#until I started reading the names

[katabay]

WOW this has been ROUGH in the Life Events category of things, but. slowly crawling out of that. hopefully

this was the opening scene for a something I started writing after watching the Manben inverview with Nishi Keiko and thinking back to all the classic shoujo manga I stayed up reading back in the day, like damn that's so true Urasawa Naoki

it's partially a love letter to all the greats of the genre that I read, and also to the late night teleseryses that captivated me over the years lmao. it'd be nice to find the time to tackle it properly as a comic, but I'm having fun working on it recreationally :)

✨but since it's recreational, some character info✨

the first character seen is lawrence 'law' valenciano (late 30s), the one with the glasses is cris volante (mid-later 20s). law works at a karinderya, cris is an extremely broke university student.

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / insta / tip jar!

[shielpiers]

thank u sv pokespe for the food

[lieutenantselnia]

F/o list meme because I miss posting about them but don't have all to much energy for other stuff currently, so memes it is😂 I lowkey wanna do more of these alignment chart memes now (both self ship and others), they're just fun :D

Template by @strawberry-selfships!

[ghostieblr]

Untitled | Part 2 ->

It feels like an entity of his own, the way his blood rushes inside his body, the way his bones and flesh too small to hold what he's feeling. It feels like he's one of those poor people the alien's egg is going to incubate in, tear through him to become the deeply terrifying, shapeless, haunting monster.

This feeling is overwhelming, something he can't really name. But it's not unwelcomed. It is, in some fucked up way, like a call to him — he feels that rush of power, of trust, too. The call to his magic. The way his breaths come out calmer.

He can't really name it, not really, but he knows this feeling is the most important thing he possesses.

So it's not really a shock when the demon looks at him and only him, one arm out like he's going to snatch it without permission, a sharp grin on its borrowed face. "You," the demon beckons, and Derek snarls, protective. Derek moves in front of him, like it's going to stop the demon. Like there's anything they can do except take this deal. The demon laughs, reedy and evil, and he's sure the person doesn't sound like this; this demon has taken over completely, and Stiles doubts they can save the man who is being possessed at the moment.

"What do you want?" Derek's fang slur his question, but he's understandable, and Stiles puts his hand on Derek's shoulder, pulls him by his soft henley. They were on a walk around the preserve, a routine perimeter check, but here they stand now, in the middle of this clearing where kids had definitely messed around in and found the fuck out.

The camping bags are still warm, but the trail to the kids has gone cold. Unless they take this deal.

"I told you, wolf," the demon sing-songs, and Stiles wonders where he got this body from. The man is clearly in his 30's, light brown hair, hazelnut skin, brown eyes. He cannot be one of the people who summoned the demon, here. "I want what's most precious to your pet."

Derek's been growling all this time, but now he roars, all restraint broken under the clearly verbalized threat.

Only Stiles' hand on Derek's shoulder stops him from leaping at the demon.

"Derek," he says, concerned. They have no idea how to deal with demons that aren't evil fox spirits. "Maybe this is the only way."

And he wants out. He knows what are his most precious things — his feelings. Especially for him. He wants to get rid of it, because there's rarely anything as painful as feeling like your world tilts on its axis when you know theirs stays the same. They're friends, and pack, and that is all they can be.

It would be okay to lose these feelings.

"Listen to him, listen to him!"

"Stiles, don't you dare move!"

Stiles moves around Derek and is again in front of the demon. "Will you leave, then? Never to come back?"

"I'd do you one better — I shall forbid any other of my kind to come back here."

Derek doesn't grab him back, but he does verbally accuse Stiles of being stupid. Stiles is grateful for their relationship to have come to a point where Derek knows better than to stop him when he's set his mind, and he's really fucking gonna miss his bubbling mess of a heart later.

"Deal," he says, and there the lips come, cold and cruel; a quick, dirty kiss that leaves Stiles gasping for breath.

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, it's to Derek hovering over him worriedly. It makes Stiles feel packed, so he pushes Derek backwards, and stomps his way back towards the Loft.

Derek follows suit.

[arttsuka]

I need you to stick with me here but Jedtavius as Patroclus and Achilles

Sorry I’ve been reading The Song of Achilles and it’s getting to me

Oh... so who's who? In my drawing Achilles is Octavius and Patroclus is Jedediah

I basically redrew that one statue (I know it's not both of them but I liked the pose ok? Forgive me). Also I took my chance to draw Jed's funny underpants to lighten up the mood a bit.

Sorry if this doesn't meet your vision :(

That was a weird amalgamation of 2 different photos in an attempt to fix the original (I literally cropped it, fixed some mistakes digitally and then took another picture of a blank paper to use as background. The things I do as a traditional artist). Here's the picture before I fixed the mistakes .

Usually I am more careful and don't make that many mistakes. But also, I work on bigger drawings like this for at least a week, so yeah...

I wanted to draw the iconic red figure pottery art of them but I felt like that would take me way too long :/

[magistralucis]

pronouncing the necron 'sz': personal rating list*

broke: /s/ only ('seras')

woke: /z/ only ('zeras')

provoke: /s/ and /z/ pronounced separately ('s-ze-ras')

bespoke: /ʂ/ or /ʃ/ ('scheras')

invoke: tensed fricative /s͈/ ('sseras')

misspoke: /s/ but evil ('ßeras')

(* Further notes in tags.)

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)

[namelessprince]

MY BEAUTIFUL RIPTIDE OCS... their names are catalina and milo avery <3 catalina's a water genasi, and milo's a tiefling :] !!

[oifaaa]

Remember how last year I was like damn I need to go back to my roots and start posting more about just whatever I'm currently thinking about and you all were like go for it we support you yeah how's that working out for you all

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

I've been thinking about names re: durges (and especially Corentin)

I haven't really liked the whole "this character's name is The Dark Urge" because it's honestly...silly to me? A bit? But I saw someone else discussing their durge's backstory today and it got me thinking about the function of names a bit more.

Naming someone "The Dark Urge" is super dehumanizing. And, like, that's the point, of course. But Corentin, even at their most compliant, was always trying to eek out some semblance of individuality or control or rebellion. They were kidnapped brought to the Bhaalists at 15, after all. Even with the cult's (and Bhaal's) efforts, it's difficult to completely rewire someone who's nearly a grown adult, especially one who's fighting it kicking and screaming most of the time.

So while they lose their memories of their family due to the constant trauma, they do manage to hold on to some things. Their refusal to eat bog body stays the entire time, as does their insistence on maintaining a hair care routine (which is when they start braiding Orin's hair, too). But after they break, other aspects of cleanliness they'd managed to hold onto until that point fall to the wayside, and they stop resisting when Savorak, and Fel, and the Bhaalists call them "The Dark Urge" instead of their name. Orin still calls them Corentin for a little bit, but she stops eventually too as she gets more and more restless and insistent on gaining power.

And then they meet Gortash who, despite also being a horrible person, isn't as bad as the people Corentin had been forced to lead. At this point they know what the likely ending of the Absolutist plot is going to be (though they're still in the early stages of the plan) but being able to work so closely with someone who's sincere and, more importantly, isn't going to stab them the moment they turn their back to him, is like breathing in fresh air for the first time in a decade or more (both figuratively and literally). And they dare to hope that there's an actual, true way out of the hell they'd been living in.

So when Gortash eventually asks if The Dark Urge is really their name, they tell him no.

[romance-rambles]

[modern] cael | red dress, white dress

After Cael picks up a new hobby relating to your latest work, the two of you discuss weddings and wedding dresses. It ends with a proposal, from you to him.

1.8k, set after qixi [+ some spoilers for his whisper], romantic fluff + super self-indulgent, reader is mc, sequel to this cael fic [but you don't have to read it in order], series: none

IN THE TIME SINCE THE night of the QIxi festival, Cael has discovered an amusing new hobby with which to occupy himself with, when he's with you.

The words that the painter and the spirit speak—particularly towards end of your oneshot—are, evidently, not unrelated to your relationship with him. That much is obvious. And it'd be rather difficult to claim otherwise, given the faces they wear.

You haven't tried to, either.

Between the two of you, there is an acknowledgment, implicit, that they are a reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires. That they are the kind of daydreams that even someone eloquent as him would find difficult to describe, domestic and loving—just tumultuous enough to describe their standing, with the sort of fairytale ending most would wish for. That they are memories, transformed only in setting and time—only this time, they are not newly acquainted or on a time limit.

He thinks of the quaint little moment where the painter promises to make sure that no one will bother his lover. Had he not done the same for you, once, long ago?

He remembers the casual affection the spirit showers upon her love too, the way she finds herself with her head on his lap underneath the wisterias, and if that ever stops feeling familiar, it must be because he's lost his mind.

After all, you've always been an affectionate person. How can he miss it when the evidence remains in the lingering heat left by your touch? Through the way you so easily take his hand, or throw your arms around him—

When your lovesick gaze isn't boring holes into his body, that is.

He's no better in that regard. In some ways, he thinks he might be worse, with the way his loving gaze seems incapable of following anyone but you. But you might turn it into a competition if he brings it up, so Cael—well aware it won't end well for him—keeps his mouth shut.

Still, it's clear that you never expected him to start quoting your dialogue back at you.

It reminds him of one of the first times he'd properly let his mask down. The way the gears turned in your head, your deer-in-headlights expression betraying your panic before he'd clarified his joke. You'd stared at him—half-relieved, half-surprised, sitting in the silence a bit longer before you laughed.

Today, when you stare at him, there is a hint of defiance peeking through from underneath your flustered mien.

You're dressed casually, in a yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt with one of your favorite cartoon characters. Jagged lines run across the drawing, signaling its age. Some parts of the design have entirely vanished, but it remains one of your most faithful companions still.

With your head on his lap and legs thrown over the armrest, you're sprawled across the couch. In your hand is your phone, and before he dropped his line of the day on you, you'd been showing him a red dress that you really liked—one you intended to buy with your next paycheck.

"Thank you." The effect of your haughty tone is greatly lessened by the scarlet hue painting your cheeks. You clear your throat. "Does that mean you'd like to see me in a red dress?"

Cael chuckles, brushing your hair gently. "To me, it seems like you're the one who wants to be seen in a red dress."

"Of course, I do," you reply, your hand reaching out to play with his hair. "But red or white, it's not the dress that matters. As long as there's a certain someone waiting for me at the end."

For a moment, his quick-thinking mind betrays him, offering him nothing but static. He puts down the book in his hand down and carefully adjust the bookmark until it looks neat. His attention had left its crisp pages when you'd sat down beside him, but it remained in his hand still.

Occasionally, he would flip to the next page, then remember that he had absorbed none of the words on the previous page. So, he would go back, a fact that had not escaped your keen gaze—you'd teased him plenty for it, and who was he to stop you?

"I wonder who that certain someone is," he murmurs.

"I think he knows who he is," you answer, holding onto the end of his now braided strands. After a moment of digging around in your pockets, and the sofa as well, you managed to find a hair tie. "Or, he should, by this point."

"Indeed," Cael says, earning himself a wry smile from you. "It would be difficult to miss."

Enamored by your smile, he sifts through his memories, searching for the line that had left every single reader in desperate search of their own painter.

You'd been rather pleased when you went scrolling through the comments, with a smile so big it bordered on evil. So pleased, in fact, that you made sure to show him every such comment. The underlying meaning to your words was clear—you'd already found your painter, after all.

You'd have a big ego if you were dating someone so pretty too, you'd said, when he'd commented offhandedly on it.

He remembers responding with:

Then I'm certain I have the biggest ego out of anyone.

Though, his words ended up only disarming you for a brief second. It wasn't long before you were throwing your arms around him and calling him a liar ". But for the time being, the comment section was forgotten, and it was just you and him—and Beanie, watching you both from his favorite spot underneath the round table in the corner, seemingly miffed at being excluded.

He had snuck in a few extra treats for him.

Then, all was well in their relationship once more.

"'If that day ever comes, no matter what you want—'" Cael smiles helplessly, remembering the way you'd so easily captured his expression on the painter's face. "'I'll do everything in my power to bring you the most elegant wedding in the entire world.' Though you said the dress itself doesn't matter..."

You inhale sharply, seemingly forgetting—for a moment—that you're in the middle of braiding another section of his hair. When you look back at him, having looked away, your eyes are shining with poorly-disguised affection and your voice is painfully soft.

"When," you correct. "When that day comes. That's what I should've written down."

Letting go of his hair, you pull yourself off his lap and draw your knees closer to your chest. You rest your head on his shoulder. And as loose dark hair begins to tickle his cheek, his hand seeks out yours, pinky finger brushing against the back of your hand.

"When that day comes, we'll get married."

His gaze softens when he looks at you, in the midst of murmuring his agreement. Your wedding is something he's thought about often—his own is not. But now, the groom at the altar is no longer a blurry figure, devoid of any recognizable qualities and having only an aura of happiness that befits a day so celebrated.

It is something he'll ponder over until the day comes, all so that you're the happiest bride to ever live, whether on Earth or any other world.

"Good." You squeeze his hand gently. "Consider it a proposal then."

"It's the first time I've ever been proposed to," he comments offhandedly.

"Really?" For some reason, you sound surprised. And though your words sound like they could pass for a joke, the thoughtful note to them makes it clear that they are not. "Alright, I'm taking it back. I'll make sure to come back with a ring next time."

Cael smiles helplessly at you. "I'm not sure if you can take something like that back so easily."

His breath catches in his throat when you lift your head slightly to meet his gaze. Because in that moment, you're smiling at him brightly, It is blinding. While he's distracted, you lean in close and steal a quick kiss from his lips.

"Temporary measure," you respond, squinting at him in faux annoyance. "You're not getting rid of me so easily."

In a voice so soft that he's half certain you'll miss it, he says, sincerely, "I would never dream of it."

Judging by the way your smile widens into a grin, you don't miss it at all.

+extra

"YOU KNOW, YOU MISSED IT BEFORE," you point out unexpectedly, long after they've moved on from the topic of weddings and wedding dresses.

Cael catches onto the context immediately.

It's past dinner time now. The dirty dishes in the sink wait for you and your yellow rubber gloves patiently for their turn. He'd been the one to make dinner, something quick and easy, per your request. Your wish for the day had been "a lazy day together", so your initial intention was to order to takeout.

But halfway through the day, you began to crave his cooking.

Once he'd made sure the ingredients were there, getting them both out of a trip to the supermarket, you had no reason to refuse his offer. So you'd scrapped your plans and followed him into the kitchen to help.

"I'm not sure it would've been very appropriate to point out," he says, from where he sits at the dining table.

He'd expected nothing to come out of it, so he simply never brought it up. There were more important things to worry about at the time—your presence in Godheim, and all that came after that. His heart aches at the memory of your tears, particularly because he'd been the one to cause them.

They'd never properly spoken of it—of the day Peter Pan understood, but could not bring himself to make peace with, the fact that Wendy would have to leave him one day.

"After all, you were a teenager," Cael adds, remembering what he'd told your friend Natalie. "It would be no different than taking advantage of you."

His words, however, go in one ear and go out the other. You're rather specific about what you choose to pick out from his words, your next words discarding all but the subtext.

"So, you did know about my crush on you."

Though your words are undeniably a conclusion, a statement and not a question, they carry with them an expectation of a response. You crane your neck to fix him with an equally expectant stare, as if the weight behind your words isn't enough.

"Yes, I knew about your crush on me," Cael admits wryly. A helpless sigh accompanies his words. "What brought this on?"

You hum strainedly, returning to your dishes. "Nothing."

For the time being, he leaves it at that.

It is only when the two of you happen to encounter Lars while on a date that he discovers the truth, after some coaxing on his part. That you'd been under the impression that your crush on him was a secret kept carefully under wraps. That it'd been Lars who'd guessed otherwise—after some advice on how to handle Cael's new hobby—and subsequently been proven correct, leaving you to sulk on your own.

Unsurprisingly, Cael does not manage to stifle his laughter before you notice.

[taphwa]

Flowers for you

[brw]

Hank Pym taught me that there are choices beyond programming! Janet Van Dyne, that there was beauty in the smallest of people. Pietro Maximoff, that if one's father is evil, it does not mean the child must be! Clint Barton, that there is no such thing as a powerless man! And Wanda, my dear Wanda... taught me that even an android can love!

Universe X #X by Alex Ross, written by Jim Krueger and drawn by Dougie Braithwaite

[nocasdatsgay]

I’m still throughly upset that Cassian has one of the most romantic lines in all the books and then in the following two books treats Nesta like shit.

Home girl needed to know she was worth it and be held for once in her life, but you listened to an old ass eldritch bitch who should have died in book 3 and waited until Nesta broke as a person and rebuilt herself in the image of the night court before you decided to love her.

Note: This is my onion and I will not be taking criticisms. I don’t hate nessian I’m just triggered and I know that’s a me problem 😂

[shock-micro]

the practice of taking multiple names... i do wish it was a bit more supported in places like the united states. i love my family name, my family means the world to me,

but there's also the last name of berri that i'd love to take. it was the second name that stuck with me after "mira", and i've nicknamed myself "miraberri" in a lot of things over the past year i've had it...

...i suppose the other trouble is that i've already changed my legal name once, and so now i'd have to pay for it to be changed again... ahh, the wonders of capitalism and rigid social systems.

wouldn't it be nice if we lived in a society that embraced Change?

that freely allowed, even encouraged changing oneself? embracing the fact that everything will change eventually, and must do so for things to not become stagnant?

that some things might not be right as they are, despite the state of things being comfortable for many people? that the status quo, or our time-honored traditions, aren't infallible, perfect concepts?

i guess the idea is too much for some people to understand.

maybe some day, that'll change, too.

[micechicken]

"You look an awful lot like your mother. I hope you're nothing like her."

Myrtle's mother Mystira, often nicknamed Myst.

She was the soul mate to the King of Rudor, Leroy. She was not born royal, but that has never been something that was looked down on in regards to becoming royal. Myst was born in a small village that was secluded from the rest of the kingdom, known as Brindlefell. It's the only place in all of Rudor that ever speaks about the Malterns and magic as speaking about it is considered forbidden by law due to the nature of the departure of the Malterns. This became so true that it as almost completely forgotten outside of Brindlefell save for stories about magic that seemed to have vanished one day.

Leroy longed to marry his soulmate whoever they may be, something shared by many but not all, as a soulmate is one who best connects to you in someway, and is personally picked by Selene. He actually even sent out for finding the one who received the same markings he made (as any intentional marking you make on your body will magically appear on the same place on your soulmate). After discovering her he was smitten and they quickly wed as soon as they could.

Though she knew such things were forbidden, she admitted the truth about keeping the history of the Malterns, hoping that her soulmate must understand. But he quickly forbid any more talks of them, and that it was for the better.

After the birth of Myrtle, Myst often told stories to her daughter even before she could fully understand. It was under the guise of fairytales and myths but they were all related to the Malterns and the magic that once was present in the land and the history of Rudor. After telling the stories she'd write them down and draw out pictures of things so that Myrtle could read them whenever. Myrtle still preferred to hear her mother tell the stories.

This was all in secret with only the 3 family members being aware of the stories. But sometimes there would be slip ups and word got around about the queen speaking about magic and Malterns. Claiming that his wife must have lost her mind, Leroy had her locked up in a personal cell. Begrudgingly he allowed Myrtle to visit her mother as he was concerned how disallowing it may affect her. Anytime Myrtle ever spoke up about anything from the stories he scolded her for focusing on "fiction" and to keep in mind she'd be queen one day.

Even despite being locked up Myst still kept telling stories and even made up some. Often crying and lamenting her reality between visits from others. At times she'd write messages to Leroy on her body so he'd see them, which he often ignored.

Almost to Myrtle's birthday Myst became very ill with something very unknown, thought to be native to Brindlefell as that's the only location known to have it. But it had no cure. Despite all efforts of the royal help and medical staff, she grew sicker. On Myrtle's birthday she got to preform her coming of age ceremony and discovered her wolf form. Unfortunately it was also the night her mother past away, leaving Myrtle with just the book her mother created left to her.

Myrtle continued to view them as just stories until she met Nym.

Mystira's shifted form was also a Wolf. Leroy's is a peafowl.