#and something will be written tomorrow

[sarcasticdolphin]

Chapters: 1/19 Fandom: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rudolf von Österreich-Ungarn | Rudolf Crown Prince of Austria/Der Tod | Death (Elisabeth) Characters: Rudolf von Österreich-Ungarn | Rudolf Crown Prince of Austria, Der Tod | Death (Elisabeth), Die Todesengel | Angels of Death (Elisabeth), lots of oc angels Additional Tags: Master/Servant, On BOTH SIDES, todesengel Rudolf, Biblical Symbolism (Abrahamic Religions), Birds, lots of birds, tod pov, rudolf pov, More tags to follow, hyacinth macaw, david and bethsheeba vibes, Power Imbalance Summary:

Tod didn't pay Rudolf von Habsburg any special attention in life. The boy had been a tool, nothing more. Why would he even remember such an insignificant soul?

But how could he not notice the angel that tends to his birds, to his lorikeets and his macaws, to his birds-of-paradise?

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A redraw of the official icons of the ten named slugcats from Rain World, arranged in two rows: Survivor, Monk, Hunter, Nightcat, and Gourmand in the first, Artificer, Rivulet, Spearmaster, Saint and Enot/Inv in the second. Each is drawn in roughly the same pose as in the original art and fitted with speculative interpretations of their biology, and the second image is a “dead” version of this. For example, all ten have slug-like rhinophores in place of ears, cuttlefish-like colorful eyes with strangely-shaped pupils, cephalopod-like beak "teeth", expressive barbels or oral tentacles at the corners of mouths, spiny radulas, and the frilly mantle fringes of sea slugs, though otherwise their faces are squishy, simple and mammalian-shaped.

Cream-colored Survivor and yellow Monk both share triangular, bicolored spots matching their eyes (which are tan and brown, and two shades of blue, respectively), small, bumpy fringes, and relatively neutral looks on their faces. Defensive-looking Hunter is mostly a dull orange-pink, though their blobby fringe is a more violent red and their back is purple and marred with lumps. Nightcat is navy blue and flecked with dots of yellow and teal, their rolled rhinophores are a lighter blue, and their shading fractures into stars in some places. Gourmand is almost uniformly tan, their wide, very ruffly white mantle fringe bordered by a spray of white spots, and their beak sticks out from either corner of their smile. Primarily red Artificer, snarling, has yellow markings of multiple sorts, a prominent yellow dewlap and their characteristic dark scar taking out a chunk of its face. Rivulet is a darker blue than usual, with long barbels, red gills and rings, countershading, and a cheerful expression, sticking out their radula. Spearmaster is purple with orange accents, eyes and spots, a large fringe and spines down their back. Saint’s green caryophyllidia are marked by small, yellow diamonds, and their long, thin radula extends far below them. Enot is decorated with mottled red stripes, blue patches, yellow stars, and an uneven and almost cartoonish imitation of blush, though generally the same deep blue as Nightcat, a passive or almost slightly smug look on their face and their rolled rhinophores out to either side.

In the second image, nine of the slugcats’ eyes are crossed out, indicating that these are death icons. They look fairly the same, with mostly expression differences. Survivor is caught in the beginning of a threat display, a karma flower sprouts from Monk’s side, Hunter is burdened with overgrowing, purple and blue rot, Nightcat’s rhinophores are pinned back, and Gourmand looks mildly disheartened. For the final row, Artificer bites its radula between small plumes of smoke, Rivulet drops their expression, Spearmaster looks very startled, Saint looks almost entirely the same besides half-open eyes and their markings greater in number, and Enot grins confusedly. End ID]

If you'll excuse the unusually lengthy ID: the arena meme introduced by @pansear-doodles at long last after a nearly year-long wip status (or, rather, finished a month ago today to honor my own first time playing it!)

Design notes and shout-outs under cut! :]

The following people are some of those who’ve inspired my designs most since I started this eight months ago (or just inspired me to get a little weirder with slugcat biology), among many others for sure, and I thank them for it–but this is simply to bring attention to artists I find cool, and in no way an obligation to interact or anything :]

> @saturncoyote , @carpsoup , @charseraph , @gallusgalluss , @bitsbug , @dopscratch , and @0hmanit (and a special mention to dddeerbo and hunterlonglegs, who’ve since deactivated)!

Survivor: Surprisingly the hardest to pin down the colors for, since nothing with its sibling's palette seemed to match up right (I did have to add in a little blue somewhere for Monk, the beginning of making it clear how much I’m simply going based off of vibes for the colors of scug innards). I consider them, Monk and Gourmand to be part of the same gene pool of slugcats, and even possibly the same colony even if the latter isn't really related, so took a bit of Gourmand's coloring and fit them in with their inspiration: Goniobranchus verrieri. They serve as a bit of an introduction to my ideas of scug traits (i find it really fun how many people have thought to add so many silly sluglike fixtures of biology completely independent of me, buuut here I’m mostly talking about species variation), and like in-game they’re pretty average! They, Monk and Hunter have a couple scars sourced from a piece of Joar's concept art that I'm failing to find, those across the bridge of the nose, under the eyes, and across the rhinophores, respectively, and my Survivor interpretation features many on the back of the neck, as a result of survived lizard bites.

Monk: Their coloring is primarily based off the fact that I associate them with blue fruits, honestly, a bit because I was compelled to establish a familiarity with Rivulet, and lastly inspired by the spots of Goniobranchus kuniei (and geminus, less important to me as one of my characters is a kuniei instead, but more fitting). Between the yellow + blue and the circular marking in the center of their face, they’re meant to bear a little resemblance to an iterator that shares similarities with the characterization I’ve given them, and similar coding of her sibling can be seen on Survivor’s markings around the eyes. As both a “default” slugcat and one whose campaign I haven’t played, though, I can’t say I have much more to point out about em.

Hunter: The whole rot thing made for a really fun time drawing them, and while the color change on their back is a result of this, it’s also an excuse to relate them to Babakina festiva, arguably my favorite sea slug (mostly for sentimental purposes). And to Spearmaster, a fellow messenger slugcat, and it serves as a gradient between Hunter’s pink and the “traditional” color of Rot seen in the DLLs. Aside from their affliction, they’d actually be the plainest in terms of design, as they don’t have any patterns or quirks of body type, just the red + purple and strange lumps + possible malnutrition. I can’t remember if NSH had created them in particular or just...caught + released or something, but it probably wouldn’t be strange for a lab-grown slugcat to be simple like that.

Gourmand: Like the two above, they’re rather plain in terms of coloring and adaptation, and like the two above, I find that fun. I decided it would be nice to avert the “all slugcats being of the same body type, and Gourmand’s out of place as the exception” thing by just...adding more fat to all of them, really. I did want to emphasize their sheer bulk even so, both fat and muscular (not like I couldn’t have still gone further with it, of course, but slugcat anatomy can be a little obfuscating sometimes, and they were intended to look rather plush considering personal size headcanons and therefore the lack of proper gravity), and the thick and flounced mantle looked like a good addition, as per their sea slug Glossodoris hikuerensis. Unlike Survivor and Monk, I didn’t attempt to hold their resemblance to any particular other character (which means a little less to balance out the “default gene pool” thing), so those are all the design notes I have for em.

Artificer: The second slugcat I’ve ever played, or finished the campaign of, my favorite for at least a long time, and the first thing I did was give them yellow accents, the shape of which have troubled me slightly (not quite like the spots or stripes of the others). They’re both a little more appealing and more explosive-looking to me, and considering how early on I played Arti, actually present in some of my older art. It does give them a little resemblance to Saint (completely intentional, two slugcats with strange relations to karma), as well as the fact that its radula is green for familiarity with one of its children (at some point it was going to have all-green markings, even!). I’m generous with their scars, partly because it was fun to overemphasize the one on their face and partly because it does seem like a reckless slugcat, on top of the dangers of its explosive abilities–I’ll probably just keep adding more forever. Mostly-red sea slugs aren’t too common, but Hexabranchus sanguineus works for sure. The ridged, yellow dewlap can expand for combustion purposes, or something along those lines. Arti’s where I began experimenting with a lot of the mildly-offkilter features seen in my interpretation of slugcats, as they’ve once again been a favorite from the start.

Rivulet: I've obviously given other slugcats spots, deeply enjoy the bubbly-soda markings of other peoples' slugcats, and thought seal riv would be cute. Despite not too closely resembling it, they've been government-assigned Hypselodoris bennetti, for color reasons and for a couple sentimental ones. Originally, the colors of every scug were meant to match up with the custom colors I gave them at the beginning of their campaigns, (though Arti, Gourm and Spearmy are the only three who actually apply here, since I've only played through half the slugcats: I gave arti the yellow as mentioned above, gourm brown eyes and spearmy light pink spears, furthered by the outskirts pearl accompanying me and that palette all the way to moon. Tolerance training for eternity in hell cause I already knew about the maroon pearl quest). I initially gave them the colors of the bi flag for fun... but with the limited palette of this image, I was left without pink for a while and decided to see how they'd look in red. I then realized how they now wonderfully matched Moon, and besides, red's a sort of camouflage in deep water! As a side-note, the difference between their eyes and those of others always bothered me a little for anatomical purposes, and the cephalopod eyes were probably influenced by this!

Spearmaster: Inspired as much as possible by @notyourfunnyman ’s wonderful spearmy: designed in a way that helps it fit in with scavengers, at least between the long sensory tentacles, big ruff, back spines and slightly thin/distended anatomy, a form of defensive mimicry. I always had annulate rhinophores in mind, for a little diversity sure, but mostly because the shape reminds me of radio antennae and communication towers (seems fitting for the comms array and being a messenger slugcat)! I started searching for a real-life slug to give them just by looking up their rhinophore shape...and was met immediately and coincidentally with annulate-topped nudibranchs that fit them more perfectly than I could've imagined: Flabellina and surrounding clades, I think Paraflabellina ischitana works very nicely. The orange was completely unplanned, but there wasn’t a place for light pink among the other slugcats’ palettes, and importantly it likens them to both Hunter and Seven Red Suns a little more.

Saint: I am very much a non-furred slugcat enjoyer, with respect to those who aren’t, so figuring out the only visibly furred slugcat was an interesting challenge. I’ve decided that they likely have other, milder adaptations for help in the cold, mainly just more efficient fat storage, and what looks vaguely like fur is instead a bunch of tubercles (called caryophillia, for the second reminder out of three). Their inspiration doesn’t have these, however, Miamira sinuata’s numerous yellow and blue spots (not to mention...whatever’s going on with that shape) and general effect of being the only really green nudibranch I could find were probably perfect for a strange green echo. Not pictured, but their beak-teeth are tiny and flat to make a surface for grinding soft food against with the lack of a functioning radula, which is tipped with a specialized spiny “grapple-hook” for better traction/grip (not to mention the numerous little teeth running down the whole thing).

(Best part of hiding this under a readmore means edits will be seen by all reblogs, I'm mostly sure, because I completely forgot to mention! The spots on their forehead are simple eyes. Their camera eyes appear closed in-game, I like to believe their complex eyesight is rather poor anyways or otherwise reason that they aren't seeing out of those, and while this was far from her REASON for attunement with the world, it does help compensate for mainly viewing it through a canvas of simple light and dark. This, and the fact that their swapped-out "fur" is not only to commit to a lack of hairs but contributes to sensory input!)

Nightcat/Enot: I guess you could say I found the “these two are technically the same person” compelling. (E.g. similar colors, both very strange and enigmatic, and Enot/Inv/Sofanthiel’s remark during the dating sim about getting removed from Arena Mode.) I doubt they’re the only two slugcats in their body, considering humans with DID tend to have more than a few (and I find it very funny that a slugcat bearing resemblance to Nightcat appears in Gourmand’s ending. They’re allowed in the colony and Enot isn’t </3), and I have to credit @faelingdraws ’s art for being what convinced me on it! Their design inspirations come down to trying to balance a few different ideas: making the patterns and palettes of both look oddly similar (special mention to the stars, since those are fun to draw), basing them off of Felimare sechurana and juliae respectively, using blocks of color with the same placement as in Enot’s official art, and specifically making Enot look...biologically reasonable and imperfect, whilst also clearly trying to imitate human displays of emotion (what with...the eyes and blush on that one piece of official art).

Lastly, here’s just a lineup with notes on body shape and size. Most of the nicknames (existing to give a little more space, that’s all) are obvious, and while I can’t remember why I shortened Nightcat to Nox, it is in honor of my friend by the same nickname :]

[cerise-on-top]

Hi, love your writing. it's so good 💚💚

Could I request some HC for LV + Graves who have an S/O who has three cats that love to sleep on top of them?

😸💚

Thank youuuu! That's very kind of you! This ask actually inspired me to text my friend again and ask her for some cat pics since those critters are just so goshdarn adorable!! I wish I had a cat! I once had a tortoise, though, and she was just the most lovely and adorable little thing out there! I loved her so dearly! Anyway, thank you for the request!

Alejandro, Rodolfo and Graves with an S/O with Three Cats

Alejandro: He gives off quite some canine energy, so there’s a chance your cats won’t like him too much. That, of course, you can try to combat by having him feed them. Either way, if they like Alejandro, then you can expect him to be all over your cats, always talking to them, petting them, picking them up, kissing them and what else it is you do with a cat. He loves your little kitties and would kill someone for them. Although he’s more of a dog person himself, he doesn’t prefer dogs by much, so he can really go either way. When he sees just how cuddly your cats are and when they take a nap on his chest while he’s watching TV with you or something, he will not hesitate to pet the cat, scratch the little fella behind its ears and try his best to make them purr. He loves the sound and the vibration, it brings good vibes and makes him just as content as the cat. The rule that one must not move when a cat is sleeping on top of them holds true for him. If he needs to use the bathroom while one of your cats is sleeping on him then he’ll just have to endure until it wakes up. But if he’s content as well, then he might just cuddle the cat, or your cats even, and take a nap himself. While he’s not usually one for napping, he will when he genuinely can’t move because of your lovely little felines. If your cats let him, he will give them big hugs as well. Is so smitten, he’ll buy them some toys and play with them, if he has the time. And if your cats are too lazy to actually play, then he’ll pick them up and lovingly scold them for being so unmotivated. Meows back at cats too.

Rodolfo: He gets along well with just about any animal. While he’s not scared of them per se, he does have a healthy amount of respect for them and won’t just walk up to your cats to give them pats and kisses and hugs. He will comply if your cats walk up to him because they’re curious, but he really doesn’t want to annoy them or worse, end up with him getting scratched. While he may not meow back at your cats either, he will talk to them as though they’re regular human beings. It’s somewhat funny, he takes them seriously and will, in a deadpan tone, tell them that there will be no more snacky treats for the evening. No matter how annoying your cats might get, he won’t budge. His decision is final, so there are no more snacky treats. He quite likes the thing where if you scratch a cat’s butt, it will move it upwards. Loves doing that to your cats, it’s funny and endearing to him. When your cats are sleeping on top of him, then he won’t particularly budge either. He’ll pat them, but he will also move them if he really needs to use the bathroom. No privileges for your cats this time. However, considering he is, more often than not, pretty tired, he will pretty much always take a nap with your cats if he can. The pressure on his chest is comforting to him, plus he gets to feel something nicely warm and furry on top of him as well. However, he sometimes moves in his sleep, which might wake up your cats, which might wake up him. It’s a never ending circle, but if he can, he’ll just sleep with your cats in his arms. Take a picture of him like that and he’ll try to take embarrassing pictures of you as well with your cats.

Graves: He is definitely more of a dog person, since those are strong and reliable. A cat will meow at you in the dead of the night because it knocked over its water bowl and can’t turn on the faucet on its own. Honestly? He always has something to complain about. Your cat pooped again. It knocked over the food bowl. It farted in his face. Things like that. He means them, but the way he says those things is sort of just funny. Imagine a 40 year old man having beef with a cat. He has very little shame when it comes to scolding your cats. At first, he will use his human words to get them to listen. But as soon as he realizes they believe it’s snuggle time, he will meow at them, making the situation even worse. However, every time you hand him one of your cats, he will take it from your arms and cuddle it a bit. Every time one of the critters walks up to him, demanding attention, he will pick it up and carry it around a bit. Sometimes in his arms, sometimes he just slings the cat over his shoulder and keeps it there. It’s sort of funny, he might pretend to really hate them, but he would never yell at them, only be stern and tell them to not be so gluttonous. When your cats are sleeping on top of him, he does not move an inch. He would never admit it, but they are your shared furry babies and he, like any American, would shoot anyone who ever tried to hurt you or them. Takes naps too when he can, or when nothing of interest is on TV, but he prefers getting to hold something instead of having your cats lie on top of you. You can take pictures of him to show him that he really doesn’t hate your cats as much as he pretends to, but he will always claim you photoshopped it, despite knowing fully well that happened.

[icallhimjoey]

but can we talk about the hoodie + leather jacket combo + the facial hair??? he looks soft but also like pleaseeee I need to be inside that hoodie and other things 🫡

SAME

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Sixteen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 16 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] Part Sixteen [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You excuse your maid, Miss Adir, once she’s finished helping you get ready for tonight. This is the first official wedding party.

Yes, some people have arrived for the wedding festivities. Yes, the tournament and the hunt were for the wedding. But they are not formal social events, not in the way tonight will be. Tonight is the first night you’ll be publicly announced, publicly introduced, along with Dale, as a betrothed couple—one who will be wed in less than a month’s time. There will be dancing, and feasting, and socializing, as there will continue to be for the next few weeks.

You’re grateful this first event is likely the smallest and that it's here, on this Northridge estate you are starting to think of home, as at least familiar, but your nerves are still holding you tight in their grip. And this is only the beginning as tomorrow you leave for the city for the next series of balls and galas until it’s time to come back here for the wedding itself. The weight and anticipation is making the air feel thick, prickling along your skin. 

You don’t even know why it's making you such a wreck.

You’ve known practically your whole life you were going to get married—you wanted it back when it seemed like perhaps you’d not make it, when you were too sick to leave your bed for days. Even once you got better, once you started going to a real school—the idea was an exciting one. Then, when it had been harder for your parents to find you a match than expected, you grew worried once more that you would not get to have your own family. You were relieved and filled with trepidation when the match with Northridge was settled. Meeting Dale had only increased your conflicting feelings, but it had also solidified everything in your mind. He had been easy enough to read, to prepare for, to see the rest of your life with. You had felt strangely settled with that final piece in place, for good and for bad.

Then Dale changed and so did everything else. You found yourself back on that ship in a storm, ups and downs. Trying to weather waves you couldn’t predict.

Or maybe it's simply that you had focused only on being married—not getting married, with all the socializing and spotlight you’re not used to and don’t like.

Nothing to do about that now. Northridge is too steeped in tradition to have a simple marital feast on its own, Grandmother and Grandfather too invested in seeing their heir, their grandson—the only son of the son taken from them so violently—to have this affair be anything less than everything. Northridge has kept to itself these last few years in aprticular, their children scattered and so all too happy for an excuse to gather everyone together and celebrate.

You stand up from the chair before your dressing table where Miss Adir had pinned the last of your braids, unrolled the last of your curls, fixed the decorative comb in your hair just right. You run your hands over your skirts once standing, making sure nothing’s been crushed, no layers caught on each other. Your busk is pressing a bit against your sternum so you reach into your pockets and tug on your chemise to better adjust the padding in that area. 

The white of your dress makes you a bit nervous for stains, but the patterns of dark blue and black that are part of the design help to mitigate that worry. Wearing such an obvious display of Northridge colors—only Northridge colors—is odd. They will be your colors soon, the light blue-gray and green of your family colors no longer the colors others will associate with you, with Portsmith. Only the white is the same between your new family and your old.

You remember seeing your oldest sister come home for summer solstice, a year after her marriage, in bright red and orange. It had felt wrong, it had made her feel like a stranger already—more of a stranger than she already was. Since her husband was from Khanit, she spent half the meal speaking in his language—speaking so fast you could barely catch a word or two despite your lessons. 

That feeling had lessened over the time spent with her again, as she once more became familiar. Callalily had remembered to bring you books from her travels, had introduced you to new foods in the city, had helped convince Mother to let you try riding despite your still weak muscles. And yet… 

You grasp the doorknob and walk through the doorway, trying to push such thoughts aside. You would not become someone new just because you are being married. Callalily likely didn’t either, you were just too young to understand the difference a year could make even without visible growth, even to an adult–missed all the other factors that had led to the change. 

Of course, she didn’t marry a demon. 

Maybe that’s where your renewed bout of anxiety was truly coming from.You hope that with the tournament out of the way, the opportunity for him to display certain inhuman strength or other characteristics is low—especially since he seems better contained at diner these days. Now the challenge will come from all the socializing that is to come. Will his memory of Dale’s ability to comport himself in social situations hold true? Will he remember everyone he should? 

With so many people to talk with and interact with, the chances of him to say the wrong thing, for people to notice something as wrong with him, for someone to notice anything is incorrect, increases dramatically. What if someone far more versed in demons and the Depths and possession is able to simply look at Dale and know?

And you’re not particularly skilled at conversation–too much time alone when you were young. You’d been counting on the original Dale to dominate these conversations so you wouldn’t have to participate overmuch. Now, you need to navigate them with the demon possessing him. 

You curl your fingers into your hand so your nails can dig in because you’ve just remembered your walking to the grand hall and you don’t know what expression is on your face, but you’re pretty sure, given the concern that passed over Miss Adir when she glanced at you, that it must not be a good one.

Breathing in deep, you try to calm down. You need to focus on right now, on what comes next—not all the wedding galas. Only this one. You can handle one ball, here in Northridge, can’t you? You can walk down the stairs even with all those eyes on you, you can dance with Dale and eat dinner and make polite conversation for one night. In just a few hours, you’ll be back in your quiet, dark, bed for the night—and you don’t even have to stay up tonight reading because you finished reading that book from Dale’s private study that the Steward had snuck you.

It had been surprisingly informative regarding herbal and plant remedies, beyond the demonic, and had a clear theme: very few things that could hurt a demon would not also poison a human. In fact, often stronger doses of poison for humans was what the book claimed to actually be effective against the demonic—both in their form or those possessed or those imbuing themselves with demonic energies and influences. Demonic influence often gave one strong abilities to resist such tactics—which is why they were sought out in the first place. And even substances which could hurt demons and not humans usually either had to be in very high concentrations, mixed in exacting quantities, or be given to one under the influence over a long period of time—none of which is Grandfather able to do at this time.

You can only hope he doesn’t stumble upon something genuine and that perhaps if you and Dale continue to be well despite whatever he does use, he might give up on this idea. Of course, the best way for him to lose faith in this theory would be for Dale to act as close to his original self as possible whenever Grandfather is around and that is out of your hands.

You’re jolted from your thoughts as a footman ushers you into a waiting room near the top of the grand staircase where other Northridge family members wait along with a few people you don’t recognize. 

One of Dale’s cousins beckons you over and you wait for your own turn to be announced with them. However, as one of the main guests of honor, your turn is last so alone or in pairs, they leave—not having pressed you too hard for conversation which you’re grateful for.

There are few enough people still waiting, that you decide to stand up and linger closer to the door, ensuring that once again your skirts are sitting well. 

“My lady?”

You straighten with a stifled noise of surprise to see Dale in the doorway of the waiting room. “Lord Dale,” you reply, hoping your voice only seems breathy to your own ears.

He takes his cane and slides it into a holder on his belt before offering you his arm. “It’s nearly our turn, if you are ready?”

“Yes,” you reply. Then you take stock of his outfit. He’s in matching Northridge colors, his pants and shirt are white to match your own, with a deep blue waistcoat and black overcoat, a matching black design on his waistcoat. It’s clear that they are making their statement tonight as the future Lord and Lady of Northridge as well as Northridge’s victory in the tournament.

“I’m pleased that we were able to coordinate well,” Dale says with a grin. “Grandmother hadn’t been sure we would, but I knew this dress of yours would go wonderfully with my suit.”

You had received a message regarding how to dress tonight, but you thought it had come from Grandmother, not Dale. “You remembered this dress?”

“Of course,” Dale replies as you walk over to the doorway, just out of sight, to wait for your cue. “You wore this lovely dress on the day we were introduced.”

“Oh, yes. I’d nearly forgotten,” you say, because you had. Dale had come in off a ship, a plain but well made travel suit in black is what he had been wearing. He had seemed to study you then, at that first meeting, you in his family colors. He had looked… satisfied enough by the end of his appraisal. 

This Dale looked upon you with far more warmth in his eyes.

“You look splendid as well,” you blurt out, just now realizing that he’d complimented your dress, remembered it even, and yet you’d not done the same for him.

He preens at your words, smile growing as he pulls on his labels with his free hand. “Thank you, my Lady.” When his eyes meet yours once more, they are crinkled at the edges.

“…heir apparent, Lord Dale Tiberius of Northridge,” came a booming voice, interrupting your thoughts and letting you pull your eyes away from Dale’s. How long had you been caught this time? “And his betrothed, Lady…” You and Dale begin to walk as the herald says your name and your focus is drawn to making sure you don’t trip down this grand staircase—it’s never happened before, not outside of the school, but it’s something you only need to witness once before the fear is engraved upon your memory. Poor Melissa had broken her nose.

Dale keeps one hand on the railing and the other entwined with your own as he steadily guides the two of you down the stairs. You keep your skirts up enough to be confident in your footing, grateful that Dale is steering the pace—you always have to spend more than half your attention on not going too quickly and then overcompensating and going too slowly.

After the first step, you keep your head level as you look out over the packed grand hall. You hope your expression is appropriately schooled and doesn’t show any of your dismay at the large crowd. At least it is evening enough that the candle light flickers, aiding you in blurring the others present so that you might pretend there are fewer present. As you reach the floor, you walk over to greet Grandmother and Grandfather by the dais for supper.

However, they are not yet upon it as there is only one way to properly begin a betrothal ball: with a dance. Grandmother, with her voice skilled at projection, speaks of the match made between the pair of you and you are grateful that while speaking, you can simply look at her and not everyone else here.

“Our esteemed guests,” Grandmother winds down her speech and you can hear the musicians up in the higher ring of balcony which encircles this room begin to play softly, “please join me in inviting our lovely couple to start tonight’s festivities as those we are here to celebrate.”

Polite applause fills the room as Dale turns to you to murmur, “Shall we?” Of course you will, but something about the look in his eye is comforting, as if he would listen if you said no for some odd reason. It makes it that much easier to nod though and he leads you out to the dancefloor.

It’s a familiar song and a waltz you know, but everything about the situation feels new. Dale’s arm slides around your waist while his hand grasps yours. You always expect his arm to be warm against your back, but it isn’t. While not cold either, you mostly notice how solid and confident his hold is as he leads you through the first steps of the dance to the right. Fleeting concerns regarding his balance and his inability to use his cane while dancing flit through your mind, even as you keep each other steady.

Instead, your concerns turn in a new direction when his blue eyes with their deep pupils lock with your own. You’ve forgotten how much a formal dance of this kind requires eye contact with your partner. Dale’s eyes in particular hold such danger to you, so easy are they to fall into, that you’d not thought of how that might impact dancing with him. 

As he turns you, you feel a momentary panic rise in you, the crowd around you a blur, before his gaze draws you back in like metal to a lodestone. His hand returns to your back as yours does to his own, your hands above your heads as you spin, eyes still training on each others’. 

As you separate and come back together, you can’t help but think about what makes this dance different from the only other formal waltz you had with Dale. It's the way this Dale leads, you think, that is the most different. Dale had been an accomplished dancer, had prided himself on his ability and the dance had been fine, but as with most other things with him, it had come with expectation. As he danced with you, his gaze had been assessing, waiting, and evaluating you. He was a skilled dancer and he expected his future wife to be as well. Once he seemed satisfied with your skill, the focus had been on showing, impressing the others with his ability. 

This Dale too is a proficient dancer but he seems to have more enjoyment in dancing itself, rather merely in the spectacle. He moves more naturally, there is less rigidity in his lead, less performance to it. Even something as simple as managing your height difference better makes every step and movement flow that much smoother. And without the added pressure of his expectation for you, it is easier for you to get swept up in the movement. You’ve always danced better when you’re able to stop thinking so hard.

The music picks up speed and so do you two. Lost in the moment it takes another separation for you to realize other couples, including Grandmother and Grandfather, have joined you on the dancefloor. You feel an additional bit of tension release in your shoulders now that you two are no longer the center of attention, now that others are here as well. You know you’ll still finish the dance by yourselves, but your self-consciousness eases for the moment.

The next spin pulls the pair of you even closer than before, the solid line of Dale’s body against yours in a way that sends a jolt of anticipation up your spine. While his hands weren’t warm before, they are now and every place the two of you touch seems to only grow more obvious, press on your senses, on your awareness more. As the dance slows in the middle, you can’t help but appreciate the subtle scent of wood and something spicy—perhaps cinnamon—that envelops Dale. The absurd urge to rest your head against him, to press even closer, enters your mind and refuses to leave.

You’re grateful when the dance picks up again, the air against your face as you spin helping you clear the haze your closeness had inspired even as his eyes call you to drown in them once more. Even that seems safer than your other thoughts and so you let him keep you captive with his gaze while you perform the last moves of the dance.

When you finally come to a stop, another polite round of applause fills the room before Grandmother starts to speak again. “While typically, I would have to ask my gracious grandson to relinquish his betrothed so that she might share a dance with the worthy knight who won the tournament, Lord Dale has decided to be selfish this evening.” Chuckles sound throughout the room, including from Dale himself while heat fills your cheeks. “In an effort to keep his fiance in his arms, he has valiantly won the tournament. And so, I invite you to once more lead us in a dance.”

“My thanks, Lady Deidre,” Dale replies, projecting his voice throughout the room as his Grandmother did. To the room at large, he says, “I do hope you’ll forgive my impudence and join us as you see fit.”

The atmosphere of the room, despite the wine not flowing for very long, is warm and cheerful as you begin the far faster dance, intended to mirror the athleticism of the tournament. This time, your concentration is primarily on the steps themselves, on keeping pace with Dale, on your breathing, and less on Dale himself—there’s simply not enough of your focus to manage it. Other couples are quicker to join you this time, although on a wide spin you notice Grandfather and Grandmother have elected to sit this particular newer, quick step dance out. Indeed, the others you catch glimpses of are younger in general, although there is one older couple in particular—contemporaries of Dale’s grandparents from the fief next to Northridge—who more than keep up.

By the time this dance finishes, the music continues without interruption and you find yourself breathing heavily. A glance up at Dale and you find yourselves in agreement as he leads you off the floor and towards the dais. 

“I am starving,” Dale murmurs in your ear, his other hand covering your own on his arm. “How long until some food is brought out do you think?” While you are able to catch your breath, your heart continues to race nearly as fast as it did while dancing as Dale keeps you so close. You tell yourself it is merely because of the crowd, and the same reason for putting his head so close to your own to speak, but that doesn’t help you calm yourself for whatever reason. 

“I believe Grandmother said Chef is going to test some recipes tonight for the wedding feast,” Dale continues as you weave through guests, nodding and smiling to those who catch his eye. As you get closer to the high table, you see that while food is not out yet, drinks certainly are. Nearly everyone you pass has wine. You decline the page offering you a glass, wanting some water after the dancing before you have anything else to drink. “ I hope some of it is venison. I particularly enjoy how Chef prepares it.”

Dale doesn’t have a free hand at the moment, given his free hand is over your own, and makes no move to change that. Unfortunately, that also means he hasn’t remembered to start using his cane again. Just as you’ve nearly reached Grandmother and Grandfather, someone jostles Dale and it's enough to disrupt his balance. His words stop abruptly as he starts to fall. You brace yourself, trying to help steady him as he nearly falls backwards, but end up hitting into the edge of his grandparents’ table all the same. 

Grandfather comes over to help but in the confusion manages to lose hold of his completely full wine glass. You don’t know what instinct possesses you—likely it's merely the fact that it’s Grandfather’s—but you manage to tilt Dale in such a way that the spilled liquid ends up splashing over you and missing him entirely. The next minute is filled with more confusion as more people try to help, as a variety of handkerchiefs are handed over to you and you both are ushered into seats.

“At least it was only white wine,” you say with the best smile you can muster, wiping off your neck and collarbone with Dale’s handkerchief. 

Grandmother agrees, while Grandfather watches you carefully before turning to order a page to bring a more substantial cloth for you to dry with. Something about that extra attention makes you realize that while the drink might have looked like wine, it didn’t feel like it. In fact, it feels far more like water, but mildly scented in some faint, but familiar way. You can’t quite put your finger on it though and you’ve no idea why Grandfather would lie about what he’d been drinking.

Or, given the glass had been full, not drinking. Had he spilled his drink on you on purpose? Even given his suspicions that doesn’t make any sense. 

Between your swirling thoughts, all the additional attention, and Dale’s own sincere apology to you for kicking off this chain of mishaps, it’s not until a small hand towel is pressed into your hand and you return Dale’s damp handkerchief to him that you figure it out.

Since Grandfather is on the other side of the table, caught up in teasing from Grandmother about being clumsy after so little to drink, he’s unable to see what you do as Dale folds his handkerchief absentmindedly before looking down with a frown. He lets the handkerchief fall to the ground when he sees the way his fingertips and palm have reddened as if mildly burned where he had been holding it.

You’ve no idea where Grandfather managed to get blessed water from Mount Tresihorn, but he must have. You’ve heard all altars had a bottle of such water, the most prized for its purity and power, but for Grandfather to have been able to get it worries you—as well as him willingly wasting so much. How much more does he have? Will this convince him that it won’t work on you? What about Dale? Will this convince him his theory is wrong or only drive him to consider new methods?

Dale reaches for the towel you set down and wipes his hands off. You can’t help the relief that fills you when his hands come away with no burns. It must only be direct contact with the water that causes the reaction. As your eyes linger on his hands, you feel like you are being watched so your eyes dart up to where Grandfather is only to find him still turned away from you.

Your eyes swing up to find Dale’s fixed on you, his body as rigid as it had been in the tent. You can’t read them and you’re strung too tight to do anything more than offer him a weak smile before busying yourself with pouring some water. You hope this isn’t a sign of how stressful the next few weeks are going to be. You’re not sure you can handle this much excitement.

[Part Seventeen]

[shitouttabuck]

several sentence sunday

tagged by @rewritetheending @fangkinkdiaz @buckactuallys @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @eowon thank you pals i extremely especially enjoyed today’s wip snips y’all are feeding me so good

i havent actually written anything New but i tweaked some bits of the word doc here n there and that counts im counting that!!!!

“Sorry,” Buck says, batting his lashes coquettishly again. Eddie’s going to die from sheer insanity like a tortured 19th century artist. “I’m—I think I have glitter in my eye.” Oh. Eddie’s going to die from embarrassment like—well, he can be a pioneer. “Shit,” he says, making his way around the island to inspect Buck’s eye. “Do you wanna wash it out?” “My makeup will run,” Buck pouts. “Can you just blow on it?”

tagging @forthewolves @onward--upward @eddiebabygirldiaz @callaplums @try-set-me-on-fire @anxieteandbiscuits @zahlibeth @housewifebuck @athenagranted if you fancy! 💘

[appleciders]

👉👈 prompt: yasmine and lilith and "im driving."

you get cowriter credit on this one kei mwah 😘

-

“I’m going down to the shops,” Lilith says, tugging her gloves tight, pulling her sweatshirt hood over her hair. She has a face mask loop around her left wrist, and a pair of large sunglasses hanging from the neckline of her shirt. “Do you want anything?”

“Yes,” Yasmine says. She sits at the kitchen table, gaze intent on her computer screen.

Lilith waits. “Well…”

“Oh, no, I mean, no, sorry. I mean—don’t leave.” She raises a flat palm, looks up at Lilith with wide, shining eyes. “I have something I have to show you.”

Lilith frowns. “Alright?”

Yasmine beckons her over.

Lilith goes, bracing herself. When she stays with Camila and Yasmine, at their operation that Beatrice nicknamed Robin Habit because Beatrice is a dork, ‘I have something I have to show you’ can herald anything from an adorable animal video to a brutal takedown of a harasser on public transit to the least legible string of code Lilith has ever clapped eyes on to a Bible quote. They're a game of in-house roulette.

“Look at this,” Yasmine says. She tilts her laptop so Lilith can see it better from over her shoulder. “Did you know about this?”

Onscreen, Lilith sees what looks like a chatroom. On it, front and center, is a blurry photo of her accepting the first place trophy in the CCVM Campeonato de España de menores.

Her eyes flick to Yasmine’s expectant ones. “Explain.”

“I am investigating this woman who has been complicit in quite a lot of charity fraud, and possibly Franco apologism, so I was reviewing her online footprints. I saw that she was very active in this private server. Or, well, ‘private.’” She makes air quotes. “I bypassed it and found myself in this group. They’re former youth star athletes, all born between the late eighties and the mid-nineties. They did all kinds of sports—equestrian, archery, figure skating….”

Lilith gets a creeping feeling that she knows where this is going. “And?”

“And, many of them didn’t place first in their competitions. In fact, many of them remember a tall Spanish girl winning, often….” Yasmine’s cleft chin deepens, “in dramatic fashion.”

Lilith stares at the photo of herself on the screen.

“Only, when they went to search her up years later, or they searched the records of the competitions, they couldn’t find any trace of her. It was like she’d been erased. Reports claimed that other girls had won first instead. Girls none of these people can remember ever having seen before.”

“And when they posted on public channels about this girl,” Lilith predicts, “they found they would mysteriously and tracelessly be taken down.”

“Exactly.”

“How much have they pieced together?”

“That’s kind of the fun part. A lot of these girls felt very strongly about you. Half of them regarded you as their personal rival and still resent you for beating them so soundly. The other half,” Yasmine, poorly, tries to stifle a smile, “toast you as their hot, mean closet key.”

“You’re joking.”

“I am not.”

Lilith scoffs. She leans in closer to read the name of the top commenter. “Berta Majano? I don’t remember her at all.”

“You beat her in jumping two years in a row.”

“I didn’t say I doubted it.”

Yasmine narrows her eyes, amused. “Your ego is loving this.”

Lilith fails to smother a smirk. “You still didn’t answer my question. How much have they seen?”

“Well, there is what they refer to as VaticanGate. Only a small population of the group truly believes you were the woman there that night, but there are plenty of memes about it.” She scrolls up and clicks on one—a blurry photo of Lilith facing Adriel, her hair streaking grey and her cheekbones lit in the dim glow. When you realize that if you were slightly less clumsy you could be destroying the seat of the Catholic Church by now smh

Lilith snorts. Then she frowns. “That wasn’t made by the fraud charity woman, was it?”

“Oh, no. She is decidedly in the seething with resentment camp.”

“Mm,” Lilith says, and it’s not not a gloat.

“Anyway, I know you were going to go to the shops….”

“The shops stay open late.”

“Great! Because I found this woman’s address. I was going to ask—would you want to come confront her with me? Give her a warning?”

“What will that do?”

“Probably nothing, but, I don’t know. It might be satisfying.”

Under duress of torture, or maybe, like, three glasses of wine, Lilith could be forced to admit that she really likes Yasmine.

“I’m in,” she says. “But on one condition.”

“What condition?” Yasmine asks, beaming. She shuts her laptop and starts to stand up.

“I’m driving.”

[write-it-motherfuckers]

[honeycollectswhump]

Things End | People Change – Staining Touch

this is shameless friendfiction of my dear friend @whumpcloud's story Things End | People Change, featuring poorest little meow meow vincent, my beloved. go check it out if you haven't already !!!

CW: guilt, so so much self-blame and self-deprication, references to past torture and also past SA undertones (vincent is going through it)

Clary has brought him something new, something to slowly fill out the empty space of the basement that is not his but as close as it gets. 

It’s a mirror, almost two-thirds of his height, strange and wobbly and cause of a weird noise Vincent cannot categorize into his existing knowledge when it is bent. Arguably, it is doing a very bad job of being a mirror, besides the fact that it is floppy and almost entertainingly noisy before being put up on the wall, because it distorts his reflection at the edges, pulling him into comical shapes like dough if he moves.

But most importantly, most off-puttingly is the fact that it portrays his reflection at all. 

At first, he can do nothing but stare.

In a little under two hundred years, all Vincent has seen of himself was through the eyes of others and those never regarded him too kindly. Not that he didn’t share that sentiment.

He knows what he can see, from the brown of his hair to the shape of his body, he knows what little is left that connects him to Henry, like the green of his eyes, and he knows what separates him, like the scar that sits right under them, as if mocking. 

And now that he can see his eyes again, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, for the first time in two human lifespans, which is distinctly one more than he had any right to, he can’t look at what remains of Henry without seeing what remains of Lyfelde. 

That man, he… 

Vincent swallows. If it could, his undead heart would be beating faster –skipping like a rabbit– with each step that thought takes.

…He loved to leave marks. 

Not for some desperate desire to be remembered in an ever-changing world, but instead with the same expectations as couples that carve their initials in the bark of a tree, curious to see the way the tree tries and fails to heal the cuts, to see how they will twist with time.

Vincent is no stranger to cuts, to initials carved into his delicate flesh, to being torn open for amusement and to satiate careless curiosity, even though they will never show on his skin, no matter how he twists and turns to get a good look at himself in the mirror.

Lyfelde however never needed force to leave evidence of himself, even if he can proudly wear the title of the last permanent remainder of Vincent’s weak mortality long gone by, and at his hands no less.

After years and years of captivity, of relentless, giddy torture, Vincent couldn’t point out individual marks of memory, couldn’t remember the incisions, the lacerations, the breaks, only the aftermath, the pain ripping at the edges of his sanity.

But when Vincent closes his eyes, when he imagines his being as he sees himself, there are stains on his chest, in the shape of a freezing claw, long delicate fingers decorated with rings much older than Vincent ever hopes to be. 

There is one right over his heart, claiming it rightfully as Lyfelde’s, honouring the hard work he put into tearing him apart just to shape him into a–

Into a toy.

He is collared –like a pet–, marked by two hands wrapping around his throat and squeezing, a brute display of strength Vincent thought could keep him safe. 

Even now, after all of these years, his mind produces the image of his hands clearer than the face that is already blurred beyond recognition by time. Neither time nor the Hunters could beat Lyfelde’s touch out of Vincent’s memories.

Vincent stretches, looking over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the way his ribs protrude through sickly ashen skin. Even the thought that this is a far cry from his jutting ribcage in captivity, the corpselike result of starvation, turns sour with the sacrifice of those that feed him. 

He is tainted, he knows, from comfort twisted to form a blade –a stake– and embraces that should have been kind and understanding, that Vincent now can’t even bring himself to call “warm”.

He wonders –briefly– if, behind his back, in the security of Vincent’s blindness, Lyfelde’s expressions would have betrayed his intentions. If there was a way a trick of light and precognition could have warned him, if he had just seen it, seen the signs that should have been so glaringly obvious.

Still, at the cost of himself, he had found comfort and solace in the deathly cold touch, and that should have been warning enough.

Almost obsessively, his gaze scans over his own marred, unmarred skin, even as it is stretched and squished by the metal-mirror, now that he finally has the chance to, after decades of nothing. Some quiet, drowned-out part of him whispers back that this is why he avoided anything similar for so long, that the evasion of his own reflection was not only by force of his vampirism but by some self-preserving instinct.

It’s excruciating in a way that is dangerously addicting, a sizzling fire that he cannot look away from. Pain for the sake of pain for the sake of entertainment. 

Curiosity and her twin sister punishment.

If he dares to let his eyes drop lower, his hips will carry two hand-shaped brands of intimacy and trust that were only ever one-sided, burned into his skin deeper than any silver and scratch marks betraying the attempts to rid himself of the ever-present poison seeping from every pore. 

They condemned him to be both poisoned and poison at the same time, always a victim and always a monster and always rightfully so.

Vincent swipes the mirror from the wall, heaving, watching it fall to the ground, deafening but too slow. He wants to fall to his knees, begging and ripping the metal to shreds, ripping his own reflection to shreds so that he will never have to look at it again. … So that it will never be looked at again.

[dallonwrites]

i love you scrivener composition mode -- love from guy who got 700 words he did not expect to get tonight

[sexynetra]

Okay, I have been so busy this week but I am finally getting around to the posts I was tagged in <33333 thanks for the tag my beloved @thecollectionsof (and anyone else who tagged me in this that I might have missed during my brain vacation)

💖 A WLW ship that’s your go to for when you need to read some shameless smut

Y’all already know it’s goodecox <333 @aqpippin is the GODDESS of writing lesbian porn

❤️ Tropes in WLW fics/media that give you life

Call me problematic but I love coming out stories and stories dealing with homophobia 🤭 mutual pining ofc, drunken shenanigans. Uhhhhhh the other problematic fav of angst no comfort and someone dying because I love to be in pain

🧡 A song that heals your feels about that angsty WLW ship of yours

Uhhhhh I mean I have my whole rawnsyf playlist it’s hard to pick one 😂 recently I’ve been listening to 19 by madisenxoxo so much though

💛 A WLW writer who deserves their time in the sun (author spotlight)

I’ll be real I have not read any fic in a hot minute 😭 but you know my go to ride or dies are @thecollectionsof and @aqpippin ! Also @goodemethyd and @themetaluna write such cool stuff all the time I am in awe :)

💚 A picture of one of your fave WLW ships in nature, or in their natural habitat

(If you mention my battery percentage you’re homophobic)

🩵 Recommend a WLW fic that you think more people should read

Once again I am directing you all to bodyguard au!!!! It’s literally what made me start writing fic!!! Whoever wrote it I pray at your altar you changed my life and also I could only dream of writing something that good if I could print and bind this fic to keep on my bookshelf I would

🩵 Three colors that remind you of your OTP

💜 Thoughts on soulmates in fiction

Love :)

[flythesail]

I haven't gone in the tags yet (and I'm kinda scared to lol) but after watching 4x06 for a second time I can say I really liked it

[isadora-greenhall]

DnDads Halloween Week 2k23

Day 1: Watching horror movies

Okay, so I’m giving up getting this finished today, but I’m gonna post what I have so far! It’s a gothcleats date night where they watch a beloved creepy kids film together.

Under the cut so it’s not too long 🫡🙌🏼

(Tentatively titled) Too Close to Home

They’d been planning on going to a fancy restaurant together for their one year anniversary, but about an hour before they were going to leave Linc had received an email regrettably informing them the restaurant had lost power in the storm, and wouldn’t be up again until tomorrow. Lincoln had been relieved — the place wasn’t really his style — and when he’d told Scary she’d looked relieved too.

“Sorry,” Linc had said. “Do you want to head home, or…?”

She’d scoffed. “No? It’s our anniversary?”

Our anniversary. He loved the sound of that. “Well, we could watch a movie?”

Scary’s eyes shone at that. “Ooh, something spooky?”

“Well, we don’t really have horror movies…”

“I didn’t say horror, you dork,” she said affectionately. “Spooky. Like Over the Garden Wall. Man, I love that show. Those pumpkin freaks? Pure nightmare fuel.”

Linc led her over to his family’s DVD collection - Marco had a thing for physical media - and had a quick flip through. Nightmare Before Christmas? No. Paranorman?Nah. Corpse Bride? Maybe. Labyrinth? He moved his body in the way of that film so she wouldn’t spot it — they’d tried to watch it together once before and Linc had found himself getting more jealous as the film went on, because of the way Scary was glued to the screen each time David Bowie and his stupid tight pants were on screen. Not that he could fully blame her…

Then he spotted it. “Coraline!” He pulled it off the shelf and showed it to Scary. “What do you think?”

She looked blank. “Never seen it.”

“What?! I love this film, super creepy.”

She smirked at him. “Is there an orange cat in it?”

“No! …A black one…”

She laughed. “Okay, sold.”

Linc slipped the DVD into the player then they cuddled down together on the couch as the haunting opening of the film began. He could feel Scary beside him, watching awed as the doll was altered to turn into the girl on the cover — blue hair, a yellow raincoat.

She sat, silent and rapt for so long…until Coraline found herself in the Other World and met the Other Mother and Other Father, at which point Linc felt her stiffen beside him. And as the film went on she seemed more and more tense. Lincoln had no idea what went wrong - he was sure she’d love this film, it was edgy and dark and was made in the “coolest animation style ever” (Taylor hadn’t spoken to Scary for a month after she’d declared that). He didn’t know what to do - she hated it when he made decisions for her, and she hadn’t said she wanted them to turn the film off yet.

But then the Other Mother revealed her true colours, and Scary made a small, anguished sound, and Linc decided to call it. He paused the film and turned to her. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer for a second, just staring at the screen. Linc winced when he realises it was paused on a shot of the skeletal form of the Beldam, grinning viciously, hands reaching for the girl with dyed hair.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and tugged the shirt down over them - Linc tried not to wince at how that would stretch his shirt. “I just…it hit too close to home, alright?”

“In what way?”

Scary looked like she wanted to die rather than admit it. She waved a hand vaguely at the screen. “An angry mom, a pathetic dad…people changing. Becoming worse. I don’t know, man.”

[hawkinslibrary]

friends ! we need to talk about the play

we know that it's supposed to be canon. we know that it "might hold the key to the end" of the show. we know it features several of the adult st characters in their high school years. and we know there will be heavy focus on henry creel. currently, performances are only planned for the phoenix theatre in london -- starting november 17th. not everyone will have the means or opportunity to see the play in person. i know i won't. as of now, there don't seem to be any plans for performances outside of london, or any plans for a digital release or streaming or anything

hopefully, that will change in the future. i assume the super important stuff will be touched on within the final season of the actual show, but making something with canon tie-ins so exclusive still feels wrong to me. that said, fans will be seeing this next month. there will be spoilers available, pretty immediately i imagine. i will probably be talking about the play and these spoilers and what i think it could mean for the show. i love spoilers. i love content. i can't help myself

anything i post will likely be under a read more. if you are avoiding spoilers or you don't care about the play, i will tag everything i post (or reblog) with the first shadow and the first shadow spoilers. if i'm trying to speculate on what it could mean for s5 (or posting about s5 in general), i will tag with s5 and st5 spoilers. i also tag everything potentially spoiler-y with the general spoilers tag. please blacklist or filter out any one of those to avoid such content !

[urlocallesbiab]

sorry to everyone who's been missing me/waiting for something from me, i've been slipping in and out of depressive fog for a week or two (and in general have experienced significantly worse depression than normal for a couple years, but that’s another story)

i long to get back, too; a lot of things to read and ideas to write and people to talk to. love y'all, take care

[arda-ancalima]

Summary: Kazuma is injured while defending van Zieks. Both of them are annoyed about it. Wounds have to be seen in order to heal.

As a heads-up, this includes a knife wound and some non-graphic description, more of the pain and treatment than the wound itself, which still could be cringe-inducing for some (like me).

For Greatest Family Week 2023, July 28th: Mementos @greatestfamilyweek

—

That was a stupid move.

The cobblestoned street was hard beneath Kazuma where he crumpled to the ground. He bit his lip to keep from groaning. I should NOT have done that.

“What on earth were you thinking?!” van Zieks thundered, having overpowered their attacker and left him in the hands of a constable. “You should not have done that.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t left yourself completely open, I wouldn’t have had reason to,” Kazuma spat out.

“I wouldn’t have taken the risk had I known you would walk into a knife.” Van Zieks knelt next to him and tugged his hands off his abdomen. “Let me look.”

Reluctantly Kazuma let him, breathing hard as the pressure was released and the wound exposed to air. “It’s not bad.”

“No,” van Zieks agreed. “Only a slash. But it will need seeing to.”

Continue reading on AO3