#And this just. Manifested in my mind

[blitzwhore]

Had a vision

[cloudi-days]

my impression of the hotel arc so far

[hymnoeides]

Quick Apollo tonight as I try to wrestle his design down…!!

[nuclearanomaly]

JK... Unless

[rachelazegler]

I don't want to keep on making the same mistakes. I need things to be different.

[buckingham-ashtray]

Not Them still haunting me even on my hike.

More than one hundred miles away from home and I am still unable to escape Them. Not even physically.

I can't anymore. THEY WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE.

(keep away from my tags

[obasjanamjeseciinom]

touch starved

[onehellofajellyfish]

Another thing, in addition to Sebastian's personality (and I'd even argue his nature since he doesn't seem to experience human Lust), which makes Sebastian being aggressive or forcing himself on Ciel in a lot of popular fanon seem so wildly implausible/ooc is Ciel and the situation of their dynamic itself

Ciel formed Sebastian into someone who can't lie to him, abandon him, or let him be genuinely harmed. Sebastian can be directly commanded in addition to those three rules.

Why on earth would Ciel tolerate Sebastian breaking his trust and ignoring his consent? That's the entire draw of the relationship from Ciel's perspective! He holds the leash or what's the point!

It's arguably a direct breach of contract, and by the party who's a stickler for rules

It feels like people sometimes wanna be out here writing ed/ward cull/en instead of Sebastian, and they also forget how strong-willed Ciel is. As if he would take any nonsense from Sebastian, let alone assault, especially considering his trauma. Even without that, it would be beyond unacceptable and they both know it.

Frankly, I don't even think Sebastian would even be aggressive/violent to a reader insert stranger. He's picky. He prefers to catch flies with honey in any scenario we've seen (and really, that's a victory of wills which he has to work for, since physical overpowerment is nothing so at the very least would be boring to him), so it isn't even about Ciel.

(The only exception could be established sebaciel doing roleplay, but even then Ciel still retains the control and power here, and you'd have to work to sell me on it tbh)

[zelda-daily]

Could you do a modern Vaati? I love your art so muchhhhh ✨

Day 133: Modern Vaati

[writingjourney]

⛧ WIP Wednesday ⛧

I talked about how I find it daunting but I actually continued on a little with my V fic, so this is an excerpt of the beginning. Please know that I am super terrified of even posting this so if it sucks please don't tell me <3 ➽ V/Perpetua x f!reader/non-decripts oc, 1.1k words, third person, this is not sane at all, he is obsessive but still sort of a sweet guy? idk really, mild tw for grief/loss

He’s leaning against the back of a headstone, scribbling in his journal with some enthusiasm, only held back by the speed of his mind. He feels on the verge of a revelation, teetering on the edge of thoughts slowly connecting. The quiet around him allows for such rumination, the presence of the dead muffling the rest of the world that is usually so loud inside of V’s head.

In the cool grass, beside him, two books. Annotated philosophical works, musings on theology, on life and death. He’s sucking the thoughts out of them, rewriting them with his own lines, some vaguely poetic renditions of what he thinks is the essence of it all. It has always bothered him, the lack of pathos in such theories, the gap between reason and emotion. Introspection that brackets out the core of human nature, a head without the heart.

Fog has gathered on this morning, the cemetery shrouded in its grey billows with the sun not quite rising yet. It is entirely too early for visitors and yet his gaze snaps up as he notices the steps close by. He would ignore them, mildly irritated, were they not followed by the most heart-breaking, choked little sobs.

V crawls past the overgrown mausoleum that blocks his view, groping his way along the mossy stone walls as he follows with his ears alone. He finds her behind the structure, two rows down, a habited figure that is unfamiliar to him just like everyone else. A somewhat fresh grave has been dug, a few weeks prior, judging by the depression of the soil. She’s kneeling in front of it, crying, evidently, as she feels unobserved.

He cannot discern much from the distance, not in the fog, but her plain habit indicates that she is a regular Sister of Sin. V crawls a little further down, comes to rest behind a large headstone that sits crooked, weathered, his leather gloves leaving a scraping sound on the rough stone.

And then he sees her face.

The revelation he’s been grazing with his fingertips, it stands before him now in flesh and bone, finally within reach. A single heavy tear rolls down the curve of her cheek, gathering at the corner of her beautiful mouth, and he subconsciously inches forward as if to reach for it. She sniffles, wipes her cheek dry with her sleeve, and he feels some regret that he did not catch her tears with his thumb to taste them. Life and death, so closely intertwined.

The Sister stands, brushing the dirt off her knees where her habit clings to them, wet and stained from the grass. V takes a step back, obscuring himself further, hesitating for a second too long. She leaves in the opposite direction and whatever he had been reaching for is gone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Later, V approaches the grave. A wooden upside down cross serves as a placeholder for the tombstone until the stonemason delivers it. Sister Clara, 1960– 2025. On top of the soil, a bouquet of white lilies, roses and carnations, tied together with black ribbon. He does not know her but then he doesn’t really know anyone here, except his brother and the Psaltarians. Was she a beloved mentor? A family member? Her lover, perhaps?

As dawn breaks, V makes his way inside the abbey. The sharp stone arch he passes casts a shadow over the group of Siblings ambushing him, falling upon him like vultures. He gives his practiced cordial greetings, the hand kisses, speaks a short unblessing, nodding along to their reassurances until he can eventually shake them off. Everyone wants a piece of their new Papa, Marika had called it, and his brother had scoffed at that. V isn’t sure how many pieces he has left.

Mass is a whole ordeal. The chapel has been overflowing ever since he came here and so far interest has not died down enough to allow him to leave in a timely manner, not without spending another few hours or so, listening to everyone’s stories.

It’s not that he’s antisocial, per se, nor that he doesn’t care. It’s that the scope of this sudden rise in interest in him is beyond his level of comfort and most days he is sucked dry by the time lunch rolls around. The face of the Sister haunts him all day and yet he does not find her again, not in any of the knots of people.

He can eat somewhat in peace but only because they’ve granted him the luxury of having the meal delivered to his office. Sister Clara does not seem to have any obvious familial associations and since she had been with the church for most of her life she seemed to have had her hand in everything. According to the specific date in the system she died just before V arrived.

If only he knew her name.

He dreams of kissing a tear from the apple of her cheek, tasting the warmth of her grief on his tongue. He’s drifting in and out of sleep like that, hearing the bats moving past the window of his old stone cottage by the cemetery, some of which have made their home in the old wooden beams above his ceiling. They told him a gardener used to live here, back when the abbey was still in the hands of the church, that it lay abandoned until they prepared it for him. The tombstones by the entrance are right side up, the names long since faded, and he thinks their ghosts are visiting him at night.

The next morning, she reappears.

She crouches to light a candle when he finds her, hiding behind a higher tombstone with better view of the grave. Again she is crying, quiet tears gathering at her lashes, and he can’t tear his gaze away from them. Wet, her eyes sparkle in the near dark, two guiding lights in the fog. She is so blissfully unaware of him, wrapped up in the memories of Sister Clara and the pain that comes with the evidence of her loss. It is when he sees her praying that he decides to leave her. It feels vulgar, to intrude on this moment, when she seeks the solitary comfort of the Old One.

V reassumes his usual pondering, leaning against the ever same headstone that seems to carry his shape, so easily does it welcome him. His thoughts are less aligned this morning, straying into multiple directions that all seem to gather into the shape of her teary-eyed face. Grief is no stranger to V, nor is the loneliness that comes with it. Does she know that her love lives on in every tear she sheds for this woman? That the pain she feels must not stop her from seeing the world on either side?

A cool wind carries the fog like fingers between the rows of graves that stretch out on either side of him. It feels like a gentle caress from their Lord below, a hand in theirs at all times, one he hopes she can feel as well, wherever she is now.

V scribbles until the sun comes up.

[divorcedwife]

the high priestess

[felix-krain]

First time as killer on dbd experience

[tomonohebi]

[turbo-tsundere]

Gng you MUST draw Kaito I am BEGGINGGGG gang 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Do I? :D Who knows, maybe I might one day. I certainly do have some Kaitos lurking in my neverending wip-stash already.

(No context, but each image is its own thing. Wish I could share more but they're either too messy or half-done, but showing them would kinda spoil the surprise.)

His hair breaks my brain so much. And I keep forgetting his goatee and then wonder for an hour what's off about his face (I have the same issue with Gonta's eyeglasses tho lol)

[cent-scratchnsniff]

green apple flavor

[hmsdoodlin]

Thinking about an obsessive, devoted Mind who’s trying his best to keep Whole alive and thriving. A robotic Mind who believes his only purpose in life is to keep his host living and therefore often goes to the extreme.

He doesn’t understand what his host is going through, not entirely at least, fighting an uphill battle and getting frustrated with himself and their vessel for not being fixable.

A Mind that refuses to give up, constantly pushing Whole to his limit in an attempt to save him. A Mind that beats himself up over this, instead of asking for help he just digs himself deeper in this ideology. If this isn’t helping them then maybe he just needs to up the anti, maybe he needs to sacrifice everything. He’s going farther than ever before, pushing the boundaries until they snap and is possibly going a bit mad in the process.

Eventually Mind breaks, either finally realizing Whole is unfixable this way and that he’s failed his only objective, or he’s forced to face Wholes mortality and that flicks a switch in his brain.

A Mind who completely breaks down, unable to process these emotions and becomes hyperaware of everything ‘bad’ he’s ever done. He realizes he’s the one killing them, all he can hear are the words failure over and over again.

I’d do anything for you, I did everything for you but I could never be enough. I’m the one hurting us. I failed you.

A devoted Mind who cradles his vessel with as much tenderness and care he can muster, holding him close and silently begging for forgiveness while also struggling to even understand what he’s feeling.

Maybe it’s too late, maybe it’s just in time. But he fucked up regardless, I don’t think he could never let that go.

Song that was on loop while I wrote this btw ^^^

Idk but it gave me such a vivid daydream/animatic in my head that I just had to share. Sorry if this is ooc I’m Heart coded so everything has to do with emotions and feelings 😔