#< hey guess what happened

[wuwubean]

oh btw how are we doing silksong fans? great day to be a silksong fan, am i right? i mean look at the subreddit! we’re all completely normal! everything is a-okay over here! /s

edit:

crisis averted, i guess.

[sea-buns]

i feel insane

[egophiliac]

now that I can think semi-coherently again...whooooo's ready for Friday WEEHOO

[landoffreaksandfrogs]

you want me to what

[mardyart]

single father of two

[silkysong]

i think my cat is sick

[your-reference-here]

[Inspired by this art from @sangoundercover]

The first, early gray light of the coming sunrise spreads lazily across patchwork clouds. The streets of Rexxentrum below are dark, but a single burning candle in a cracked window offers a spot of color and warmth. Within the guest room where it sits, it offers its light to a peaceful scene of afterglow.

Laudna rests with her head and back against the pillows of the bed—leftover supports from before—with her eyes closed. Meanwhile, Imogen lounges on her side next to her, head cupped in her left hand while her right traces thoughtless patterns across Laudna's stomach and chest, eyes admiring the new purple light emanating from beneath her skin. There is a soft smile on both of their faces as they enjoy the companionable silence.

As Imogen's fingers trace up between Laudna's breasts, following the line of her new scar, she stops. There is a slight rise in the skin from another scar that she had entirely forgotten about for the past few hours.

"Oh."

Imogen's eyes and fingertips travel along the path of the once jagged scar with a muscle memory gained from other nights like this. She remembers the rough texture, the flashes of memory it would inflict, and the pang of guilt she'd have to push away and hide. The first time it hadn't worked; Laudna saw it. Imogen had taught herself to be better about it afterward at the risk of ruining the moment again.

That pang of guilt doesn't come now. The texture has changed. It's smoother now, with only the barest hints of roughness at its edges. A wound healed, still leaving a scar, but better this time. Imogen marvels at the weight of the metaphor behind the revelation.

"Everything alright?"

Imogen looks up to meet Laudna's curious eyes staring at her. She gives her a soft smile as she continues to draw her pointer finger down the line.

"Yeah...just admirin' your scar. It's beautiful."

Laudna looks down at it. "You think so?"

"I do," Imogen replies, reaching up to brush away some stray hair obstructing Laudna's view.

Laudna considers the scar for a moment, and then smiles contently. "I think I do too."

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

👻❄️ &🔥🐉

[seagreenstardust]

Izuku “so polite I can’t even imagine calling friends by their first names even if they ask me to but I will stubbornly use Kacchan for my enemy turned rival turned friend turned ??!? until my very last dying breath” Midoriya

[bandizoi]

Dune is now an AKC champion!

[sarcophagid]

melly world

[actual-changeling]

the true weight of aziraphale's words only hits him days later, when the shock has worn off and the world no longer looks vivid-sharp and fragmented. 

just like the old times, only even nicer, and back in the bookshop, hearing him say it for the first time, the heaven underneath it all had ripped him open. now, though, with heavy limbs and their respective speeches burned into his brain, syllable after syllable, it's the second part that re-opens those very same wounds.

was this not nice? he wants to ask him, the walls, fucking god herself—or scream, rather, he has grown rather fond of screaming—because he thought it had been, their life on earth. nice and soft and messy, full of arguments, yes, but also nights of laughter and shared heat. graveyard walks and afternoons in the park, eating at the ritz, feeding the ducks, basking in everything alive so they could feel alive, too.

crowley would have given him almost everything, followed him almost everywhere except the one place aziraphale wanted him to return to. after six thousand years, he had finally found the only thing crowley refused to give up—his freedom.

inch by inch, he had clawed his way out of hell and through more pain than he will ever be able to name, and the scars, the burn marks, the fresh air in his lungs are worth it, always have been and always will be. no longer an angel, never again, but not a demon either; he's been on his own side since the beginning.

crowley has thought of his existence as a shared one—theirs—but maybe, with his eyes opened and the truth bitter in his tongue, maybe they'd led two lives after all. one full of magic and fairy tales for aziraphale in which polishing away every spot and destroying every flaw would eventually create a perfect 'us'. he wanted to take him right back to the start, when mistakes didn't exist, when crowley didn't exist.

yet crowley, despite what he regularly told his plants, the mirror, himself, had never been chasing after something they did not have. love is just as flawed and messy as life, and he basks in traffic jams and cloudy days, in existing as his own person without any affiliation, occult, ethereal, or otherwise.

he had never wanted them to be perfect, just undeniably real. in the end, even that was too much to foolishly hope for, a lesson once learned branded into his skin anew:

ask and you shall lose.

[aurorangen]

Next minute you know, there was a giant centipede on his arm but he was too busy acting cool to notice it 🫣

Aaaand some extras!!!

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I feel deeply for Brennan throughout Neverafter because I know the pain of creating a cool magical plot artefact for the players and then having them experiment with it in ways you weren't expecting and having to deconstruct your own game's world logic to figure out what the fuck happens as a result

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"I think this is the most inhuman; and human, that I've ever felt.." MUCH CAN HAPPEN IN A YEAR. IN FIVE YEARS. A DECADE. imagine how much can happen in a century. just ONE (1). How will you grow? what phases do you find? even in 5 years, you will find patterns.

[fintan-pyren]

For any elves confused about what just happened in the Forbidden Cities, it's kind of like if someone got past the Council's goblin bodyguards and managed to nick one of the Councillors with a goblin throwing star.