#re: threads

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Historians Hate Him

(Bonus: Lost footage of WWX's death)

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[apple-caleb]

ah, that laugh. caleb smiled at the sound of it. it was soft, like her and it was almost grounding in a way. he held her closer, slender digits gingerly carding through her sot locks and pressing his lips against the top of her head. 

he moved his head at some point when he felt her shifting, his eyes drifting down to meet with her and the silence wasn’t entirely suffocating, not when he got her eyes on him, studying him, but at the same time, he questioned why she was even doing that. yet, he couldn’t stop her or didn’t want her to stop. 

any attention. any glance. anything that is directed his way, that comes from her, was worth every second and every minute. 

was she reading him? was she trying to capture the things he held back, the things he wants to say but couldn’t, at least not right now? the thoughts of amaryllis managing to do so didn’t necessarily cause him to panic nor worry. but he wasn’t sure how to feel about being seen. 

as she shifted, settling more in his lap, caleb held her there and continued brushing his fingers through her hair. “...then don’t, we’ll talk for as long as you want, until the sun rises or until those pretty little eyes of yours close and you knock out.” he chuckled softly, eyes closing as he gently patted her back. “i’ll be here when you wake up, lis. just like when we were kids… i’ll protect you.” 

"Shh, you're okay."

My muse is woken up from a particularly vivid and terrifying nightmare. Send “shh, you’re okay.” to calm and comfort them.

It was happening again, not the usual nightmare. Not the catastrophe. The other one. The one when she felt herself dying over and over again. Felt the pain, as if every fiber of her being was being ripped apart, and then...nothing. Only for her to go through it again. She wasn't sure why these nightmares haunted her. She wasn't even sure if she could even call them that. Since there was never any visuals. Just pain. Then nothingness. Then pain again. It was a never ending cycle. This time, she'd heard a voice. A familiar woman's voice. It wasn't clear but she could make out one thing... number 001.

Finally reaching her limit, Amaryllis shot up from her sleep with a scream. Her face wet with tears as her chest heaved trying to catch her breath. Where was she? Home? No this wasn't her home... Disorientated it took a moment for her to realize, someone was holding her. Slowly she turned to look at the figure cradling her in his arms, her vision still blurry, thoughts still scattered.

Trembling fingers reach to grip at his arm, she felt safe. He felt safe. "C-Caleb....?" Her voice was small, laced with uncertainty, as if she was still unsure who he was. But she was certain, leaning further into his embrace. Amaryllis didn't even remember what her dream was....but that lingering pain and terror remained, and that was enough.

[lingrimmart]

✨ Grimm and I have a Re-Animator AU set in the Forgotten Realms (maybe we’ll write something from it someday—I’m manifesting).

It’s called The Thread Between Graves, and it follows what’s left of three people who were once in love, and who never said what they meant until it was far too late. Dan, Herbert, and Megan shared a life—scientific, obsessive, intimate—and when it ended in fire and death, only Herbert survived. Briefly.

Now Dan lives again, his soul bound to Herbert’s in a ritual that broke more than one law of nature. Megan lives again too, but not all of her returned. The part that still loved Dan refused to follow, and it lingers in the body of the Bride—a screaming echo that haunts the marshes and calls for her healer.

[7clubs]

kyaaa faraberry blast

[sysig]

Reverberations, configurations (Patreon)

[apple-caleb]

“whatcha gonna do about it, pip-squeak?” he challenges before reaching out his hand, lightly ruffling at her hair once more before he fixes it, easing it away as he sits back in the chair.

his eyes gaze at kaia and he tilts his head, eventually drifting his gaze over to his phone as he goes to grab it, unable to stop himself or making less obvious the way he stops mid-way when she mentions a boy.

he tries to push the thoughts away, clearing his throat to push away that lump that forms in his throat as he retrieves his phone and scrolls through it, his eyes shifting from the screen to her. “i see, pip-squeak’s got a crush since i’ve been gone, huh? go on. tell me aaall about him.”

[ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐇 ]

dish ; sender cooks receiver their favourite meal.

She leans by the doorway, arms crossed, watching—and she could pretend to be upset that she'd totally slept through her alarm; she could pretend to blame him for it, for all that she tends to do, anyway... but where's the use of that, when the smell of food cooking could cheer her up in seconds?

She walks over to peek out from behind him, "So this is what you woke up early for, huh? Tsk, tsk, sneaakyyyy, you!"

"...Hehe. Is it all for me?"

[ponlypone]

Pure Hostility

"Her crimson eyes blazed with fury and hostility"—I surely want to picture that.

Girl is furious at Aldebaran, understandably so.

[beneathsilverstars]

been thinking about the differences between SASASAP and ISAT lately. because looking just at ISAT and the two hats ending, you'd think loop went through the exact same house as our siffrin, but looking at SASASAP, it's different. it's mixed up. it's obviously a condensed prototype.

but. that doesn't have to mean it's a different universe entirely.

maybe that's just what happens after a thousand loops.

the house warped in act 5. siffrin lost their shit and the house got changed and corrupted, far past its baseline king uncanniness. so it wouldn't be too out-of-the-question for it to be able to warp in more subtle ways as well, due to a more subtle breakdown.

like a jpeg uploaded and downloaded a thousand times, siffrin changed, and the loops changed. over a thousand loops of efficiency, the house got more efficient. rooms combining. items moving. data compressing. and of course, run in a changed house, the script changed as well. it did so slowly, one bit at a time, over a thousand loops of zoned-out half-listening – and by the time siffrin would have noticed each difference, they were already used to it. (and in the moments that they did look at a room that was less familiar than it should be and realize that they had no idea where to find the key, well. that's just classic siffrin, isn't it.)

through sheer repetition, siffrin was corrupted, and the loops and the house along with them. all purpose lost, all signals distorted, until finally they couldn't recognize the meaning in any of it. it was all noise and despair.

so they made a wish. and the loop restarted. not just a reboot, but something more complete.

the data was backed up onto a star – a guide, a warning, a reference – and the loops were factory reset. and for the first time in a thousand loops, siffrin woke up to a clear mind and the crisp sound of birdsong.

[limayde]

77 & 78. Class of '09 + The Re-Up

These are the worst games I've ever played. Not in terms of quality, but solely in terms of how fucked up every single character is. Like, you skip class, sell crack, and get at least four people arrested for sexual misconduct.

And it's so fucking funny. The main character, Nicole, is just as snarky as I wish I was in high school. She doesn't take shit from anyone, does things her own way, and depending on your choices, ends up anywhere between dating a lesbian after her house catches fire—or succeeding in the most heinous pro-revenge story for someone who probably genuinely deserved it.

Also Jecka is definitely a repressed lesbian and has the hots for Nicole.

10/10 highly recommend.

[apple-caleb]

his warm purple gaze turned into something dark and cold, the quick switch was something he had familiarized himself with during the time he was away from her. when he had to deal with things in the fleet, stuck in the deepspace tunnel. the lack of warmth that aria would bring to him gradually turned him into someone he couldn’t recognize either. 

his eyes shook briefly, his fingers curling as he looked away, his teeth clenching as he closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down, but it had been hard to do so. after all these years of holding back. he was tired of having to play this warm, sweet, and kind childhood friend. then, he scoffed, his eyes snapping back to her. 

“you don’t want my protection?” he questioned, stepping toward her. “aria, you don’t even know the dangers that surround you.” he looked down then let out a small laugh, “...if you’re mad at me, then fine, but you still need to eat.”

he lifted his arm, willing an apple from the bowl to float toward him and grabbed it once it was close, offering it to her. “what does my protection look like to you? and why don’t you like it? i said i’ll always protect you and i promised you. even though i disappeared, even though that… incident happened, i still kept my promise. as best as i can.” 

@apple-caleb

"I’ll always protect you," Caleb swore, his voice firm but filled with a quiet tenderness. They had only recently become familiar with each other, yet in their brief time together, he had become a constant in Aria's life. Despite the gaps in her memory, Caleb was always there to fill in the blanks, reminding her of things she couldn't quite recall.

"Promise?" Seven-year-old Aria squealed, her face lighting up with a bright smile that stretched across her chubby cheeks. She offered Caleb her pinky, a simple gesture of trust. "Promise," he agreed, his voice soft and sincere.

Back then, their bond was pure, a relationship built on love, trust, and an unspoken understanding. But now… Aria couldn't recognize the boy who once meant so much to her. She stared at him, her heart heavy with confusion. The warmth that had once filled Caleb's eyes was gone, replaced by something colder.

"Get off," Aria demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and anger. She yanked her wrist from his grasp, unable to mask the grimace in her chestnut brown eyes. How could this deceitful, manipulative, cold-hearted person be the same caring best friend she once knew? "I don’t want your protection," she spat, her words laced with hurt. "Not if it looks like this."

[see-arcane]

It's a special day in Dracula!

Jonathan experiences a flashback to the Horrors, Mina experiences bisexuality in the wild, and the poor nameless Pretty Girl in Piccadilly rides out of the story, parcel in hand and chic cartwheel hat on, oblivious to the Count stalking after her. In honor of the anonymous young lady who proves for a third time that Dracula and Mina have literally the exact same taste—Jonathan, Lucy, random beauties on the street—I wanted to take a crack at giving her an identity.

But I am also indecisive as hell, so she can be one of a number of pretty persons of note. For example…

Miss Piccadilly #1: Clarimonde

My original favorite choice, if only because I love the idea of Clarimonde still cruising around after the heartbreak she left behind in her own story, “La Morte Amoureuse” (The Dead Woman in Love), aka “Clarimonde.” She is now and always the undead Parisian party queen of my heart, but I could see her traveling around to dabble in hedonism in other corners of the world. Naturally she has to go and catch the attention of the local aristos. Human or otherwise.

But, of course, she is psychic and can read Dracula like a bloodstained book. Keep walking, bat bastard. Her vampiric voluptuousness is reserved for VIPs. (Maybe that fetching mourning couple she saw gawking in the park…)

Miss Piccadilly #2: Helen Vaughan

Oh, Helen Vaughan, elegant hostess and demigoddess horror supreme. I don’t care what Arthur Machen says, your story did not end with the conclusion of The Great God Pan. You were life and death and human and beast and all the hideous realities in-between and a mortal end could never keep you down. Especially not when you have so many paramours left to entertain! So many secrets profane and maddening to share! One of these days you’ll catch one who won’t dissolve into madness and self-destruction after a little innocent eldritch chit-chat.

Like this charming Count here! Count? Count, where are you going? Count, she just wants you to meet her dad—why are you running? Why are you running?

Miss Piccadilly #3: Luna Blue

What’s this? An OC?

Well, of course. No one’s actually naming their child Luna Blue in the late 1800s; that’s just her professional pseudonym. It’s amazing how well the spiritualist movement can work out for a girl with a knack for shuffling painted cards or chatting with the night sky and the occasional planchette. She can even boast something more than showmanship behind her skill. The sort of ‘something’ that worried Transylvanians might whisper about in fear on a certain haunted date while a likewise worried solicitor breaks out the polyglot dictionary.

She recognizes Dracula for what he is as surely as he recognizes her. No, she is not interested, voivode. Even if she was, she’d be out a benefactor within—a hard look at him here; cold and far—oh dear. Scarcely more than a month. At least by her guess. But oh, there is good news in his future too! He shall cross paths with an old friend soon! How lovely. She’s certain these things are not connected. Don’t even worry about it.

Miss Piccadilly #4: Cosette Marchand

The fourth and final young lady in the roster is one more original character and she deserves absolutely none of the horror coming her way. This is Miss Cosette Marchand, an artist by hobby and profession. The parcel received from the jeweler’s was a commissioned necklace and earrings she designed herself. A glittering birthday gift for her mother who will chide her for such an extravagance, Cosy, she has no place to wear such things! But they are lovely…

She’s so lost in her daydreaming that she doesn’t realize the hansom behind her has been following the victoria since leaving Piccadilly Square. All the way home. Home, where there are no bloodletting suitors, no wise professors, no divine or diabolic powers to forestall the natural progression of things between predator and prey. There is only a nightmare waiting for her, unobstructed.

…By anything other than my own bleeding heart. I’m too attached. She has to make it.

So.

How does Miss Marchand’s story go?

Turns out, her mother has some experience in these matters. Her mother being one Laura Marchand, who left a thirsty terror of her own behind twenty years ago. One she has mourned as much as feared in the time between the love of a husband eaten by war and the sharper kisses of a girl far more than a friend or living being. She recognizes the sour reflection of Carmilla’s eagerness in the Thing pretending to be a nobleman at the door. She still has General Spielsdorf’s axe. She has kept the steel sharp. Tonight she will whet it sharper still, from dusk until dawn.

You see all that yellow in her dress. It’s recently become one of her favorite colors, owing to a most diverting play she happened to read. Such lush storytelling! What decadent inspiration! She simply had to design something fine in honor of it. She does hope her mother will appreciate the artful way the gold was wrought, twisting in echo of the Sign. A mother who has gone so strangely still since she happened to glance at the second act of the play. Still and cold. Perhaps she will be cheered by her gift and their guests. There is a nobleman at the door, Mother! And there, see, leaking from the yellow damask wall is His Tattered Majesty—oh. Where has their visitor gone? He shall miss the masquerade! Ah, well. His loss.

Scheherazade…2! In which Miss Marchand pulls a Jonathan by stalling via playing to charm and utility. She wears many hats beside the cartwheel when it comes to the arts. Portraiture, fashion in fabric and ornaments. Surely the Count can savor the spider-and-fly game a little longer for that and some pretty panicked smiles. Look how much patience and frustration he burned on Lucy! Yes, yes, a little while longer to draw things out, play at flirtation between artist and patron, isn’t this nice? Ha ha. (Please don’t drink me please don’t drink me please don’t drink me.)

Well. She got drinked. And maybe succumbed to death before the Count could get slain. But the bat bastard does get put down eventually and she still gets to pop back up! Good news: She’s not under the Count’s thrall! She can think and act for herself! Nice! Bad news: Vampire. At least she can drink her problems* away. (*Problems with names like Atherton, Wotton, Gray…)

Her neighbors are the other three Piccadilly girls. Dracula makes his way downtown, walking fast, walking faster— 

Werewolf free space.

[irissimsccfinds]

Doodles I've been doodling because THIS MAN AND HIS DAUGHTER FOREVER RENT FREE IN MY HEAD ASJKFKFJKHADSAFA

and i was too busy to draw anything proper until now because m dad was hospitalised due to high blood sugar because of his sugar intake

and my oc meissa being mummy

[apple-caleb]

the fleet business took longer than caleb had expected. he sported a blank visage, eyes cold as he listened to the person speak. his eyes would glance over to the clock then to his phone, his thumb scrolling up and down along the screen when messages exchanged between nymeria and him were displayed.

his head rested against a curled fist, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair and when his name was called, he only drifted his gaze up to the source, his head unmoving.

“we will be heading into the deepspace tunnel in three days,” he answered when he had been questioned if he heard anything the man was saying, “and i will be the one leading the fleet. rest assured, i heard everything clearly.” his tone matched the coldness in his eyes. 

everyone grew silent and stared at the man that dared to question the colonel. he only scoffed and caleb brought up a knowing smile. eventually the meeting ended and caleb was already headed back to his place. 

back to nymeria.

once he got back home, he walked through the hallway and headed for the kitchen. that was when someone bumped into him. he arched a brow and reached over, his hand moving passed nymeria as he slid the light switch up until the area was more properly lit. now he could see her face a bit more clearly and he tilted his head, leaning down slightly.

“hey, pip-squeak…” he chuckled quietly, lifting his hat from his head to settle it on top of hers instead, his tone much more softer than the earlier one he had back at the farspace fleet's meeting room. “i thought you’d be asleep. i’m headin’ the kitchen, you want anything?”

Closed starter for @apple-caleb

The explosion still echoed in her ears. The heat, the suffocating smoke, the way their childhood home had split open like a wounded beast—

Nymeria jolted awake with a sharp gasp, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her breath came too fast, her fingers twisted in the sheets, and for a moment, she was back there. Back in the fire. Back in the wreckage. But then reality settled in. The cold air of Caleb’s room, the distant hum of city traffic below, the faint scent of detergent on her borrowed blanket. Not fire. Not smoke.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and exhaled. Caleb. Her Caleb. 

He was alive. He had been alive for a year. And he hadn’t told her.

The emotions churned—relief, joy, anger, confusion—twisting into an unsteady knot in her stomach. She should be happy. And she was. But there was something bitter underneath it.

A year. A whole year.

Shoving the blankets off, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. The room felt too small, too tight, like the walls were pressing in. She needed water. Maybe the walk to the kitchen would clear her head.

She padded barefoot through the dimly lit hallway, rubbing at her arms as the night’s chill sank into her skin. The kitchen was just around the corner. She could already picture the glass in her hand, the cool water grounding her—

Smack.

Nym yelped, stumbling back as she collided with something solid. No—someone.

A sharp intake of breath. A familiar presence.

“…Caleb.” she breathed.

[faithinlouisfuture]

post race (saudi arabian gp 2025)

[onaperduamedee]

I'm on my TDR reading in preparation for the new season and feeling so much for Eggy's PTSD unraveling for everyone to see while no one thinks that perhaps she needs help. We need a therapy Ajah yesterday.

The girl is 17 and in constant flight or fight mode, with a strong preference for fight, and Nyn and Elayne think she's just going through a rebellious phase. I don't know but maybe being captured, enslaved and used as a weapon isn't a walk in the park and will leave anyone a little bit paranoid.

Her POV is honestly incredible because of that. She's a deer in the headlights, overthinking and anxious, and that isn't even taking into account the fact that Siuan sent the girls on a genuinely deadly mission.

I love Eggy and want to give her a cup of hot chocolate and let her talk about her passion for learning new stuff except she can't have that and the learning she gets to do is for survival only.

[apple-caleb]

caleb had already thought of the many possible outcomes bringing the plushie could bring, and the way that xavier reacted was one of them. he pursed his lips, letting the latter say what he wanted, and yet he knew that xavier was holding back. 

perhaps it was his own guilt clawing at him at his chest, yet he still sported a smile. his purple gaze casted downwards as he took out his phone, his facial expression calm and collected, to conceal the storms raging in his mind and the annoyingly subtle pang in his chest. 

he clenched his jaw for a brief moment, re-reading early texts being sent to him, the time when he wasn’t around, the times when she believed he was in fact dead. he knew her better. even if she didn’t love him the way he loved her, he still knew her better than anyone.

caleb’s eyes drift back to xavier and he reached out to take the plushie, he gazed at it for a moment or two then turned as a smirk etched on his lips. 

“since you insist, then i will keep it.” he chuckled a certain mirth in his gaze, holding the plushie up as he lightly squished its cheeks. “actually, this is a good idea. the day she and i reconcile, i can just give it to her personally. she did say she misses it. ooor… maybe she didn’t tell you. anyways. see you around, hunter.”

🧸 i managed to salvage this after the... incident. it was with her all throughout childhood and throughout universities.

i doubt she wants to see me anytime soon. you got her now right? so... you better take care of her. if you're as special as she kept tellin' me, then you should know just how precious she really is.

don't fuck it up.

Xavier felt heaviness as he picked it up, and for a moment he questioned if it was evol-induced.

The harsh words didn't meet the kind gesture. He knew what was being said. Every word. It made him meet the mans gaze, and it felt like electricity crackling in his veins. He didn't need to be told how special she was.

And yet. He'd heard a lot about him from her too – enough to think that there was a good reason the man had held on to the tattered plush for so, so long. Did she even know he'd had it?

"...Keep it."

A sad expression crossed his blue eyes, just short of compassion. Nothing more.

"She doesn't need it anymore, and since she thinks its already gone, I don't want to confuse her with it. Besides... It's...just an old friend."

It felt harsh, even on his lips. He thought about how to soften the blow. He wasn't above conceding. Not usually. It ate at him, and it would crawl under her skin. The urge to bite back in any capacity almost overtook him, but he knew better. He knew better. He swallowed it down.

"If you knew the true depth of her heart, you'd know better than what you've said. But since you're insisting, then I insist, those memories should be safely kept with you. Not just for her sake."