#vague hand gestures

[washeduprockstr]

is evan a r&m oc? :0c

No. And to avoid anymore questions in this regard (/nm) I will say it once Evan is an introject.

[counterfictional]

i often think joining communities would help reinstate better (vague hand gestures) stronger interaction with internal guys. but i also have trouble relating to the communities on discords. i know there are many other ways to grow the muscle through external means, i just don’t seem to do them as well as i should.

[grimnox]

phantom’s constitution is one of shadow — his greatest weakness being light (mostly by way of fire). his skin, an illusion for the most part, peels away like paint upon a canvas revealing a deep, dark abyss in which one can easily lose themselves. he can tolerate sunlight fairly well, but the heat makes him slow and sluggish so he’s typically more active at night. bright sunlight — especially direct UV rays of any sort, have the potential to immobilize him or make it hard for him to move freely. any source of darkness can be used as an entrance or an exit, and he is fond of melting into shadows, dispersing into smoke, sneaking up on people — he’s just a menace. a trickster god of sorts, who thrives on making people commit acts of horror and then laughs as he’s swallowing their souls.

[princessmacedon]

Safety is all one so prideful asks of the divinities above――were it that he offered prayer unto them; Michalis was not religious, but, in early sunrise's tempting moments, he could not fortify against the allure of promised safety. Not his own――never his own: that was far too greedy of him, but Maria's.

Keep her safe.

He met her in her waking hours, half the day's time awaiting them until her departure. A noontime departure――light gleaming overhead, sunbeams illuminating foe and ally alike. The sun did not shine in dreams, not to reveal a foe's ambush: callused hands twitched against the pessimism of the thought. Wounds could befall her, and he'd be helpless. Had she felt helpless? Those nights she found him aslumber in his chambers, bandages tightly red? To imagine there to be more red to her image than her tufts...

His shuttering hand――masked as it could be by flexed muscles――gained purchase strongly atop her shoulder, gentle, grounding――for her or himself, he could not discern.

"You will return to me." He declared. "You will heal yourself before your allies." He knew she wouldn't――her heart so generous, her benevolence so angelic. "You will not-" His voice caught, splintered――was it rage or sorrow? Apprehension or doubt? "You will not join our parents. Am I understood?"

One would expect Maria's feelings about her brother to be complex - that she might struggle with her anger, or be beset with disappointment. She is not. It is a simple thing to love him, because love does not need to be explained.

It is much more complex to worry, and she has always worried for him. She worried for him when she was small enough to sit on his shoulders and reach for the sky; she worried for him when her world became one room and what dreams could be dreamt at her windowsill; she worried for him when he laid, too cold, beneath hands clasped tight in prayer and a quailing voice begging Naga not to take him away from her, not her only brother--

This time, she worries because he is a man who bears his wrongs gravely whilst he dons a mask of pride, and he is about to watch his sister march off to a battlefield while he remains behind. Does he hear the echo of old sins? Do they weigh heavy on his soul? There are many he might fool, but in this, he cannot fool Maria: his hand trembles just slightly, no matter how firmly he sets his hand upon her shoulder.

She does not want it to be the weight of penance -- does not, now or ever, wish for what he has done to her to be the mantle upon which he crucifies himself - does not want to be the weapon with which he carves his regret upon himself. If he fears for her, then she wants it to be because his Michalis, big brother of a little girl from Macedon; no more, and no less. No less.

Fear comes as an order - as many of them, announced to her with surety she knows he does not feel.

You will not join our parents. Am I understood?

It does not matter if he does not return her embrace, for Maria throws her arms around him anyways, squeezing with all her might. Like this, a tremulous hand can be hidden; like this, at least one of her siblings might understand that she will hold onto them with all her might.

"I've always been here, Brother," she replies at last, peering up at him, her chin still brushing the onyx folds of his cloak. "Ever since I was little. Ever since you were still a prince, and Minerva still rode pegasi, and Father was still here... I've always been waiting for you to come home." Ever since she had seen, without the words to understand it, how brightly he burned. How fast.

"You and Minerva... No matter what happens, I would never leave you alone. Never, ever. I promise." And she grins, for a promise is not a thing to be taken - it is something she gives to him because she wants to. "You two are my home."

[elytrafemme]

i cannot tell genuinely if i am the best or worst person at giving advice about anything but oh brother we’re finding out in real time Ad break then we’re back in baby 

[hollywoodsargeant]

i do not have access to your google doc but!!! if you want to share, who turns. 👀

oscar bc i have an agenda. smiles

[silverdori]

once my head hits the pillow, i'm out

red and blue

[fragmentmemories]

poses i guess

[captainstressed]

i have plans starting in about two hours so i can't bring myself to do anything else before then but im also dying of fucking boredom

[anothermaraudergirl]

Me when I am too lazy to write descriptions of characters or places

earlier today i told an acquaintance in passing that i'll often be in the middle of a novel and think "man i wish this shit were more ambiguous" and had to reiterate twice that i wasn't being sarcastic before they believed me, so this post is to say: i love when writers don't bother to explain everything, i love when stories end uncertain and unsettling, i love being required to think as a reader, i love when stuff makes no damn sense, no i'm not kidding

[katabay]

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A KNIGHT...

the visual inspiration for this was a combination of Frederic William Burton's Meeting on the Turret Stairs and also Bernardo Cavallino's The vision of St. Dominic receiving the Rosary from the Virgin

this was supposed to be just a one off illustration to get the thoughts out of my system, but then I started thinking about medieval politics and warfare and plagues and a castle and home as both a place of refuge, a prison, and a tomb, so perhaps they will end up as ex voto characters as well.

you may say, hey! that rosary looks like it has too many beads! it's a fifteen decade rosary, probably. dominicans are really into marian devotions. it works out.

also. spiral style stair cases. oh boy. it was that unexpectedly more difficult than I originally thought it would be to draw. the more I think about it, the less I understand them, even though I had a million photos of the stairs in front of me while I was drawing it.

⭐ I have a tip jar (ko-fi)!

⭐ and other places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app

[plagashe]

❝ life  is  full  of  choices. ❞ from steeb tho' i still need to write out that verse fmdklsgmdsl

in compulsion buoyed by nothing, because he'd been nothing but charitable ( and maybe that's why, at the end of everything, sticking out like a sore thumb where it &. everything else'd gone nudged under the rug : he offers everything, you offer nothing ) ashley'd smothered every teeny tiny itch at the back of her throat with the bone of her wrist ; edgy, bristled. spoiling for complaint, and so ruthlessly devoid of anywhere proper to place it all that wasn't a precious lifeline ribbon - tying her down to earth. “ 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 choices, ” she'd piped up off a whistled breath, turning to meet steve's gaze with her brows raised high from where she'd shuffled off to stoop over a scatter of old crates, junk stuffed to spilling in a hoarder's daydream. “ things that don't change things in the long run ──   not unless you're big, and strong, and powerful. and youuᵘᵘᵘ got a thousand braindead guys under your thumb. ” 𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 goes clipped between her teeth, silent, unsaid. 𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎.

bitterness' bread crumb trail wasn't tough to follow with that one, and she rocks back to clamber to her heels, brushing a cloud of dust off her shins as she went : wasn't the biggest prize for all her idle searching, but the apple she'd unearthed &. tossed from hand to hand was just a little bit bruised ! their one window gave to the whip of the outside wind with enough of a one - handed budge, and she'd held her cupped hands out then, scrubbing clean the plum red skin with a cold splatter of rainfall before pulling back inwards, before holding up the fruit &. tapping with her fingernail. “ 'kay, i'm biting on this side . don't mix it up or we'll be eating each other's spit. ” ( 𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎, 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎. ) @infecdead [ ⚘ ]

[shadystranger]

jack & dean opening the door for sam (11.16, 14.09)

[ishikawayukis]

fave gam3 bo1 wonwoo look for @s-cxups <3

[yangjeongin]

HYUNJIN BIRTHDAY COUNTDOWN (2024): hyunjin in every letter... ↘ D-28 | CHARISMATIC

[bitternace]

and now a silly one. someone's probably done this before

[ID: A redraw of the "oh Ariana we're really in it now" meme with Demyx. The colors are flat and the background is in light blues. Demyx's shown from the hip up, leading slightly forward into utada hikaru's sanctuary cover shown as a poster. on the bottom reads "oh, Utada, we're really in it now." /End ID.]

(extra under the cut)

[ID: same image as above except that instead of Utada Hikaru, it's Hatsune Miku. /End ID.]