sound effects described - especially in early episodes - might not line up exactly, because I didn't want to mess with the non-dialogue portion of the show, but I hope this strikes a good balance and can be a useful resource.

[aster-aspera]

Penelope's weaving

aka I, an archeologist, am here to review the accuracy Penelope's loom in the 2024 movie 'The Return' because I want to avoid thinking about all my papers due next week. For context, I am currently writing my bachelor paper on Minoan textiles, and while I am definitely not an expert, I do know a thing or two about bronze age textile technology

So first point of pedantry: that is not at all a bronze ago loom.

I can't say exactly say what kind of loom this is, as I've only studied bronze ago looms. Whatever kind of horizontal/draw/treadle loom this is, I can confidently state that this would not have been used in Mycenaean times. I'd say that we only see these kinds of looms in Europe from the medieval period, somewhere around the 11th century.

In the bronze age, there are three types of looms in use (as far as we know). The horizontal ground loom, the two beam loom, and the warp-weighted loom. Most traditionally, we see iconography depict Penelope weaving on a warp-weighted loom, like this beautiful vase does.

We can clearly recognize this as a warp weighted loom, because we can see the weights: they're the little triangles at the ends of the vertical threads (the warp). The warp-weighted loom is also the only loom we can find archeological remains of, as the loom weights were often made of clay (sometimes pebbles), while the other types of looms were purely wooden.

Furthermore, I have genuinely no clue what she is supposed to be doing with her weaving in this short clip. There is no visible shed, which is the separation between the warp yarns, through which you pull the weft, so that you can actually weave something.

Here's a picture of the shed, as you can see, every other thread is pulled up, and the shed can then be switched around to create a woven pattern.

In the short clip we see, she seems to just be drawing some threads through the warp, which is more than a little nonsensical. If one was weaving a smaller fabric or a tapestry, one could perhaps use a pin or sword beater to pick up individual threads of the warp to pass your horizontal thread (the weft) under, and create patterns that way. That is still not what she is doing here. Additionally, she is weaving a solid red fabric, which would not make it a very interesting tapestry.

Perhaps she's undoing her weaving in this scene? It would make a little more sense if that was what she was doing, as no one would ever be actively weaving at night! It required a lot of light to be able to see what you were doing. Candle light just did not suffice. It still looks a little strange to me, as I don't actually see any woven fabric on the loom that she could be undoing. It's all just loose warp threads.

Honestly, it kind of looks like they picked up a loom from the nearest interactive history museum and plunked it into their movie without doing any research. I think it's a little sad that when adapting a work that centers weaving as much as the Odyssey does, the filmmakers did not do any research into bronze age weaving. You really don't need to be writing a paper on this stuff to find sources for this!

I'll just leave you all with this: a beautiful reconstruction of a warp-weighted loom, with the beginnings of a tapestry as Penelope would have woven it. You can see the loom weights at the bottom, and the sticks in the middle called the heddles, which were used to create the shed I discussed earlier. This is part of the Penelope project.

[sboochi]

sooooo what's this new fic idea you have in mind? 👀

*Twirls hair*

Soooo are you familiar with the myth of Eros and Psyche?

I was playing around with this idea a while ago, but only recently it clicked when I thought...... what if I combined it with Norse mythology instead of Greek

Basically Hiccup is brought by Jack to his house (for.... ReasonsTM) away from Midgard, for his own safety

The most interesting factor to me is that Hiccup can't ever look at Jack, cue fun scenes where Hiccup has banters with an invisible entity

...until it's night time and ooops to get back to a physical form and sleep Jack has to become visible again, and the problem is that for plot reasons Hiccup can't know who he is

So they form a weird dynamic: Hiccup trusts that Jack is protecting him and not lying, Jack trusts Hiccup to not open his eyes when he's visible

And...... you know where this is going if you know the myth hehehe

[roseworth]

ok i made it. rate my chart.

[flowersforthemachines]

Masculine Casual Outfits For All - Mod

As I mentioned in one of the recent useless facts, all casual outfits have Masculine and Feminine models that are applied depending on the body type you chose in the character creation. This mod removes the Feminine alternate appearances from the game, making all Rooks wear the masculine versions of the outfits.

(in the previews, left is the feminine version, and right is the masculine version of each outfit)

Available on Nexusmods

[lostsyren]

I've read all of your work, but my memory SUCKS. Have we gotten a love confession from Rafe? Maybe it can tie into a third part of the whole ''I have standards'' fight that they are in.

ᥫ᭡ I love you

{summary: the first three times rafe cameron says ‘I love you’ to sofia}

{a/n: sorry for the delay. i didn’t include this to be with the standards series, so i apologise! you can tell how behind on my asks i am! but i hope you still like it!}

{warning: mild sexual content}

౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The first time Sofia heard him say those words she couldn’t be sure he actually said them.

It was when they were fucking. Well– not really that. Sex had become something that transcended physical. It became almost a mental game between the two– where eye contact was held, where touches felt reverent, where kisses were uncontrolled. It was no longer hooking up, it was companionship– for the both of them.

Sofia knew Rafe was lonely. She quickly figured out the playboy, cocky, man of the house persona that clung to him like dried paint was a front. He’d always be wary of never hurting her (well at least not consciously) and that was a lot more than what could be said about other guys on Figure 8 she’d messed around with. They were always mean; especially after they’d wetted their dicks with her.

“Be quiet when you leave– if they see I hooked up with the bartender I’d never live it down.”

“You think you can give me free drinks now? I think I deserve it.”

“You pogues always want more don’t you?”

They’d always say they were joking when they would see her crestfallen face and wide eyes. Rafe’s jokes had irked her a couple times too, but he’d always found a way to fix it– make her feel better. They never did.

So when Sofia heard Rafe murmur something against the flushed skin of her neck, his head buried into her hair, lips pressed on her jugular vein– her heart spluttered for a second.

“I love you,” he panted, half breathless, half groaning.

It was either she’d misheard or he was joking.

So she let the moment pass, wrapping her legs tighter around his waist as she came. He didn’t say anything afterwards. Maybe he didn’t want her to hear? That’s why he’d muffled his mouth with her nape. Maybe he didn’t mean it? It was just a wanton slip of the tongue. Or maybe he didn’t say it at all and she was just hearing what she wanted.

The second time he said it he was drunk. And she heard him loud and clear.

Rafe wasn’t the type to get full-on, no inhibitions, sloppy, drunk. He could handle his drink. It was usually him who had to deal with Sofia’s tipsy ramblings and inebriated stumbles.

So when he was throwing back shot after shot at some party they’d attended together, Sofia thought nothing of it. But later on when he’d come crawling back to her, after fooling around with Topper and Kelce, she was surprised to see him like that: drooping eyelids, blush-kissed cheeks, a clear, rhythmic sway to his walk.

“Hey baby,” he slurred, sinking next to her on the couch. His head lolled back, and up close she could see a faint sheen of sweat coat his skin.

“Rafe– are you drunk?” She said, bringing her mouth close to his ear. He sat like he always sat– sprawled out, legs spilling into her space.

“No…I’m fine.”

He was not. He’d been acting off for a the past couple days. But whatever was bothering him, he didn’t let slip. Sofia had a hunch it was something to do with his family– information he’d impart with rarely. But whenever he did mention his father, or his sister, sometimes even his mother…Sofia listened, still and solemn.

“Come on, let’s go.” She left one word unspoken, that dangled off the end of the sentence like breath hanging in front of you when it’s cold.

Let’s go home.

But it wasn’t her home. It was his home. She’d been with him long enough to feel like this was something more. She knew it was something more. But neither her or Rafe would concede first. Not out of stubbornness or embarrassment. But fear of ruining what they had. So she swallowed the word bitterly, and let what was hers and what was his exists in their separate spheres. They weren’t each other’s. They were just two people who fucked.

Sofia half-carried him out the party, face burning as she passed Kelce and Topper. She knew what they saw her as. And she hated it.

But Rafe breezed by without a care, his arm slung around her frame, his hands playing with hers as she tried to grasp on to him.

Eventually they reached his car.

Sofia had directed him to the passenger seat, and after a few grumbles and complaints, she managed to grab the keys from him.

Driving the BMW down the smooth-paved streets of Figure 8 was something Sofia loved. Rafe let her sometimes when she’d ask, otherwise he would drive them everywhere.

In the plush, leather interior, she didn’t have to fumble with a janky gearstick, or worry about stalling, like she did in her decades old car. She could just cruise, listening to Rafe’s soft sounds as he slept.

Once they reached Tannyhill, she’d woken him up and coaxed him to bed. Turns out drunk Rafe was even more of a wilful terco.

“Come on baby, let’s get you to bed,” she said, voice like velvet. Rafe eventually complied, ending collapsing on their– his– his bed.

He was out, chest rising and falling, mouth slightly parted. Sofia’s heart stirred. He was so pretty sometimes. When he wasn’t trying to appear threatening and tough. A sense of innocence settled over his relaxed features, that never seemed to shine through when he was awake.

Sofia pulled off his shoes before slipping into the en-suite to run a washcloth under the tap. She took a seat beside him, running the damp fabric across his brow.

The action caused him to stir, blue eyes blinking open, meeting her own stare.

“Sofiaaa,” he murmured, lips tugging up into an amused smile. His hands snaked over his body to meet her wrist as she dabbed the washcloth across his sweaty face.

“Raaafe,” she teased, mirroring his lilting tone.

“You’re so pretty, you know that right?” His words were breathy and low, barely audible despite the silence of the shadowy room.

“Thank you Rafe.” He moved her hands away from his face, so he could see her more clearly, hand still folded around her wrist.

“And you’re so kind and nice and fun. You make me feel good. Like real good.”

Sofia scoffed, letting the washcloth fall onto the bedside table, dropping his hand across his stomach. “I’m not sleeping with you Rafe so don’t even try it– you’re drunk remember?”

He just shook his head, “nahhh– Like you make me feel good here.” He tapped his hand against his chest, his fingers hitting the sternum where his heartbeat was.

He waited for her reaction, his dilated eyes looking like two wet marbles, his lips shiny with saliva and remnants of tequila.

Sofia’s gaze softened, her hand reaching out to caress the slope of his cheekbone, her thumb brushing against his face.

“You’re so sweet, cariño,” she hummed, smiling down at him.

“I love you Sofia. Like so fucking much, yeah?”

Her heart dropped, breath hitching in her ribcage. She stopped the gentle circles rubbing into his skin, but her hand remained cupped against his cheek.

He didn’t mean it. He was drunk. He was lying. He was teasing her.

But the way he looked up at her: Waiting. Anticipating her response to his words. His blue eyes flickering in the half-dark.

In the quiet of the bedroom Sofia chose to believe them.

“I love you too Rafe.” Her voice was quiet and high, bordering a rasped out cry. God, did it feel good to say. Sofia Flores was in love with Rafe Cameron.

His face broke out in a boyish smile, and for once he looked his age. Not like a man trying to fills his father’s shoes, sleep in his father’s bed, take over his father’s company. He looked like a boy in love– sappy and sweet and soft.

“Give me a kiss,” he instructed.

“You reek of alcohol.”

“If you loved me you would,” he huffed with a smirk.

Sofia laughed, eyes crinkling in the corner, “that’s not fair.” But she bent down anyway, her hair tickling his face, which he tucked away behind her ear.

“My pretty girl,” he mused, staring into her eyes, his own glossed over in a drunken haze.

“Mi niño lindo.” Sofia brushed a chaste kiss over his forehead, before moving off of him, realising he’d slipped into a steady sleep.

Sofia undressed, sliding into bed beside him. She nestled up against his body heat, her heart fluttering when he moved to bring her in closer– his hand slotted against the crook of her hip, his face nearing hers.

After that night, Rafe didn’t seem to remember his drunken love confession. But Sofia stored it inside her heart, tucked in between her own pulsating love for him.

The third time he said it was her birthday. Sofia hated birthdays. They were just a reminder of how she’d gotten nowhere in life. Still stuck in the shitty job she got when she was 18, still stuck on the Cut, still stuck living life for her family rather than herself.

Her parents had given her a hug and a kiss, and her little sister had made her a card. But as always, she then had to leave for her shift at the country club.

Sofia had let herself recognise the occasion, picking up half a dozen cupcakes for her and her colleagues. Ever since she’d spent more time with Rafe, Sofia had neglected her friendships with them. They’d smile at her and make small talk, but they never invited her back for drinks, or told her about parties on the Cut– she couldn’t have gone of course since she was busy with Rafe, but it would’ve been nice to have the option of declining. Sofia pushed away her trivial insecurities, and held the white box with shaky hands.

They’d all seemed chagrined when she told them it was her birthday– embarrassed they didn’t get her anything, embarrassed it slipped their mind, embarrassed that Sofia acknowledged their crumbling bond. But they still ate the cupcakes on their break before going back to letting Sofia skirt conversations and pretend to ignore them when they discussed their plans.

It was nearing evening and her day was coming to an end, when she spotted Rafe walk across the bar floor, a big smile on his face.

They hadn’t planned to meet today. But Sofia was relieved to see him regardless, finding herself mirroring his wide grin.

“Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you were busy today?” She asked, already making his drink that she’d grown to memorise.

Rafe just shrugged, retaining that sly grin on his mouth, “I missed you. Are you busy?”

Sofia shook her head “only with work.”

He drove her back to Tannyhilly when she finished her final shift. She noticed he seemed effervescent, bubbling with energy: fingers tapping against the wheel, eyes darting everywhere, shoulders rolling back ever so often.

He led the way inside once they reached the house, Sofia heading up to the bedroom.

But Rafe stopped her. “Wait– follow me.”

Sofia quirked her eyebrows, “why?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, grabbing her by the hand, “just come on.”

Rafe took her to the kitchen, but before they went past the doors, he stopped, letting go of her hand and instead moving to stand behind her.

“What are you–?”

“Shh– just trust me.” And with that, he covered her eyes with his big hands and slowly pushed her into the kitchen.

Sofia giggled nervously, feeling Rafe’s tall figure crowd against her back. She’d honestly forgotten it was her birthday, so when Rafe’s hands fell from her face, letting her upon the candle lit table, a helium balloon that gently swayed, the bouquet of lilies and peonies that sat verdant in the centre, her heart faltered a little.

“Happy birthday Sof,” he said softly behind her, smiling down, watching her face intently.

“What– how– ?”

“I saw it on your ID once and kept a note of it. Was hoping you’d tell me, but you didn’t so I thought I’d surprise you.”

Sofia’s eyes roved over all the little details: the fancy china she’d never seen him use, the expensive bottle of champagne that was sitting there waiting to be opened, her name in swirling script across the balloon.

He took her silence as something negative, “you don’t like it. Fuck I’m sorry. This is weird isn’t it?”

Sofia quickly stopped him “no no no! This is so beautiful, I love it! It’s just that I never really do anything for my birthday– I’m just surprised that’s all.”

Rafe considered her words, a brief flash of confusion swiping across his face, “well sit down and I’ll serve dinner yeah?”

Sofia nodded, smiling up at him.

They finished eating (Rafe had gotten her pizza from her favourite spot), and they sat nursing their drinks at the table.

“I’m sorry you spent most your birthday working,” he suddenly said, starring at her with a piercing sincerity that unsettled her.

She simply just laughed, “don’t worry about it, I’m used to it.”

“I’m sorry for that. You deserve more.” They shared a brief glance that felt too long, the back of Sofia’s neck prickling in goosebumps.

“Wait I forgot one thing.” He got up, disappearing behind the kitchen counter.

“What?” Sofia arched her neck trying to see what he was doing.

“Can’t forget the birthday girl’s gift,” he teased, pulling out a wrapped present, complete with a bow and everything.

Sofia bit back a smile, her eyebrows softening at his giddy smirk. She accepted the gift gingerly, examining the golden wrapping paper that glowed in the dull candle light. She could tell he wrapped it himself– there was tape in places that didn’t need it and the paper was wrinkled slightly, as if he’d tried folding it multiple times. It was heavy too, Sofia’s arm sagging slightly when he handed it over.

“You didn’t have to Rafe,” she began, her cheeks turning pink.

He shushed her again, “just open it.”

And so she did, carefully tearing the paper, to reveal a box with golden clasps. She opened it, realising it was a vintage record player.

“Oh my god– Rafe you shouldn’t have.” Her eyes were glued on the near perfect finishings, the sheen of the leather and glint of the metal attachments. She’d mentioned ages ago about how much she loved records, when they were talking about what music they listened to. But she didn’t have a record player to play her collection, curated from lucky thrift store finds and countless trips to old music shops.

And Rafe still remembered? She was overcome with a heady verve.

“Do you like it?” He asked, as if he was almost shy.

“Of course! It’s literally perfect– thank you so much!”

Rafe chuckled, watching her with a soft smile as she fiddled with all the buttons, running her fingers across the smooth surface.

Sofia placed her new gift on the tables getting up so she could hug Rafe. He happily complied, lifting her slightly, and spinning her around. A bubbly giggle escaped her chest as her hands flew around his neck.

“Feliz cumpleaños, baby,” he murmured, putting her down on her feet, before hooking her lips with a soft, slow kiss.

“Love you,” he murmured against her lips, but clear enough so that she could hear every syllable. Her whole body became suffuse with a euphoric warmth as if it was injected into her by those words.

“Love you too,” she whispered back, kissing him again.

Their kisses grew hungrier and more desperate until he hoisted her up so her legs were entwined around his waist, one arm holding her up while the other pushed back her messy curls.

“You down?” He asked in between kisses which made her laugh.

“Yes I’m down,” she gasped, brushing her nose against his causing him to smile.

Rafe led Sofia onto the kitchen counter, placing her on the cool granite countertop, her thighs clenching at the cold sensation of it hitting her warm skin.

His lips enmeshed with hers, supping voraciously at the tender flesh, his teeth catching at her lower lip, inciting a throaty groan which he mirrored.

Rafe’s hands roamed wildly across her exposed skin, inching up her leg, bunching her blue work skirt up until it reached the line of her hips. He hooked his hands under the meat of her thigh, tugging her forward so she was at the edge of the counter. His lips licked lower and lower, kisses being peppered down the length of her arm, as Sofia watching in a lustful stupor.

Rafe lowered himself until his face was between her legs. He placed her hand, that was still in his, atop his head, forcing her to push him even lower. The sight of Rafe Cameron practically on his knees for her, made Sofia see stars.

He let go of her hand, Sofia rubbing a thumb across his tickling buzzcut, as he parted her pressed together thighs with a rough hand.

Rafe mewled as she scratched her fingers through his shorn hair and Sofia whined at the feeling of his hot breath fanning her skin.

“Got another gift for you too,” he said with a smirk, Sofia rolling her eyes, but the words lit a fire in her lower abdomen that flickered deep inside her.

“I love you Sof,” he said, quiet, dipping his head down between the valley of her thighs, kissing her warm skin with delicate lips. The kisses became coarser, until she felt teeth graze at her flesh, biting into her pillowy legs.

Sofia let out a hiss. He didn’t wait for her to say it back this time– as if it didn’t matter. He loved her and that was the only important thing.

Even if she wanted to say something, her words became caught in her throat, reserved to only exalted whimpers and strung out cries, as Rafe showed her just how much he meant what he said, leaving her a writhing mess on the kitchen counter.

౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

[sideblogdotjpeg]

ive been thinking about the red string superstition recently and also sol bufo always and it makes me sick how uncannily caldwell tanner has made sol to perfectly target me personally

(+ cropped versions !)