#this is So Long ... im SORRY

[nekovale]

4+ comic pages for a stupid punchline? apparently

[coca-colas-truck-driver]

“oh, wow. she dumped you.” CUT! hey, jared, could you say it more sympathetic and less betrayed? no? okay, just- i guess thats fine?

but the “you loved her, and you dumped her” isnt posed as any kind of question, sam doesnt ask why, because he doesnt really care about the why, he just likes that dean had done it. then dean barely gives him a look and suddenly its “oh, wow-“ and the smile he just had is gone and sams looking like he just got told the trip to disney was cancelled over being told it was the other way around. this isnt sympathy its like jealousy mixed with curiosity idk

his tone just goes from teasing to bitter so fast, he doesnt follow dean into the car, and looks around for a second while he thinks about he feels about that. because dean has always been with women, and while it had made sam bitter ever since he was eleven and could place the feeling he got watching dean come back to the motel room covered in hickeys and scratch marks, he had gotten over it after stanford. he didnt have any right to feel that way, and realized how wrong it was he did when he was in a stable environment away from the other half of that co-dependent relationship.

now the feelings hed never addressed about dean fucking anything that is human and wears a skirt are back for the first time since he left for stanford, except this time its about a genuine romantic connection dean had. dean had loved cassie, and she left him, and he just told dean to go talk to her. had been making innuendos about them all day, even

[esteljune]

Listen - [P x reader] short fic

Notes: A vague backstory of the reader is implied. LOADS of fluff!!! you might get cavities from reading. This is totally self indulgent. I'm very insecure about this fic and had it in my draft for so long now, but it's time to share. TW: mention of alcohol abuse and violence

It wasn't the first time you had wandered around the Hotel rooms. Everyone in Krat knew the legends that swirled around that building, and you were no exception to its mysterious and sinister charm.

In its gloomy and solemn reality, the hours passed slowly. Despite the cordiality of its few inhabitants, you often felt like an outsider, alone, light-years away from that intricate and luxurious microcosm.

So you filled the voids by exploring, perhaps also to escape the inevitable questions of those who would have wanted to get to know you better. That's why, when you had finally inadvertently stuck your nose in Geppetto's study, the man's invitation to come in had caught you by surprise.

You hadn't said much to each other. Nothing in truth. He had remained silent, behind the heavy cherry wood desk, studying your interest in his work.

The more you looked, the more his talent seemed incredible to you. The elegance of those designs was undeniable, and even more so their execution. On the simple workbench at the far end of the room, a golden glow caught your full attention.

"This... is his heart, right?" you said, approaching him cautiously from behind.

"In a way. The P-Organ." he explained with undisguised pride, as your eyes traced the soft and elegant lines of the model.

Before you could realize it, a bitter grin had escaped your lips.

"Is this amusing to you?" he retorted, keeping his composure, but his face betrayed a certain tension.

"No, no, it's not that. It's just that, you know, I may not have your talent or your extraordinary ingenuity, but my father was a violent man, he drank, and as a result he was a pathological liar. So I know a liar when I see one."

You were challenging him, you were aware of it. The reason was not entirely clear to you, but it certainly had something to do with your connection to his creation.

"That boy, you call him son... You're lying. I just don't understand why." The man looked at you, more intensely than you had ever been scrutinized before.

A tight smile beneath his neatly trimmed gray mustache. His watery blue eyes, however, betrayed an unknown feeling. You didn't recognize its exact nature, but you suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed, violated.

That man, if he had the opportunity or the means, would have done harm. Perhaps he had already done so.

The thought made you shiver. You tried to hide the discomfort lodged in the back of your throat by returning his smile. You didn't trust him.

Your fingers brushed the steel surface of the heart on display on the pedestal, cold, distant, motionless. Despite its apparent fragility, you knew what it was capable of. You had felt it.

It had suddenly seemed to you an intolerable injustice, a cruel mockery of reality.

He who that heart belonged to was no longer just a mere exercise of craftsmanship. Not anymore. He felt.

"You created something so human that it has a heartbeat. And yet..."

The thud of the double inlaid wood door had shaken you. In the darkened crack, a flash of blue eyes and the now familiar mop of dark hair. The boy entered more silently than his heavy and eternal body would have suggested.

"Son. Come."

He was greeted by the man's voice at the desk, a note of tension hidden in the paternal tone.

He approached with slow, measured steps, and a shiver ran down your spine. It wasn't fear, but something deeper, a connection, perhaps. He held his eyes on you for a handful of your breaths, nothing more.

You had been about to retreat. You didn't want to witness whatever they would say, any orders given. You owed him your life, it would be too painful.

"Our guest was just talking about you. My son, my most precious creation. Come, see for yourself."

The invitation had taken you by surprise, as the creator accompanied Pinocchio to the upholstered armchair at the side of the room. The boy sat down without protest, impassive, while Geppetto bent down to his white chest between the folds of his shirt.

A wave of repulsion rose up in your throat uncontrollably. You would have wanted to see him rebel, not allow that unknown liar to violate him in that way, but he remained still, his head down, as his fingers intruded on his skin, opening a small hatch that exposed his metal heart.

You pushed back the tears that stung your throat, but your cheeks were burning with indignation.

The man looked at you, again more intensely than you would have expected. He seemed to grasp your refusal, but he prepared to mock it with a smile of benevolent compassion, as he would have done with a child in the throes of a tantrum.

"No harm done. Son, I beg you to escort our guest out of my room, I have matters to attend to elsewhere."

The boy limited himself to nodding, his heavy steel hand already gripping the inlaid armrest to lift the weight of his slender body. Curiously, he waited for his father to walk away with slow steps towards the double dark wood doors before approaching you.

You smiled, instinctively, when the clear blue eyes of him met yours in the silence of the room.

You knew he wouldn't say a word, but you had learned to appreciate his quiet, towering presence over you.

You felt the heat of anger leave your face, your breathing slowed as you waited for him to accompany you. Instead, he remained still, his irises suddenly darting away, to that chair he had abandoned just moments before.

You felt an uncontrollable tenderness for him, something you had never felt before. It overflowed from parts of your soul that you didn't remember having after so much pain.

"I don't think you're so different from me. And to understand that, you have to know yourself. You can't do that if your father treats you that way. Here, listen." You blew out a smile, gently taking his heavy mechanical hand and placing it between the folds of his white shirt, at the center of his chest.

You watched his reaction, holding your breath, you realized it too late.

That unguarded thought shook you, when had you allowed yourself to feel anything like that for him?

As you watched him listen intently to the rare and irregular beating of his mechanical heart, you were almost on the verge of touching his cold face dotted with pale freckles, but you gave up. Then, suddenly, his watery blue irises locked onto yours, silently, but laden with a message that was almost desperate, an unknown warmth.

His pale lips moved just a little, empty, not a breath, but an unspoken request. At that point you understood.

"Do you want to feel my heart?" you smiled, your eyes soft on the delicate features of that young, achingly beautiful face. He nodded.

Without further thought, you took his cold fingers in yours again and placed them on your chest. You took a breath, then another, breathlessly.

Suddenly aware of those too-frequent beats that echoed in your ears, you felt your face flush. You had been foolish. His gaze seemed unbearable, you felt vulnerable, caught in the act of that most genuine feeling.

How long had it been happening? How long had his mere presence made your heart race?

You felt the tall boy's body approach, towering over you, almost impassively scrutinizing the reactions of your burning face. It was too late to back down now. You waited.

As your heart pounded under his fingers, Pinocchio avidly weighed every contour of your face, the watery languor that animated your eyes, the flush of redness that spread across your cheeks, the slightly faster breath that escaped your lips. That must be true beauty, he thought.

"Listen... it's my heart beating for you," you whispered then, softly.

Suddenly, he felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest, something deep, visceral... human. He didn't know the words to describe it, but it was enough to guide his body. He felt a shiver run down your warm skin as he brushed against your face, your heart skipped a beat, your breath became more labored.

Pinocchio wanted more. He wanted to know, he wanted to feel, he wanted to experience. He wanted you. What was that spark in the depths of your irises? Why was your heart beating so desperately? Were you expecting something from him? No... not that, it was something more authentic, elusive, incalculable.

"If you hadn't found me that night, I don't know what would have happened to me. The truth is, I just wanted it all to end. Not to feel pain anymore. But now... you saved me."

Pinocchio felt those words sink so deep inside him that he thought they had carved into the metal. There was pain somewhere, a faint, sweet sadness.

Under the steel palm, pressed against the soft skin, the muffled vibration of your pulses was awakening something in him that was both terribly ancient and familiar at the same time. He wondered what he should do. The undeniable reason for which he had come into the world imposed on him to move away from you, but there was another part, more instinctive, obtuse, that desired everything from you, of your perfect humanity.

Not only that, he wanted you to see him, to want him in return. His fingers moved again instinctively, gently grasped your hand and from your chest led it to his. That silence inside him suddenly seemed unnatural, artificial, he would have wished for a more tangible proof of his emotion.

Instead, he let time pass, counted the beats, let them trace unexplored paths within himself.

Pinocchio listened to your heart for long minutes, a spark of awareness in his blue irises that you had never seen in him before. Although it was now clear that his presence was not indifferent to you, you were happy to have fulfilled his desire, whatever its purpose.

Those feelings, whatever they were, were and would remain one-sided. You knew that well. In another time, perhaps far from him, you would have been afraid of them. Not now.

You smiled at his beautiful, motionless, silent face.

"It's better if I go now."

Pinocchio let you go in silence, your bodies moving away as if they had never been close, but a curious tension remained in the air, an unfamiliar intimacy.

[sickficideas]

Eeeeee ty for answering my dandadan ask!!!

Though I love both of them I'm a bit biased towards okarun so Ill focus on him (tho I might come back for momo later)

Curious about when the random fevers started after he started transforming, how did discovering that side effect go? When did they start, and how often do they happen, and any other details you have about them? How worried do people get about him too

I am a sucker for fevers, esp when someone does the tender hand on forehead check it's so cute, and the thought of momo (or anyone else) feeling okarun's forehead got me giddy

- danon (dandadan anon lol)

DANON.....that's like the perfect name welcome back!!! This is kind of related to that fic I'm writing so I've already thought about this a lot and am very happy to answer LOL...

- 12-24 hours after Okarun transforms is when the fevers usually start and they started pretty much right away after gaining that power. The first few times he didn't transform for any great length of time and as a result just dealt with drawn-out low grade fevers where he just feels terrible and doesn't know why.

- Momo notices the change in behavior because she watches him like a hawk and is The Overthinker...he's always tired and seems sore and slow the day after using his Yokai form but she doesn't usually connect that it's a fever. A few times she notices he has a fever, she's nervous about taking care of him but (forcefully) makes sure he's drinking water and taking medicine lol💖

- It Slowly starts to get worse though...the longer he uses that form, the worse he feels after, and the change is sudden and drastic enough for Momo to notice that something is very wrong. He's visibly stumbling or ends up passing out, maybe even hallucinating (Momo always worries it's real, after all, who knows what all these aliens are capable of). If she's ever concerned to any degree she makes him come home with her (and her excuse is always that she'll be too worried about him not taking enough care of himself that she won't be able to sleep...not cause she's in love with him or anything pshhh...)

- I love the idea of one day he's so sick from it that he can hardly lift his head, he's in Momo's room on a mattress on the floor, she thought he was acting weird at school but it seemed like he completely fell apart as soon as they got home 😭 She ends up involving Seiko and she deduces pretty quickly that it's Turbo Granny's power's fault (to which Turbo Granny has no input because how could she have known this was a side effect lol)

- They never last long though, never more than 12-24 hours, and he always feels fine after no matter how bad the fever was, and Momo is always keeps an extra close eye on him in case he's lying to avoid her worrying about him lol...she's checking his forehead all day long and she does Not Care how many times her friends tease her for it!!

- The Gang coming around obviously joins in on the concern...Jiji noticing that Okarun isn't feeling well and Okarun begging him to not tell Momo (Jiji does not listen, he Will be telling Momo), and Aira being overprotective too (to Momo's dismay), Okarun is so glad that he has friends that care about him like this but he's embarrassed and shy about the attention lol💔💔

[informaltorching]

tell us about vesper gaining humanity 👁️👁️ i've never witnessed this in a game myself

Okay so, huge disclaimer: This is not how you gain humanity RAW. So, I apologize if that part is a bit of a let down. Sometimes we do things that just narrative-wise feels good because we are all just friends playing a game of imaginary vampires. I am gonna write a lil about some ooc / personal stuff as well. TL;DR: Owen's player schemed.

So, I don't know how closely you may follow my chronicle, but if you aren't aware, Vesper is the cringe fail loser vampire of all time. He kind of has had almost only bad things happen to him every day since before his embrace lmao and this has definitely continued on in our chronicle. The chronicle itself is also just kind of heavy. It is taken a little too seriously (by all of us) and we definitely embrace that there is darkness in World of Darkness. I think that is why I have a little bit of a tendency to post more about silly things / jokes than the game itself. I LOVE the game. Do not get me wrong. I enjoy the atmosphere and the intensity. It is more my speed, which is why I play in it. This is the best table and game I have ever gotten to be a part of. That being said, I think recently we got a little too overkill with it. We had to kick a player and then a lot of sessions after have been a bit overly dreary. Normally not a big deal, but it adds up when you get into that rhythm a bit. Vesper has kind of taken it hard. Like the others have problems, too, but it has become a bit of a theme that various characters both PCs and SPCs are afraid Vesper is going to say fuck it and get himself killed. He is very reckless as is. ( And I'll admit I've been having a lot of personal issues and very sad recently. ) Owen has a pigeon named Drone. Whenever Owen talks to Drone, I have a little joke going that Vesper gets envious. He wants to talk to birds, too :( So, Owen's player got the idea to talk to some thin-bloods to get a counterfeit discipline of feral whispers for Vesper. And they kept this as a surprise. Only, Owen had to really earn that shit because the thin-blood they spoke to tasked them with a very over the top fetch quests. Where Owen kept being like "we need to go to this dangerous ass place to get this weird ingredient and I am not telling you guys why". (This was over the course of multiple sessions.) They finally got everything they needed and was given the potion last session. So, Owen hit up Vesper to meet them at the fucking zoo. And Vesper literally just finished watching the tremere banish a possessed demonic statue meanwhile... and the fucker tells Vesper it is an emergency...

And well, we spent the end of the session fucking losing it because Vesper and Owen were at the zoo talking to animals. Our ST does the funniest fucking red panda voice. We had a blast. Owen gave Vesper basically a heartfelt I love you, you're my best friend, and I want you to stick around talk. Then ST dropped the "Vesper add another dot of humanity." Which was a big shock. He reasoned that Owen did way too much just for Vesper to only heal some WP from that and it just felt really fitting. It was a really nice breath of fresh air. We ARE going to resume the themes of tragedy, death, and gruesomeness next session. But yeah... It was very sweet.

[messrsrarchives]

i abandoned this wip a while ago and completely stopped writing it but 👉🏻👈🏻 i wanna share some of it bc i think it's pretty decent 👉🏻👈🏻

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Trauma is… complex, at the best of times. Harry knows this. He’s listened to Mind Healer after Mind Healer explain the intricacies of it - about how his trauma is not only woven into the creases of his brain and his daily life, but that his magical core is fraying as well. Slowly, yes, but it’s fraying. Ripping apart at the seams until he’s either wasting away, or no more magical than a muggle.

Harry can’t help but find this painfully ironic.

To be brought into a world that you knew nothing about, to spend your formative teenage years fighting for not only your life - the fight would’ve ended a lot sooner if that were the case - but for everybody. People who know your name and your story but not you. People who would weep if they heard about what happened in the Forbidden Forest, not because they care about him individually, but because for some reason, this 11 year old boy found in a cupboard is their pinnacle of hope.

To be brought to a school you’ve heard nothing about, to sit in an office with a man you trusted with your life, only to find out that he’s the reason you have it at all. That he’s the reason you’re here, standing in vast hallways or sitting in a crowded common room, keeping tabs on everyone that could potentially harm him rather than joining in on teenage antics.

To be brought up as a soldier that didn’t have a choice, to spend nine months carting around finding Horcruxes whilst the rest of the world holds their breath waiting for the finale. Spending months upon months finding pieces of a rotted soul, and not realising that for every part you find, your own is rotting. Pieces of yourself you can never get back and instead of receiving concern or help, you’re applauded.

To win. To win this egregious fight, to outdo every wizard that has tried before and be shown off on stage like some precious antique with indescribable worth, to look out at faces of people who admire you and all you want is for the cupboard door to open once more and wake you up.

All of this, and so much more, and his magical core is fraying? The very thing that brought him here - that led to every loss, every fight, every death - is folding in upon itself?

The Mind Healer called him ‘self-aware’ when he pointed out all the reasons his core is dying.

Yeah, Harry thinks, that’s the problem.

Because whilst Harry might be self-aware, he was never self-preservative.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

He’s overly aware of everything as he leans over to the bedside table to top up his glass with the bottle placed there: aware of the sound of amber liquid falling into crystal glass, aware of the weight of it in his hand and the way his wrist twists to bring it to his lips, aware of the slightly sticky feeling of it over his tongue, and far too aware of the burning down his throat, through to his stomach. A burn that never quite fades really.

The alcohol will stop burning after a couple of seconds, the shame won’t. The guilt won’t. Harry won’t stop burning up from the inside out.

As forms of dying go, burning isn’t high on the list. Actually, Harry would argue that it would be an awful way to go and he has the scars on his calves and the unforgettable scent of burning flesh embedded in his nose to support this.

Is burning the right word to use? He isn’t sure. He’s not sure of much right now, but burning feels wrong. Burning implies speed and ferocity, like one moment an object is fine, the next it’s burning, and the next it’s gone. Harry isn’t burning. He’s doing something slower, potentially more excruciating - he’s singeing - lighting superficially, slowly, quietly. The kind of flame that could be put out before it reaches its peak if someone cared to notice.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Guilt, as he opens up the door to Teddy’s nursery and walks over to the crying form in the crib. Guilt, as he picks him up and cradles him as best he can, bouncing him slightly up and down and knowing that his arms weren’t built for this, that these arms aren’t the ones Teddy needs. He needs his parents. He needs capable, loving, consistent parents. Andromeda is a fine substitute, a mighty one even, but it takes a village and Harry's barely a resident of his.

“Shh, shhh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Harry continues to mumble to Teddy as he paces slowly around the room, rubbing a hand up and down his back to try to quench the sobs. He doesn’t know exactly how long it takes, but eventually Teddy quiets down and is grasping at Harry’s hair.

“Do you wanna give that back? No? Okay.” Harry watches through slightly foggy eyes as Teddy’s short mass of light brown hair turns black and disorganised on his head, falling slightly into his eyes without Harry’s signature glasses there to prevent it.

Harry pushes the hair out of Teddy’s now smiling face, his eyes catching on the right side of his forehead. The clear, unmarked, right side of his forehead - just above his brow, edging towards his hairline.

Green eyes staring back at him, a mess of black hair held back by his fingers, a nose slowly shifting shape - the technicalities of bone structure still too complex for a 1-year-old to accomplish.

It feels like looking into a mirror. Not your usual one, not a perfect reflection. Not one quite like the Mirror of Erised either, but somewhere in between - somewhere between desire and reality, where Harry is gazing at a copy of him that isn’t hindered by the jagged stretch of skin and all it contains. A copy of him, born at the end of a war, orphaned, too young to understand why Mummy and Daddy aren’t coming back.

Too young to understand why Harry is crying right now.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

[vacantgodling]

@void-botanist

ASK AND YE SHALL RECIEVE

so to provide some context and backstory: lord biand sunniva used to be the ruler of The Brass Autumn Court of Alizath--one of the 4 ruling lordoms in the country alongside The Titanium Summer, The Iron Spring, and the Steel (sometimes spelled Steele) Winter; which are all made up of prominent, war and politically savvy families, their nobles, and their vassels who live on their land. many ages ago, these 4 clans were constantly at war with one another, and eventually came to an uneasy peace via pressure of their vassels, who believed that they should not have so much power to turn their lives into turmoil whenever they saw fit. so they created like an assembly thing of some kind that would make decisions for the betterment of all the vassels in every court, and it was basically up to the lords and their nobles ot uphold those decrees. now, this obviously doesn't work that well at first. if you know anything about history and how parlimentary monarchies work, then think that but worse bc not just nobles, but there's basically 4 kings at any given point competing for total influence at all times. however, it takes these political squabbles out of the battlefield and bloodshed, and into the realm of political balls, alliances, and favors.... so at least there's more stability. to a certain extent.

lord sunniva always had grand aspirations, and this hubris would prove to be his undoing... though perhaps less so than his largest rival lord dominiq atherton of the iron spring. but we'll get there eventually cuz rn we're focused on jeanna, who is lord sunniva's younger sister.

after she and biand's parents died, biand took the mantle of lord of the brass autumn, and quickly made it his mission--even if not necessarily to overthrow the council (or whatever im calling it) entirely, that he wanted essentially absolute power over all the other lords because he believed that only through unity would alizath become truly stable. and why not all unify under the most consistent, wealthy, and powerful house, the brass autumn--which it was at the time. biand's parents and ancestors before him did well for themselves, and biand himself was a good ruler, despite his voracious pride.

jeanna herself always found her brother a bit intimidating however. he never had any interest in her, her interests, or her desires, and it lead her heart and mind to stray away from his ambitions, out into the world. she wasn't necessarily looking for love. she was looking for companionship, more than anything. she first initially found that as balls began to take root and the courts began to mingle together; meeting lady love of the steel winter and lady elzbia of the titanium summer. the three of them became a tightnit group of friends, but there was no fourth matriarchal presence that could complete their friendship--as there was no lady of the iron spring; there never was. and the lord of the iron spring; dominiq atherton... he was always a rugged, handsome, and mysterious man.

jeanna's affections first started off as insignificant as a crush. he was handsome, and she could acknowledge that. she, love, and elzbia all tended to have their gossips about the men of the court, so when she mentioned she found him attractive, she didn't think anything of it-elzbia agreed, and while love didn't share their taste she got the vibe. this culminated with her two friends gently encouraging her to speak with dominiq at the balls. jeanna knew her brother wouldn't approve of it because of his hatred of lord atherton, but lord atherton was charming, calm, and made her feel at ease, which was MUCH different than how she felt around her brother. out of her brother's eye she struck up a companionship with him, and this went on for some time before biand found out and berated her super harshly, forbidding her from stepping foot outside their castle walls for a month.

but dominiq appeared at her window with flowers one night. and that was probably when she was doomed.

she became hopelessly enamored with lord atherton; she couldn't help it. he was a safe space away from her brother and the mounting pressure he put on her to conform to his will. maybe she vented to lord atherton about how controlling and heartless he was towards her and how she felt conflicted because she loved him as a brother but many times it felt like he didn't see her as anything more than a pawn for his goals. lord atherton listened and she ate his attention up, none the wiser to his own plan.

it wasn't long before dominiq was able to seduce jeanna into his bed--on more than one occasion. he did everything right and jeanna kept this close to her chest that she'd slept with him, not even telling her closest friends. even though dominiq was isolating her from her brother, she was isolating herself from those who genuninely loved and cared about her and without their guidance she fell deeper and deeper into lord atherton's web. until... it finally happened.

it being that the leader of the council of alizath that was supposed to keep all the nobles and lords working to the people's wishes, was found dead. and lord biand, the most proud, outspoken and perhaps flashy with his displays of wealth and power, was determined to be the most likely culprit. biand wasn't having it, and set to work using their family's witch to try and gain more intel about who actually killed the minister and cleared his name, though his suspicions were always on lord atherton. and he had a right to be suspicious.

when he went to confront dominiq, ready to expose him before the trial... dominiq dropped a bomb. that he had impregnated his sister, jeanna. and it was true. jeanna while all this was going on had begun to experience all the woes of pregnancy and she knew that it would only be a matter of time before her brother found out and discarded her, but while she was having these thoughts, dominiq and biand were hashing it out. dominiq said that he would not only pin the blame on biand, but that he would expose jeanna and ruin their family forever, or, biand could take the high road and skip the trial, but also banish himself from alizath forever--never to return until dominiq himself kicked the bucket. biand had to admit he was out played. and in a rare show of care for his sister (or perhaps more in fear of his reputation), biand withdrew.

he didn't admit fault, but he didn't contest the banishment. jeanna had her baby, quietly, greye, which as promised, lord atherton took as his own. then the sunnivas were cast out of alizath altogether, and the brass autumn's future was left up in the air.

SO all of that rambling to say that jeanna was badly hurt by all of this. she lost her child, earned even further ire and distrust from her brother, and realized the man who she thought was bonding with her, was only interested in using her just as her brother did. but in a worse way. this is 30 ish years before the main story, and jeanna is in her 50s now, and time has both mellowed and hardened her. she no longer questions her brother's will--she just assumes that he's right, because he was right about lord atherton, she just didn't want to see it. so she's become subservient to him and his.... abusive tendencies. she also keeps all her thoughts and opinions to herself. she doesn't agree with how biand is going about getting his revenge, especially involving an innocent girl (kirsi) in it, but she doesn't question him anymore.

to kirsi, she is strict and distant, but can't deny she cares for her. she tries to do as biand wills and not look at her like the daughter she was forced to give up, but she can't help but feel that way, and is softer on kirsi especially once she and kirsi return to alizath alone and get some space away from biand's influence.

overall, i really love jeanna (and most of these characters); she didn't deserve what happened to her, but ik she feels like its too late for happiness for her. but kirsi views her as a mother and wishes she could help her be happy.

[sunnylou28]

hey so I really don't know what this is or if I'm ever going to finish it or even post it, so if you could tell me what you think that'll be really appreciated, thanks!

[starsinthesky5]

Any songs you’re obsessed with recently?

yes, always🥰

- opposite: sabrina carpenter

- you keep me up at night: the driver era

- die with a smile: bruno mars & lady gaga

- you are in love: taylor swift (this one is MY SONGGG)

- american teenager: ethel cain

- coffee: chappell roan

- let it happen: gracie abrams

- freak: lana del rey

- love: lana del rey

- x’s: CAS

- holy ground: taylor swift

- long story short: taylor swift

- die for me: chase atlantic

- entirety of short n sweet: sabrina carpenter

- young folks: peter bjorn & john

- moth to a flame: the weeknd

- nothings gonna hurt you baby: CAS

- heavenly: CAS

- rude boy: rihanna

- disco: surf curse

- iris: the goo goo dolls

edit:

- so american: olivia rodrigo

- slut!: taylor swift

- love is embarrassing: olivia rodrigo

- favorite crime: olivia rodrigo

[artist-the-incorrigible]

Tai Lung Playlist

(AKA: The Gifted Kid's Downward Spiral)

This is a playlist I made inspired by Nehezt's fan comic "Traces of Spring." It covers Tai Lung's backstory, death, and resurrection. Also please be aware this playlist was made while the comic was still unfinished, so depending on what happens during the remaining chapters I might post a second version.

Listen in order if you want the full narrative experience :)

Boreas - The Oh Hellos

Swim - Boy Epic

Gladiator - Jann

Careful What You Wish For (the doctor said to) - Jack Harris

Emperor's New Clothes - Jann

Die - Johnny Goth

notre dame - Paris Paloma

Iron - Woodkid

the warmth - Paris Paloma

Play with Fire (feat. Yacht Money) - Sam Tinnesz

The Devil You Know - Blues Saraceno

Surrender - IAMX

the last beautiful thing I saw is the thing that blinded me (feat. Baily Pickles and Beth B) - Paris Paloma

Army Dreamers - Kate Bush

It is what it is - Abe Parker

Back To Life - Mother Mother

Until It Doesn't Hurt - Mother Mother

Angry Too - Lola Blanc

Problems - Mother Mother

EVIL - Malanie Martinez

jealousy,jealousy - Olivia Rodrigo

Used to the Darkness - Des Rocs

Too Sweet - Hozier

Learning to Be Lost - Shayfer James

Daylight - David Kushner

Where's My Love - SYML

[hestiaember]

She'd had to step out of the wing, into a quiet side room to tap out frantic messages to Reina, digging for details. Her heart felt torn, between getting on a train immediately bound for Twelve to be with Ansel, whose injuries sounded grave-- passenger or cargo or whatever it may be, she'd live-- or to be with her son who had just endured the unthinkable, recovering just up the hall. She wished she could split herself into pieces for each of her children, to give them what they needed right now. She felt like she wanted to sob, scream, tear her own hear out, but it all got stuck in her chest, behind a stopper of numbness. She couldn't break down. Literally couldn't, her body wouldn't let her, numb with what felt like unending disbelief and grief. It all felt too big to be real, like a dream, and for a long while, she sat on a rubbery hospital chair, staring at the white wall across from her. There was a painting there, something abstract, blue and green. Probably chosen to be soothing to patients. By the time she remembered to move again, the arches and curves of each brushstroke were burned into her memory.

Hestia did not know how long had passed when she emerged again, but the detail of Peacekeepers were gone. Only two stood guard outside her son's room, and there was no protest this time when she entered. Slate needed her. He may not know about Twelve. This was the time in her life she'd felt the most fragile, most inhuman, and he needed her right now. So she worked her face into something she hoped came off as calming, neutral, like the painting, and stepped toward her child's bed. "Slate?" she called softly, not wanting to wake him if he was getting well-deserved rest, or if he wasn't, well... feeling particularly lucid. Sometimes tributes came out the other side with only a tenuous grasp of reality, and she didn't know what to expect. She could quash down the overwhelming urge to pull him into her arms until she knew it wouldn't cause him panic.

@slate-skylar

[spellbindingnights]

@utterxdesires

Oh, he was seething with rage. Declan had never felt this angry in his life, and the image of Cara's tears and bruises and trembles did not make any of it better. He had warned his parents about this, he had told them that Seamus was not a good option. The fact that she had been hiding this from him for such a long time did not make it any better.

He was seeing red, his whole body was trembling with fury. He had never felt like this before and Declan couldn't help but to feel more unstable than ever. He walked into the shop where he was, acting as if he hadn't been terrorizing and brutalizing his sister (and nephew) for years now. There was a bit of a crowd, but he had always been reckless.

"Hey, Declan, how you've be--" Seamus never finished the sentence because Declan's raging fist connected with his jaw. There were gasps and people started getting out of the shop as Declan grabbed the other man by the collar of his jacket and slammed him against the nearest wall. "Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?" He hissed, slamming his body once again against the wall. Seamus' attempts to defend himself were practically useless and even funny. "You think I don't know what you did to my sister?" After that, he dragged his body pushed him over the window shop.

The large glass shattered into thousand of little pieces and Seamus body landed on the bed of glass. Declan got out and straddled him before punching him again, and again, and again, and again. He grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face against the glass. It was brutal, but that's who he was: a brutal man. "Not so brave now, huh? If you ever hurt my sister again, I will make you eat all this glass, you hear me? Fucking waste of space" Declan punched him again, and again, and again. People were begging for him to stop, but he didn't listen. Well, not until he heard the police sirens.

After meditating it for less than a second, he decided to continue. If he had to go to jail for this, he'd go gladly. Unfortunately, he felt someone tugging from him, as in trying to get him away and, for the first time, instead of seeing red, he saw one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen.

[burntcarpet]

Facts about MC and Chelsea’s past relationship if we choose ex-gf route ? And what does Chelsea think of MC presently ?

was going to answer this later because I wanted to be fair and answer asks by the date it was submitted but I love Chelsea way too much I need to talk about her

You met Chelsea during the first semester of your 2nd year of university, under not very great circumstances. She may have been a bit of a mess initially, but if you went for the ex-girlfriend route, you found yourself intrigued rather than put off by her less-than-perfect first impression.

Regardless of the path you chose, Chelsea took an interest in you, whether romantically or platonically. She often accompanied you while studying between classes, bringing you coffee or energy drinks during exam season. Even if you weren't fond of Chelsea at first, her consistent friendliness made it hard not to warm up to her.

As time progressed and she gradually developed a crush on you, she stuck to you more often, intentionally choosing electives you're in just so she could be with you for longer. She became bolder, teasing you to see your flustered face and flirting openly, only to play it off innocently when confronted. Eventually, she asks you out in your third year, shortly before she graduates from her premed program.

The confession was simple, almost impulsive. You were handing her flowers when she suddenly blurted out "Do you wanna go out with me?" Your eyes widen in surprise "...are you teasing me again?" you ask hesitantly. Her lips quirked up playfully "Depends. Will you say yes?"

The first few months of dating her were a dream, Chelsea is attentive and sweet, always making sure you never feel alone despite her busy schedule. However, the further she gets into her internship, the more you grow apart. It's not her fault, she didn't mean to, but it gets too overwhelming when she gets home from work and immediately goes on a date with you. She loves spending time with you, she promised, but you can't help but feel neglected when the date keeps getting shorter and she keeps arriving at the date later and later.

A year into the relationship, just a month before your anticipated anniversary and graduation, you both mutually decided to part ways. It was a decision you had seen coming for some time. There were no tears shed, she simply asked for a hug and left. You don't know what she felt, the look on her face was unreadable.

Though Chelsea regrets the breakup and part of her longs for the early days of your relationship, she knows it's not possible. You hold a special place in her heart, but she'll never reveal how much she wishes for your return. You are friends now, and she'll support you in pursuing whoever you choose, even if it's not her.

[rusticjpg]

@inadeqcies,　　OUTSIDE OF REDSTONE BAR,　11PM.

THE  NIGHT  IS  COLD  ENOUGH  TO  BITE,  the  kind  that  carves  its  way  into  your  skin  and  lingers,  but  damla  doesn’t  bother  to  shiver.  the  cigarette  between  her  fingers  is  unlit —  a  stupid  habit  she  picked  up  when  she  moved  back.  something  to  do  with  her  hands,  keep  them  from  balling  into  fists  or  clawing  at  her  hair.  her  heels  click  against  the  pavement,  sharp  and  deliberate.  she  pauses  near  the  edge  of  the  patio,  fishing  through  her  pocket.  nothing.  no  lighter.  

her  fingers  curl  tighter  around  the  cigarette  as  she  exhales,  sharp  and  annoyed.  typical.  of  course.  she  debates  going  back  inside,  but  the  noise,  the  crowd — it’s  too  much.  instead,  she  turns,  her  eyes  landing  on  nearest figure,  half-shrouded  in  shadow.  close  enough.  she  doesn’t  bother  with  pleasantries,  just  taps  his  shoulder  with  the  blunt  edge  of  her  knuckle.  “got  a  light?” and when  he  turns,  the  moment  fractures. 

ricardo garcia's face  is  the  last  thing  she  expects  to  see,  but  of  course,  it’s  him.  the  harsh  cut  of  his  jaw,  the  familiar  tilt  of  his  lips — it  stabs  at  her  like  an  old  wound  reopening.  the  air  bites  harder  now,  colder  than  before.

she  tips  her  head  back  with  a  groan,  glaring  up  at  the  sky  like  maybe  there’s  someone  up  there  orchestrating  this  cosmic  joke.  “oh  my  god,”  she  says,  words  dragging  out,  dripping  with  disbelief  and  exhaustion.  “of  course  it’s  you.”  no  point  in  softening  it.  no  energy  left  for  diplomacy.  her  eyes  flick  toward  the  street — options,  escape  routes — but  the  moment’s  already  sunk  its  hooks  in.  no  way  out  now.  her  gaze  snaps  back  to  him,  and  she  thrusts  the  cigarette  toward  him,  the  motion  casual,  borderline  dismissive.  “well?”  she  says,  the  single  word  cutting  through  the  space  between  them.  a  challenge,  a  dare,  a  sharp  little  jab.  she’d get her quick drag one way or another.

[pippeebottom]

Confession but sometimes I feel like a bad baby… I’m so deep in the scene and really enjoy the fantasy but I’ve never really had the funds or privacy to enjoy my little time irl. Does that make me a bad little? I’ve only ever worn 2 or so diapers, and I don’t have any other abdl gear or anything

Plus, I’m always terrified of anyone irl finding out about me

i’ve only been actively wearing for about 8 months, so i might not be the best person to answer this but i relate to your feelings so much and i don’t think anyone deserves to feel bad for doing things they enjoy, so i’ll do my best to give you some coherent thoughts

especially being a part of this community, seeing all of these cuties around you seemingly living their best diapered lives, it can be really easy to get caught up in what being little should look like and feel bad for not living up to that. i can promise you i feel like that at least twice a week, but it’s helped me to be reminded and remind myself that what we see on tumblr is just a part of people’s life (and not always completely real, there’s a level of fantasy to a lot of it as well!)

there’s nothing wrong with not being able to afford fancy abdl items, even if the only thing you’re buying is diapers, it adds up and can be really costly! i’ve been lucky enough to have some pretty amazing people in my life gift me a lot of the stuff i have, but i also opt for cheaper options on things i can (like my sippies, bottles, utensils) i may not be the best person to tell you where you can/can’t cut corners but i also came onto tumblr with zero knowledge of how to actually practice abdl outside of a fantasy. i learned everything from reading posts on here, on reddit, from talking to other littles and doms, asking so so so many questions, and i never stop learning new things about this community, this kink and myself. it comes with a lot of mixed feelings and sometimes it can be frustrating but i always try to focus on the joy i experience when im able to regress

talking to people and being willing to experiment can help a lot, so can knowing when you need to take a step away from tumblr. if I’m scrolling and feel myself comparing my journey to everyone else i see and being upset with that, it’s time to take a step away from the screen and color a pretty picture or drink some strawberry milk or watch some carebears or pee your pants or whatever it is that makes you feel small and babyish. focus on that feeling, focus on the things you find in your life that make you smile and giggle and kick your feet in the air. your ability to find that despite all the stress and doom in the world surrounding you is what makes you a good baby, not how many onesies you have or how often you’re padded. and you are a good baby, you’re a good little.

as far as being afraid people irl will find out….yeah, its scary! its hard not to be afraid, but as long as you aren’t flashing it around to everyone, at least in my experience, most people won’t notice. and if there are people in your life that are really close to you that care about you, they might not mind!! don’t let that fear stop you from being happy. keep your chin up!! <3

[coffincoven]

“ look at me. “ // @hollowedchest

this is the part of the job that's never easy. not everyone makes it, a hospital is filled with death. teagan for the most part is good at shielding herself from it all. you have to care these people but you can't let yourself get attached.

in this case, she never had time to get attached. a drunken parent, driving with their five year old in the backseat. the car wrapped around a pole. the child was covered in blood and wounds, weakly clutching a white teddy bear stained red. the parent, of course, is completely fine. a bruise on their head.

she held the little girls hand as she died, and she swears she felt it. it took her breath away and she had to take an early break.

she didn't check her phone, didn't know that clint was coming to bring her coffee when he finds her kneeled down on the side of the hospital. there's blood on her hands and on her scrubs.

clint's hand on her face snaps her back just a little. taking a moment to process the words and his presence. 'look at me' he says.

she takes a shaky breath, wiping her nose. "is that coffee for me?"