#and i want to be a sack of bones with nothing to live for

[flowercitti]

Hi!! I loved your Tav/Astarion fic where they draw his face, it was so good and tender ; ; could i request something sweet where Astarion does something selfless for Tav? presumably after the graveyard scene in Act 3 where he's finally free to be himself! thank you!

Thank you sm im glad you enjoyed my other fic! 🌸🤍 And thank you sm for sending a request! Took me a little while to figure out what i wanted to do, but I hope this fits the theme!

Fluff/Angst/Gender-Neutral Tav

Astarion taking care of a sick Tav post-canon.

🌸

It has been a very long time since Astarion has cared for another living soul outside of his own.

What would he have done with compassion during those two centuries of torture? What good would it do him, to find himself caring, to find a morsel of kindness in his rotting soul? It would not have allowed him to escape Cazador, it would not have stopped the ache in his bones, the gnawing pain that ate away at his un-beating heart. Any softness inside of him quickly died with his screams of agony—or perhaps it had died the moment his heart stopped and his throat was ripped out, a corpse left to bleed out into the unforgiving dirt.

Astarion had woken up in his own grave, choking on congealed blood and forced to climb out through the dirt until his nails had fallen off. When he found Cazador there waiting for him, he knew that his life had ended a second time.

All he had was himself—trapped in his own body as he was, barely scraps of a person, skin and flesh that was named but left vacant.

He did not care for his supposed siblings. There was no point in feeling a thing for the poor, pitiful creatures that were just as trapped as he was. Unwilling perpetrators in his torture, but perpetrators nonetheless—sorry sacks of flesh that were just as fucked as he was. He thought—knew, for a long time, that none of them were going to make it out of this.

They were going to die here, enslaved and starving and empty, or tortured for the rest of eternity.

It was death that Astarion yearned for most after so long, when freedom seemed like the dreams of someone far younger and more naive than he was. It was barely a decade before he gave up, before he knew there was no point anymore. His body had been twisted, changed, and something wicked and burning pulsed through his veins—like the thick sludge of tar, like the foul stench of sewer water and waste.

Whoever Astarion was before—they were long gone now.

There was nothing left, no family, no friends, no lovers that lasted longer than a night. Perhaps he had a mother, perhaps not. He couldn’t remember after long enough, drowning in a cloud of pain, his mind swimming, thoughts and memories sliding out of his hands like water. Flashes of soft hands, of a motherly voice and the hum of a gentle melody to greet him at the deepest recesses of his mind. Maybe he had just come up with such a thing for comfort, he doesn’t know.

Days would pass in episodes of complete dissociation, his mind so utterly disconnected from his own body, eyes only catching flickers of lights and colors before he retreated again. His body would move and he would not know why, he would hear voices and he could never make them out, his mouth would move with noise that he could not hear.

Cazador hated it most—when Astarion was too gone to feel it.

“My sweet Astarion. Where have you gone, boy?”

Astarion was not sweet—his flesh felt putrid, like the peeling of rotten fruit, like he were flayed open and bare for picking. His mouth tasted like the blood of rodents and maggots, or the spit and release of another body he could not remember the face of. He felt like a retched thing, his blood poisonous and his mind infested, a disgusting thing that Cazador owned—a kept thing that did not remember what it felt like to be alive.

Other times, Astarion felt everything in bright, startling clarity. Every starburst of pain, every touch, every drop of his own blood spilling onto the floor. Cazador loved it when he screamed, when he was brought to pathetic tears, too broken to scramble for a semblance of dignity—but never so pitiful as to bother with begging. It would have done nothing, would have granted him no mercy, and would have only served to please Cazador’s sadistic whims. It was a lesson he had learned early, that he held no power, no control. What was done to his body was done, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Inescapable—pressing over his skin like a sticky film, keeping him trapped, keeping him present when all he wanted to do was slip away. It was a cycle, unending, and it went on for over two bloody centuries.

Any remnants left of Astarion’s heart had been carved out and eagerly feasted upon before his own eyes. He believed that he was never going to get it back, that he wouldn’t even want it, should it be offered. He had no use for it now, had no use for more weakness, more pain.

And then he finally tasted freedom again—and then there was Tav.

After two centuries of pure shit, of torture and existing as the barest sliver of a person, Astarion began to remember what it felt like to care.

It was fucking terrifying. It was exhilarating, gratifying, like waking anew. Astarion hasn’t even felt alive in the past two-hundred years, and now he feels like he’s been washed clean and left a different person. Hopefully for the better, this time around, and so much of it is due to Tav and their persistence. They helped him wipe Cazador’s sorry face off the planet, and stayed at his side every step away, patient and kind when Astarion didn’t deserve a bit of it.

He cares about them, even when he had thought he’d forgotten how to, and he can’t help but be grateful for even having the chance to try.

And right now—Tav is sick.

They’ve barely left their bed in two days now, curled under thick furs and shivering, little more than a head that peaks out from under their cocoon. They only leave to piss or puke their guts out, before crawling back under the comforters and passing out.

It isn’t fatal, and it will pass within the coming week, even with the discomfort and pain. Tav is resilient and tough, has been through far too much to be taken by simple illness. Astarion knows that they’ll make it out of this just fine, that they’ll be back on their feet soon. They don’t need a bedside nurse, and surely not in the form of Astarion of all people—but.

He’s cradling a bowl of soup in his hands. Its heat is stark against the natural frigidness of his skin, and the chicken broth makes his stomach turn, food that would expel itself immediately should Astarion venture for a taste. But the soup is for Tav, prepared to the best of Astarion’s ability, and surely edible. He hopes.

He places it on Tav’s bedside table, perching himself delicately on the edge of the bed.

“You haven’t eaten anything today, darling.” He says quietly, his hand brushing gently over Tav’s shivering shoulder. It’s nearly noon now, but the room is bathed in pitch black to protect Astarion from the sun’s rays. He misses the warmth of it, now that he is unable to traverse under its watchful eye—but he dispels the thoughts quickly lest it sour his mood.

Tav makes a small noise, turning over to face Astarion, blinking up at him blearily. Their eyes are glassy, their face tacky with sweat, lashes fluttering as they try focus.

“Huh?” They mumble dumbly, tongue thick in their mouth, a hitch catching in their throat that’s immediately followed by wracking coughs.

Astarion winces, placing a hand on their forehead and almost flinching away at the temperature, “You’re nearly scorching, dear.”

Tav blinks, their brows furrowing, “Thank you.”

Astarion resists the urge to allow his head to sink down into his hands.

He only huffs instead, “Come now, I need you sitting up for this. If you spill all this soup on yourself after I spent so much time preparing it, I’ll be very—upset with you.” The words are stilted, far softer than the terse tone he was going for. True, genuine threats used to slip off his tongue so easily, even in regards to Tav—if he was pissed off enough. Now, he just sounds like a doting hen—a loving husband, maybe.

But Tav looks nearly worried, though moving easily with Astarion’s urging hands, propped up against the headboard, cushioned with pillows.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Tav asks suddenly, their hand wrapping around one of Astarion’s wrists. They hold him there, a feverish looks in their eyes. “You—you haven’t fed in a while.” They pout, tugging at their shirt collar, as if they were preparing to bare their neck right then and there.

There’s something that twists behind Astarion’s ribs—tight and heart-shaped.

He pushes Tav’s shirt back up, lingering briefly over the warmth of their skin, “You’re sick, darling. I’m not feeding off of you when you’re like this. I shan’t starve without you, I promise.” He says lightly, taking the cooling bowl of soup in his hands, ignoring the violent churn of his gut. Tav looks nearly teary-eyed when he turns back to them, their lips twisted in discomfort, their gaze burning with fever. Astarion sighs quietly, taking the side of their face in one palm, silently delighted when they sink in to the gentle touch.

“Come now, don’t look so sad. How about this—I—I’ll feed you this time, hm?” His thumb traces over their cheekbone, “You needn’t be the one looking after me.”

Tav sniffles, “I like taking care of you.”

Astarion takes a measured breath, trying not to stare blankly at such a bold-faced admission. He thinks Tav may come closer to killing him than Cazador ever did.

“Yes, yes, I know dear. Now eat, and once you’re all better, you can be your perfect, doting self again.” He pulls his hand away reluctantly, but the warmth of Tav’s skin stays pressed into his palm.

But Tav seems to hum happily at the thought, gratefully accepting the spoonful of soup that Astarion brings to their lips. They make no obvious face of disgust, so Astarion decides that it truly is edible. That, or they’re too delirious from fever to even notice—but they eat the whole bowl regardless. They can barely keep their eyes open by the time its empty, their chest rising and dropping with slow, deep breaths.

“Lets lay you back down before you pass out. You’ll whine about the crick in your neck if you fall asleep like this.” Astarion tells them, bullying them back under the covers as they groan sadly, looking far too small and breakable against the large mattress.

“I feel awful.”

Astarion swallows, gently brushing his knuckles over their forehead. “You’ll get better soon, love. You needn’t worry.” The words sound as if they were meant more for him, a strange tightness in his throat.

He knows that they will be fine, he knows that. They’ve both been through worse. And yet—

He leans down, lips brushing over their forehead, far too hot and sweaty. He lingers for a moment longer anyways, listening to the soft murmur of contentment that leaves Tav’s mouth.

“I love you.” They mutter drowsily, their eyes flickering open for just a moment before they slip closed again.

Astarion breathes out, weak and shuddering.

“I love you too, darling. Now sleep, I’ll be back soon enough.”

🌸

Thank you sm for reading! If you wish to send me Astarion-flavored requests for fic or headcanons, they’re still open! ☺️🤍

[itsabouttimex2]

I loved the reactions to the lady bone demon defendant! But what about LBD reacting to it? Platonic of course, but would she try to manipulate them? Perhaps get them to join her willingly or by force?

Descendant of the Lady Bone Demon: Part Three

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Maybe they should've seen this coming. Maybe there were a few warning signs they didn't pick up on. Looking back on it now, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? All those little things should've added up a long time ago.

The way the room grew silent and tense when you walked in, no matter how how exuberant it had been prior. How you manage to sneak up on everyone without even trying, as though you had no presence. The wide berth that strangers give you, even though they can't explain why. That last one had been particularly strange for your friends. They hadn't understood why people would treat you so coldly, not back then.

They understand now.

Just because someone loves you doesn’t mean that they want the best for you.

The man that Megapolis calls their ‘Mayor’ has somehow become your most enduring caretaker thus far. Everyone that came before him had either given you up after a few scarce months of guardianship, disappeared without a trace, or succumbed to some kind of sickness.

Frequently, the blame had been put on you. If a child gets passed through foster home after foster home after foster home and never acclimates to any of them, there’s a conclusion that many will draw- the child isn’t trying hard enough.

Never mind how many of your guardians would leave you locked outside for hours on end, well into the freezing cold night.

Never mind how often they ‘forgot’ to properly feed and clothe you, pocketing the allotted care salary for themselves.

Never mind often you weren’t allowed to explore the temporary houses outside of your own room, kept away from areas meant for ‘real’ family.

Never mind often how you were fed box-mix macaroni-and-cheese while your foster family ate real meat and vegetables.

Never mind any of that, of course.

The problem was obviously you, your ‘families’ had decided. And so had their friends and extended families, and even the system that threw you from one miserable little home to the next, leaving you with no one and next to nothing. All that you owned you carried around in a disposable plastic sack, never bothering to unpack and try to settle in.

You’d be gone in another month or two anyways.

Until you had been introduced to the mayor of Megapolis, that had been all the life you had ever known.

With one hand firmly on your back, he leads you into his house, a discreet building hidden away in quiet part of the city. It stands proudly above you, an ancient building refitted time and time again to suit the ever-changing trends of time. The walls are painted in elegant grays and a variety of tastefully selected blues, providing a clean and refined atmosphere.

It wasn’t often that you could truly call a temporary home clean. And this was certainly the first time you could apply an adjective such as ‘elegant’ to a building.

So many houses run-down from lack of care, pet urine long-seeped into fraying carpets, worn cots covered in dust and packed six or eight to one crumbling room.

His arm shifts down your back and to your wrist, holding tight. With such unnervingly wide eyes and the rictus grin he sports, you should be scared.

You should be scared that he’ll hurt you. But you’ve lived a life that’s proven to you a single fact: getting hurt is inevitable.

No matter how much you come to trust someone or how long you live with them- there’s no love or kindness. Just an always-ticking clock, counting down until the moment they break and throw you out quicker then they would toss trash.

But there’s no bruising grip this time. No harsh shoves. No unkind words. No molded side room that smells of bleach and detergent.

“Welcome home, Y/N!” he calls out with a much too loud tone, grinning ear to ear. “I hope you like your new room!”

It’s… actually nice. Not ‘for your standards’ nice. It’s ‘hotel’ nice. ‘Lavish guest room’ nice.

The longer you spend basking in the pleasantly smooth greys and blues of your new room, the more welcoming they feel.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, hoping that you weren’t ‘too late with gratitude’ as you had been so many times before according to many, many caretakers.

“Why, of course!” The grey-clad man pats your back with far too much force, pushing you inside with a stretched grin. “Please, get comfortable! I hope you’ll enjoy your- hopefully- very long stay!”

The door slams behind you, but doesn’t lock. That’s good, you think. You could leave, if you wanted to. You weren’t just trapped in here until your case worker came and asked for you.

And you think that might be the case when he knocks on the door hours later, probably to hand you a metaphorical eviction notice and throw you out because he got ‘unnerved’ like everyone always does-

And you are instead invited downstairs for a hot drink.

How could you say no?

The fireplace is hot, stoked by old papers strewn between the logs inside. If you looked closer, you’d see the names of your previous caretakers and case workers, printed onto them in neat lettering, all in a short, succinct list. And you’d notice the big ‘missing persons report’ stamped in bright red.

But the tea is warm and sweet, and the ‘Mayor’ has his arm around your shoulders as he holds you a little too close-

And you’re naive and desperate enough to consider this safe.

The Lady Bone Demon watches from within. She’s an ever-present force creeping through your veins, ice-cold and unearthly. Her power courses your blood, pumping slow. She feels through your hands. She sees through your eyes. She hears through your ears.

There’s no escape from her.

Carefully, the Lady sows and reaps your suffering. From the confines of your flesh, she makes note of all that brings you to tears, all that brings you to your knees.

In pulses, she strengthens you. Where you walk, crystals grow, smothering flowers and grass in your unknowing wake.

In waves, she activates the powers lying dormant in your veins. Bones buried deep underground shift and stir, waiting eagerly to heed your call.

In surges, she unleashes her presence, staining your eyes the color of a deathly cold ocean. All but a select few retreat in droves, leaving you to wonder what you’ve done to deserve your loneliness.

It is nothing short of cultivation. Within you blooms a small seed of her power, and she stokes it from the inside. The bud of cold blue slowly blooms, rooting deep through your blood. In time, she weaves those roots further and further into the fertile soil of your flesh, ensuring that they may never be pulled free without the utter destruction of your life.

A flower; unremovable, of crystalline sinew and careful tending, a slow and creeping overtake of your life woven by hands unseen. A growing mote of power to be plucked and consumed, taken as part of a greater whole when the day finally comes that you bloom.

And what a wonderful sacrifice you shall make for her cause.

[silentcrowsilentravens]

Hello, I hope you are having a nice day.

May I request Lady Dimitrescu with a fem s/o who was kill by a hunter but remain in the castle like a ghost. At first nobody can see her but at some point the maids start the rumor of a ghost and the daughters are the first ones to discover who is the ghost and tell their mother about it.

(Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language)

For sure! And no worries, your English is perfectly fine.

Had to break this into two parts because it's too long for one :')

Alcina Dimitrescu's s/o is killed by a hunter, and she ends up remaining in the castle as a ghost. Rumors begin to surface among the maid staff about this. They reach the daughters, who end up discovering it to be more than just a rumor.

(Fem reader).

Warnings: mild blood, mild gore.

Masterlists here!

It's frustrating. 

They can't see you. 

Nobody can, it seems. No attempts to make your presence known work. 

You phase through nearly everything you touch. 

The only ears your voice reaches are your own. 

All you can do is watch. 

"I better not see even a trace left behind." Bela's tone is utterly flat.

The blood has long since dried. 

Cassandra drums her fingers against the handle of her sickle, which sits in its sheath. Her eyes flicker between the maids before her, all of whom begin to scrub the floor harder, fearing that she is about to pick the slowest worker off. 

You’re sorry for the mess. 

You’re sorry that you weren’t quick enough to avoid him. 

You’re sorry for whatever happened after, which is already difficult to recall. Like the events of a dream slipping away from you moments after you wake in the morning. 

Daniela has taken a seat on the steps with her back facing everyone else. 

Your wife's voice thunders in the distance, threatening to make sure whoever let the man-thing in regrets it. 

You wish that you could wake up. And that this time, you won’t be greeted with your own body growing cold. 

The man responsible has already been dealt with. You’d be hard-pressed to think of another time you’ve seen the girls act so viciously, which is saying something considering what they usually get up to. Viscera, chunks of meat with skin attached, and bone sit in red-stained sacks not too far away.

Things begin to fall apart here and now. There is nothing you can do.

When night comes, you head to your and Alcina's shared bedroom. As if this is a normal day.

Now, you have seen your wife tear up before.

Joyful tears during the first moment of privacy you shared together after you married her.

Angry tears after a particularly infuriating meeting with Miranda and the other Lords (she had been so close to decapitating Heisenberg, Mother Miranda's orders be damned).

A bit of both when she was telling you stories from her time spent in America.

But you've never seen her let the tears fall before. Not until now. In the darkness of the room, in the solitude, her cheeks grow wet. It hurts to watch the sobs wrack her body, to hear the pain in her voice. You want nothing more than to be able to comfort her.

Instead, you both cry.

The ache that settles in your chest then and there refuses to leave in the coming days.

Bela grieves similarly to her Mother. She keeps her moments of vulnerability behind closed doors. She throws herself further into her work.

Cassandra bottles everything up until she physically can't anymore. The maidens seem even more afraid of her than they were previously. They worry that if they so much as breathe too loudly, the middle daughter will skin them alive.

Daniela becomes far less lively. Her laughter seems somewhat forced more often than it doesn't. Her smile isn't as genuine. Everything is done with less enthusiasm than before.

All of this is because of you.

Because you are gone.

But you're not. You're still here!

You keep up your desperate attempts to get somebody, anybody's attention until your hope wanes entirely.

This is your life—or lack thereof—now. You're simply a viewer.

Still, you join everyone in the dining hall during mealtimes and listen to the conversations.

You're with Alcina when she smokes on the balcony in the morning or settles down with some wine in the evening.

You watch when one or more of your daughters leave the castle grounds to go hunting. Although you know they won't hear, you still wish them luck.

After they head to bed at night, you check on them. Shame that you can't properly tuck them in or give them kisses on the forehead anymore.

You hang around in the opera hall when Bela practices piano. She's improved significantly since she first let you listen, and her playing had already been decent then.

You were delighted on that day. Especially after being turned down more than once in the past.

Slight anxiety was eating at Bela when she first started the piece she picked out, but the proud look on your face made it evaporate entirely.

She hardly does it anymore, but you watch Cassandra paint. She makes lovely abstract pieces. Far more lovely than she'll ever give herself credit for.

A piece hangs in the atelier that you both worked on. You painted the top half of the canvas and Cassandra did the bottom half.

Knowing how personal Cass' art is to her, you were touched and more than a little surprised when she gruffly asked you to do it with her.

You sit with Daniela when she reads or writes in the library. She would ramble on and on about those things to you, and you gladly listened.

She got excited when you asked for book recommendations, or when you would read her poems. Usually sonnets or odes. Always chaotically written and so very... Daniela.

"I wonder if this is any good."

You tear your gaze away from the skylight and eye the book in her hand. "It's alright. A bit slow in my opinion."

Daniela’s head sharply turns towards you. 

You freeze. 

“Dani?" you question tentatively. "Did you hear me? Daniela?"

Her eyes dart around a bit before her brows furrow and she frowns, turning back around.

Perhaps she didn’t. It's foolish of you to get your hopes up. 

…No. 

Dismissing things so quickly is foolish. What if, after all this time, you’ve finally managed to break through the barrier between you and everyone else? What if your voice did reach Daniela, but for such a short span of time that she thought she was hearing things? 

What if this isn’t your eternity? What if you can be more than simply a viewer and aren’t doomed to utter solitude forever? 

What if you can speak with your wife and daughters again?

“Ghosts. Please." A maid rolls her eyes. "The dead do roam here, but let me tell you, they are not ghosts."

"What does that mean?!” the other maid squeaks. 

“I think it best you not concern yourself with things like that. Just keep your head down, and..." A sigh. "I thought I asked you to close those curtains."

"I did!"

"Mhm." The maid closes the curtains herself, seeming unconvinced.

"I swear to the Black God, I am being truthful. There are ghosts here, I'm telling you!"

"You don't know what you're talking about. I've been here long enough to see all the horrors within this castle."

"But Alina—"

"And if you are not lying, then I'm afraid you might have attracted some very dangerous attention. Watch yourself."

Duties in this area of the castle finished, Alina has the other maid follow her down to the opera hall. They've been tasked with cleaning it today.

As they're polishing the floor, a few notes are played on the piano. It's unmistakable.

The other maid shoots her a wide-eyed look.

Alina thinks there must be flies around. She's going to keep her head low.

[xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx]

current concepts for the cursed swap au (VERY bare bones and badly explained bear with me)

basically, the curious brothers switch with nervous + the beakers and then the smiths, grunts and specters all kinda cycle

(are there really only five families in this town?? holy shit)

Here are some simple outlines of their new dynamics (all of these are still wips)(also the idea of a swap au is being stretched to its limit, the only things the stories have in common at this point is vibes 💀)

The Curious Brothers: After Tycho was taken by the government, Pascal kinda went insane. Whether it's the aliens or the military, he's always convinced that something is coming to get him. His brothers have been trying to figure out a way to fix everything, but because they're math science nerds and not brain science nerds, they don't really know what they're doing.

Neville (Nervous) and the Beakers: After a long, rough childhood of being fucked up and strange, Neville Muenda has settled down in Strangetown, in the hopes of finding people just as weird as he is. He's been studying magic for years, in an attempt to Velveteen Rabbit/Pinocchio his way into creating a son from a sack of flour (as well adjusted and healthy individuals do). His relationship with his housemates (the Beakers) is distant but cooperative, a sort of mutual gain. The gadgets and taxidermied animals all over the place ensure that Neville isn't disturbed by any visitors while working, and the Beakers get to microdose being involved in necromancy. Y'know, as a little treat.

The Smiths: Jenny's disappearance marked the end of PT9's entire world. Everything on the planet reminds him of her, and everything seems hollow without her. The landscapes and stars he once yearned to call home are now nothing more than backdrops without a subject. As soon as he gets the chance, he's taking the kids back to Sixam, in the hopes that they can escape her crushing, overwhelming absence. Who knows, maybe they'll even blend in better there than in Strangetown. But I don't think he's taking into account how all of this affects the kids. I mean, after all, why make connections when it's only a matter of time before you're whisked away into space?

Ophelia and Olive: The resident weirdos of Strangetown, there are dozens of different rumors going around about these two. While Olive has somewhat made peace with her odd lifestyle, Ophelia finds herself torn between the worlds of the living and the dead. Part of her wants nothing more than to be a normal girl, but she can't ignore the call of the darkness in her bones forever. Who really was her mysterious uncle, anyway? And what is that "family business" Aunt Olive keeps talking about?

The Grunts: The perfect nuclear family that's been portrayed time and time again by sitcoms and movies alike. A General, serving his country; a wife, who tends the house and takes care of the kids; and three boys who have somehow gotten tangled up as the main suspects in a string of disappearances. Will the ghosts of their pasts haunt the Grunts forever, or will they find a way to convince the world of their innocence?

If y'all have any ideas/thoughts please please lemme hear em 👂👂

[beaniebeensbaby201]

MIDNIGHT SKY// JAY KELSO

A/n: This is also on my Wattpad along with my other imagines that are on here.

SUMMARY: Cassidy Whittmore was just your average teenager. she was a girl who craved adventures and someone who would tend to get into some trouble with her friends and her boyfriend.

this summer, they invited a new friend to the group, trying to get her out of her comfort zone to prove that she didn't have to be a goody goody.

12:00pm

Pt place Wisconsin

Gwen Hyde Bedroom

I WAS with Gwen as we were hanging out at her house. Gwen Hyde has been my best friend since we were kids. My parents were friends as teens. They all grew up next door at the foreman's house. 

   "This is going to be the best summer ever." I announced, and I laid on her bed. 

   Gwen tosses herself on her bed as she lays next to me. Our shoulders touched as I tossed a hacky sack in the air. 

   "I'm surprised your parents aren't going on vacation this year. Are you still staying over this summer?" Gwen asks. 

    "Every summer for the past five years, I have lived here. Do you really think I'm going to stop traditions?" Gwen giggles as she leans her head on top of mine. 

   "Why don't you just live with us? I mean, you're basically here all the time." I snorted, getting up as I continued to toss the hacky sack.  

  "If both parents agree, then I'll consider moving in." Gwen squeals getting up as she starts jumping around to the music in the background. 

    I caught sight of a blonde girl who quickly ducked. 

   I opened the window with a grin. 

   "Hello, what are you doing here, creeper?" I teased, as the girl that looked around the same age as us came into the room. 

   "Oh, nothing weird." I smirked and crossed my arms. 

    "I was just standing outside your window. Watching you sing and wondering what it'd be like to be you two." I laughed as Gwen and I looked at the nervous blonde. 

    "I'll go now." You could feel the anxiety rubbing off on her. 

    "Unless you want to hear a cool Bootleg, I got in Chicago." The blonde spoke, not knowing what her name was yet. 

    "Oh, I'm listening." Gwen spoke. 

   "Yea, it's pretty super major. Big-time bootleg. The booties of legs." I stopped the girl from embarrassing herself even more. 

   "Just go get it." I laughed quietly. 

   "On it." I turned to Gwen, who just shrugged in response. 

   "So, how are you and Jay?" She wiggles her eyebrows at me as we wait for the girl to return. 

   "Two years strong." I sighed dreamily as I laid back on the edge of her bed. 

    "The longest a Kelso has lasted in a relationship." I point out. 

  "It's a new record." I leaned on my forearms as I looked at the light skinned girl. 

    

   The girl came back, and soon we learned her name was Leia. 

   "So, this is your mom's old room, and your dad lived next door?" I tossed the hacky sack in my hands again as I was cross-legged on Gwen's bed. 

   "I bet they boned in here all the time." I joined in the conversation. 

   "Explains a lot." I grinned when I saw the expression on the blonde's face. 

   "Sometimes, late at night, when everything's quiet, we could hear the-." I paused, making creaking sounds to imitate the noise of the bed. 

   The girl cringed, looking uncomfortable. 

    "Sorry about her, Cassie loves to make people uncomfortable." I shrugged as I nudged my shoulders with Leia. 

  "You're really good at it." I smiled as I bowed to the girls. 

   "Anyways. Tell us about Chicago. What are you into?" I asked, wanting to know more about the girl that came through the window. 

   "Me? Uh, a lot of stuff." I rolled my eyes, knowing that she was trying to play it cool. 

   "School." I nodded my head, wanting her to continue as I made motions with my hands. 

   "Schools a big one." Gwen spoke. 

   "And I'm a pretty big deal in the debate club." I giggled, covering my mouth with my hand. 

   "Yea, I'm not very popular." I wrap an arm around Leia's shoulders as I rub her arm. 

  "Good. Popular people suck." I nod in agreement with Gwen. 

   "Ooo, this parts dope." I spoke up, as I ran towards the radio and turned up the music. 

   "Damn it, Gwen! Cass! Turn that shit down." I looked behind me to see Gwen standing closer towards the radio. 

   A shirtless Nate comes barging into the room. 

   "Turn that crap down. I'm trying to shave!" He whines. 

   He leaves the room after we turn the volume back up to annoy him again. 

   "Older brother. Different dads. He's cool." Gwen's response was short. 

    "And I'm their cousin. We'll be half cousins, but still family." I wrapped my arm around Gwen as she wrapped hers around my waist. 

  She was a bit taller than me, only by a few inches. Nobody ever believed us when we told people they were cousins due to the fact that she had darker skin than me, and I was fair with ginger hair. 

    "Well, he's only mostly cool because he has a van. And he's fun to mess with." I honestly say. 

   "This Whiny, vagina music is bumming me out!" Nate came back into the room again to complain about our music. 

  "Oh yea, Nate?" I taunt. 

    "Me and our new friend are gonna call our new band the whiny vagina." I make a rainbow with my hands and do jazz hands to exaggerate. 

   "Damn it, Cassidy!" I laughed along with the other girls as I turned the volume even louder. 

  This was only just the beginning of summer, and I already know this summer is going to be EPIC.

[pinkiepiebones]

Renfield prompt: Rebecca helps Robert celebrate his first post-Dracula Halloween

The day before Halloween, Robert is home. He's finally mending the damaged arm of his arm chair, affixing a fabric sunflower he had cobbled together from remnant scraps to the torn upholstery like a cheery bandage. Rebecca texts "yo open up" and as Robert crosses the living room to get to the door she's already knocking.

Rebecca gestures to his door. "You're really not decorating for Halloween? Not even a little ghost or somethin'?" Robert shrugs and steps aside so she can come in and sit on the sofa in what was unofficially her spot. He moves back to keep working on his chair.

"I just don't see the appeal of Halloween, Beck," he explains. "I've seen enough in my lifetime that nothing can scare me, which I have gathered is the big draw of this holiday for adults." He pauses to thread his needled onto a new piece of embroidery floss. "That and dressing up in, um. Not much."

Rebecca purses her lips in thought. "Really? None of that appeals to you?"

"Not really, no."

"What if I tell you that part of being human is doing stupid shit like dressing up and getting wasted with your friends while 'Monster Mash' and 'Thriller' get played on repeat?"

Robert stops to admire his mending work. And to think.

"I spent the last week at work decorating cakes for Halloween parties, and my free time's been here, sewing patches for my furniture." He looks at her, then, a kind of mischief lighting his eyes. "What sort of costume can one find at the last minute?"

Rebecca grins.

--

The Spirt Halloween Store is a strange thing, Robert thinks. Rebecca had told him how the stores set up inside the decayed husks of former businesses. "Much like a real spirit," Robert had commented without further elaboration. Robert is unphased by the animatronics and the sacks of bones and body parts. He mentions something about the offering of zombie costumes being 'bad stereotypes,' whatever that means, and expresses genuine perplexion over whatever the fuck a Fortnight is.

Rebecca hesitates when she sees Robert stop at a display of vampire costumes and accessories. The display featured capes ranging from cheap polyester to high collared velvet lined silk, red and black suits and gowns, fake fangs from saliva-pooling plastic dentures to unnervingly realistic enamels, chewable blood capsules, contact lenses, press-on claws and black nail polish, gaudy bat-themed jewelry, walking sticks and parasols, top hats, wigs with pronounced widows peaks, red-tinted glasses, pallid face powder, latex appliqués of bite wounds, and a stack of black T-shirts with the slogan I VANT TO SUCK YOUR DICK printed on them in a dripping red font. Rebecca is about to touch Robert's arm, ground him, see if he's okay, when he laughs. He picks up one of the shirts and holds it against his chest and turns for Rebecca to see.

"This is so, so crass, but I kind of want one? Maybe for a sleep shirt. It's just- fuck it, I'm getting it."

Rebecca chuckles. "So you don't want a vampire costume?" Robert makes a face.

"Fuck, no. Vampires are pricks, the lot of 'em." He starts to head towards a wall of masks when something else catches his eye and he wanders over like a moth to a flame.

"That. I want that one."

Rebecca looks up to see what he's been transfixed by and blinks in disbelief.

"Rob. You're a fucking weirdo" Rebecca teases.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm in similar company, isn't it" Robert teases back. He reaches up and starts looking for something in his size.

Rebecca sighs and and goes to find herself a costume that will not look like it's associated with Robert's at all.

--

Halloween night, a flapper girl and a tiger walk into a bar. Rebecca stops to adjust her wig and motions for Robert to bend so she can adjust his ear headband.

"How're my whiskers?"

"Purr-fect. How's my dress?"

"It's the bee's knees."

Rebecca nods and gestures with her cigarette holder.

"Happy Halloween, Rob. Let's go get drunk."

[nonuggetshere]

demanding more humble pie au content bc i want the vessels to have a happy childhood actually

I TOOK SOME TIME TO HUNT DOWN OLD CONTENT JUST FOR YOU ANON

I rummaged through my old files and found fanfic about the first few months of life which I posted right here. It's just the Pale King being a miserable sack of shit for 1600 words straight tbh

I'm also gonna post some screenshots

For the record, WL is named Daisy and PK is named Ivory in this.

They slowly found a rhythm to their new life. While one of them would go out to hunt, the other would stay behind and look after the kids. After they're back with food, Ivory would tear them into tiny chunks that he could hand-feed to their kids, and right afterwards they'd get cleaned and groomed.

Naturally as babies they'd mostly sleep and eat, but they grew quickly and started exploring around their little burrow and playing around. Very soon, they had to expand, and the two of them turned their old burrow into more of a big cavern that Daisy filled with all kinds of plants and soft grass and moss for her kids to play on, there's even a tree or two! Their new burrow is safely hidden in the corner behind some bushes, which they felt necessary to hide after the previously mentioned attempted kidnapping.

They didn't waste any part of their prey and Ivory would use the skin, scales and bones to make tools and toys for the two children. They eventually decided to start heading for the nearest kingdom, which really wasn't that far away, to sell the access of their resources and used the geo to buy new soft lining for their burrow and lots of pillows and plushies for the kids.

Because they're gods, unfortunately, they started gaining some attention and people who wanted to follow them. After some consideration, they accepted one family to stay with them because they had kids roughly their own kids' age and they seemed to get along, so...some specialization would be good for the two. And thus eventually their little home turned into a small village, and although the two were seen as the leaders they adamantly refused to be seen as their gods, preserving to live the small humble life with their kids now that they've lived like that for a few years.

Though eventually the little village does start getting some attention.

Grimm is the cool weird uncle. And yeah, he dropped his kid off with Ghost still.

Okay less dropped his kid off with them and more like Grimmchild willingly ditched the troupe to be with their best friend when they were a little older but still

Currently, I'm thinking of including Norle in this, which he was briefly mentioned in combos with my bestie about this AU but nothing concrete was established. I just love him and he makes for a pretty great and fucked up antagonist.

Later on in the story, Secret and Ghost end up in Hallownest at some point. Got two ideas for it rn; they are either captured near the kingdom as outlaws due to some misunderstanding, or they stumble onto Hornet by complete accident and decide to help their sister get back home

(more screenshots and content are incoming on reblogs, I reached the picture limit unfortunately)

[melrosing]

Do you think its fair to say Jaime was complicit/responsible in Tywin's war crimes (Raynes of Castamere, sack of Kings Landing, Riverrun) because he kept staying by his side while he was alive, and didnt revolt against him? (ftr this question doesnt steam from any fandom fight, at least not recent, and not on tumblr if you're worried)

I think this is an interesting question, but reaching the answer always feels weirdly mathematical, leaving out the human element of 'what would you do if you were Jaime'. To me that's the more interesting question, and I think it's the one ASOIAF more often poses.

Like Jaime genuinely can't help who his dad is: the Reynes of Castamere happened before he was born and Tywin ascended to his seat as Lord of the Rock when Jaime was like... one, so he's basically been born into war crimes. It doesn't matter if he likes his dad and what he does (and plainly he doesn't) - this is just a grim reality that's out of his control. He doesn't like that his father employed the bloody mummers, or Gregor Clegane, or what happened to Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon... but what can he do, his dad's this godlike being, the most powerful man in the country (even if Robert nominally is), and that is the way Tywin has chosen to do things.

And if he were to revolt... well, I think Jaime is disillusioned by the alternatives: the KG were corrupt, Robert's corrupt, Aerys was Aerys - so whatever, he's a Lannister and so he's Tywin's team, it is what it is. That seems like a pretty real resignation to me - someone whose ideals were crushed at a young age just strips things back to their bare bones and decides he's on his family's side if he's on anyone's, so fuck the rest.

But obviously in ASOS Jaime's forced to confront exactly what Tywin's legacy meant for Westeros and what it has meant for his family, and that instills more conflict in him over his complicity. So following Tywin's death, again, there's the fact that he hates the allies Tywin's made them (the Freys, Sybell Westerling, etc) and admires the Starks' allies (the Tullys, the Blackwoods, Jeyne Westerling, etc) and wants peace and order and crops for the smallfolk... but the fact remains that if he wants to protect his family, he has to uphold Tywin's legacy - because that is the fragile foundation of their security.

If he doesn't preserve this, his children, sister and extended family have about five minutes left on this earth. He can say he wants peace and amends but men like Brynden Tully fundamentally do not believe him capable of it, so in AFFC we see Jaime regularly struggling with doing what he has to do in the way he'd prefer to do it whilst convincing everyone else it's Tywin's way of doing things, because that's the bluff that's holding all this together (until it isn't).

Because it fundamentally doesn't come down to whether Jaime is or even wants to be complicit or not, it comes down to what will happen if he's not. And now that he's pulled away from the Lannisters to run off into the woods on a zombie adventure with Brienne... what is going to happen to his children. What is going to happen to Cers. What, most imminently, is going to happen to Genna and Daven lol. The answer is nothing good, because they were only safe as long as Tywin's campaign of fear lived on, and it died with him. Unfortunately Jaime was born at the start of that campaign of fear and so born into complicity, with everything he loves as a stake in that. and IMO this is so much more interesting than just pointing at the various stages in the narrative where he could've gone 'fuck you dad it's your dream not mine'

[mewghosts]

i am so painfully fucking attached to the afton family and their story. the idea of evan’s death being what drove william through decades worth of madness and bloodshed is insanely tragic and honestly makes me feel sick. the irony of it all being connected to unbreakable family ties… everything started with evan’s death, and finished with the death of michael (and henry). the small details of the game make it so horrifically sad: william keeping cameras in the house to watch his kids while he works (because even if he is a shitty person, he did care for his kids in some way), golden freddy’s iconic “it’s me,” which initially wasn’t thought of to be anything of meaning, but has been recognized as a call from evan to michael, elizabeth wanting to please her father even in death, evan and cassidy asking each other if they remember their names, and the biggest thing i feel is overlooked so fucking much in the community— michael giving his life to make up for the actions caused by his father. michael afton lived a life wracked with guilt not JUST from the death of evan. he had to live with elizabeth’s death, whatever in god’s named happened to their mother, and the abusive and violent tendencies had by his father. when he was finally of age to live on his own, he pursued his father until death, over 30 years of searching and almost getting himself killed, and living as nothing but a sack of skin and bone. this isn’t even mentioning henry by the way, who i personally count as a part of the afton family… it makes me wanna throw up fr

[living-morganism-101]

Deliciously Beautiful

When I was a little girl, I would pray to God that I would wake up the next morning with long hair and banana cream skin and light colored eyes. From a young age, I learned to denounced my darkness, my hot comb burned scalp, my crooked teeth and my desire to be wanted.

I have a crippling need to be constantly validated. Perhaps that is why I was so desperate for someone, anyone, to give me love. I thought that's what I was supposed to want. And for a time, I did. I just didn't want it from boys 4 times my age. But when you're nothing more than dirt underneath someone's shoe, you can't be too choosy. I had a lot of nerve to be ugly with high standards. But when I was little girl, I felt like a god. Some days, I still do. Only now, deep down, it lingers; the hatred for myself I pretend I don't carry.

If my father got one thing right about me, its that I was an attention whore. I wanted boys my age to touch me the way grown men did. I wanted boys my age to kiss me the way grown men did. I wanted boys to like me the way grown men did. But more than anything, I simply wanted to fit in.

This is your warning not to give up your power. Do not let others be the one make or break you. We are fragile and we hope and we are small and we are stupid and we are mortal and we are lied to and through all of that, we love. God, do we love. That is why we are so paper thin. When you give up too much of yourself, you find it easier to live in another human's skin. You search for missing parts of yourself in them, you rip them open and you slip inside them and the blood will make it messy, but fuck. There is an unexplainable peace in being whole, even if it means sucking someone else dry. It's shameful, it's delusional, it's madness, it's sinfully sweet. It's everything you want except for what you need.

Some 20-ish years later, I lay in a messy bed and ponder my existence, like any idiot would. I reached for my phone for the what felt like the millionth time. It was time for hourly ritual; flicking through every social media app my thumb can reach and showing myself lives I only knew a fraction of, but still wished were mine. Social media, I learned, is just an endless digital buffet of useless junk designed to make my brain feel more and more like a sack of wet sand.

I see your perfect little blog, with your perfect, slender fingers and even more perfectly coated crimson nails. Your perfect smile on your perfect lips. I wonder if you could give me the perfect kiss, if I asked kindly. 100 different scenarios run through my peanut sized brain on how I can have what you do. But I honestly didn't care too much about living your life more than I cared about wanting to eat it.

I wanted to savor you and digest you and scrape you off my plate. I wanted my fist full with your perfect hair. I wanted your flesh between my rotten teeth. I hoped that in consuming more perfect women, that I too would become "perfect". I, too, dreamed of becoming deliciously beautiful. Deliciously beautiful. What is it like to be so small and ever so consumable?

How funny is it that we can love a certain type of life, but hate who lives it? That should be me, you think. I thought I would be satisfied with just a taste, but I need more. I need the full meal, the whole body, bones and all. It's animalistic and it's feral. It's obsessive and I am struggling to contain it.

Contain it.

Honestly, I implore you to name an act more intimate, more symbolic, than eating all you desire? Perhaps in a past life I was a cannibal. How close am I to reliving that lifestyle in this lifetime?

[gatheredfates]

🎵 It's hard to choose an oc so dealer's choice! Pick one you're dying to share!

I thought about linking one of Sarrai's death-related songs but, on considering it, I thought that would make it too easy. It's pretty obvious on meeting her that she's obsessed with death, necromancy and bone collecting, but another huge part of her persona I love to explore is the horror associated with hypersexuality and femininity.

Sarrai as a character is seeped in femininity — she cloaks herself in a layer of pink and pastel that is disarming to people who first meet her; they think to themselves, 'oh, she's a young woman, she doesn't know any better' all the while, she has been tutored by her father to be a viper in the den. She plays on those preconceptions of femininity; that she must be darling, sweet, kind... but, in donning herself in pretty jewels, furs and makeup she must be naïve. There are characters, whether by their own volition or by how their players see the world, treat her like a bratty child... and she does nothing to assuage their opinion. She wants them to underestimate her — to think they can take advantage of her — because it makes it all the sweeter when she eviscerates them.

God make me pretty, you made me mean. Hate me because I'm beautiful; bitch, I don't like you either. Tell me how my ass tastes little bottom feeder!

With a lot of femininity, including traditional/pastel femininity, there is an undertone of innocence. Sarrai knows the horrors of the world in her own past; it is a deliberate choice for her to try and be 'palatable' in her conduct. So many people, however, try to push that down. They try to undermine her confidence, challenge her beliefs or condescend her because they're 'realists'. They see her focus on beauty and decay as strange and otherworldly. They don't think she takes it seriously, or that she is desecrating or being disrespectful. In spite of this, she will still try to be sweet and explain her stance until the point she realises there is no point, and then she will be cruel. She refuses to be underestimated because she chooses this line of femininity, though she is constantly bemused at how often that is the default. Either her innocence needs to be kept, or it needs to be ripped from her. There is no in between.

Sexy, cute, popular to boot Cup of Drano, lips turn blue Filler, snip and glue Am I fuckable enough for you?

There's a horror in that choice, right? If you play right into the pastel, pink 'cute' femininity, you have to accept that people will see you as a sex object. Sarrai knows this. She's also not opposed to it. But if you want to fuck her, you have to accept all of her — not pick and choose or try to mould her out of it. You have to look at the skulls on the walls and watch her wade through the muck of her mushroom collection and not be daunted by it. She has the filler, the snip and the glue because she wants it; she is mortified by the concept that other women might do it under the whim of a man. She knows, in the end, we're all going to die. What is the point of trying to appeal to a future corpse when she can live for herself and what she wants?

I'm not a girl, I'm a swarm of bees. Wrapped in a skinsuit, perfect teeth.

And that's like... the point, y'know? Femininity and sexuality deserve to be a choice: something personable that you feel, experience and give to the world; not something that is forced or expected of you. Sarrai is a girl, but she is also not a girl. She is beautiful and plays right into the concept of womanhood, but she is also just a meat sack with a bone interior like everyone else. It is important to her that she is no less feminine in high fashion sitting to her father's right than she is covered in muck after summoning a bone construct from a bog. They call it mother nature.

[cyncerity]

okay was rereading how Tommy and Ranboo met and fun question I have is clothing.

What kind of clothing does everyone wear? Like Boggins wouldn't wear green and such like leafman and I know I've got the actual movie for reference, but like what's your take?

Like Bugfolk would surely be different too right?

Also also I just wanna know, what kind of fur is ranboos jacket made from? cause its half black half white and my first thought was: hehehe skunk jacket.

And also while we're on the the topic of clothes: weapons and armour.

What do you imagine each races preferred choice of weaponry is and made from what? Cause I'd imagine certain bug folk would have natural defence mechanisms like spiders and venom ya know? So would they still use a weapon?

Where as I kind of imagine boggins bigger and bulkier so they'd probably prefer hand to hand combat but then again also they ride bats in the movie so theres that as well as leafmen and their bows on hummingbirds.

Curious I am :3

Don't have to answer them all but thanks for your time 🍭🍭🍭🍭🍭🍭

ALL WONDERFUL QUESTIONS THANK YOU

ok first with the clothes: boggins wear lots of furs and weird armor-esqe things (like the shells of those spikey circle plants as shoulder guards [i don’t know what the spikey plants are called but if you google that they’ll come up sorry for my non american readers who have no fuckin clue what i’m talking about] or like bug shells as shields). bone jewelry/accessories, giant stitching, lots of sacks, bandages, belts, lots of overlayed raggedy fabrics. i took a lot of inspiration from viking type clothing. basically the boggins wear all this because their part of the forest doesn’t have much/any sun and they mostly live underground or in the trunks of dead trees where it’s very damp and cold.

as for leafmen, they don’t wear clothes. they’re perfectly built to survive in their natural habitat and since they’re basically sentient plants there isn’t really a need for clothes anyway, if you get what i’m saying. they all have different types and patterns of leaves which can look a lot like clothes and provide some extra support like clothes do, but they don’t put anything extra on their bodies unless it’s practical (like bags) or pretty (some leaf men wear jewelry).

as for bugfolk, they’re somewhere in between. most of them only wear clothes for an aesthetic or for practical reasons. Like, a warm weather bugfolk that lives in the bogs would probably wear a coat. but most of them are kinda like cartoon animals in the sense that they wear whatever clothes they want. like, think of the mickey mouse gang, and how some wear pants and no shirt, shirt and no pants, etc. that’s how bugfolk are. they just mix and match.

also thank you for the Ranboo skunk jacket comment i didn’t even think about what his clothes would be made of but yes canon it’s skunk fur now.

as for weapons, i’ve had some ideas about those too >:)

ok so first off, big folk with natural defenses probably either don’t carry weapons or carry small ones. bugfolk that can fly probably only carry small weapons as well as to not weigh them down, given that it’s almost always a better option to fly from danger than fight. ground dwelling bugfolk are probably the more bulky and tough kind of bug (ants, beetles, etc) so they are probably gonna be fine in a fight without a weapon but probably carry bigger ones to be safe. also bugs are strong, so i can totally imagine an ant carrying around a sledgehammer double it’s body weight like it’s nothing just in case lmao. but all in all, most of them probably just carry the equivalent of a pocket knife or maybe a machete or something.

as for boggins and leafmen, i actually have a couple of visual references i pulled from pinterest! most of the time they use very similar types of weapons, but created very differently and sometimes with very different purposes. Boggins, being much bigger and tougher than leafmen, create weapons that are mostly close range, giant, and pack a powerful hit. Leafmen, being more nimble and fast than boggins, create weapons that highlight their best way of fighting, which is mostly long range. Both use long (like a bow and arrow) and short (like a sword) range, though.

starting with boggins, they love using bones in their weapons. they also use a lot of belts, straps, and bandages in their weapons along with their clothes. all in all, their weapons aren’t as well put together as a leafmens, but they focus more on brutality, size, and endurance than making their weapons look pretty. all in all they make the scariest fuckin weapons ever and this is definitely part of the reason leafmen think they’re bloodthirsty monsters.

leafmen, however, have a lot more class with their weapons. it’s way more civilized, and they have more complex and harder to craft weapons. i especially like the idea that they have things like the first picture made out of vines and stuff that they can use to swing and maneuver through a fight, which a boggin can’t do cause they’re not as nimble.

the movie itself also had this little piece of concept art, which also highlights the differences well;

and thank you for asking questions!! i love putting a needless amount of effort and thought into world building so when i get questions like this i get super excited hskdlskjs

so please ask more if you want to!! i’m working on drawing stuff for the other asks but i wanna talk about everything!!

[dunkalfredo]

Aftershocks - a ROTTMNT Fic

Chapter 2: Donnie: It was Necessary

(Art by @katiemonz)

[The Krang invasion is over, but the recovery is going to be long and hard. No one said winning would be easy.

A story of recovery told from five perspectives. Mikey has new mystic powers and a family that refuses to talk about what happened, Donnie has his tech to worry about, Raph is trying to be strong while processing what happened to him, Leo has a concussion and a stubborn refusal to be idle, and April has a family of shattered brothers and one Casey Jones to watch out for.]

Read on AO3 [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Once they were home, Donnie had every intention of going straight to his lab. Since Leo quickly hogged the shower (much to Raph’s ire), Donnie just washed his face in the sink and called it good enough for the time being. He could still feel the film of slime and grime covering his whole body, and he wanted nothing more than to thoroughly scrub down, but he had work to do.

After all, they all just had the fight of their lives, and Donnie needed to decompress. Tinkering in his lab, playing his music loud enough to thump through his skull and bones, that was his perfect relaxation.

However, after waving off his family, he only made it a few steps in the direction of the lab before he collapsed.

Stupid traitor body.

Soft voices roused Donnie from his dreamless sleep—he had slept? —one of which came from somewhere on his chest. Still dazed, he smacked at the weight on his chest and grumbled about the noise.

It was after protests from Leo that he realized the weight was Leo’s head. Opening his eyes, Donnie found himself in a giant cuddle pile. April was curled up by his side, and Leo had decided to use Donnie as his pillow. Everyone else was out of sight as Donnie stared up at the glass ceiling, but he could sense them all there, hear their breathing. Strange; he didn’t remember falling asleep here. Did Raph carry him over?

When he asked as much, Raph confirmed so from somewhere above him. “I can’t believe you thought you’d be able to work after all of that,” Raph said. “You were like a sack of potatoes on the floor. Didn’t wake at all when I picked you up.”

“Yeah, remember how we were after the Shredder fight?” Leo said, poking at Donnie’s cheek. “The past few days have been, like, thirty times as hard as that fight.”

“So, I’m a victim of my own hubris, I’ll admit it.” Donnie fished an arm out from under Leo to push Leo’s hand away from his face. Then, he yawned, feeling a twinge in his jaw as he did so. “Well, now that we’ve slept for…” He paused. “An indeterminate but clearly long amount of time, I feel nice and rested, so I’m going to go—”

“Oh no, you’re at least eating first before you go to your lab,” Raph cut in.

“I was going to say I was going to go get ready for the day, which includes eating,” Donnie said. He stretched out his arms and legs and got a few nice pops out of the endeavor, then sat up, earning a sad oh c’mon I was comfy from Leo as he slid off Donnie. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen…”

Donnie extracted himself carefully from the pile. April stirred but didn’t wake. Raph and Leo started on some banter as Donnie shuffled over to kitchen, speaking in hushed voices—Leo had redirected his poking menace at Raph’s leg and was getting an earful about it from Raph. Donnie sighed; after all that had happened, the light squabble helped Donnie feel a little more normal.

As Donnie reached for the fridge’s handle, a pipe somewhere below him creaked.

Just like that, he was no longer in the kitchen, but in the turtle tank. The hard shell of the tank hull groaned and crinkled, denting inward more and more, and the air was hot and humid as the tank began to overheat. Donnie wrenched his eyes shut and shook his head. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the kitchen. He braced himself against the fridge, disoriented and wobbly on his feet, afraid for one frenzied moment that he was going to fall.

“Hey, you okay, bro?” Raph asked. Donnie turned and saw two pairs of concerned eyes on him.

“Was just lightheaded for a second,” Donnie lied, voice a little too flat for his liking.

Raph and Leo shared a look that made Donnie want to squirm. “You sure you don’t want to lie down for a little longer?” Leo asked.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Donnie said, voice even flatter than before. He turned back to the fridge and opened the door with a little too much force.

The state of the fridge was sorry at best, and nothing looked particularly appetizing. Donnie switched to the cupboards and found a box of dry cereal he could snack on. A little too sweet for his tastes, but the cupboards were about as barren as the fridge; he couldn’t afford to be choosy.

Snagging the box of cereal, Donnie gave one last wave to his brothers before disappearing up the stairs to his lab, not giving Leo nor Raph the time to try and talk him into coming back. He couldn’t stand the thought of being idle for one more second when his brain was misbehaving this way.

Besides, he really was fine. He just had one weird moment; nothing a little distraction couldn’t fix.

[Read the rest on AO3.]

[dreamsoffantasty]

━━ ❀   𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 ( 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓 )  𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐒 ❀ ( lyrical meme soundtrack to the first movie, please feel free to change the pronouns as you see fit  ! some of the lyrics changed to fit better for RP purposes. )                               TW: emotional manipulation present. 

𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄

❛ They say I'm trouble. ❜

❛ they say I'm bad. ❜

❛ they say I'm evil. ❜

❛ that makes me glad. ❜

❛ your worst nightmare. ❜

❛ can't take me home. ❜

❛ so I've got some mischief in my blood. ❜

❛ can you blame me ? I never got no love. ❜

❛ they think I'm callous, a low-life hood. ❜

❛ I feel so useless, misunderstood. ❜

❛ mirror, mirror on the wall {insertyourquestion}, ? ❜

❛ who's the baddest of them all ? ❜

❛ welcome to my wicked world ❜

❛ I'm rotten to the core. ❜

❛ who could ask for more ? ❜

❛ i'm nothing like the kid next door. ❜

❛ call me a schemer. ❜

❛ call me a freak. ❜

❛ how can you say that ? ❜

❛ i'm just... unique ! ❜

❛ what, me ? a traitor ? ❜

❛ are we not friends ? what's up with that ? ❜

❛ so i'm a misfit. ❜

❛ so i'm a flirt. ❜

❛ i broke your heart ? ❜

❛ the past is past. ❜

❛ truth is, you ain't seen nothing yet ! ❜

𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄

❛ look at you, look at me. ❜

❛ i don't know who to be, {insertname}. ❜

❛ is it wrong, is it right to be a thief in the night ? ❜

❛ i was once like you, {insertname}, slightly insecure. ❜

❛ argued with my mother/father too, thought i was mature. ❜

❛ i put my heart aside. ❜

❛ i used my head. ❜

❛ but i put my heart aside and now i think it's time you learned. ❜

❛ don't you wanna be evil like me ? ❜

❛ don't you wanna be mean ? ❜

❛ don't you wanna make mischief your daily routine ? ❜

❛ well, you can spend your life attending to the poor. ❜

❛ when you're evil, doing less is doing more. ❜

❛ don't you wanna be ruthless and rotten and mad ? ❜

❛ don't you wanna be very, very good at being bad ? ❜

❛ i have tried my whole life long to do the worst i can.  ❜

❛ clawed my way to victory, built my master plan. ❜

❛ now the time has come, my dear, for you to take your place. ❜

❛ promise me you'll try to be an absolute disgrace. ❜

❛ don't you wanna be cruel ? ❜

❛ don't you wanna be nasty and brutal and cool ? ❜

❛ when you grab that wand, that's when your reign begins. ❜

❛ who wants an evil queen without a sack of sins ? ❜

❛ don't you wanna be heartless and hardened as stone ? ❜

❛ don't you wanna be finger-licking evil to the bone ? ❜

❛ this is not for us to ponder, this was pre-ordained. ❜

❛ you and i shall rule together. ❜

❛ mistress/master of the universe, powerful and strong ! ❜

❛ daughter/son, hear me, help me, join me, won't you come along ? ❜

❛ we're going to be evil. ❜

❛ never gonna think twice. ❜

❛ we're going to be spiteful. ❜

❛ this mother/father-daugher-son act is going out on tour. ❜

❛ you should thank your lucky star, that you were born the girl/boy you are. ❜

❛ daughter/son of an evilicious queen/king like me ! ❜

𝐈𝐅 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘

❛ a million thoughts in my head. ❜

❛ should i let my heart keep listening ? ❜

❛ 'cause up till now i've walked the line. ❜

❛ nothin' lost, but somethin' missing. ❜

❛ i can't decide what's wrong, what's right. ❜

❛ which way should i go ? ❜

❛ if only i knew what my heart was telling me. ❜

❛ don't know what i'm feeling. ❜

❛ is this just a dream ? ❜

❛ if only i could read the signs in front of me. ❜

❛ i could find a way to who i'm meant to be. ❜

❛ if only... ❜

❛ every step, every word, with every hour i am falling into something new, something brave, to someone i have never been. ❜

❛ which way should i go ? ❜

❛ am i crazy ? ❜

❛ maybe we could happen... ❜

❛ will you still be with me when the magic's all run out ? ❜

❛ i know it's time to say goodbye. ❜

❛ so hard to let go.. ❜

𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐈 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

❛ did i mention that i'm in love with you ? ❜

❛ there is nothing i can do. ❜

❛ i dream of you every day. ❜

❛ i met this girl who rocked my world. ❜

❛ it's never been rocked before. ❜

❛ now I'm living just for her/him. ❜

❛ i won't ever stop. ❜

❛ i never thought that it could happen to a guy/girl like me. ❜

❛ now look at what's you've done. ❜

❛ you go me down on my knees. ❜

❛ because my love for you is ridiculous. ❜

❛ i never knew that it could be like this. ❜

❛ i would give up my kingdom for just one kiss. ❜

❛ i gotta know which way to go. ❜

❛ come on give me a sign. ❜

❛ you gotta show me that you're only ever gonna be mine. ❜

❛ don't wanna go another minuet even without you. ❜

❛ if your heart just isn't in it, i don't know what i'd do. ❜

𝐁𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓

❛ ma chere Mademoiselle, it is with deepest pride, and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight ! ❜

❛ now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair, as the dining room proudly presents your dinner ! ❜

❛ be our guest ! ❜

❛ put our service to the test. ❜

❛ tie your napkin 'round your neck, cherie and we'll provide the rest. ❜

❛ Soup du jour, hot hors d'oeurvres ━━ ❜

❛ why, we only live to serve. ❜

❛ try the gray stuff, it's deleicious ! ❜

❛ don't believe me ? ask the dishes ! ❜

❛ they can sing, they can dance !❜

❛ after all miss/mr/mrs, this is france ! ❜

❛ dinner here is never second best ! ❜

❛ go on, unfold your menu, go on, take a glance ! ❜

❛ beef ragout, cheese souffle, pie and pudding ❝en flambe❞, we prepare and serve with flair a culinary cabaret ! ❜

❛ you're alone and you're scared. ❜

❛ but the banquet's all prepared. ❜

❛ no one's gloomy or complaining. ❜

❛ while the flatware's entertaining ! ❜

❛ we tell jokes ! ❜

❛ we do tricks ! ❜

❛ with our fellow candlesticks. ❜

❛ it's all in perfect taste. ❜

❛ you can bet. ❜

❛ come on and lift your glass. ❜

❛ you've you won your own free pass ! ❜

❛ if you're stressed, it's fine dining we suggest. ❜

𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅

❛ oh yeah ! ❜

❛ let's set it off. ❜

❛ you can make it happen. ❜

❛ kings and queens, it's our time to rise. ❜

❛ write the book story of our lives. ❜

❛ this is us taking back the night. ❜

❛ break the spell. ❜

❛ we were born this way, be yourself, forget the DNA. ❜

❛ everybody raise your hands and say ❝ohah, ohay❞ ! ❜

❛ sound the alarm. ❜

❛ get on your feet. ❜

❛ rock this beat ! ❜

❛ dance till your heart is wild and free. ❜

❛ feeling the power, let it all out. ❜

❛ like what you see in the mirror ? ❜

❛ we got the keys, the kingdom's ours. ❜

❛ start a chain reaction. ❜

❛ never let it stop ! ❜

❛ with everything you got ! ❜

❛ i'll make my own future. ❜

❛ ignore all the rumors. ❜

❛ show 'em my passion sound. ❜

❛ they all told me to back down. ❜

❛ judgin' me 'cause of my background. ❜

❛ nah, i ain't goin' out like that ❜

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆

❛ why you standing there ? ❜

❛ acting like you just don't care. ❜

❛ we can make our own kind of music. ❜

❛ we might come from different worlds. ❜

❛ might not be your kind of girl/boy. ❜

❛ i just wanna let go and lose it. ❜

❛ we are lost and found. ❜

❛ so let's go turn the beat around. ❜

❛ maybe find a brand new sound. ❜

❛ let's turn it up right now. ❜

❛ the night is young. ❜

❛ it's just begun. ❜

❛ let's get it started. ❜

❛ go till the sun comes up. ❜

❛ dance together ? ❜

❛ dance alone ? ❜

❛ let it out and let it show. ❜

❛ i wish that it would never end. ❜

❛ i wish the song could play and play. ❜

❛ be who you wanna be. ❜

❛ just let the rhythem take you there. ❜

𝐈'𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

❛ you know i got it ! ❜

❛ i'm your girl/boy. ❜

❛ every time you miss the beat and life pulls you under. ❜

❛ when you need your rhythem back, i'll be your drummer. ❜

❛ if you come undone, i'll be the one to make the beat go on and on. ❜

❛ i'll be your A to the Z, even if trouble's coming. ❜

❛ i'll be whatever you need. ❜

❛ call me and i'll come runnin'. ❜

❛ i'm a little bit sunshine, a little bit starlight. ❜

❛ sometimes when my halo slips, i dance on the wild side. ❜

❛ no matter where you're coming from, i know what it feels like. ❜

❛ if the road gets rough, i'm gonna be hanging on tough. ❜

❛ you can get lost sometimes, i'll be your neon sign. ❜

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐁𝐀𝐃

❛ call it good. ❜

❛ call it bad. ❜

❛ call it even if you could. ❜

❛ it's the best you ever had. ❜

❛ we know what's hot, what's not. ❜

❛ we strike a pose and then they take a shot. ❜

❛ they get in close. ❜

❛ try to run the spot. ❜

❛ we come to show 'em what we got. ❜

❛ it's time to make a stand. ❜

❛ we breaking through. ❜

❛ now we in demand. ❜

❛ bad was all the rage last week. ❜

❛ good had got a wicked beat. ❜

❛ good is the new bad. ❜

❛ we can feel the mad love. ❜

❛ gimme more ! ❜

❛ bad is the new good. ❜

❛ i think we should. ❜

❛ we used to love the dark. ❜

❛ but then we saw the light and felt a spark. ❜

❛ we bring the fire and make it better and better. ❜

❛ cause good is back and now it's badder than ever. ❜

[leftonread247]

𝑁𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑒 | 𝐵．𝐵 🌩️

POV: Bucky Barnes 500 words TW: [somewhat graphic] violence, PTSD induced nightmare, unaliving of someone.

Please be kind <3

“You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be?” The skeptical old man’s words echoed around the darkened corners of my mind. Not that there was much light up there to begin with. The words came and went, taunting me when I least needed to hear them and corrupting even the most pleasant of occasions.

I stood across from Isaiah now, my eyes running over each wrinkle. Time had not been kind to many of the people I’d spoken to but there was that same old spark of defiance in the old man’s face, and I wanted to snuff it out.

My eyes flickered to the window just past his shoulder. The grey sky threatened rain and the wind blew leaves around the yard, sprinkling the garden like confetti without anything to celebrate. The breeze caressed my face and blew my shoulder-length hair in untameable directions as I lifted my metal arm.

Sam, to my left, leaned in, his breath hot on my neck as he whispered in my ear in flawless Russian “Longing, rusted, furnace, daybreak, seventeen, benign, nine, homecoming, one, freight car.” And just like that I was gone, the winter soldier in my place.

“I’m not a killer anymore” my subconscious screamed as my hand tightened around the old man’s neck, his eyes bulging under the pressure of my grip. He grabbed my arm but any attempt to move the vibranium was futile, the metal was virtually indestructible, and Isaiah’s hands could do nothing to stop his throat from being crushed.

It was like I was no longer in my body. I am a man possessed so they say, no longer in control and the spark of defiance, of life that had danced so challengingly at me just two minutes ago were dwindling quickly. So many times I’d been here, a passenger in my own body, just watching my limbs do things I couldn’t prevent no matter how much I’d begged them to stop. At one point it was easier to detach myself completely, to compartmentalise and repress these events but my brain always found a way to remind me. I knew this would be no different and I couldn’t do that to Isaiah. I had to force myself to watch and live in the moment as his bones crunched under my grip and his final straggled breath escaped his lips. I’d wanted to snuff out that light and I had.

My grip relented and the lifeless corpse of my would-be forgiver crumbled to the ground like a sack of potatoes at my feet.

I gasped for air as I shot up from my laid position, the TV I’d left on, playing some weird cartoon and the clock next to it reading 2am. My own breath was fast and my chest felt tight. It had just been a dream, a horrible nightmare. I pulled my knees to my chest and let my head fall into my hands as silent tears rolled down my face. “I’m free.” I whispered to myself in the dark of my room. “I’m in control.”

[atieflingtime]

GAME: GUN COWBOY

This is just the first day of playing on GUN COWBOY by CHE on itchio (: It was actually the first solo ttrpg that I tried out!

This game is going to take longer than one sitting to play through and it's really fun, so I definitely encourage y'all to check it out!

description: "GUN COWBOY is a tragedy, and will end in your unhappy fate. It is a game about the inevitable result of a life of violence, the return-on-investment of the violence which continues to define the united states."

unedited playthrough under the read more as always (:

FIRST DRAW: THE PAST: 9 of Diamonds THE PRESENT: 9 of Spades THE PROBLEM: King of Hearts

ATTRIBUTES: GOOD: 3 QUICK: 3 UGLY: 3 GUN: 0

THE PAST — THE WONDERS OF MODERNITY A triumph of science and a wonder of engineering. The new world is here on display. Look at it! It dazzles. THE PRESENT — THE BATTERY Boom, boom, boom! That mighty sound like thunder. There is artillery firing, but on what? THE PROBLEM — THE HERMIT He is a steward of the land. He walked down the same road as you, once, but turned away.

This town was always supposed to be the cradle of ingenuity — if there were anything new coming to anywhere else in the West, it was started here along the great screaming metal and men who knew only how to fight with their tongue than anything else effective.

Words fail, however. And they fail often.

No matter how gilded these men’s tongues were, they were blinded by their own insatiable greed. Perhaps there ain’t much difference between an old outlaw and these new snake-oil men. Big difference only in that at least outlaws are honest about the blood oil-slick against our hands, and have proper dust inside our lungs from our choices.

Nothing like these stuffed-to-burst men in suiting fabric ill-fit to the landscape. They just as soon throw a child to their machine as they would drink water after a hard ride if it meant they was able to get one more dollar inside their heavy pockets.

Yet ingenuity is still what they call it. Gilded shit is still shit.

If these so-called innovators were so above the rest of the town, why’d they not anticipated their so-called ‘lessers’ would have no qualms with piercing them with the same metal and rust that they fed them and their children into? Stupid bastards.

There’s a distant pop of revolvers even before riding into the town limits. The sounds of violence punctuated with the whizzbang of bullets shooting crooked. Ingenuity abandoned for familiar violence. No need to be any good at aiming when your targets are many. Damn those who could get in the way. This was for the people, not the pigs.

I wasn’t even a quarter mile from the first right proper building on the skirts of town when an old man waved his dirty hat in dirtier hands at me and Fern, trying to get me to stop. Fern, always a stubborn horse, refused to move further once she saw the waving. Fine.

“What d’you want, Hermit?” There was no courtesy in my voice, the gunpowder grit had worn sympathy out of my tongue. “Can’t you see I got business elsewhere.”

His ruddy face looked grim even as he smiled. If he were a handsome man when he was younger, he certainly wasn’t anymore. A glint of silver or tin showed in his teeth. “You keep going this way an’ you ain’t gonna have none more business, boy.”

“Why should I care what a sack of ol’ bones like you says?”

A sharp, barking laugh. “I almost turned out like you, boy, but I left that life when I were still young enough to have anything else to live with.”

My mouth twitched. Wiry, greying facial hair stabbed into my cheeks from the grim expression. He’d gotten out. He’d gotten out of what I stayed in. The lifestyle — or whatever they fucking sold it as now. The old West way of living that chews you up and spits you out alone and broken. Leaves you to limp into the darkest part you can find yourself to die without dignity or legacy. “You’re assuming a lot about a stranger you ain’t talked to more than a few words, Hermit. You ain’t know a think about me.”

“You all turn out the same way.” He put his disgusting hat back over his white hair. “You all die alone an’ overflowing with regret.”

Another flurry of shots echoed from the town. Rhythmic. An execution.

My shoulder ached with an old injury. “What are you even trying to accomplish, old man?” There was motion in the doorway and the shadows in the windows of the hermit’s home moved as well. “Guess not much a hermit.”

There ain’t no way to describe his smile as anything but malicious, fat and excited that he was able to possess something I would never get. “I said I got out while I had something else to live with, boy.”

White-hot anger flared in me. In ways I ain’t felt in a near-decade. “Y’know I started down this path all ‘cause my daddy just couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut either, old man.” In a smooth, terrible, well-practised movement, I drew my pistol and shot him. “Got shot dead right in front’a his family too.”

The bullet flew more crooked than expected. I’d aimed for one of his wrinkled eyes to get through the yolk of it into his brain and kill him fast. But why should violence go the way you want it to? It hit him clear in his neck. The blood spurted out with force every time his heart pumped. His wife screamed from the porch, their children and grandchildren running hard out of the house. The ground bloomed more and more with blood.

Dark, angry eyes rimmed with red charged toward me. “Don’t turn into your granddaddy, boy, or you’ll die like him too,” I said before I jammed my spurs into Fern.

Whizzbangs from barely taught marksmen flew around me and Fern, and her pained whinge when one grazed her thigh was the only shot they managed to land.

I don’t need anything from ingenuity. That old man needed to die.

I’d rather sleep in a ditch than get soft like a whore’s bed.

END FIRST DRAW ATTRIBUTE USED: GUN