#12 word story

[euesworld]

"La, la, la, la.. I'm crazy!! Crazy for you.. I'm crazy and I'd kiss you too!!"

I la-la-la-lava you!!! - eUë

[feelo-fick]

i thought the reason was obvious..??

but you dont seem to get the implication so i guess ill just keep talking and you can listen if you want to

—

that one meme but its them :] sort of a sequel to this

[flowerytale]

Jeanette Winterson, from "Dark Christmas", Christmas Days: 12 Stories and 12 Feasts for 12 Days

[poisonousquinzel]

Injustice: Year Zero #8

"You will wake up tomorrow because I allowed it. And because she'd never forgive me if you didn't.

But you're not powerful.

You're a fucking joke."

[seaweedstarshine]

[just after having helped River make a getaway from a heist of an astatine lace shawl — the rarest substance in the universe — without her even needing to ask beyond a simple “hello sweetie” scrawl in the sky] [Eleventh Doctor] “I can see its worth — but Alice is right! What’s so special about a lace shawl?” [River] “Ah, well, lace, you see, is the traditional gift for a thirteenth wedding anniversary…” [Eleventh Doctor] “Wedding anniversary? Whose wedding anniversary?” [River] “Spoilers…!” *winks* [Thirteenth Doctor, reminiscing] “I love River.”

HAPPY THIRTEENTH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY TO THE DOCTOR AND RIVER SONG!

Sources: Diary of River Song: The Furies, Diary of River Song: The Lady in the Lake, The Day of the Moon, Doctor Who Magazine Special Edition #33, The Wedding of River Song, The Big Bang, The Angels Take Manhattan, The Many Lives of Doctor Who: Without a Paddle, The Time of the Doctor, Forest of the Dead, Let's Kill Hitler, Diary of River Song: The Wife of River Song, Eleventh Doctor Year Two: Physician Heal Thyself, A Good Man Goes to War, Eleventh Doctor Chronicles: Broken Hearts, The Husbands of River Song, Doctor Who Confidential: When Time Froze

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT,

Forgive me if this is a stupid question, but I absolutely love the recs you've given (you've introduced me to tomione, and I love it!) and I was wondering if it's possible to give you some recs in return? There are some books and fics that definitely have dramione / got vibes, and I was wondering if I could share them with you!

So glad you've enjoyed them! Feel free to rec me anything you want. I've read most of the classic recs in terms of fic and adjacent content (Cruel Prince et al), but I'll try anything that's well-written. My tastes run towards weird and/or audaciously creative stuff, and I can forgive a lot of weaknesses in plot on the grounds of (1) ambition or (2) character work. My turnoffs are instalove, protagonists who can't fail, and most Y/A (I'm not a hater, I swear, I just need characters who can say "fuck" when their leg gets chopped off.)

I'm also a fan of weird and fucked-up dynamics.(Wuthering Heights was my favorite book for a while, and as a teenager I wrote an AU in which the book ends on a long sex scene where Heathcliff fucks Cathy's ghost and then immediately gets murdered by Catherine 2.) Obviously, I am very normal.

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

Aw, don't worry Peppino, we have no intention of hurting anyone!

[Gently and in a friendly pat on the shoulder]

Moreover, with our new abilities, we could help you with your work, if you need it of course :]

Peppino: "Oh no no, yeah, it's fine! There's a bunch of disembodied hands floating around and touching me, this is fine!"

Peppino: "Jeez! Is it hot in here, or is it just me!?"

Gustavo: (If I had a nickel every time this happened...)

Pep: "...Mrr...?"

Pep: "...!"

Pep: "Doog ton! Doog ton! Onippep rof hcum oot ekam! Revo- Revo ot yrt ton od esaelp- Sdneirf on on on!"

Peppino: "!?"

Gustavo: "... Thanks, Brick."

Pep: "..."

Gustavo: "-Alright, just breathe. It's okay, we got you."

Pep: "Um... Really sorry, Peppino and Gustavo..."

Peppino: "It's alright, Pep. It wasn't your fault."

Pep: "Is Peppino... Mad at friends...? Gustavo... Mad at friends...?"

Peppino: "No no, I'm not mad! It was-a just... A lot all at once..."

Gustavo: "They were just excited and wanted to help! I can't be mad at the enthusiasm!"

Pep: "... Okay..."

Peppino: "Look Pep, it's alright. We're all okay now. I don't-a mind if your friends want to help, we just might need to put some rules down to avoid anyone getting overwhelmed again."

Pep: "... Okay..."

Peppino: "We can talk to your friends. You can rest with Brick again, yeah?"

Pep: "... Yes."

(Do not worry, your hands are not gone forever! Just temporarily unsummoned by the master controls Pep somehow button mashed to.)

[skinreflectsthesun]

.

[anto-pops]

I’m gonna sound like a hater but someone in the Love and Deepspace writing office found out what the definition of mirth was and has been holding that word by the balls ever since

[chambers003]

mumbo enjoyers go watch cleo’s video NOW a 4th vampire comparison has hit the mcyt AND he’s LYING THROUGH HIS TEETH about the nature of his current skin

[blueskittlesart]

i am trying so so so hard to wait and watch nimona with my friends but i keep seeing gifs and. idk if i can willingly let myself cry that hard in front of other people

[lua-pele]

Your beauty lights up my night as your soft glow soothes my soul. Yet it cant fill the void, for i long for the sun that vanish at dusk.

"Full Moon"

[viiioca]

welcome - when was it lacking? when was it extended? which of those moments lingers most strongly in their mind?

The first night in your new home, you hide in the attic.

The manor's hallways yawn like a predator's mouth. You have walked them all your life at your mother's heels like a ghost-girl, but she's gone now and you have no skirts to hide behind. There are too many eyes and too few voices. Staff once your equal – girls the same age and same lowborn breeding as you – move around you like the shadows of hunting birds. No one smiles unless it's to pity you. You feel like a rabbit caught out of cover, trapped somewhere between the den and the dinner table.

The moment you are left alone, you flee.

You know your way around the manor's hollows, as intimate to you as the heart lines criss-crossing your palms. You wedge yourself into a crawlspace – nearly too small now for your growing bones – and emerge in a cramped storage room made warm by the bare stone of a chimney. You played here with dolls, once.  In the cold and the dust and the dim lantern-light, you finally feel like you can breathe. You want to sleep here on the hardwood. You want to stay here until the house forgets you exist within it like some transplanted organ awaiting rejection.

A bell or two passes before the short hatch of a door scrapes open. In comes the sound of breathing, the knocking of knees and elbows awkwardly clambering into your hiding spot. You watch a set of cramped limbs unfold into an elezen boy hauling an oil lamp in one hand and a bag much too big for him in another.

"There you are," Verain says. Verain who grew up in this world half-shared with you, three years your elder and still a fulm shorter, ever-waiting for his growth spurt; Verain who could not possibly be less like his mother, save for his black hair and quick tongue. He drops next to you like a sack of laundry, leg bumping leg. "You weren't at dinner."

"I wasn't hungry," you say. You do not say that your stomach has been full of stones since it happened. You do not say that everything tastes like smoke.

"Thought as much." He pulls a lumpy tea towel out of the bag and unrolls it atop your thigh, revealing a traveler's meal: flaky bread and butter and apple jam, a slim wedge of soft cheese, a fistful of proud red grapes. "It's not much, but. You know."

He waves his hand. You know.

"Oh, and the cook sent this too." He retrieves a glass bottle wrapped in another tea towel; you can feel its warmth. Mulled wine. They water it down in the kitchen for children, you know, because you are not old enough for the proper strength, but it's comfortable and familiar like a bedtime story. He pours some into a mug and offers it like a pilgrim leaves coins at a waypoint. 

"Thank you," you say, gingerly taking the mug. Heat passes through the tips of your fingers, into your palms, up your wrists. The first sip is tentative, spicy-sweet, unsure that your body will not reject it and you will retch his kindness all over the attic floor – but it makes it down your throat and doesn't come back up. 

Progress is progress. Calm is calm.

"I'm sorry," Verain says quietly, small hands on the cold skin of your knuckles. No shortage of people have said this to you – but this, your churning insides say, is real. You believe him. The corners of your mouth manage a smile, and he smiles at you in turn.

You drink your wine and sit quietly with your soon-to-be brother until the lanterns dim and you drift off to sleep next to him, slumping, head on his shoulder. 

There's not much else you could ask for, in the end.

[bridgeportbritt]

Creeksbrey Palace | Umbrage, SimDonia

Jennifer giggles: We're going to get caught!

Gianni laughs: Let them catch us.

Jennifer: Oh my, Watcher! Let's just go inside.

Gianni: Okay, okay. But before we do... there's something I wanted to say.

Jennifer: What?

Gianni: I just wanted to thank you for coming all this way and meeting my family. It means a lot.

Jennifer: Of course, G. Thanks for inviting me.

Gianni: And I wanted to say that I think you're amazing and beautiful and I just cherish you. You've made my life so much better since I've met you. Jennifer... I- I love you.

Jennifer surprised: Gianni! Oh my. I- I love you, too!

Gianni dips Jennifer for a deep passionate kiss!

Jennifer: Wow!

Gianni: Wow is right! We're - we're in love!

Jennifer: We are!

Gianni: Should we, you know, go inside?

Jennifer flirty: Yes, we should, my love.

Gianni: You lead the way, my love.

[foccaccia]

if you can read this, im not vagueposting abt you. but its real fuckin weird how some people think their pet photos are healing to other people. your kitty and your puppy are lovely but sending me pictures of them are not magically making me feel better and its actually kind of weird that you think it would

[thegirlwholovesliterature]

“Hurt? Hurt is just a passing bruise, a fleeting pain. What you left me feeling was a cataclysmic upheaval, I was debilitated and traumatised. I was not merely hurt; I was devastated, consumed by a catastrophic sorrow that shattered my very being. It was a symphony of chaos and calamity, a storm of ruin that left nothing but desolation in its wake.”

- Excerpt from a story I no longer share #2 // saying you ‘hurt’ me was redundant // krupapatelreads on Instagram.