#intro edited

[indecisive-specimen]

aftg tv show and the first trailer for jean's season/spin off starts with a bunch of newscasters and reporters saying his name in various accents

ravens backliner jean moreau- gene morrow of the perfect court- jean moreau, défenseur des Ravens-

and then we cut to jean sitting in the bed at abbie's, its completely silent (other than maybe a faint ticking), hes all bandaged up and terribly bruised, staring down at his hands in anger as the camera slowly zooms in, then he looks up and his own voice (in voiceover) says my name is jean moreau. i belong to the moriyamas. my place is at evermore. i will endure.

cue intense music with a sick beat and cut to several things happening at once: jean throws a punch, renee's necklace dangling above his palm, jeremy almost crashing his car, (idk man theres too many good ones 😭)

cut! quieter now, camera follows neil silently lowering to a crouch in front of jean (who we can barely see), imitating a gun to his head with his fingers, "pop. how easily these monsters die in the end."

music is back and we keep flashing between a bloody jean in two different bathtubs- then kevin is in front of him: "you made me a promise." / "fuck you. you have no right to hold me to it." / "but i will."

last cut is jean walking onto court in USC gold and red, in voice over he says my name is jean moreau. if i am not a raven, who am i?

do u see the vision

[protrudingribs]

[hazelnootnut]

ACT 2 "You're... me?" "That's right, stardust!"

You know I've been drawing Loop as their Siffrin form so much that it's got me thinking. I've read and seen so many fics and artworks of Loop eventually getting back to looking like their old self, but I don't think I've seen any so far of Loop already being a mirror copy of Siffrin. So uh, yoink?

ISAT AU where the game plays out the same way (plot-wise at least) but Loop looks like Siffrin the whole time and while Siffrin is extremely perplexed that there's another him, he's still gotta accept their help because how else are they supposed to escape the loops? Good ol' Loop is here to help, helpful friendly Loop!

Siffrin is going through it still but Differently.

[tiger-balm]

the giver - chappell roan | hockey night in canada intro | march 22nd 2025

[peachviz]

Are Friends Electric?

[wintergreenoreo]

Random Housewives taglines that I think fit certain drivers.

[jaydove-writes]

Moving intro to pinned post so bio is less cluttered

~ he/him, cis, biromantic asexual, engaged to @starlightprincess98, (Planning to get married February 14th 2026) born July 12th 1997 (listed the year so I don't have to update my age every year) ****

Platonic soulmates: @aflairforthemelodramaticc and @translesbianfoxgirl

**** Formerly known as **** @princesssparkle42 **** @jaydovesworld **** Other blogs include **** @ask-skybluecmc, if you want to do some MLP OC RP **** @phoenix-of-grandeur, if you want to talk about your favorite games or mine (Though I also do that on main) **** @phiction-of-grandeur, if you want to talk about your stories or mine (Again I do that on main) **** @ask-the-felicity-crew, if you want to RP between your OCs and mine or ask me questions that I will answer as mine. The characters may or may not know they are fictional depending on when in the timeline you ask them.

****

@ask-simon-devlyn, same as the Felicity Crew, but centered around the captain, Simon Devlyn. On this blog Simon knows he's fictional.

**** I love talking to people and making new friends! I'm also creating my own story series called Starbourne. Wanna be friends in the gaming multiverse? Here are my Friend Codes:

****

Steam: 111892045

****

Nintendo Switch: SW-5163-5533-6136 ****

Musical Fandoms:

****

Chrono Trigger

****

Undertale

****

EPIC

**** Show Fandoms: **** MLP **** Steven Universe **** The Owl House **** Amphibia

**** The Ghost and Molly McGee **** Sailor Moon **** Cardcaptor Sakura

****

Infinity Train

****

Spongebob Squarepants ****

More later

**** Game Fandoms: **** Any RPG that features Mario (Such as Super Mario RPG, the Paper Mario series, or the Mario and Luigi RPG series) **** Any indie game inspired by Paper Mario (Such as Bug Fables or Born of Bread) ****

Undertale and Deltarune ****

In Stars and Time

****

Oneshot

****

Kirby

****

Hollow Knight and Silksong **** Zelda (mainly just watching other people play them) **** Pokemon (see Zelda) **** Might add more later **** Book Fandoms: **** Percy Jackson et al **** Amari **** Serafina **** Might add more later ****

Webcomic Fandoms

****

Homestuck

****

Down to Earth

***** Donation Links

****

Kofi

****

Patreon

****

PayPal

****

Book 1 of my series, Starbourne, is FREE!! For the other books please donate $6 per book to one of the aforementioned links. I'm planning on making this a series of 9, but currently working on book 2.

Doing one of those note things for motivation (or notivation because notes lol)

25 notes - I do the dishes and clean out the litter box (done, for now... But these are Sisyphean tasks)

50 notes - I clean up around the house (I did a little cleanup, might do more later)

100 notes - I do a little work on my book (it still needs editing before I can publish it and write the sequel, but I'll do some work on that when my PC stops crashing)

250 notes - I start working on book 2 (or work harder on editing book 1 if it still needs it)

500 notes - I participate in artfight (in the first July after it reaches this threshold. I doubt it'll get there by this month.)

1k notes - I start working on a video game in the Starbourne multiverse. A small one, like Undertale is to Deltarune. I'm calling it Saturn Robe which is an anagram for Starbourne, like Undertale is for Deltarune.

2.5k notes - I start working on my dream game, Starbourne. The one that's the reason I started writing in the first place. (If the small game isn't finished I work harder on that)

5k notes - I dedicate my time to taking care of myself/my partner/my family, and working on my dream game.

10k notes - I become a god in the Tumblrverse (this will not happen)

If you want to know more about Starbourne, check out my other blog @phiction-of-grandeur and my community for more details. My askbox is always open if you want to ask me something.

Here's the first book now:

And here's a newer version of the first book, with (hopefully) better writing. It's gonna be longer than the draft above.

Here's the book on AO3 as well ^^

ANOTHER DRAFT OF THE BOOK ^^^^ (This one is the newest one)

And here's my artfight link. It's new so there's nothing there yet. ^^^

Here's a game I made in Scratch back in 2012... I occasionally update it when I think of a new idea for an update. Feel free to ask me about Epic Kitty Hunt updates!

[miebell]

so caliente...! ❤️‍🔥

[abstract-concepts]

our first graphic mask!!!! very simple but fun to make.

credit if you use/reupload (u dont have to for rentrys/carrds/etc tho lol)

angel heart + sparkles

[otterlyart]

New Intro!

[torksmithtruther]

happy pride month to peter halsten thorkelson!

[stars-eclipsing]

#- Who let the dog out?

Features: The dawg, Mohawk mark.

full series link here! o(*￣︶￣*)o

Merchant's tip: "Wonderland can be very scary, but if you show it you're scared, it’ll try and take advantage of you…

Oh, and try and remember something... your actions have consequences...good luck"

Tags: Kinda creepy, lots of mentions of death but no one dies, also its just suggestive at the end I guess? Kinda dubious consent tho errrr

wc: 2.2k

You hit someone.

You think you did. You're not sure.

Your hands are locked on the steering wheel. Your knuckles have gone white. You can hear your heart in your ears, high and shrill and unnatural.

You open the door. Not because you're ready, but because you need to.

Your legs shake. You're trying to walk normally, as though someone didn't just crash into your windshield. Your body won't cooperate.

Still, you force yourself forward. One step. Then another.

The man’s lying there, sprawled like a rag doll in the middle of the road.

You crouch in front of him, breath catching. Blood pools beneath him—too much blood, and from where, you can’t even tell. The sight makes your eyes blur, your stomach flip.

Your mouth works before your brain does. “Hello…?”

The man almost immediately groans, shifting slightly, though you suspect it's more of a spasm. 

With the sign of sentience, panic builds into your body, and you clutch his shoulders, “Hello?! Hello, are you okay?” 

You let go of him and fumble with the phone in the back of your pocket. You get the password wrong a few times in your state of alarm, and it just makes you panic even more. 

You want to say something to relieve him of the agony he must feel. But all you can come up with is, “I'm going to c-call an ambulance…” You slur your words as you fumble with the buttons.

“Wait,” He says, perfectly clear. Though his voice is a little raspy. 

You immediately obey, looking up from your phone to the man, “W-What is it?” 

“Don't call an ambulance.” 

Your heart is beating loudly, pumping so much oxygen in your blood you're somehow growing woozy, “Okay…”

He sits up with a grunt, clutching his side. Your eyes stare lifelessly at his face, purposefully avoiding the wound.

“Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?” You speak slowly, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. You're not sure you're pronouncing words properly.

He shakes his head, and you notice a shaky grin on his face. You suppose because he is scared that he is going to die, “No. No hospital.” He says quietly.

You speak before you think, “Please, I’ll cover the expenses–” 

He lets out another loud groan, and the shrill sound in your ears grows louder.  Till all you can hear is ringing.

“No…” His face is beading with sweat and he’s breathing shallowly, “Can you… can you stitch me up?” 

No. You’re not a doctor. You don't even know what that would mean. “I have a first aid kit in my car.”

He speaks to you calmly, “Alright." He breathes, labored and short, "Then go get it.”

At his sudden sharp tone, you snapped out of your brain fog and got up, bambi-scrambling to your car. You find that familiar white box you've never used in the passenger seat compartment. With shaky hands, you set it down on the asphalt, and click open the latches. 

You spot bandages, gauze, tape, and pain relievers. Disposable gloves, scissors, and tweezers take up a corner. A helpful red and white pamphlet is taped to its lid.

You stare at it all for a long time, then shakily start to rifle for something useful in this situation.

“Can you go a bit faster, sweetheart?” You hear him tell you, almost like a taunt, “You don't want a criminal record this young, do you…?” 

You can't grace him with a response; your mind is not on Earth. You take some antiseptic, and look towards him. He's already presenting his wound to you. 

Fuck.

You resist a gag because you know you’ll end up immediately throwing up. You want to pass out and never wake up after this. It's so bad. It looks really really bad and it's pulsing. Oh my god it's pulsing and it's bleeding so much. Oh God�� 

You don't understand… You think as your brain thuds against your skull, Why hasn't someone driven by? Did the neighbors not hear the crash of a body colliding with your windshield? Making a huge crack onto it? Did they not hear your car skidding to a halt? Or the way your heart beat so much it was about to jump out of your chest?

You don't understand. 

You feel a hand coming on your shoulder, snapping you out of your panicked fit, “Easy there, sweetheart,” He tells you, boredom seeping into his tone, “Calm down. It's fine.” 

You don't know when you started sobbing, “It's not fine. You’re going to die.” 

He snorts, “I ain’t gonna fuckin’ die.” 

You can't help yourself when he gathers you in his arms, shushing you. You feel the warm wetness of his blood against your side, but you don't care. You cry into the crook of his neck. Confused. Confused on why this is happening to you and why nobody is coming to help. Why…

“Are you sure?” You ask, shakily. 

“Pretty fuckin’ sure,” He tips your chin to look up at him. His pupils are blown wide, but other than that, he looks fine… His skin color is a normal shade, too. In fact, it even seems to be a bit ruddy… 

He moves a few stray hairs out of your face, “Would you feel better if you stitched me up at your house?” 

You nod gratefully, sniveling and heaving, but grateful for the opportunity. Grateful that he isn't mad at you. Or sad that he is going to die on the road. Because you’re the one already sad that he is going to die on the road. 

You stand up first, and extend your hand to help him get up. He leans his weight mostly on you, and he groans with each step you take. But you make it to the car. 

You help him to the passenger seat —trying your best to not look at his chest rapidly moving up and down— and click the seatbelt in place for him. 

“Safety first, right?” He mocks with an upturn of his lips.

Your stomach churns. 

The ride back to your house is quiet. At first, he runs his eyes along the interior of your car, curious. After a while, he just lays there, eyes closed, but breathing. You have never been so grateful that someone was breathing. 

You slow and put the car in park in your driveway. He still hasn't opened his eyes yet. 

Driving sobered you up a bit from your panic, and you’re feeling steady on your feet when you circle around and open the car door. You haven't even realized how much the car had smelled coppery from the stench of blood till you're exposed to the fresh air.

You lean across his form to unbuckle the seatbelt when he stirs, like he woke up from a cat nap. You pause. 

“You’re a little touchy-feely, aren't you?” 

It's strange how there isn't even a tremor to his voice. It's all so strange, really. When will someone realize something is wrong and come help you…?

“Sorry,” You say, a little embarrassed. But you still act as his crutch as you reach your doorstep. He leans most, if not all his weight on you. He must be in a world of pain, poor thing... And he still had the decency to help you calm down. You need to get your mind straight and help him. 

Like he did in the car, the second he arrives in your home, his eyes rake over every every corner and crevice. 

He whistles, “You live here? Fucking cherry, babe.” 

Your home is nice. Not because you got a job and worked hard for it, but because it was inherited from your grandmother who signed the deed over to you after she was admitted to a care home. 

It's a two story open floor plan. The furniture is old. But it has its charm. 

The french windows were always open, letting in the fresh air. Tonight, the first thing you do when you get home is shut them. 

You don't know why you don't want anyone to know there is a bleeding man in your home, but suddenly the noble part of you that was willing to accompany him to the hospital and face charges for your crimes was gone. He did not want to go to the hospital, and you did not want to go to jail. Maybe you could work something out… 

For now, you grab the bigger first aid kit at the top of your kitchen cabinet. This one had much more equipment than the one in your car. 

When you pass by the closed window, the darkness makes a sort of mirror. When you see your face in the reflection, you blink. Your face is bleak and sunken. Your eyes have puffy bags under them and your hair is a mess. 

You rinse your face before going to see him again. You feel infinitely better afterwards. Not good, because you're still scared and you're feeling lost. But better. 

You spend a good part of the night learning how to stitch a wound. 

While you're watching the tutorial, he lays lazily on the couch next to you. Watching, but not with much attention. 

When you calmed down and told him you didn't know how to close a wound, but you’d be happy to hold his skin together while he stitched, he laughed in your face. 

“Well, you better fucking learn then, huh?” He had told you. 

You're not that weird. You first helped him with the bleeding and the wound’s much cleaner now. There's a warm dish towel pressed to it to stop any more bleeding. However, it's been a few minutes and the cloth is still completely white. 

He sits there. Shirtless and a little sweaty next to you. You’re not sure when he put his cheek on your shoulder. But he does. A heat blooms on the apples of your cheeks. 

“This is soo boring,” He laments. 

“I am trying to save your life…” You mutter. Not really convinced in yourself either. 

You put your phone down, confident in the technique, and take a deep breath. You spend a few moments threading the thin string to the eye of the needle, and his yawning exaggeratedly did not make your hand any less shaky.

The wounds shallower than you remember when you were scared in the dark and alone. But the pink flesh still pulses, thrumming. 

He holds the edges of his skin together like he’s half assing a task at his corporate job. You don't deter, remaining focused as the needle pierces his skin.

And so, you begin to stitch. 

There's hardly even a grunt of pain on his end. You suppose he’s tired of that. Still, the way the thin needle pierces the flesh makes your heart beat faster with fear and your hands start to get sweaty. 

You’re at it for a few torturous minutes. Finally, there's the satisfying snip of sharp scissors cutting the thread. 

You did it. You really did it. It doesn't look very pretty, but you could care less, really. He is not going to die. And you played hero. God… 

You allow your shoulders to sag and to exhale deeply. Almost immediately after, fatigue hits your body faster than you hit the… All the adrenaline keeping your form steady seeps out of your system as you begin to calm. 

You throw the dishcloth into the laundry basket and put everything back in place. You wash your hands that are already clean (hardly any blood on him by the time you started), but just in case. 

You’re beginning to feel dizzy. The events of tonight are finally starting to catch up to you. All you want to do is fall asleep on your warm bed and forget this all happened. 

From behind you, two hands creep across your waist, wrapping around it. He leans his chin on your shoulder. 

You stop. And your heart is back to beating like a hummingbird. You swallow before you speak, “...Yes?”

He hums, muttering against your skin, “Thank you. For taking care of me.” His words are breathy and have a lilt of something… devilish in them, “That was so…” He smirks, though you can’t see, “Brave.” 

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you answer, “You're welcome. And…” You swallow, genuinely guilty, “I'm sorry for what I did to you.” You can't say out loud what exactly. Not yet.

He almost says for what? Then catches himself, clearing his throat, “It's not that big of a deal, honest…” He grins, “I'm a very forgiving person, you know?” 

His hands begin to entertain themselves by moving under your shirt, feeling at the soft flesh there. You remain deathly still. 

“Listen, doll,” He starts, “You know I hate to bother a pretty little thing like you, but you wouldn't mind if I crashed here a couple days, would you?” He starts to play with the waistband of your pants, and a heat starts to pool in your stomach, “Just until I recover. Then I’ll be out of your hair. Promise…” The low timbre of his voice was starting to do things to your head. 

You don't know when you started to lean into his touch, just that you started to nod, “Yea, okay. Obviously… stay–” You choke on your words as his other hand inches towards your breasts, “Stay as long as you need.” 

He chuckles darkly, “You’re such a doll…”

[maravdrs]

　MY SOCIALS IN MY 2012 BETTER CR 　ꫂ᭪

[versailleslamb]

you ever open Pinterest and see the most jaw dropping, beautiful, knee buckling picture of your s/o and you're just like..

floored for 3 business days..

[userarmand]

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE "Do You Know What It Means to Be Loved by Death"

[correct-hermitcraft-quotes]

Impulse, talking about Grian shaming them for playing Phasmophobia without him: 24 hours of gifs was like, h- how has he not run out of gifs yet! *laughing* That's what I kept thinking! How has he not run out of gifs to make us feel bad! He keeps finding 'em from the dark corners of the internet.

Skizz, with exactly the same tone for both sentences: Doesn't make me feel bad, I don't have a soul. Dude, I- Bro, I am having blueberries. They're the size of small apples.