#yet we persevere

[lavellaned]

happy one month anniversary of the gameplay reveal. proud of how normal we've all been about it.

[the-long-dog]

Strange to have my personal life falling apart as all of This is happening. It's like being in a house of fire and when I look outside the world is on fire too.

[munsonify]

little update. i’m moving out of my apartment tomorrow and going back home. i’m taking a semester or two off and dropping out of my classes. your girls stressed and feeling like absolute shit about everything

[hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon]

*chants to myself* "leaving the house when I feel like shit is a good thing that will make me feel less like shit", "leaving the house when I feel like shit is a good thing that will make me feel less like shit", "leaving the house when I feel like shit is a good thing that will make me feel less like shit" "leaving the house when I feel like shit is a good thing-

[cadetral]

I'm going to eat cement.

[maranull]

anyway, Elden Ring is about love and hope

Marika burns everything she has build out of sorrow

Ranni banishes the Outer Gods and also fucks off the Lands, giving agency back to the normal beings of the Lands

Fortissax endlessly fights Death for his friend/lover

Melina burns herself and Erdtree in hopes of a better world in the hands of the Tarnished

Blaidd fights against the very reason he was created out of love for his sister

Ranni and Rykard always keep an eye on their mother, protecting her

Radahn evokes so much love from his troops that they organise a whole festival to give him a honorable death even in his madness

Radahn learns an entire new school of magic in order to still ride his favourite horse

Boc's love for his mother, his mother's love for him

How all but two endings are build on the hope that this new era (whatever it might be) will be good

Miquella attempting to create an whole new world-tree to host the forsaken and the damned

Miquella turning on the faith he was raised and even believed in to an extent, when it was unable to cure his sister's curse

The Cleanrot's loyalty to Malenia and their endurance of the Rot, only to stay in her service

Malenia marching through the entire continent in search of her brother

Finlay traveling all the way back on her own, carrying the incapacitated demigod on her back

Tanith's love for Rya

Dialos' entire questline

Edgar being driven mad after his daughter dies

Vyke embracing, to a point, the Frenzied Flame in order to save his finger maiden

or you know, that's just how I see it

[lord-of-pterodactyls]

Before the killing blow is delivered I just wanna say this isn't the end. This isn't defeat. Even though it feels like it right now democracy isn't dead. It'll take more than a humanoid annoying orange to take it down. Keep your head up and keep on fighting.

[nguyenfinity]

Squishy Rinniki on a date (nuis included)

Shoutout to bean for providing the idea and dialogue ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

Bonus:

[coureirsix]

having your birthday fall so close to a major national holiday means you can try to organize a birthday dinner with 11 people and immediately receive 6 variations of "im out of the state sorry" 😔

[streakyglasses]

Just got my period, so prompt #49 on your intimacy prompts seems fitting! Would love to see #stris with this prompt, too. Currently rotting away and needing something to read lol

Hello!! Unsure if you’re the same as the last anon, but thank you if you are! I’m missing writing, too, there’s just a ton going on at the moment making it hard to actually finish anything. (lots of half-written angst/hc in the drafts rn + being absolutely stuck on aost) I’m hoping maybe rewatching the show will help cheer me up and turn the gears. Definitely missing Chris and Street a lot :(

2. so insanely real about rotting—same (and for the same reason). that said, idk if you were looking for street taking care of Chris on her period, but that’s what my brain assumed and I was too far into it to change when I realized maybe you meant a general illness 😅 (shameless plug of the two stris sickfics I do have on my ao3 if you were). anywho, i did lean in and manage to whip up a lil’ something that I hope fills the void/makes rotting slightly more enjoyable. untitled atm 🩵 below the cut!

For as independent as Chris is, being in a healthy, loving relationship with Jim Street means she can no longer hide one of her biggest desires behind walls of steel and fiery eyes. 

To be held. 

She’s always been liberal with physical touch, having no problem hanging off any of her former 20-Squad members when they hang out, or slinging an arm around her family after dinner. Street caught on early and took full advantage. It was easy in Black Betty’s close quarters, their legs and shoulders often brushing, and he wedged himself into her space around the table in Command during important debriefs. Her effort had to split between paying attention and not showing him how calm his warmth made her. 

He only gets clingier after they get together and he has full freedom to. His arms snake around her as she stands at the stove or the fridge, and their hands fit like puzzle pieces whenever they’re out together. She indulges him, tucking away how happy it makes her, and their shared smiles tell the other that they both know what’s going on, but neither are going to call it out. 

But the old habit of independence is one that still flares whenever Chris doesn’t feel well. Be it a sniffle or a hospital stay, the last thing she wants is anyone to see her weak, beyond her own sensibilities. So when one of the worst periods she’s had in recent memory falls upon her, all her instincts scream at her to hole up alone in her room and ride out the waves in isolation. 

She wakes with a groan on the second morning of it. Her cramps are already attacking her muscles, making it hard to sleep even though there’s another half hour before her alarm goes off. Hot water provides some relief, though not enough to squeeze herself into jeans when her leggings are clean. Despite not having Street stay over, secretly glad he drew the short stick on babysitting a minor drug runner in interrogation, his hoodie is still there from a few nights ago, and she tugs it on like it’s hers. 

Have a good day, love you. She shoots off the text, downs two painkillers, and holds back a groan when her body protests the weight of her backpack on her shoulder. Sighing, she grabs her keys from the hook and heads to her truck, hoping it’s an easy day at the safe house. 

Between her physical discomfort, the stress of 20-Squad’s mission as it played out on the news, and Marcos deciding it’s the perfect day to test her patience with the ridiculous claim that she can’t defend the safe house by herself if need be, it is not an easy day. Chris’s last hope clings on changing into sweats and curling up in bed with her lavender candle lit and some of her secret chocolate stash. Maybe, if she’s still feeling this shitty by the time she gets home, a good cry and a comfort movie. 

Her plan crumbles when she spies Street’s bike in the parking garage. Suddenly, her anxiety spikes as her head starts spinning with ways to not show him how bad she’s feeling. 

Not that he doesn’t know—her mortification at having to ask him to get her extra box of tampons from the guest bathroom still enough to make her cheeks burn red and not—but it’s never been this bad. Under mounting exhaustion, she doesn’t have the energy to grant it too much thought, and settles for muddling through the night of her hormones wreaking havoc on her, with elbows and knees if she has to, quietly. 

“Hey, Babe!” Street calls from the kitchen as soon as he hears the door open. ��Lasagna’s almost done.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he notices the tight set of her smile and the slight flush on her cheeks. He narrows his eyes but she’s down the hallway too fast for him to notice much else. His worry grows when she hasn’t returned five minutes after the oven dings, and the dish is abandoned on the stove while he quietly closes one of the cabinets, slipping something into his pocket, and knocks lightly on her door. 

As hard as she tries, her walls tumble down the moment she’s in the comfort of her bedroom. She doubles over, gripping the vanity for strength, when a new wave of cramps crashes over her in the bathroom, and she can’t lie to herself enough to think anything sounds appetizing. Her intentions are still to change and go meet Street at the table, but she sits on the edge of her bed for a second to gather herself, and winds up under the covers before she can stop herself.

“Chris? Baby?” He says through the door. “Can I come in?” 

The groan-whimper that escapes as she curls into an even tinier ball is all the answer he’ll accept, pushing the door open. His face softens at the sight of her, laughing at how she tries to bury herself under the covers like that will keep her from seeing her. 

A big part of him wishes she could just let herself accept the comfort she gives everyone else, but he respects and loves the fighter in her too much to ever make an issue of it. Instead, he parks himself on the edge of her bed and pulls a small piece of chocolate out of his pocket, the crinkle catching her attention. 

“Think this’ll help?” He teases, smile growing at the furrow of her brows. “I may’ve hid in the hallway after the last grocery trip until I saw your hiding spot.” 

“You’re the worst,” she says gruffly, but rips open the wrapper and savors the sweetness all the same. It’s a salve on her heart. Nerves calming at his correct read on the situation, he drops a kiss to her forehead and stands. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

He keeps his promise, and brings a laundry list of items with him. A tub of chocolate covered almonds is set next to a mug of peppermint tea on her nightstand. Fishing around the drawer, he exclaims victory when his hand curls around the familiar plastic of a lighter that he uses to light the candle on her dresser so a light layer of lavender fills the space, enough to soothe but not make eyes water. Finally, he plugs in the heating pad and hands it to her to adjust it to where she wants, and then pulls back her comforter to drape the lush green quilt, something Helena knit before she was born that’s long been her favorite blanket, in its place. The comforter does cover that, but she fists the knit up to her neck, settling into it. 

Satisfied that she’s taken care of and sure she wants a few moments, he leaves her again, just long enough to eat. The lasagna is as delicious as he expected, and he’s glad she’ll have something hearty whenever she does feel like eating. With a bottle of water tucked under his arm, he heads back to her room, not even bothering with a knock this time since he heard the familiar dun dun come down the hallway. 

She’s half-propped on the pillows, the cord of the heating pad making it clear she’s situated it over her stomach. The empty bowl and mug are a relief, and he wastes no time sliding in next to her. Relishing the feeling of being in bed next to Chris, a feeling that will never get old no matter the circumstance, he lets the weight of his own day fall off into nothing. 

“Do you need anything else?” He murmurs, and kisses her head. 

“No, thank you.” Chris’s voice is small, an edge of shame to her tone, and he just pulls her from the pillows to lean against him, and meets their lips again. 

“Let me know if you do. Law and Order, really?” 

Nudging him, she gives up quickly in favor of crossing her legs over his. His arm around her is the nicest thing she’s felt all day, she realizes, and the only thing she wants to feel for the foreseeable future. 

“Don’t make fun of me.” She mumbles into his shoulder, eyes fixed on the screen. He finds one of her hands and intertwines their fingers, squeezing.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” When he tries to part them so he can draw tender circles on her stomach, she lets out a noise of protest and tightens her grip. He switches to grazing his thumb over her knuckles, a motion as constant as the waves. 

They make it halfway through the episode until a new knot forms inside her lower abdomen and she curls forward, struggling to breathe deep and slow. Street follows her body with his, as if he can form a wall of protection around her. 

“I’m sorry, Baby,” he whispers in her ear. “It’ll pass.”

She focuses on his voice and nods. Gritting her teeth, it takes a moment, but it does pass, and she straightens up with a low breath. His fingers rake through her hair while her bones creak back into place.

“Thanks.” She whispers, hating the tears in her voice but not enough to try to fight them. And then she adds, “for being here.” 

Cradling her face, heart swelling at how she leans into his touch, he finds her gaze and pours as much love as he can through his own. 

“I’ll always be here. I love you.” 

Their limbs tangle until she’s swathed in his embrace, his presence around her as soft a cloud that fills all her cracks and turns them to gold. She cracks a small smile as old habits start to thaw. 

“I love you, too.” 

[tamaharu]

for the so-called "goddess of love," my clone isnt very nice to me

fake blurb + ramble/details belowww

PSYCHE AS "CUPID" IN: "THE HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS"

Psyche Dufour is dead. Or, at least, she thought she was supposed to be!? When a god takes notice of her right at the moment of her suicide, Psyche is employed to become the new Cupid, the Embodiment of Love. The only problem? 'Love' is the one emotion she's never felt. Sent back in time to the year before her attempt, in order to complete her death, she must remove the emotions of her past self and use them to bring couples closer together, no matter what that loser has to say about it. Psyche's going to make the whole world love, or live trying.

meet: PSYCHE^2! youre your own roommate forever, and its probably in your best interest to figure out how to get along, but for a lot of people this is very difficult. also metaphorical. for psyche, on the other hand, this is very, very real. she is for reals stuck constantly hovering her past self, and she hates that bitch so bad.

its been a while since ive seen princess tutu but the basic mechanic is like that but in reverse..? so, psyche (cupid) takes emotions from psyche^2, recrafts them into arrows that she can shoot at people to make them feel that emotion in the name of love, leaving psyche^2 just a little more empty.. lets say that psyche^2 feels happy! cupid will take that from her, make another couple feel 'happy', leaving psyche^2... um... without the ability to feel happy... but at least shes a little closer to her goal? so neverthless we persist.

do i have any plans to do anything with her that would necessitate further ironing of the details and the implications..? not really. so its just fun to think about and draw. speaking of drawing, the way you can differentiate between the living and dead psyche is by their hair color. living!psyche at the beginning of the story has nearly/entirely pink hair, while dead!psyche has nearly/entirely blonde hair. the pink slowly disappears in living!psyches hair the more emotions she loses, while dead!psyches hair seems to absorb more pink the closer she gets to completing her goal. thats right, every time youve seen me draw psyche (her origin comic notwithstanding) shes been fucking dead!!!! dont worry though, i havent really bothered with any art pieces that have utilized this difference up til now.

everything will work out in the end for her, dont worry. but until then: what if the manifestation of your self-hatred was a cute girl who looked exactly like you but was meaner!!!!!!!! theres no textual selfcest yuri but i mean. it ends with psyche realizing that 'love' emotion she was looking for to solve everything was love for herself. so whos to say.

[toushindai]

I found a toxic ship meme, I KNEW it had to exist. I don't know who made it though. If you do please let me know.

[twinleafsystem]

me looking at my code trying to figure out what broke it

[liv-in-the-chaos]

I have acquired Rise of the Tomb Raider

[goldenkid]

at the end of the day I just want to be close to someone

[shelterdogswag]

this is nubkin

faq

-

q: what does nubkin love to do ?

a: nubkin loves to eat the pellet !

q: what pellets does nubkin love to eat ?

a: nubkin loves to eat the red pellets.

q: what if nubkin wanted to try the blue pellets ?

a:

n̵̥̩̳̜̪͑͂̈̕͠͠ŭ̵̦̞̣͔́́̐b̷͕̮̮̲͑̈́̑̇́ͅk̸̡̥̭̯̼̙͎̜̳̙̃͗́̑̌̈́͒͘i̶͕͛̆̑͑͠n̸͎̝̬̠͓̠̈͂̑'̴̨̨̧̝̩̺̲͓͓͊͗͘ş̴̨̯͙͚̘̖͈̒͆ ̴̖̰͎̼̫͔͊̊͝b̷͖͕̾̈́̇̋̄̄͌̓͝ơ̸̢̝̦̦̰̓̋̒̾̑́̊̎d̸̲̈͆̿̃͐͌̚̕y̴̡̺̰̪͎̎ ̷͕̞̯͉̤̹̾̾͌̋̌͛̋̚w̵͍̫̩̍̈́́̍̉̌̀ī̴̫̦̜̟̲̪̤̊͘͜͜l̶̟̣͕̭̂̽̐̓̇̈́l̴̢̺̖͉̇̒̉̄͛ͅ ̵̥̭̈́͛͒̋̓͗͂ḇ̴̨͙̱̰̺͚͎̹̅́̐̓̌e̴̢̥̱̜̭͔̻͔̱̎̌̓̈́̈͋̀ ̵̛͔̗̙̠̱̈́̄̒͆̈͋v̶̳̝͖̮̳͉̲̝̈͋̂̽̎́â̶̤̪͖̝̗͎̪̐̃̀̊͑͘͜͜͝p̶̺̞̍̇́͑̈́́̎̈́̐͐ö̷̟͎̥͍́̉͑̀̽̉̅̾r̶̲̠͍̭̒̾̊͠i̷̧͖̝̜̮̱̤̪̮̫͆̑̓̐̚͠z̶̜̤̞͖̖̓̀̒̈̀̚͠e̵̟͛̚̚d̵̡̢̖̲̳̰̤̄͗̾̈́̈́͋̀̕̚ ̸̛͍͖̩͕̄͊̀͑̚͝͝a̵̰̦͕͍̯̭̺̽̈́̉̏̕ņ̷̝̺̗̦̮̮̦̍́͋͑͌̋͐͊d̷͙̞͒ ̶̡͙̮͓̲̫̜͚̑̃̆͐̔̍̄̽͘͝ṫ̷̢̧̩̪͖̭͈͕̈́͠i̷̳͎̳̓m̶̪̜̼̠̰̫̮̙̼̀̊ȩ̸̬̻̬̓̾̏́̓̿̉̃̓̕ ̵̥̮̖͖̱̗̃̇͜͜r̵̛͙̼̹̥͎̺̖̃͂̿̈́́̿é̴͇̞͂̈͋̃̇̋s̶͙̣̘͙̦͑ë̷̡̛̲́̓̉̓̃̐̿̑̕t̶̡̛͚̭͙̼̫̲̜̭̀͐͗͊,̷̜̦̜̰͕̝͒̿́̓͐͋̎̎ ̵̝͙̠͍̩͔̲̜͕̑͆̏̌̆̕͘͠͝ṅ̶͍̹̝̖̤̬͇̫̯͋́̈́͗̅̈͌̐͜͝ũ̷̮̺̀͂̄̀͋̈́́̚͠b̶̭̟͕̟͆k̶̹͔̦͙͙̺͈̻͎͑̿̐͗̃̽̃͝i̴̦̪̳͍̖̘̝̠̗͂̍n̵̢̼̥͓͚̪̈́̚ ̷̖͚͉̞͈̫̑͝m̶̬̦̮͇̅̑ṵ̴̯͎̥̼̹̭̞̫̣̽̇̎̄̈́̀͛͐s̶̰̻̥̃̾͌̓̑̒̈́͒̽͑t̷̡̺͓̞̹̟̭̼̣̃̀̑̀̕̚ ̶̬͚͚̝̭̇̓̆̔̋̍͘b̶̡͔̣̬̫͍̠͈̥̐e̸̪̤̭͙͎̤̤͎̭̐̋̋́̇̌̐͜͝ ̸̢̳̲͖̞͉̦͇̲͖̓̊̓͐̓̾͊p̴̧̥͖̝͍͍͍̟̽̉̚̕ů̵̲̠̭̻̕͜͠n̶̫̹̥̠̈i̷̫̫̞̹̻̱͉̼̣͊͠s̵̱͖̹͔̳̽͌̏͝h̷͎̽̋̃̀͊͝é̴̢͎͚̩͙͖̃̈́̾̆͝d̶͑̊̈́̎̓́̄̀��̭̫̟̤̼ ̴̘̋͐͋͘f̸̠͇͎̭̌̔o̶͂̊̇̕͜͝r̴̘̯̓͒̆̋̅͌͒̓ ̴̻͔̪͚̩̠̳̉m̸̬͉͍͈̞̄ȯ̵̧̬͖͍̣͉̣́͗̓̔͘͝v̷̨͙̬̱̙̦̯̤̐̍̎́͗͑̄͋̑̀ȉ̶̝̜͋̉̇͠n̵͉̩̲̩͒̂͆̓͐̕̚͝g̸̡̡̲͓̠͕̀̎͑̎ ̴̗̬̺̙̯̊̉̐̾͑t̷̤̎͑ó̷͓̤̗̠̺͙w̷̧͙̭̘͖̲̝̗̣̔̾̆a̴̯̞̲̝̗̯͋̎̀̀̐̈̈̎̚̚��̧̤̞r̴̖͍͉̩̉͑̈́̾͂͐̕ḍ̵̘̲̖̮̗̮̪̓̈́̓͒͊̽͘ͅs̷̗͆̂̎̅͋̒̋̈́͘ ̸̧̧͖̰͕͍̆͒͆́t̵͚͚̟͚̣̖͙͇̼͖͂̽́̅̕͝h̶̨̡͍͍̦̪̊é̶̹͎͙͔̯͒͐̑̀ ̸̥̯̬͉͕͔̭̬̒̌̄̃́͗̕͠b̶͕͍̱̼̖̂̉͑̈́̇͝l̴̡͕̟̗̭͎̻̯̉̊̈́̀̂̑̓̓͆͝ͅú̷̢̙̩̺͙̄͝ͅế̵̡̙̟͙̅ ̵͍̬̓̉̂p̵͚͎̬̩̳̰̳̾e̵̹͛͒̽̈́̈̓̕l̴̝̜̗̄̋́̍̀͊̈́̈́̀͝l̷̡̜̯̤̤͈̰̜̖̪̾e̸̦͔̭͖̯̪̐ṫ̵̰̝̳͊́̃̃͒͐,̸̼̩̣͎̙̀͝ ̸̨͈̺̼͚̰̩̀̀͑͒f̸̢͔̥̳̘̥͈̩̀o̶̡̧͚̻̗̜̒͑ŕ̸̢̘̤̲͕ ̵̦̦̿̈̔͐͗͠ţ̷̪̪̳̳̬͈̰̩͇̿̆͊̀̾̑͐̎̿̌h̷͈̦̞͉̪̘̉́̔͐͛̀͝͠ȩ̶͖̱̟̗̥̘̀͒́̀̔͐͘͝͝ ̶̣̥͓͖́̃̇͂̈́̓̏̌͐͝b̸̧̨̺̤̼̼͚̃͜l̶͉̺̾u̸̺̎̀̈̓̆̇̃̓͝ę̶̼̲̥̻̫̑̑̆͌̂ͅ ̶͓̟̺̭͊̆̾̇͋̈́̆p̴̨͚̭̥̝̗̠̼̖̪̔ȩ̶͔̪̯̮̪̽̑̀̅̆̄̕ͅḻ̶̘́͝l̸̢̰̝̀͊̍e̴͈̲̪͖̳̥̹̳̤͒̇̒̐̌̓͛̾͜t̵̖̮͇͉̻̙̆͋͘ ̶̡̛̬͇̼̬̫̫͈̤̘̅̈́̊̅̍̾ĭ̴̦̘̼̻͉̪̉͑̀s̵̨̢̼̟̩͔̟̮̈́͜͝͠ ̵̦̜̳͍̱͐̃̾̉̓̾̇̀̈́͑f̵̛̬̟̭͇̻̘̩̯̮̉̀́̕ỏ̵̦̥̟͆̔ͅr̵̬͗́̈́̐b̶̦̫̺̙̈́̒̓̉̽͐̈͠i̶̺̫̘͛̒̎̏̏̉̄̍̇͜ḑ̷̪̳̪̦͔̳̓́̎̍͊̓̈̕͠ḑ̶̥̙̗͙͉̺̠͕́͛̋̓̾̀ë̵͈́n̴͖͍̦̜̹͛ͅ,̴͙͂͋̒͛͜ ̸̢̻̤̩̌̓̑̎̋a̴̛͉̪̝̼̲͌͌̒́̍͂͌n̴̪̳̯̙͉̱̅̏͠͝ͅͅd̵̝͚͎̩̭̋̈̉̓̑̃̀ ̴̢͕̭̀̆n̷̨̠̜̥̹̬̾͑͛͆̀̈́́̎͊͘u̶̢̻͎͍̪̐̄̆́͘͜͝b̵̜͆ḳ̸̨̺̥̪̗̜̥̂́̃̈͠ȋ̸̙͚͎̥͚̼̀̅̓̅̾͘̕͜n̷̞͇̙̦̋́͝ ̴̻̬̺͚̇̑́̒̚ç̵̧͓̺͈̻̰͓̜̈́̈̈̍́͑͊̕͝ǎ̸̡̯͙͉͔͕̎̄̈́͜ň̵̢̯̖̾̋͛̉ ̴̡͇̣̱̗̯̋̐̇͊̈́̉̏̚͝ṇ̵͔̲̀͑ë̴̫̘̖͎̫̰̭̳̳͐̋͜ṿ̷̨̛̳̰͖̬͂̋e̵̟̗͎͉̠̟̝̦͗̃̀̀͘r̷̮̪̼̳̝̟̬̲̻͐̕ ̵̮̤̝̪̱̜̘̳̝͔̂̆͗̑̕k̶̫̳̮̃̾̏̔͗̌͐̈́͘͜͜n̵̺̱͑̐̐̈́̄o̷̮̙̞͐̈́̓̑̿́͂̉̚͠w̵̿��̬̭̹͕̲̀͗́̅͂̚͝ ̷̱͇͍̣̮̱̏͋͐̔ͅi̶̛̛͑̏͆̊̓̾̓̌͜t̸̢̨̛̝̗̜̜̞͂̕'̴̗̩̥͎̖͍̄͑̓̈́̽̆̀̆͠s̸̙͍̦͗͐́̒̈̓̃̇ͅ ̶͇̫͇͖̙͉͇̰̳̾̿ͅt̴̢̤͙̬̫̐͑͋̑͒̌̎͘͝a̷̦͌͊̈̊̾̉̄̈́͠s̶̢͕̭͉̪̼̓̀̈́͒̄̑̚̕͜t̸̨̹͙̞̞̤̠͉̫͌̓͗̇̀͋̄̀́͘͜e̶̜̩̤̲̘̭̞͍̲͊̉̀͌͑͗͜͠

q: what is nubkin's profession ?

a: nubkin is a man of science !

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this has been nubkin. say goodbye to nubkin.