#when reading and writing for this thread

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I came here for the silly haha doodles, but I've stayed for the absolutely blazing commentary in the tags. Your analysis of this story is so so so good! Thanks for all the work and thought you put into this!

I am just a silly little comics blog. I am not hiding anything in the tags, no way. Never.

[23fallencomets]

…anyway

In Another Life idea/snippet/word vomit

Toto’s name is being shouted across the garage, George’s trainer coming over with concerned look on his face. He’s been in this sport long enough to know there is something wrong with his driver, and knowing George, it’s something he shouldn’t have done.

“George is heading to the hospital.”

Fucking George, Toto thinks, trying to keep his expression from faltering. They had Qualifying in a few hours and George would have tried to make it, would have strong-armed his way into getting into the car if he could get away with it.

“With what?” He asks instead, truly worried for George, but also now mentally scrambling for who he was going to put in the car now. Kimi? Still too young and inexperienced in an F1 car. The Williams drivers? Who would they substitute with? There’s no way Toto is giving them Fred.

“Appendicitis.”

Toto resists the urge to face palm. What is it with drivers and appendicitis? The chatter around him grows silent as cheering erupts from outside, the faint sound of someone winning the F2 sprint race.

Curiosity spikes in him as some of the mechanics shake hands, grins wide on their faces. He leans over, the screens playing a replay of a blue car soaring past the checkered flag.

Logan Sargeant is the graphic that pops up, won from P16. He doesn’t have time to read the rest of the stats, not when James is in front of him somehow, Mick and Alex’s name on the tip of his tongue.

“What about your F2 driver?” Toto asks, cutting off James before he goes on a tangent about Mick’s and Alex’s performance; they’re good, Toto knows that, but his interest has been piqued by the American driver.

“Logan? He’s not ready.” James says immediately, “No, you have to go with either Alex or Mick.”

“Have? I don’t have to do anything you say James,” Toto reminds him, “Tell the kid I want to met him, he has potential, Vowles, look at him.” He motions to the screen that is showing another replay of Logan doing an easy overtake on one of the Campos drivers before forcing a Prema driver to yield.

Multiple emotions cross James’ face before he huffs, turning in his heel and storming out of the garage, pulling off the headset as he goes.

“He’s second in the championship by the way,” George’s trainer says, “If there was anyone to substitute George, he would want Logan to be the one.”

alright that’s all ya girl has got, this scene popped up on me while i was at work so enjoy it 😚

[sewerratzz]

Riptide Triton Headcanon

Tritons have cultural adornments called darrings. They mostly come in the form of tailets as that was what the tradition started as, but can also be hair, coral, or wrist/arm accessories [whether the tail is too covered or the triton just wants them elsewhere, it’s up to the individual].

Children often have ones made with aquamarine or sea glass as it’s more common and easier for them to work with. Their darrings always start as tailets. Children’s tailets are almost always a friendship tailet or ones made with their parent/guardian. They also occasionally are given a birth gift, though it’s not common since darrings are usually made by the triton it’s for. As they get older they get more proficient with more gems, stones and materials, and learn more braiding methods for the bands. Their tailets also become more based around important events and people in their lives, rather than what’s basically casual friendship bracelets.

They use silverstone [material found in the undersea that triton’s claws are very good for shaping with] to carve charms for their darrings. The bands are pretty much just made with either thread, twine, or cords, but the styles and colours differ and they’re more often than not included in the meaning of the darrings.

Finn Tidestrider

Finn has a lot. because he’s old.

He made one with gems, stone and/or charms for each crewmember of the Black Rose on it. Arlin’s stone is a dalmation jasper, and Drey’s gem is a fire opal. The centrepiece charm is a carved rose with the stem mixed into an anchor. The band is two pieces of black cord twisted together.

He has one with only carved silverstone on it, each charm made to look like one of his most signifiant creature discoveries. The biggest/centre charm is carved to look like the elusive crawfish. The band is braided white, blue, and teal thread.

He has one with two charms and two gems for Gillion and Edyn, the charms hanging together with the gems on either side. Gillion’s charm is carved into what almost looks like a shark tooth, and Edyn’s is abstract, in the shape of her birthmark. The band is pink and blue with no pattern except for a small heart right where the charms are attached.

Definitely has one for the triton he ended Dark Puckered Hole with. The band is black twine, and it has two pearls on each side of a charm carved with the cleric’s symbol, an open seashell in the middle of it.

Finn’s darrings are spread around his body; several on his tail, a few around his wrists, and Gil & Edyn’s is around his neck, resting close to his heart. They cover a wide range of simple to more complex, and a lot of his incorporate minerals from the oversea as well, which no other triton has done.

Edyn Tidestrider

Edyn only has a few. She had more when she was younger [friendship tailets] but grew out of both them and the friendships.

She of course has one for Gillion and she’s added to it throughout the years. Its gems are amazonite, aquamarine, larimar, and pearls in a paralelling pattern, the pearls on either side of the darring’s charms. For Gillion’s, she carved charms of his egg, his sword, and what is the primordial symbol for “million”. Its band is made of dark and light blue thread braided with an alternating diamond and heart pattern. This band is the newest one of the few she’s made while improving her skill with braiding, and all the previous ones are still kept with her belongings, hidden away with the few special trinkets and such she brought from home with her.

She has one of sea glass, all pink, made for Pretzel. The band is a redish-pink and blue, braided with a heart pattern.

Since travelling to Allport, she’s turned Gil’s and Pretzel’s into hair darrings, now braided in close to the root and dangling from her hair, but any others have either stayed around her wrist or been put with the rest of her things as Gil’s and Pretzel’s are her most important ones.

Edyn’s darrings are fuller, with the band barely showing despite the effort she puts into braiding patterns.

Gillion Tidestrider

Gillion only had one for most of his life, but now has three.

As soon as he was brought to the palace and was given his armour, sword, and oath, he was bestowed a darring from the elders made with rounded black and white stone and a carved charm of the full moon with waves in front of it in the centre. It’s been wrapped around his coral since he received it, and the moon hangs on the front of his middle coral piece. The band is just plain brown cord.

When he was older, he made one with Edyn, and it was his first tailet. It has two cat’s eye stones, pink and purple, and a star charm between them. The band is braided with turquoise and gold thread, and it has some streaks of white throughout it, loose threads Gillion pulled from Edyn’s dress as they were making it.

He made his third for Jay and Chip after the crew watched the jellyfish migration. It has two roughly carved feather charms dangling next to two stones. One is an ocean jasper, primarily brown with red spots and stripes in it, and the other is a lime green peridot with hints of yellow in it. The band is simply braided with light blue thread, and has red, dark blue, and cream coloured threads woven throughout, loose threads Gillion pulled from Chip & Jay’s clothes.

Gillion’s, aside from his moon darring, are both fairly simple opposed to Edyn & Finn’s, as he didn’t grow up making them. The bands he made look a little scrappy from the threads he added, since he wanted more colour and to make them more special but there wasn’t enough for full braiding. It’s basically his form of patterning since he doesn’t have the skill for actual patterns.

[demodraws0606]

People complaining about Tsukasa5 already are pissing me off, because like, it's so unbelievably obvious what this event is trying to do and the fact that people are so hung up on "urgh dur tsukasa strong why can't he do a wall climb".

Like, first of all, a lot of Tsukasa's strength has been used as comedy before and also it's never been said that Tsukasa could specifically do a wall climb before so people calling this a retcon or a stretch is really dumb to me.

Sure we can make jokes about it, but this is not like a serious writing problem or anything.

Also are we just gonna ignore the fact this event is literally just a reference to his 3rd event in a silly trenchcoat. Or the fact that this is obviously meant to be WxS's downtime and training arc to prepare them to face the loose plotpoints in the future?

His inner dialogue when chasing the ninja is very clearly a reference to the whole Pheonix thing, how he can't reach it no matter how hard he tries.

The wall climb is like an extremely fucking on the nose metaphor to him climbing over his issues as an actor.

THERE IS ALSO THE WHOLE THING THAT HINTS THAT TSUKASA CAN ONLY OVERCOME HIS PROBLEMS IF HE HAS HELP FROM OTHERS (AKA tsukasa would've literally BEEN INJURED, if it wasn't for the fact the troupe's leader was there).

In fact this literally followed an event aka Tsukasa 4 where he FAILED to do his role correctly.

It's almost like this event is meant to be a transition point between Tsukasa 4 and 6, where Tsukasa builds up the knwoledge on how to face his problems.

But no this is just mid event because it's very silly and "wow plot is stupid why can't tsukasa wall climb".

WxS fans are slowly just turning into VBS fans in terms of how whiney they're being i swear

[twojamie-o-clock]

I literally said I should delete all social media for a month because it’s ruining my art HOWEVER. consider polly and two, if you will, and how they are always there for each other even when they’re not.

almost immediately after two regenerates, polly accepts him. she’s confused and lost and probably more than a little upset and thrown into a Dalek story which he does little to be clear about, and she accepts him. she entertains his passing interests and urges throughout the story, and she constantly points out to Ben how this must be the Doctor, if only because he’s taken the place of the last one. this new doctor who is wild and intense and tactile and also even more mysterious and confusing than the past one. this doctor who doesn’t even seem to know who he himself is yet. Polly comforts and helps even when she doesn’t really know what has happened; she sees what’s in front of her and works with it.

It’s not seamless, but they get each other. not all the time. but they are there - polly is there, in the most vulnerable moment - when there were not many others to be there for one another. and of course it’s not perfect, but they do click, they do turn to each other, they do work together in ways that ben and jamie learn to (that the s4 team splits into pretty much every pair for various reasons is what makes it so interesting. like Polly and Ben and Jamie and the Doctor have their own relationships and being so so deeply intertwined to the point of like. love parallels if you want. and then ben and jamie serve as the male companions together who tend to get beat up, who don’t always agree but always have each other’s backs, who remind each other where they are, while two and polly are generally more ,,,,, well this is me gender projecting onto two because I want her gender, but they do click like that. and then Polly is Jamie’s reference for his first few adventures in the tardis. meanwhile Ben and the Doctor uh. I’ll think about them more later.) and while of course Jamie does end up being the doctor’s go-to for physical affection, you still see a greater deal of it with Polly and the Doctor that’s not quite present in non-granddaughter figures before. I feel like they care about each other in a “I’ve seen you at your lowest and I don’t really know much else about you but I’ll be here, if you need it,” way which never goes insanely deep because (as I’ve kind of already yapped about on the trans fic but) they also rely on words alongside their brief affection in a way that two and jamie don’t.

anyway. they grow with and on each other. and then you cut to the faceless ones………..while Polly and Ben obviously have been wanting to go home, they aren’t expecting/in control of it when it happens. so they’ll leave, yes, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t leave them with a bitter taste……a hasty goodbye, not enough thought, not enough words. [60s who departure voice] quick. two seconds before the doctor’s urge to adventure takes hold. you have two seconds to summarize what the past year(?) of your life has meant to you…..

….and afterwards, well, how does Polly sit with that? She wants to travel. She wants to keep moving, keep going, never stop. But she also cannot bear thinking of the doctor and everything she was, in a way, forced to leave behind when the choice was brought in front of her so abruptly. she wants to push away her own rejection of that life (and, by association, Ben, if you’re a “do you dream in color” fan……again why that story’s characterizations are golden. ben is everything the tardis was, of course she cannot stay with him. of course she cannot give him up.) but she couldn’t betray herself by ignoring all of it, so she travels. and that really does feel like her carrying two with her in the only ways she can. and the Doctor, well, he carries on living even more true to himself across s5-6, taking more and more bold, interfering steps as he actively chooses to intervene and rescue those in a way the first doctor did not. as he rebels even further from gallifrey and the time lords, as he accepts parts of him he might never understands just as Polly did.

they’re not always together, and they don’t always get it. but they hold onto each other, in their worst of times, or in the best, just that little bit, because they were there for each other, and they’ll always be.

[itspileofgoodthings]

I am legitimately so proud of all I have done in teaching this week.

[bitchfitch]

A thing that's been happening in the back ground over the last few weeks is that I've been working on making Vermin's Angel a real thing. Mostly because I wanted to experiment with writing in the actual novel format instead of the post™ format I usually do for my personal projects.

So, here's the first chapter but long. It's not properly edited, but it's good enough to be worth posting for posterity.

Vermin's Angel, CH 1

Lino had long since learned that the best scores were the ones you didn't have to work for. Younger scavengers than him could do the heavy lifting of digging up ley lines and checking the voltage moving through them to locate yet unfound bunkers. He would simply wait for them to take their first burden and then pick through everything that was left. It was a system that had served him well in the decade and a half it'd taken to develop it, but on the odd occasion it still managed to fail him.

He'd been tailing a newer scavenger, a teenager by the name of Cordero, for a full week now. It wasn't hard, they'd torn a path through the brush as clumsily as he had at that same age, but there was no sign of them when Lino arrived at the ring.

Bunkers were living things that ate the world around them. They were largely self sufficient and isolated from the outside world, but they still needed raw material to push through their converters for repairs. Over the years this lead to them creating ring shaped valley's that perfectly circled the entrance crown.

This one was massive. It was wide and deep enough that if it wasn't devoid of plant life even Lino would've thought it was natural. Maybe that's what got Cordero off course, they'd come to this place and trudged on thinking they'd not found it yet.

Lino would have to track them down once he had the in established. They were a good kid and after all the sweat they put into this, least he could do was make sure they made it back to the Sun in one piece.

He dropped his bag off at the edge of the center dome, grabbed his spade, and got to the work he had hoped would already be done for him.

Overriding a bunker's locks was one of those skills Lino wished he'd never had to learn. Not because it was particularly difficult, but because it was always a tedious, messy, job. He was on his belly in his freshly dug fox hole down deeper than he was tall with a high voltage ley line a hands width from his face and the multi ton mechanism of a prewar machine hidden all around him by wet dirt. His clothes had long since gotten soaked from the ground water seeping in from all sides, his nose itched, his fingers were starting to go numb from the position he had had to keep his arms crammed into to steady his hands enough for the work.

Lino's probe had already found the right spot within the wires, so all he had to do was keep it where it needed to be and scroll through the loaded memory cards as each exhausted it's list of known override injections. The breakin box in his hand clicked as it signalled each failed attempt to force code through the glass cables, before finally the world around him began to shake.

He clambered out of the hole with as little grace and as much speed was needed to avoid finding out which door opening procedure this bunker used the same way he'd witnessed other scavengers do it; by getting caught by the machine and reduced to mulched fertilizer for the plants.

The stretch of ground before him ruptured as the bulkhead tore up through the earth. The hole he had previously occupied collapsing as it's anchor legs churned through the dirt like a blender. The mechanisms that drove it growling as it crushed everything that had settled into it in the years since it was either abandoned or made a mausoleum.

When the doors finally opened to grant him access into the elevator he was met with the large 'W' insignia of Wirnhir Corporation . It was all over the countless bunkers they built. Maybe as a reminder for those who commissioned the structures creation that it was the Wirnhirs who granted them safety in the last moments of the old world, maybe it was meant as a distraction from who it was that built the bombs they were now sheltering from.

He got his gear bag over his shoulder and his gas mask over his face before stepping in and tapping the single button on the smooth brass colored walls. WC bunkers were the expensive ones. In Lino's years of scavenging, they always turned up full of pre-war art and luxury items that were too pricy to waste the resources on making these days. But his specialty, the endless list of machines that kept these bunkers running were always hidden away behind panels and made near impossible to break down quickly. It usually made every WC he found a gamble, but with Codero in the area they'd probably manage to make out with better hauls than either would've gotten on their own.

He was older for a scavenger, almost thirty-five and still paying his dues by raiding tombs. Maybe this was fate's way of finally giving him an out from this life. Cordero clearly needed help learning the little details of this work, and he needed someone with less worn out joints to do the hard work... If the kid was interested, becoming a mentor didn't leave too bad of a taste in Lino's mouth.

The elevator opened up to the main hall, the lights hidden by the crown molding flicked on in a gentle wave along its length as the motion detectors picked up on him entering.

WC bunkers had an uncanniness to them. Marble floors, faux dark wood accents, and pre-war furniture. Cleaner robots still whirring away even after all their masters were long dead made it look like time had simply stopped when the doors shut.

When he had nightmares, they always happened in these. Other bunker classes still looked like places humans had once lived. Messy and altered by hands long gone, no two ever looking alike. Decayed and broken but they felt safer for it. They were never hiding anything.

There were only about a half dozen floor plans for WC bunkers, and he already knew from the shape of the foyer that he was dealing with the largest of them today. Most of them had names inscribed by their elevators, but Lino couldn't read the loopy script it was always written in. He knew from the scavengers that could that these behemoths usually had "Castillo" or "Manor" or "Fort" in their names. Something that made them sound old and formal even when they were new.

He turned from the main hall to enter the family room where the central control panel and systems map would be only to stop in his tracks at the sight of the silent crowd that awaited him.

Mannequins. What had to be at least a hundred mannequins stood in clusters through the room. Each wore gorgeous pre-war ensembles. Each was positioned as though it were involved in a conversation with others.

It was bizarre, had the cleaners just mistaken these forms for actual people? The paths between them were clean, as were the narrow spaces between their stands. Lino wondered if the last person to have lived here had simply grown lonely.

He could imagine it easily, trapped in this unchanging place as the world above recovered from bombs and man made eruptions. He wondered which empty spot was theirs. Had they still been at this gathering when death finally took them? Were they here amongst their fabricated friends when the cleaners came to break down their body to carry it in pieces to the incinerator like any other piece of filth?

The clothes the mannequins wore were finely tailored. not a seam or stich or wrinkle in the cloth out of place. Like they were made for the mannequins instead of just being something the mannequins were being allowed to wear. The fabric was strange too. It was immaculate. The weave hadn't begun to come loose, and the fibers weren't rotting or crumbling. Lino didn't dare touch them with his muddy hands, but many looked to be made with silk or soft wool instead of the cotton and meat breed wool they had to use.

They looked like not a single day had passed between their creation and him finding them.

It was a shame really that their only value was in the fabric they were made of. No one looked like that anymore.

A head, thin neck, a chest with smooth ribs and two arms to a pelvis with two legs. The people in the Core called it the Classic Look. Most of the radiation shielding Lino had sold in his life had gone to lining the homes of people who wanted nothing more than for their children to be born Classic. He wasn't even sure it ever did anything.

Lino had been born out in the Corona like most other scavengers, no shielding, no special non-irradiated water, and he was the most Classic looking person most had ever seen. Still, the vast majority of these garments wouldn't fit even him.

The majority, but not all. As he walked between the party goers he found one single dress that looked like it might be close enough.

It was a dull grey that sparkled silver when the light caught just right, with a halter neck that buttoned shut and no back. Most of the clothes Lino had been able to justify keeping from these bunkers looked like the dress, halter tops and short skirts went a long way in making his extra arms and minute stature look natural, but none were in half as good condition as this.

He crossed his arms over his chest, his other set folding to wrap over his shoulders like a cloak. He hadn't even gotten that deep into this place before he found these. Between the fabric of all the other clothes and whatever else he could fit in his bags, he'd have enough to cover his dues to the end of the season at least. Maybe longer if he could sell a few of the more tailored ones as art pieces instead of scrap fabric. He could get even more if he could shake the trailers on a few return trips. As soon as word spread that he'd found this place there'd be a race from the scavengers who hadn't gotten so lucky recently to find the route to it.

One dress wouldn't make that much of a difference, he argued with himself. It would fold up in his personal supply bag to fill the space his rations had instead of taking up room in his haulers... He could always sell it later if he had to- But if he sold it now before the market was flooded by everything else in this bunker it would be worth more

Lino sighed in frustration at himself and got to work stripping out of his muddy clothes. He had to make this decision now or it would nag at him for the entire four day walk back home.

He dropped his gear bag and wiped as much of his top half clean as he could with the inside of his shirt. He was careful to not disturb the O2 canister that hung off his belt until he noticed the small panel of status lights were telling him the pump wasn't pulling from the canister at all. It wasn't even directing his air supply through the filter, just feeding him the same ambient air he would be breathing if he wasn't wearing his gas mask at all.

Bunkers were massive metal beasts, their superstructures rusting ate up all the oxygen almost as soon as the computers detected there were no more living things in their bellies to make air for. For it to be breathable down here meant the O2 makers must be something immense.

He made a note to himself to Maybe tell one of the quarter overseers about it. The Inner Core's O2 maker was constantly on the fritz and there might be a payday and a promotion for Lino if he got to be the one to lead the mission back here to carve the multi-ton lung out to haul home.

He dropped his mask off beside his gear bag, before dropping his pants and stepping out of his boots and wet socks. It was far from the first time he'd been naked in a bunker. The Sun didn't usually waste electricity on heating bath water, so hot showers were a luxury reserved for the scavengers when they found bunkers that had all the systems in place to grant them that opportunity. Still, the army of mannequins around him had his nerves on edge enough to make him rush getting the dress on.

It was irritating how well it fit. The silk lining slid over his work roughened skin, the bodice which was cut for a large chested Classic woman fit his broad ribcage and the layer of heavy muscle it took to support his extra arms like it was made to do so. The high low skirt hid how short he was by looking intentionally cut. The front hung a hands width off the ground the back dragged like the fancy trains he'd seen in countless pre-war pieces of entertainment. He'd need to take in a few inches at the waistband, and find a way to make it sit higher up so it was actually around his waist instead of his hips, but otherwise it felt perfect.

The skirt alone had a day or two worth of dues in it at least.

He stepped away from the mannequins to the floor to ceiling mirrors the WC bunkers always had as some attempt to alleviate the claustrophobia of being underground, and his chest tightened.

He looked gorgeous in the dress. His dusty albino white skin and hair and the grey of the dress made him look like the pre-war stone statues that decorated many of the bunkers. The collar had been cut just right to look like it was made to accommodate his mutated arms, the small peak at the nape of his neck fell perfectly between his extra shoulder blades. Like his disfigurements were something to be tailored for instead of something he should have allowed to be tailored off of him years ago.

He spun to make the skirts flare up around him, his bare feet padding on the marble floor until he came to a jerking halt.

He wasn't alone anymore. Another person, badly mutated, stood at the entrance. They crawled on their hands, six by the look of it, and dragged their legs behind them as they took tilting steps into the room. Their mouth looked like a gash in their throat, their lower jaw hung open as they swallowed their breaths like an animal scenting the air.

Lino didn't recognize them, they weren't another scavenger and they certainly weren't Cordero. Had they been down here already? They wore clothes tailored to them, not as extravagant as anything the mannequins wore, but still undeniably pre-war in their design and lux in the sheer amount of fabric it would have taken to make something for the behemoth.

A dweller. Someone who had returned to the bunkers long after they initially emptied. They were rare, usually outcast or banished for violent crimes against the surface communities. That was the only explanation for their presence that Lino could think of.

"I heard you," they had a deep, muffled voice, like it came from far lower in their throat than it should. "Vermin, I heard you. Where are you, you pest?"

They're blind. A mercy, Lino thinks. He's never encountered a dweller in person, but he didn't need all the stories of the claustrophobia driving good people insane to know he didn't want to meet this one.

He steps along the wall, careful to keep silent as the dweller moved through the room towards his discarded gear. He wouldn't be able to leave without it- He hadn't even brought rations for the return trip. Lino always betted on his ability to get the replicators in these places functional again to save on bag weight.

The dweller stops at his pile of muddy clothes. Pawing at it like an animal as they inhale the unfamiliar smell. They freeze, then raise their head slowly their beastly lips twisted in a snarl.

"Another of you!?" they whipped their head around gasping down breaths as they tried to locate him by smell alone.

He needs to get his gear bag, he can make this work if he can just get his bag.

They take a step towards him, Lino takes another to the side, his fear making him move too fast. The tiny sound of his foot fall was enough to have the dweller launching at him, a horrific growl cutting the air, Lino ran for his bag. The mirror shattered behind him as they collided with the spot Lino had just been.

His heart pounded, he grabbed the strap of his bag, not stopping to attempt to recover his mask too, only for its tubing to snag and send the tank clattering across the floor. The sound buys him an extra few strides in his bolt for the elevator, but the dweller is shockingly fast for their size.

Their mutated hands pound the floor behind him, before they lunge. Their fist catching the hem of his skirt.

The breath slams out of him as he collides with the floor his shoulder screaming from striking the stone before the skin is scraped from his arm by the dweller yanking him towards them. He kicks, his heel colliding with their soft throat, their hand grabs his leg hard enough to make his bones grate. All he can do is attempt to kick again, bracing on the cold floor to drive his other heel into their jaw over and over until they snap. Their ugly maw opening before Lino's world evaporates into blind pain.

The dweller's teeth lock into his flesh, their mighty jaw breaking the bones in his lower leg before they jerk their head, upsetting his balance and cracking his skull against the stone.

The vermin's blood welled in his mouth. It's putrid taste stained his tongue even as he spat it out. Disgusting, Vile thing. Vincent growled low in his chest as he dragged it closer. The ugly creature was in one of his dresses, he could tell from the feeling of the fabric under his hands. It was the grey one with the silver threads he'd sewn into the weave one by one to make sure it glittered just right.

Filthy awful thing. How had it even gotten in here? His home was supposed to be secure against the monsters that defiled the surface with their presence. He'd set the locks to re-engage and to bury his home once more as soon as the first rodent escaped him. What exploit were they using to enter and how does he block it off forever?

He pet his hands up it's front, searching for it's neck so that he may ring it and rescue his work from further damage only to come to a stop over it's narrow ribs. It breathed quiet, even breaths. Its ribs are as smooth under his hands as it's emaciated little hips had been. Its belly is taught, but not deformed, it's chest full and symmetrical, he drags his hands down it's arms and finds them thin but proportional to the rest of it, it's hands are tiny in his, each with five delicate fingers, none with webbing between them.

He knew from the way that the other vermin had ran that it was just as fowled by sin as he was, but this one- There had to be something wrong. Something that he had just not found yet.

He'd already felt it's heels, he knew the shape of its leg from where he'd marred it- He scrambled to find it's neck, this time searching for what was wrong with it- there had to be something wrong with it. Its neck was thin like the rest of it, too small to fill the collar of his dress but so normal under his hands that it made his heart twist. It's jaw was soft and round, its cheeks devoid of the fat he could tell should be there. Two eyes with soft lashes, a straight nose, thin lips. Its- His, his hair was silk under Vincent's fingers. Dirty and greasy, but soft despite the wretched state he was in.

What has he done?

This was no vermin, but a person he'd attacked out of blind hate for the beasts. He gathers him into his arm already planning to make a run for the medical supplies so he may staunch the bleeding, only to be stopped dumb as he finally finds the oddities he'd been searching for. Two perfect wings, the feathers move like scaled armor under his touch.

An Angel, the answer to his prayers after so many years.

Oh, what has he done?

[gallawitchxx]

day thirty-one • @gallavichthings kinktober 2024

↳ 31 days of kinks & cards in 3 sentences

WAX PLAY x THREE OF WANDS

By the end of the night, you’re dripping with come and covered in the tri-colored candle Ian insisted on buying at the new sex shop down the block. You’ve survived hours of sensory overload like you’ve never before experienced: the hot sting of the wax, the cool caress of breath blowing it dry, the ache in your balls, the pulse of your prostate, the fullness of Ian’s cock buried so deep your belly bulges, the warm splatter of spunk—yours, a relief, a reward; his, a benefit, a brand. Later, you’ll breathe and bathe, cleaning yourself of all but your filthy memories, but now, you blink and beam, soaking up what you can of Ian’s attention, his praise, and his unconditional, unrelenting love.

[onlygenxhere]

Wip game

Rules: you will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word.

I was tagged by @floating-in-the-blue Thanks my friend!

My word is: HEART

All words are from the beginning of the tentatively titled Fake Boyfriend Agency – Juke addition. Inspired by @floating-in-the-blue /Yeoyou’s fic Call for a Date (don’t fall in love)

How may I help you?

“Exactly.”

“And it’s semi formal, if that makes a difference who’s available.”

“Reggie is out of town visiting his grandparents and Alex has a date. I’ll ask Bobby if he wants to go but it’ll probably be me.”

That was fine with her. It was a good thing she loved her cousin, because she wouldn’t give up a Saturday night she could be playing an open mic for just anyone.

No pressure tagging @legolasghosty, @invisibleraven, @thephantomchronicles, and @sovvannight

Your word is: FORGOT

[pastafossa]

Pasta.....i was reading the angst arc where matt finds out about los angeles....at work.....girl i was fighting TEARS when he was setting up the lights for her. Putting the flashlight in her hand over and over 🥲😭😭😭

That was, at the time, one of the saddest things I felt I'd written and I may have gotten a little choked up writing it. 😭 Just Matt, treating her like she's awake, like she's there, her limp, frozen fingers nonreactive, but it's fine, it's fine, it's not that she can't hold the light, she just dropped it is all, he can just put it back into her hands, prove to her that he's here, and he brought light, made up for their fight, see, sweetheart? I'm here now. I came, and I brought light. It's alright. You can come back to me now.

...Please.

Please come back to me, sweetheart.

[crossbackpoke-check]

philadelphia where love goes to…..be reborn?? crazy stuff happening here!!

i-

yeah you know what, that narrative makes sense, continue 🤝 philly

[mantisgodsdomain]

Anyways, to those who have been wondering what we've been doing during our impromptu Tumblr Vacation or whatever we're calling it, we've been trying to find a playthrough of Baldur's Gate 3 that is made by someone who doesn't annoy the shit out of us, and also tormenting Karlach Cliffgate (as you do)

[of-wine-and-blood]

a lot has changed since lest had last seen mel medarda but as the vastaya walked inside the room, her digitigrade feet softly clicking on the floor, things felt more or less familiar to her. except mel herself, which mattered the most, she supposed. another reason why the other woman was leaving soon, and lest was grateful that she decided to call her here—though if not, the vastaya would turn up at the port tomorrow, nevertheless. because mel didn't deserve to hurt alone. with the kind of pain that lest ( despite being a healer ) couldn't help her with. still, there was something she could do. ❝i know you're hurting. and i can't fix that. but i can refuse to let you hurt alone.❞

her eyes scanned the room as she walked to her seat, the scent of wine in mel's hand filling up her nostrils. noxian port? mel must really be trying hard to reconnect with her roots if she was drinking that… when @ascensionism began to speak, lest didn't interrupt her, not even when her words trailed off or her voice became slightly slurred. she listened intently, the tip of her tail twitching slightly. she was good at listening. a longer pause came and lest finally opened her mouth, her slender hand reaching for mel's one but at the same time mel's hands already came up to her face. lest retracted her own, pretending to puff her coat instead. ❝you called,❞ she simply replied. ❝and i'm glad i can be of help, however small that help might be.❞

upon mel's last words, lest blinked—once, twice—as if she couldn't believe them. ❝is that... is that an offer to travel to noxus with you?❞ her tone was hesitant. lest was good at observation but maybe she read the interaction wrong. not like she had anything much holding her down in piltover. and she wanted to help mel. but that wasn't the problem. ❝am i the right person for it? i mean... will i be of use to you there?❞ a pragmatic question but she didn't really want to dive into the emotional aspect of that matter.

[diamondstolen]

tag drop

[rozyrne]

　✱ .　𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧　/　drabble

after the jana danced, there usually wasn't much left over.

in the stories that would get told by the elders while the spinning wheels spun, the jana danced for all kinds of reasons. celebration, tragedy, vengeance, love——it wasn't anything ritual, and wasn't any sort of big deal either. at least, not to jana who were dancing themselves.

when the jana danced, the rest of the world buckled and heaved, as the lifeblood that ran through all the ground would slosh and churn. quiet shores would turn violent, and the richest rapids would dry up. whole village wells would be caved in, buried with dirt so packed that there was no hope of rescue ; towns would be swallowed by the sea overnight ; and whole maps would have to be redrawn as floods toppled forests, carved new mountains, and buried plains under a new lakebed. as little kids, they'd giggle and clap at the stories because, obviously, all that was being done out there and felt magical. nobody thought twice about it.

naturally, when the first people of the village were blessed by the jana's protection and changed by them, they learned their dances too. rivers overflowed their banks, and streams turned to deep gorge valleys.

eventually, after the people of the village danced, there wasn't much left over either. but because they didn't have the jana's powers, honey became their water, and milk their frothing foam. it flowed freely in the streets, braiding its own creeks and tributaries in heady sweetness that drugged the senses, never running out, always overturning——with the barrels, with the troughs ; and the villagers' flowing hair tossed like the manes of wild horses, crashing wavetips onto the cliffs ; and the drums and the cackle of castanets beating their hearts into a storm. tempest, higher, higher——gold, and white, and the red, red wine.

most of the time, they'd come down off the frenzy by morning, sipping dewdrops from the first dawn off the leaves as they counted the casualties of any animal unfortunate enough to get in the way and talked about release. it was out of them for now, a surfeiting satisfied. sometimes, it builds up and up and up in the body, in the soul, and there's no other way for it to go but out. sallu, they called it, which meant ' health ' or could also be ' spirit ' or ' energy ' but which had no matching word in the language spoken outside of the village.

sallu, as in——look at him today, he's full of sallu, when someone was going crazy, weaving ten whole baskets in a day ;

sallu, as in——when someone from outside finds the village in the mountains, professing their love, and when they don't take ' no ' well because their costs are too sunk to give up, so if they can't get what they want, then they'll take and take and an indescribable feeling builds up and the people watching it happen can't be said to be their normal selves anymore ; sallu——

as in when you hear that your best friend, the one who matters more than anything, is the princess of the nation and is being called away to war, and her life, your life, here is over.

sallu.

he's tried explaining it once, maybe twice since leaving the village. but like most things about how he is and what he knows, it was met with strange looks and cold, uncomfortable silences. the nicer people just didn't say anything and put a distance between them. others felt the need to speak their minds. "that's messed up.", "i don't think i can get it."

it's what i know. it's just my culture. but there's no beauty in their understanding ; it's full of claws and sharp stones. "that's not an excuse to go out of control, and hurt other things or people."

they tell him, not out loud but in the silent way that impression works itself under the skin over time, to unlearn. but already it's something dying ; already it's something colonized by the way people believe ; and by those invisible hands, it's taken apart and buried, a bloodless violence that begins with the lack of a word for it, with not being understood when he speaks. it doesn't belong here like it does in the mountains of elusia's far, far north, where the snow and the melt smell different. sallu. a feeling that doesn't exist. a collective emotion, intensely contagious, owned by everyone and known by everyone in a society where every experience is shared.

already, he knows that he feels it less these days, like everything else about the village that's gone out of touch. is this what it means to forget who you were, bit by bit?

and if so, does that mean he's more likeable by everyone else, bit by bit?

trading one dance for something else. just like the jana did a long time ago, too, to survive——trading the self for something more human.

rosado masters dancer.

[altarfates]

everytime chi and I are mentioned together I get like another ten years added to my lifespan.