#uh first post here in a long time

[dykesevika]

my wife :3

[meamiiikiii]

5% of a color headcanon.... two versions since b&w emphasizes the dagger more i think but i still like the warm tones ASFSADA

i am not biased towards rainbow daggers whatsoever i promise (lie)

((also friend is streaming now and im there too!! bit more info linked here, its rated mature tho))

[luck-of-the-drawings]

!!! FLASHING LIGHTS WARNING!!! [IM NOT FUCKIN AROUND!!]

REACHED THE CUSP OF 'THIS MAY NEVER BE ABSOLUTELY FINISHED N IF I DONT SHOW IT NOW, IT WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY.' SO HERE, A PROJECT IVE BEEN ORBITING AROUND UHH SINCE 2021 OR SO.

[laundrybiscuits]

(continuing the MLP GURPS snippet)

“You what,” says Erica flatly.

“I said…Jester the Pegasus slits the chief Seapony’s throat. You said he was letting me pin the bronze seashell to his mane, right? So I shouldn’t have to roll for it, I can just use the edge of the seashell ‘cause his neck’s right there.” Dustin leans back with a shit-eating grin.

Eddie has to cover his own smile, because he recognizes the panicked look that Erica’s trying to hide. She’s the same kind of DM as Eddie is: she’s got a massive binder and detailed scripts for every possible way the story could go, because she likes to be prepared for anything. She just hasn’t learned yet that players are always, always going to try something you never saw coming because you assumed they were reasonable human beings and not chaos gremlins from a nightmare dimension.

She rallies like a champ. “Uh, sure, I guess. The hundreds of Seaponies around you go wild, because that was a super dumb thing to do. They’re gonna tear you apart if you don’t do something right now.”

Lucas leans in, eyes all lit up. “Okay, but, did the blood get onto the altar? I mean, the Moonlight Circle?”

Erica’s starting to grin too, lacing her fingers together as she catches on to what they’re after. “It sure did. Um, so…Jester the Pegasus Pony is standing over the fallen chief with a bloody shell in his teeth. The crowd of Seaponies is screaming at you, but the blood is already dripping onto the Moonlight Circle. It’s turning black as it reaches the salt water, and you can hear something real big coming up from the deep sea, wa-a-ay far down below.”

She’s pivoting with barely a stumble, going off-book to follow the story, and Eddie can’t keep from doing a thrilled little wriggle in his seat. A familiar laugh sounds from behind him, and he startles, flushing.

“Having fun?” Steve asks, resting his folded arms on the back of Eddie’s chair. Eddie has to tip his head all the way back to look at Steve.

“Hell yeah,” he says. “The Lady Sinclair is a demon incarnate.”

Erica beams. “Maybe you could keep up if you weren’t such a senior citizen. Need to get your walker from the nursing home, grandpa?”

“Youth of today have no respect.” Eddie wags a finger at her. “Keep that up and Steve’s going to swoop into the game like an avenging undead Seapony.”

“Steve is not involved in any of this,” says Steve. “Steve is a very generous and patient guy who lets unholy terrors take over his kitchen table and eat all his food.”

Eddie stretches up to pat his cheek. He misses slightly and ends up basically smacking Steve in the face. “Thank you, Steve,” he coos. “Say thank you, unholy terrors.”

“Thank you, Steve,” chorus Will and Lucas, who are precious angels too good for this world. Dustin and Mike pull grotesque faces that may or may not be based on faces Eddie has pulled in the past; Erica just sniffs in an unimpressed way. Eddie is going to keep these kids forever.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt…whatever this is.” Steve waves a hand at the piles of paper and dice and empty ice cream bowls. “I’m just gonna heat up some pizzas for dinner. Everyone okay with four-cheese and supreme?”

“Sounds great,” says Eddie. “We’re about ready to wrap up this session, I think.”

“What, no we’re not,” says Mike. “We’re about to kick the Seapony god’s ass.”

Erica wrinkles her nose. “As much as it might pain me to admit it…the senior citizen’s right. Fighting the Seapony god would be way too complicated a battle for your puny minds to handle right now. You dweebs don’t even know the insane twists I have planned.”

“Plus,” says Steve, “You dorks have been playing since before I got home like three hours ago. Give Erica a break, huh? You can pick this up another day.”

“I don’t need a break, you need a break, old man,” Erica says immediately, but she’s already starting to pack up her notes.

———

With the game mostly packed away, Eddie gets up to stretch; maybe he really is getting old, because he’s suddenly feeling the effects of sitting in a dining room chair for five hours all through his back. He’s gonna just keep blaming the bat venom for any aches and pains, though.

The boys are already busy trying to strategize for the battle ahead, even though Eddie would bet good money that Erica’s listening in and adjusting her own plans based on theirs. He thinks about saying something, but Erica’s earned this, and the little shitheads will never learn to keep their mouths shut if they don’t get burned once in a while. Instead, he wanders into the kitchen to help Steve out with the pizzas.

Steve’s staring thoughtfully into the freezer. “Think four’s enough?”

“Better make it five,” says Eddie. “Six if you got ‘em. I think Will grew another eight inches since yesterday.”

Steve groans. “Okay, but one of them’s going to be mushroom. Maybe if I do that one in the first batch, they’ll be hungry enough not to complain.”

“What are you talking about, Steve, mushrooms are the crowning glory of the forest. They are the simple food of the common man, yet rich and complex enough to adorn the plate of a king.” Eddie hops up to perch on the kitchen counter, narrowly avoiding smacking his head on the cabinets.

“Of course you like mushrooms, freak,” grumbles Steve. He freezes, looking pained. “I didn’t mean—”

Eddie scoots along the counter to kick him lightly. “Yeah, I know, Steve, don’t spin out. Just put the mushroom one in the oven for me and we’ll call it square.”

Steve smiles up at Eddie as he goes to do just that, dropping his hand to Eddie’s knee for a moment.

“I’m—gonna go make sure the kids aren’t murdering each other yet,” says Eddie.

[sysig]

The most fun you can have, barring the pain and torture (Patreon)

[skrunksthatwunk]

arcade

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 55-56

Chapter; Highlights, Notes, Tags, etc.

The Thirteen were on edge. They hadn't yet decided where to go. And hadn't been invited to travel with the Crochans to any of their home-hearths. Even Glennis's.

None of them, however, had looked his way when they'd prowled past. None had recognized him.

Dorian had just completed another walking circuit in his little training area when Manon stalked by, silver hair flowing. He paused, no more than a wary Crochan sentinel, and watched her storm through snow and mud as if she were a blade through the world.

Manon had nearly passed his training area when she went rigid.

Slowly, she turned, nostrils flaring.

Those golden eyes swept over him, swift and cutting. Her brows twitched toward each other. Dorian only gave her a lazy grin in return.

Then she prowled toward him.

Another assessing stare. "I would have thought you'd pick a prettier form."

He frowned down at himself. "I think she's pretty enough."

Manon's mouth tightened. "I suppose this means you're about to go to Morath."

"Did I say anything of the sort?" He didn't bother sounding pleasant.

Manon took a step toward him, her teeth flashing. In this body, he stood shorter than her. He hated the thrill that shot through his blood as she leaned down to growl at him. "We have enough to deal with today, princeling."

"Do l look as if I'm standing in your way?" She opened her mouth, then shut it.

Dorian let out a low laugh and made to turn away. An iron-tipped hand gripped his arm.

Strange, for that hand to feel large on his body. Large, and not the slender, deadly thing he'd become accustomed to.

Her golden eyes blazed. "If you want a softhearted woman who will weep over hard choices and ultimately balk from them, then you're in the wrong bed."

"I'm not in anyone's bed right now." He hadn't gone to her tent any of these nights. Not since that conversation in Eyllwe.

She took the retort without so much as a flinch. "Your opinion doesn't matter to me."

"Then why are you standing here?"

Again, she opened and closed her mouth. Then snarled, "Change out of that form." Dorian smiled again. "Don't you have better things to do right now, Your Majesty?" He honestly thought she might unsheathe those iron teeth and rip out his throat.

Half of him wanted her to try. He even went so far as to run one of those phantom hands along her jaw.

"You think I don't know why you don't want me to go to Morath?"

"Tell me to stay," he said, and the words had no warmth, no kindness. "Tell me to stay with you, if that's what you want." His invisible fingers grew talons and scraped over her skin. Manon's throat bobbed. "But you won't say that, will you, Manon?" Her breathing turned jagged. He continued to stroke her neck, her jaw, her throat, caressing skin he'd tasted over and over. "Do you know why?"

"Because while you might be older, might be deadly in a thousand different ways, deep down, you're afraid. You don't know how to ask me to stay, because you're afraid of admitting to yourself that you want it. You're afraid. Of yourself more than anyone else in the world. You're afraid." For several heartbeats, she just stared at him.

Then she snarled, "You don't know what you're talking about," and stalked away.

His low laugh ripped after her. Her spine stiffened. But Manon did not turn back.

Afraid. Of admitting that she felt any sort of attachment.

It was preposterous.

And it was, perhaps, true.

But it was not her problem. Not right now.

Manon stormed through the readying camp where tents were being taken down and folded, hearths being packed. The Thirteen were with the wyverns, supplies stowed in saddlebags.

Some of the Crochans had frowned her way. Not with anger, but something like disappointment.

Discontent. As if they thought parting ways was a poor idea.

Manon refrained from saying she agreed.

Even if the Thirteen followed, the Crochans would find a way to lose them. Use their power to bind the wyverns long enough to disappear.

And she would not lower herself, lower the Thirteen, to become dogs chasing after their masters. They might be desperate for aid, might have promised it to their allies, but she would not debase herself any further.

Manon halted at Glennis's camp, the only hearth with a fire still burning. A fire that would always remain kindled.

A reminder of the promise she'd made to honor the Queen of Terrasen. A single, solitary flame against the cold.

Manon rubbed at her face as she slumped onto one of the rocks lining the hearth. A hand rested on her shoulder, warm and slight. She didn't bother to slap it away.

Glennis said, "We're departing in a few minutes. I thought l'd say good-bye."

Manon peered up at the ancient witch. "Fly well." It was really all there was left to say.

Manon's failure was not due to Glennis, not due to anyone but herself, she supposed.

You're afraid.

It was true. She had tried, but not really tried to win the Crochans. To let them see any part of her that meant something. To let them see what it had done to her, to learn she had a sister and that she had killed her. She didn't know how, and had never bothered to learn.

You're afraid.

Yes, she was. Of everything.

Glennis lowered her hand from Manon's shoulder.

"May your path carry you safely through war and back home at last."

She didn't feel like telling the crone there was no home for her, or the Thirteen.

Glennis turned her face toward the sky, sighing once. Then her white brows narrowed. Her nostrils flared. Manon leapt to her feet.

"Run," Glennis breathed. "Run now."

Manon drew Wind-Cleaver and did no such thing. "What is it?"

"They're here." How Glennis had scented them on the wind, Manon didn't care.

Not as three wyverns broke from the clouds, spearing for their camp.

She knew those wyverns, almost as well as she knew the three riders who sent the Crochans into a frenzy of motion.

The Matrons of the Ironteeth Witch-Clans had found them. And come to finish what Manon had started that day in Morath.

The three High Witches had come alone.

Rushing steps crunched through the icy snow, halting at Manon's side just as Dorian's scent wrapped around her. "Is that—"

"Yes," she said quietly, heart thundering as the Matrons dismounted and did not raise their hands in request for parley. No, they only stalked closer to the hearth, to the precious flame still burning. "Don't engage," Manon warned him and the others, and strode to meet them.

It was not the king's battle, no matter what power dwelled in his veins.

Glennis was already armed, an ancient sword in her withered hands. The woman was as old as the Yellowlegs Matron, yet she stood tall, facing the three High Witches.

Cresseida Blueblood spoke first, her eyes as cold as the iron-spiked crown digging into her freckled brow. "It has been an age, Glennis." But Glennis's stare, Manon realized, was not on the Blueblood Matron. Or even on Manon's own grandmother, her black robes billowing as she sneered at Manon.

It was on the Yellowlegs Matron, hunched and hateful between them. On the crown of stars atop the crone's thinned white hair.

Glennis's sword shook slightly. And just as Manon realized what the Matron had worn here,

Bronwen appeared at Glennis's side and breathed, "Rhiannon's crown."

Worn by the Yellowlegs Matron to mock these witches. To spit on them.

A dull roaring began in Manon's ears.

"What company you keep these days, granddaughter," said Manon's grandmother, her silver-streaked dark hair braided back from her face. A sign enough of their intentions, if her grandmother's hair was in that plait. Battle. Annihilation.

The weight of the three High Witches' attention pressed upon her. The Crochans gathered behind her shifted as they waited for her response.

Yet it was Glennis who snarled, in a voice Manon had not yet heard, "What is it that you want?"

Manon's grandmother smiled, revealing rust-flecked iron teeth. The true sign of her age. "You made a grave error, Manon Kin-Slayer, when you sought to turn our forces against us. When you sowed such lies amongst our sentinels regarding our plans— my plans."

Manon kept her chin high. "I spoke only truth. And it must have frightened you enough that you gathered these two to hunt me down and prove your innocence in scheming against them."

The other two Matrons didn't so much as blink. Her grandmother's claws had to have sunk deep, then. Or they simply did not care.

"We came," Cresseida seethed, the opposite in so many ways of the daughter who had given Manon the chance to speak, "to at last rid us of a thorn in our sides."

Had Petrah been punished for letting Manon walk out of the Omega alive? Did the Blueblood Heir still breathe? Cresseida had once screamed in a mother's terror and pain when Petrah had nearly plunged to her death.

Did that love, so foreign and strange, still hold true? Or had duty and ancient hatred won out?

The thought was enough to steel Manon's spine. "You came because we pose a threat."

Because of the threat you pose to that monster you call grandmother.

"You came," Manon went on, Wind-Cleaver rising a fraction, "because you are afraid."

Manon took a step beyond Glennis, her sword lifting farther.

"You came," Manon said, "because you have no true power beyond what we give you.

And you are scared to death that we're about to take it away." Manon flipped Wind-Cleaver in her hand, angling the sword downward, and drew a line in the snow between them. "You came alone for that fear. That others might see what we are capable of. The truth that you have always sought to hide."

Her grandmother tutted. "Listen to you. Sounding just like a Crochan with that preachy nonsense."

Manon ignored her. Ignored her and pointed Wind-Cleaver directly at the Yellowlegs Matron as she snarled, "That is not your crown."

Something like hesitation rippled over Cresseida Blueblood's face. But the Yellowlegs Matron beckoned to Manon with iron nails so long they curved downward. "Then come and fetch it from me, traitor."

Manon stepped beyond the line she'd drawn in the snow.

No one spoke behind her. She wondered if any of them were breathing.

She had not won against her grandmother. Had barely survived, and only thanks to luck. That fight, she had been ready to meet her end. To say farewell.

Manon angled Wind-Cleaver upward, her heart a steady, raging beat.

She would not greet the Darkness's embrace today. But they would.

"This seems familiar," her grandmother drawled, legs shifting into attacking position.

The other two Matrons did the same. "The last Crochan Queen. Holding the line against us." Manon cracked her jaw, and iron teeth descended. A flex of her fingers had her iron nails unsheathing. "Not just a Crochan Queen this time."

There was doubt in Cresseida's blue eyes.

As if she'd realized what the other two Matrons had not.

There—it was there that Manon would strike first. The one who now wondered if they had somehow made a grave mistake in coming here.

A mistake that would cost them what they had come to protect.

A mistake that would cost them this war.

And their lives.

For Cresseida saw the steadiness of Manon's breathing. Saw the clear conviction in her eyes. Saw the lack of fear in her heart as Manon advanced another step.

Manon smiled at the Blueblood Matron as if to say yes.

"You did not kill me then," Manon said to her grandmother. "I do not think you will be able to now."

"We'll see about that," her grandmother hissed, and charged.

Manon was ready.

An upward swing of Wind-Cleaver met her grandmother's first two blows, and Manon ducked the third. Turning right into the onslaught of the Yellowlegs Matron, who swept up with unnatural speed, feet almost flying over the snow, and slashed for Manon's exposed back.

Manon deflected the crone's assault, sending the witch darting back. Just as Cresseida launched herself at Manon. Cresseida was not a trained fighter. Not as the Blackbeak and Yellowlegs Matrons were. Too many years spent reading entrails and scanning the stars for the answers to the Three-Faced Goddess's riddles.

A duck to the left had Manon easily evading the sweep of Cresseida's nails, and a countermove had Manon driving her elbow into the Blueblood Matron's nose.

Cresseida stumbled. The Yellowlegs Matron and her grandmother attacked again. So fast. Their three assaults had happened in the span of a few blinks. Manon kept her feet under her. Saw where one Matron moved and the other left a dangerous gap exposed.

She was not a broken-spirited Wing Leader unsure of her place in the world.

She was not ashamed of the truth before her.

She was not afraid.

Manon's grandmother led the attack, her maneuvers the deadliest. It was from her that the first slice of pain appeared. A rip of iron nails through Manon's shoulder. But Manon swung her sword, again and again, iron on steel ringing out across the icy peaks.

No, she was not afraid at all.

Around him, the Crochans thrummed with fear and dread. Either for the fight unfolding or the three Matrons who had found them.

But Glennis did not tremble. At her side Bronwen hummed with the energy of one eager to leap into the fight.

Manon and the High Witches sprang apart, breathing heavily. Blue blood leaked down Manon's shoulder, and small slices peppered the three Matrons.

Manon still remained on the far side of the line she'd drawn. Still held it.

The dark-haired witch in voluminous black robes spat blue blood onto the snow. Manon's grandmother. "Pathetic. As pathetic as your mother." A sneer toward Glennis. "And your father."

The snarl that ripped from Manon's throat rang across the mountains themselves.

Her grandmother let out a crow's caw of a laugh. "Is that all you can do, then? Snarl like a dog and swing your sword like some human filth? We will wear you down eventually. Better to kneel now and die with some honor intact." Manon only flung out an iron-tipped hand behind her, fingers splaying in demand as her eyes remained fixed on the Matrons.

Dorian reached for Damaris, but Bronwen moved first.

The Crochan tossed her sword, steel flashing over snow and sun.

Manon's fingers closed on the hilt, the blade singing as she whipped it around to face the High Witches again. "Rhiannon Crochan held the gates for three days and three nights, and she did not kneel before you, even at the end." A slash of a smile. "I think I shall do the same." Dorian could have sworn the sacred flame burning to their left flared brighter. Could have sworn Glennis sucked in a breath. That every Crochan watching did the same.

Manon's knees bent, swords rising. "Let us finish what was started then, too." She attacked, blades flashing.

Her grandmother conceded step after step, the other two Matrons failing to break past her defenses.

Gone was the witch who had slept and wished for death. Gone was the witch who had raged at the truth that had torn her to shreds.

And in her place, fighting as if she were the very wind, unfaltering against the Matrons, stood someone Dorian had not yet met.

Stood a queen of two peoples.

Yielding only those few steps, and nothing more.

Because Manon with conviction in her heart, with utter fearlessness in her eyes, was wholly unstoppable.

The other two witches had fallen back, as if waiting to see what might happen.

But she yielded no further ground. A wall against which the Yellowlegs Matron could not advance. The crone let out a snarl, attacking again and again, senseless and raging.

Dorian saw the trap the moment it happened.

No one seemed to breathe at all as Manon plunged Bronwen's sword into the icy earth beneath and bent to take the crown of stars from the Yellowlegs witch's fallen head.

He had never seen a crown like it.

A living, glowing thing that glittered in her hand. As if nine stars had been plucked from the heavens and set to shine along the simple silver band.

The crown's light danced over Manon's face as she lifted it above her head and set it upon her unbound white hair.

Even the mountain wind stopped.

Yet a phantom breeze shifted the strands of Manon's hair as the crown glowed bright, the white stars shining with cores of cobalt and ruby and amethyst.

As if it had been asleep for a long, long time. And now awoke.

That phantom wind pulled Manon's hair to the side, silver strands brushing across her face.

And beside him, around him, the Thirteen touched two fingers to their brow in deference.

In allegiance to the queen who stared down the two remaining High Witches.

The Crochan Queen, crowned anew.

The sacred fire leaped and danced, as if in joyous welcome.

"Go."

The Blueblood witch blinked, eyes wide with what could only be fear and dread.

Manon jerked her chin toward the wyvern waiting behind the witch. "Tell your daughter all debts between us are paid. And she may decide what to do with you. Take that other wyvern out of here."

Spared by the Crochan Queen on behalf of the daughter who had given Manon the gift of speaking to the Ironteeth.

Within seconds, the Blueblood Matron was in the skies, the Yellowlegs witch's wyvern soaring beside her.

Leaving Manon's grandmother alone.

Leaving Manon with swords raised and a crown of stars glowing upon her brow.

Manon was glowing, as if the stars atop her head pulsed through her body. A wondrous and mighty beauty, like no other in the world. Like no one had ever been, or would be again.

And slowly, as if savoring each step, Manon stalked toward her grandmother.

Warm, dancing light flowed through her, as unfaltering as what had poured into her heart these past few bloody minutes.

She did not balk. Did not fear.

The crown's weight was slight, like it had been crafted of moonlight. Yet its joyous strength was a song, undimming before the sole High Witch left standing.

So Manon kept walking.

She left Bronwen's sword a few feet away.

Left Wind-Cleaver several feet past that.

Iron nails out, teeth ready, Manon paused barely five steps from her grandmother.

A hateful, wasted scrap of existence. That's what her grandmother was.

She had never realized how much shorter the Matron stood. How narrow her shoulders were, or how the years of rage and hate had withered her.

Manon's smile grew. And she could have sworn she felt two people standing at her shoulder.

She knew no one would be there if she looked. Knew no one else could see them, sense them, standing with her. Standing with their daughter against the witch who had destroyed them.

Her grandmother spat on the ground, baring her rusted teeth.

This death, though ...

It was not her death to claim.

It did not belong to the parents whose spirits lingered at her side, who might have been there all along, leading her toward this. Who had not left her, even with death separating them.

No, it did not belong to them, either.

She looked behind her. Toward the Second waiting beside Dorian.

Tears slid down Asterin's face. Of pride- pride and relief.

Manon beckoned to Asterin with an iron- tipped hand.

Manon raised a hand. "Let her go."

When there was no trace of the Matrons left but blue blood and a headless corpse staining the snow, Manon turned toward the Crochans.

Their eyes were wide, but they made no move.

The Thirteen remained where they were, Dorian with them.

Manon scooped up both swords, sheathing Wind-Cleaver across her back, and stalked toward where Glennis and Bronwen stood, monitoring her every breath.

Wordlessly, Manon handed Bronwen her sword, nodding in thanks.

Then she removed the crown of stars and extended it toward Glennis. "This belongs to you," she said, her voice low.

The Crochans murmured, shifting.

Glennis took the crown, and the stars dimmed. A small smile graced the crone's face.

"No," she said, "it does not."

Manon didn't move as Glennis lifted the crown and set it again on Manon's head.

Then the ancient witch knelt in the snow.

"What was stolen has been restored; what was lost has come home again. I hail thee, Manon Crochan, Queen of Witches."

Manon stood fast against the tremor that threatened to buckle her legs.

Stood fast as the other Crochans, Bronwen with them, dropped to a knee. Dorian, standing amongst them, smiled, brighter and freer than she'd ever seen.

And then the Thirteen knelt, two fingers going to their brows as they bowed their heads, fierce pride lighting their faces.

"Queen of Witches," Crochan and Blackbeak declared as one voice.

As one people.

[miimeeks]

oh (vent in tags)

[traumawhomst]

Me: Yeah this blog will just be a fun easy place to word vomit my ideas. I probably won’t post consistently.

Also Me: Yeah but what if wrote like three tiny isty-bitsy stories? Nothing more than 10,000 words promise 🙏🏻

[simstoyourdismay]

i am held captive by the ribbon round my neck each course i chart determined by a wreck the power in my hips is useless in the dark what good are red lips when you're faced with something sharp?

[mikesbasementbeets]

max's flashback sequence in dear billy (the piggyback flashbacks 1 & 2)

[emmafaeru]

hooooly fucking shit I just realised as of 3 hours ago I'm one month clean. holy shit. it has been such a goddamned uphill back-and-forth battle with myself to get to this point and it continues to be such a monumental struggle for me to not slip back into but for one time, for at least one second, I was finally able to make it. oh my god. I think I'm going to go cry for a minute

[theinfinitedivides]

studio recording of The River <<<<<<<<< every single live version ever done of that song. send tweet

[faedotexe]

Moonlike marbles, pink blemishes Like craters on their surfaces - From port to starboard they roll And it hurts as they move - Their quiet heartbeats On the synthetic floor (Careful not to hear the rattling at the door)

The column that holds the place, It strains against every step or Breath - Growing gardens of bones on its wing, Blossoming with bubbles of white Translucent chrysanthemums - in grapes So heavy it might fall.

They wear cowls And flowing capes And skin-tight, dimly coloured suits And drape themselves so they won't Know that they have skin: They shiver at mirrors And shiver at the wind.

They built stairs Leading to nothing - to forget Which doors open where. They taped windows to the walls With masking tape - too weak to hold The weights of both looking Within or peering without.

Sitting on cratered wood, they hold onto Strands of vines, and stalks and grains All turned to black, streaked with silver veins - Smelling of soil and colder ash - ( Harvests have been scarce - Distant thunder blessing baskets With a mere pound of stars)

The roots have grown Into knots, and on the knots Lakes of mold, and in the mold Those eyes await, wide awake. As the roots twist and grasp The wood burns and breaks and Screams in the secret tongues of the second sky.

There is this drumming In the stone of the column In the glass of the dome (where they painted the stars) It comes as the tide and breaks with the waves - It leaves in a sigh - and paints with a hush - The sand in sleeping greys, the coast with a burning brush In colors that left their name to a world of scars.

They wear hoods, Short black vests, Shoes that look like shoes and Pants that look like pants. They go from east to west and sing A song that leaves no trace - But when they stop - the dream is dreamt, and the tears are wept.

They push viscous sludge into The rotting metal tubes That run from the cellar to the house, Green and smelling like strawberry. (Artificial and sour, from a fizzy drink Forgotten in the fridge.) They push with hands and feet through dark aluminium grates.

As it goes down, the tubes Spasm and contract - So they keep pushing with their hands, They keep pushing with their feet, Until it goes down and down and they sit. (Then they buckle as the tide comes back And their hearts spill - in a geyser of bile black.)

None of them has the strength To lift hammer or titanium nails. They limp back and forth Grabbing papers and putting them down Forgetting where they went or why they would drown. So the roots will knot and the tubes will spasm - And the column will crack and the marbles will roll -

But look! Look at the painted sky over the house! Full that it is of all the colors from the waves! And the shells in cradles, the chitin in the tombs! In porcelain sets and golden shimmering wounds - Brimming with shades taken from her breath on your neck, From the hand in your hair - Sure, the house will someday fall, But the house hasn't fallen - that day hasn't come yet!

25/09/24

[jellybean-tv]

(Please, nobody feel the need to respond and/or provide any answers or anything, I'm just... trying to be brave and put my voice out in general. Otherwise, you know, don't mind me. OuO"""""")

I really wanna find, like... my own little "place" I fit into in this community. You know? Like a niche in the niche that I have fun with, that comes naturally, and that people have fun seeing when it shows up on their feed. But... I dunno what that is yet.

I guess it'd be something I stumble into, huh? TuT Which means there's no way to determine how much time it's gonna take to get comfortably settled in. But jeez, it's extra hard to wait when you're already SO bad at letting people know you're in the community at all. Forget about not being able to say the T word - I can't write an original post here without panicking and (usually) deleting it before it's scheduled to go up. >.>"""""""""'

How do you "open up" on a secret account for a community about your goofy little (SFW, GODDAMMIT) guilty pleasure without feeling like you've accidentally shared too much and people will know who you are?

Jeez... usually I'm not too awkward socially, but here? I'd have an easier time putting myself up on the wall and pretending my TV head's an inconspicuous painting of a wallflower.

[a-simple-spiders-oc-dump]

The Kiddos From Universe 1 At Calypso Water Park

so one of my favourite character-building exercises I like to do is figure out how my OCs would act going to the theme park I used to go to a lot when I was in high school - Calypso Water Park. and while I've done this for the Realm Kiddos before, I haven't done it RECENTLY, and especially not since the canon shift. so fuck it!! we ball!!

Lydia is very much the Mom Friend of the group. She's the one who makes sure everyone's brought everything they need before heading out, and the one who pesters everyone to put on sunscreen (on Trinity's behalf). She's not the biggest fan of a lot of the slides, but she'll go on the smaller ones, especially if they're two-person slides and only one member of the group wants to go on 'em. Otherwise, she spends the day relaxing in the lazy river and spending time with Trinity to make sure she feels included. Probably gets a stomach ache from eating ice cream and then immediately getting roped into going on slides.

Sinclair is ADAMANT about going on literally every single slide in the park, probably bragging the whole time that these slides are child's play for them. In reality, they're fucking terrified of slides like Adrenaline (basically a straight drop), and completely chicken out at the Aqua Loops. They do get very competitive during races the group have on the Fast Track, and eventually it's just Sinclair and Sydney doing the ride over and over again until one of them is the definitive victor. The two bond afterwards over their bruised stomachs and somehow managing to steal the entirety of their meals (because both of them decided the food was super overpriced and thus it was stupid to pay for it).

Cynthia is largely just trying to keep track of everyone, since that's just instinct for her at this point, but after some time she starts to relax and do what she wants. I think the wave pool would be her favourite attraction, and she'd spend a bunch of time there just seeing how long she can last against the waves in the deep end of the pool (probably having a friendly competition with Dylan to see who can last the longest at least once.) She doesn't care too much for the slides, not because she's scared of them - they just don't really interest her. Still has a relatively good day against all odds!

Dylan is going fucking EVERYWHERE. He's doing Fast Track races with Sydney, Sinclair and the twins. He's going on Canyon Rafting with as much of the group as he can gather in one place. He's lounging in the lazy river. He's surviving the wave pool with Cynthia. He's eating a big hot dog and then immediately going back into it and then needs to rest on one of the lounge chairs in front of the wave pool because he gave himself a stomach cramp. Dylan is in his element here and he's having the TIME OF HIS LIFE. I think he might end up going into a bit of a funk for a few days afterwards because he got so much serotonin from this trip that he simply cannot get in his daily life. Plans on making this an annual event the second they leave the park at the end of the day.

Morgan loudly complains the whole time everyone is planning this excursion, calling it a waste of time, saying it's dumb baby shit, asking to stay home... But then everyone gets to the park and they learn that Morgan has a well-hidden thrill-seeking side. Sinclair TRIES to go on every slide in the park, but Morgan SUCCEEDS. Although, this comes with a downside... There are multiple slides that require two people that only Sinclair, or worse, Sydney are willing to go on with her. She definitely bullies Sinclair over being scared of the Aqua Loops and rubs it in their face when she does it, like, "see? I survived the big scary plastic slides. coward." Sinclair will probably seethe over this for the next week.

Sydney. is. fucking. ELATED. You just brought the Realm's biggest thrill-seeker to a water park that claims to have the fastest slides in the world! Peak enrichment!! Much like Dylan, she's absolutely everywhere, and it's really hard to track her down. Much like Morgan, she also goes on every single ride in the park, minus a couple because she got so caught up with the Fast Track bullshit. She and Sinclair get to do crime together too, which is just a nice bonus. She does get some weird looks due to her extensive scars, because sometimes people suck, but Sydney Could Not Care Less About This, There Are Slides To Be Conquered And Friends To Compete With Over Stupid Shit.

Trinity is deathly afraid of heights. This means basically every slide is off-limits for her. Additionally, she's pretty self-conscious about her death scar on her neck, and this doesn't help her social anxiety much. Mostly just sticks to Lydia, Dylan, Cynthia or Morgan's sides for the majority of the trip, watching everyone else have fun, but after a bit Bianca and Troy coax her to come with them to Pirate's Aquaplay and she starts to really enjoy herself. The three of them go under the bigass bucket there together (because when you go to Calypso you HAVE to step under the bucket) and the twins keep her from getting knocked over by the water, and it's the loudest anyone's heard Trinity laugh before.

Bianca desperately WANTS to keep up with Sydney but. holy shit. that's a LOT of slides. Her paranoia kinda ebbs and flows throughout the day regarding Troy, because on one hand, More People = More People Who Could Hurt Him, but on the other hand... who'd kill a kid surrounded by so many people?? (The latter reasoning is mostly her trying to fight that shit off with a metaphorical stick for the sake of actually being able to enjoy her day. It... only kind of works, much to her own chagrin.) And, at the very least, the two spend most of their day with Sydney, who Bianca full-heartedly trusts. (Maybe not to keep them safe from over-exertion, but at least to keep them safe from anyone who might try to hurt either twin.) She joins Troy in his gremlin antics at Pirate's Aquaplay, and is the one to suggest that Trinity come and join them to experience The Bucket. She heads to the gift shop early while Troy and Sydney are hanging out and gets everyone surprisingly thoughtful souvenirs from the day.

Troy is that little shit who goes to Pirate's Aquaplay and dumps the mini-buckets on kids' heads when they pass under it. I know this, because I was that little shit when I was a kid, and I know it's exactly the kind of thing Troy would love. A lot of the slides scare him more than he's willing to admit, and he especially hates any of the covered slides because they make him feel claustrophobic, but the big exception to this is the Turbo Lab. Partially due to the theming, partially due to the fact that they aren't super fast or tall slides, and partially because the ones he likes best are ones he can go on with his friends. By and large, though, he's mostly just following the group and joining in on activities like Canyon Rafting and Fast Track races. I like to think he and Bianca also make a bet on whether they can last more than five minutes in the kiddie pool without being kicked out. They barely even last a minute.

Gamma got volunteered by Alice to be a chaperone. He fucking hates it. Not just because it's REALLY hard to keep track of nine humans when they're all going on different rides on different ends of the park, not just because there are more people in the park that day than Gamma's seen in his entire life, but because Gamma has a secret phobia of drowning/being underwater. Being around this much water? That's hell to him. Either Alice or Sinclair has to explain the concept of a "lifeguard" to him to keep him from spontaneously combusting out of stress, and he can't look at the wave pool without his stomach twisting up in knots. Also? He refuses to wear swimwear. He's still in his fucking suit. He only vaguely understands why he's getting strange looks from everyone. Needless to say, Gamma does not have fun, but the humans had a great time and no one got seriously hurt, and once it's all over, that's all that truly matters to him. (He still needs to take a day or two to recover tho, because being hyper-vigilant for that long is fucking exhausting. And by 'take a day' I mean he spends a little more time than usual reading between patrolling the woods and making sure his siblings do their jobs, because Gamma doesn't understand that he can take a sick day without everything exploding, so there's no way he's taking a mental health day voluntarily.)

Alice would fucking LOOOOOOVE to go, but because of the Mechanics Of How Realms Work, she physically cannot. (The humans obviously can't go back to their homeworld, so they have to go to a different Reality in order to go to Calypso, and Alice is shackled to her Realm and the Reality it branched off from. I'm torn between it being a "if I leave I die instantly and I Do Not Want That" situation or "yeah I've got a built-in aversion to leaving this place that's kind of like a primal fear and I'm Not Fucking With That" situation. Could be both!) She still makes an adorable swimsuit for herself just for fun and watches everyone's day through portals while eating popcorn. She also spends a good amount of time talking with Gamma over his communication device whenever he starts getting overwhelmed by the. fucking EVERYTHING happening that day. Absolutely gets him to bring her back a souvenir from the park. (Oh, also, the group circumvents the money issue via Alice basically creating counterfeit money. Hey, they're only there for a day! What are the cops gonna do, track them down across time and space for a couple of forged twenties?)