#dead compassion sketch

[worldisahouseonfire]

I had the image of Compassion's manager leaving them an irritated voicemail: "After as many weeks you've missed showing up for work, I sure hope you're dead. 'Cause if you're not, I'll kill you."

Like, after a long enough time of trying to find compassion in its absence, in one's care providers and caregivers and staff and frontline providers and basically everyone, one will start to seriously contemplate that it is, in fact, *no more.* That it has *ceased to be.* That it's *snuffed it.* That it's *off the twig* and *kicked the bucket* That compassion is *bleeding demised*. That it's *shuffled off this mortal choir* and *joined the bleedin' choir invisible.* That what we have here on our hands is: **ex-compassion.** And the supplier had better replace it, then.

[aloekat]

the homosexual horses have returned

master post

part 2 of turning danganronpa characters into ponies!!!

so if you've been browsing the ishimondo tag at all in the past week, these two might be somewhat familiar lol

and i actually sketched them out WOO!

some notes:

Taka: - named Moral Compass (because. come on. that's so free) - unicorn. you might notice going forward that i have stylistic choices for each pony type, with unicorns having those long tails and extra fluff on their chest and hooves. Taka, however, keeps these extra short (unlike somepony like Byakuya who lets them grow out really long and silky). - cutie mark is a compass. again. that's obvious and kind of lazy but Whateva - a little bit part zebra! one of his grandfather's scandals in this au is he was never fully a pony and like that was bad in politics for whatever reason (just go with it alright lol) Mondo: - named Kickstart (i've had like 6 other names for him and this ones the one that stuck the most so it Might change later who knows) - pegasus. does a lot of racing. like a lot a lot. has some general scars and roughness on his hooves from hitting obstacles and runways too hard. pegasi in my designs have extra "ear feathers" and some feathers where the tail meets the body (which you can't see here because of his wings blocking them). - cutie mark is a cross between a dumbbell and a motorcycle tire with some smoke and sparks (could this look better? yes probably but just imagine it looks better alright lol) - his brother is still dead in this au because it's (unfortunately for mondo) so central to his character that i couldn't just. get rid of it. well that's my two faves already done! don't know why i started with makoto and byakuya before these two, i think i just had more inspiration for byakuya at the start lol

mondo was a bitch to both name and make a cutie mark for, i think i'm just extra picky with him because he's my all time fave ever and i want his stuff to be perfect </3

anyways if anyone has suggestions for who to...horse-ify next please let me know as i don't have specific plans for anyone in particular as of now (i have design ideas like on a google doc but nothing drawn out lol)

ok post over everyone is free to go now lol

[clockwayswrites]

Have you ever thought about soulmate aus? They have a special place in my heart, esp ones that don't specify that the soulmates are romantic. Im writing a brain dead on main one rn that is a penpal soulmate au, but I also like the idea of the identfying marks so I was curious.

If danny and tim were soulmates and you had to pick an image/symbol/whatever to represent them on each other, what would u pick?

I think for this one, lets go with they have opposite protions of a single image, and when they meet, the portion the other carries fills in on their skin. So, like, Danny has line art and tim has the colors type thing.

Soulmate AUs, my beloved! I greatly enjoy reading them, miserably failed at the only one I ever tried to write. Also agreed, platonic and familial soutmates need more love.

Hum.... symbols for those two. Alright with the two halves of whole I'd actually go with they have their own 'mark' and then their soulmate completes it. Tim has drafting tools- a compass, pen, one or two gray markers. Obviously drawing something but that something is missing. He worries he's too analytical, too planned, stiff. His parents always thought they were good marks. It sometimes made Tim hate them more. But then he meets Danny, who's always had these voids in the planets and galaxy sketched lovingly across his skin in greys.

Danny gets the tools that ground him and Tim the art that brings him joy.

[queenmuzz]

A Marriage of Convenience: Chapter VII

The Necropolis: Kiss The Girl!

Read it HERE on Ao3

Or start the story HERE!

There was a growing tension in the air. Emmrich could have attributed to the thinness of the Fade, could have been the increasing moisture, increasing air pressure as the (direction) Necropolis lift clanked and shuddered downward.

But no, he couldn't fool himself. The rising tension was emanating from the woman next to him, who didn't even look at him as the veilfire torches became fewer and further apart. He didn't understand it. Why was she so resistant to the idea of him traveling with her? While he hadn't traversed the deep depths in quite some time, decades probably, he was still familiar with it, with the spirits that lingered in the darkness down here. He knew the dangers, of how spirits that had slipped out behind the veil often found themselves driven mad by the isolation, possessing long dead bodies to lash out with. So he had come prepared, his robe stitched with boiled leather padding, his pack full of water skins, dried fruit, bandages, and a pouch full of lyrium potions. Surely she could not say that he had thought this was a frivolous jaunt?

And yet she had looked… disappointed… when he had appeared at her side, fully kitted out, as if she thought common sense would prevail, and he'd changed his mind, preferring to stay in the comfort of the upper levels. But either she was too polite, or Vorgoth's words were too effective, because to her credit, she hadn't attempted to slip away again, slamming the lift doors in his face.

Still, she didn't seem to hide her dismay at him accompanying her, shown by the way she stared straight ahead, almost as if she was pretending not to notice him.

Only after it came to the seventeenth level, when it stopped with a resounding CLUNK, did she acknowledge his presence. As she gestured to him to follow her. Aside from a single veilfire torch at the lift entrance, there was no other source of light.

"Would you like me to provide some illumination?" He attempted to create conversation, puzzled at how a non mage would navigate the lightless depths.

"Already covered." Her response was curt, as she pulled something out of her pack, putting it to her mouth and biting down. There was a POP that echoed down the infinite halls, followed by a flash of blue, which momentarily blinded him. Within a few seconds, it softened, and she plopped it into a glass skull dangling at her waist. "Lyrium tablet should last us several hours. So we don't have time to dawdle. This way." She pulled out a scroll of paper, a piece of charcoal, and began walking down the corridor, not even looking back to see if he followed.

"Looks like the central lift halls are relatively undisturbed, that's good." She spoke, more to herself than him, as he attempted to catch up. "That'll make it easier to redraw the map. So, to start with…" she turned, pulling out a little compass, and by the time he reached her, she had positioned herself north, and walked at a quick pace, her chainmail gently jingling.

"Exactly how long do you think this will take?"

"Why?" she responded without looking at him, "You got some sort of soiree to attend?"

He ignored her barbs, and looked around, marvelling at how different the stone walls looked in the blue light, compared to the usual green. "Just curious, of course. My duties consisted more of attending the denizens of the Necropolis, instead of attending to the Necropolis itself."

"Of course," she led the way as she quickly made sketches on the grid, short-form symbols that he had no skill at deciphering. "You never needed to do the dirty work."

[findingtarshish]

Hello! 👋 I hope this doesn’t sound odd, but I saw the really pretty sketch that Synth drew of Sol and Belle, and now I’m curious to know more about them! Are you playing Belle in a current chronicle and do you have a post about her backstory?

Hi thank u for asking!!!!

Belle is the attack dog of the Baron of Camden, New Jersey. In order to understand her, we gotta start with her sire, Christina Verne.

Christina is a Sabbat Salubri, specifically a Nkulu Zao, who has gone mad due to repeated diablerie. She was designed as a critique of the Quiverful philosophy. She bought into the whole "We have to kill the antedilluvians" but noticed a problem: there are next to no Salubri, so how are they to defeat an antedilluvian? Her solution: mass Embraces in every city she visits, creating warriors for Caine through serial killing.

Belle was one such victim (See the Embrace Zine for more details) and was quickly caught by the Camden Anarchs, one of the three main Anarch factions in the Philly area, and was brought to Baron Wolfgang for a decision. Wolfgang, having made a name for himself in 20th Century Germany fighting Nazis and smuggling people out of the Reich's reach saw a crying jewish woman from a rare, hunted bloodline thrown before him and felt that rare emotion so few vampires feel: compassion. He wiped the memory of those who had seen her, told her to cover her eye, and adopted her as his own Childe, and a Brujah.

She is of course totally loyal to her new dad (she did not like her old homophobic dad so she fulling thinks of Wolfgang as her new father) and works as his enforcer and guard. All this was going great until a summit at the (old, now dead) Prince's fighting ring, where she fought a Camarilla Tzimizce who pulled her hat off during a grapple. There, in the middle of the ring, for all to see: a soul-stealer in Philadelphia!

A few people went after her, but after she ripped the head off a Tremere who tried (her preferred method of killing) threats have been few and far between. After helping out the Bite Club coterie to install Prince Andrasta on the throne, she's somewhat settled down with her new polycule, and is currently in toronto trying to psych herself up to propose to her future wife, Solaire (the canonical LA Fledgling in my wod)

Belle is Philadelphian born and raised, from a mixed faith family in Hartranft. After her mother died and her homophobic father threw her out for being a lesbian, she (being 17) was adopted by her then part-time coworker, Sarah. She has successfully ship of theseused her parents. She speaks English and Yiddish and is working on French!

Here is her sheet! She's leveled up a lot since her Embrace lol

[hestzhyen]

Volume 4 Extras and Da Vinci Interview Yap: Names Edition

Not going to post screen caps since the extras are considered an incentive to buy the volumes. But I will definitely talk a bit about the info we got!

Names!

Braidbro's given name is Enji (円慈). 円 (en) means "circle" or "round" and is also the kanji for the Japanese yen. It's chosen for a baby to convey a sense of being valued, successful, and surrounded by love. Hm. 慈(ji) means love (in a parent-child sense), mercy, or compassion, and is chosen for it's direct meaning. HM. Wonder why he was the one Shiba talked to about honoring Tenri's memory by making sure none of the other kids followed his footsteps... (not). [circle of compassion] perhaps?

Sazasis is Tamaki (珠紀)! 珠 (tama) means "pearl", chosen for purity, beauty, and grace. 紀 (ki) means era or chronicle to remember special moments or events, the family's legacy and history, and/or to follow rules and regulations. [pearl chronicle] is a pretty name!

Birthdays

Kerfluffle over Hakuri being 17 aside, not much stands out. Unless you're into zodiac signs and Western birthstone interpretations I guess- go wild if so.

Well, actually... Sojo being confirmed 30 years old is pretty funny. Dude legit had beef with an 18-year old because of his parasocial relationship to the kid's dead dad. LMAO. He must have been so happy to have been born a day (and like 10 years) after Kunishige too.

If we want to take holidays into account, Chihiro was born on Mountain Day (8/11)! It's a fairly recent holiday that was only enacted in 2014, ostensibly to promote appreciation of the many mountains in Japan. I don't think there's any special meaning to this beyond the trivia value, as it was probably a coincidence if anything.

Hakuri's birthday falls on an unofficial holiday- Sakura Day (3/27). It was created in 1992 by the Cherry Blossom Association to promote interest in the tradition of hanami, or cherry blossom viewing. Probably another coincidence but we take these. It seems to suit him somehow!

Spring and summer, what a wonderful combination~ Don't think too hard about how Kunishige probably had New Year's sex based on Chihiro's birth date though. Don't imagine sexy Kunishige. Don't do it! Stop that!

SoTen?!

There was a little sketch of Soya talking to Tenri (thanks to Hella for the TL!) in the extras. It mentioned that Soya had a slight inferiority complex towards Tenri due to how fast his youngest brother surpassed him, which led him to fixate on Hakuri instead.

SoHaku folks are going a little nuts over this as you'd expect. Can't blame them though since several prominent artists in and outside of that circle had thought this might be the case. To have it confirmed in canon is pretty satisfying for all those who believed in it.

I never gave it much thought from the Tenri perspective, but it makes sense. Soya seems like he was supposed to be That Guy but was found lacking for some reason. He was lurking in the background every time Kyora was talking to Tenri and Hakuri side-by-side, completely unnoticed. And the stuff with his name, of course... So yeah. Hakuri really was Soya's punching bag because Soya felt he wasn't good enough. Thank goodness Soya is dead and definitely never coming back. Clothing Mysteries Revealed

There were also simple sketches of Hakuri and Chihiro's top layers to basically confirm what we already knew thanks to Chapter 45. Chihiro wears a plain long-sleeved black shirt, a track coat, and a trench coat that is a pain for Hokazono-sensei to draw. He might change the trench coat for something else later but wouldn't count on it for now. Hakuri wears a long-sleeved black turtleneck under a dress shirt and a haori that he tucks into his pants (cute!!!). The biggest surprise is that the dress shirt has a breast pocket I guess?

I'm happy for all the fan artists out there who will find the references useful, but... THE STRAPS? HELLO??? WHY THE STRAPS ON THE PANTS?! I insist this insignificant detail gets elaborated on. I require it. Is it his own fashion sense? If so, he didn't have them the day Ice Lady died despite the half boots, pants, and haori-undershirt combo remaining intact. At least a day passed (maybe) between her death and him being kicked out- he has a different style of dress shirt on the second layer compared to when we see him in the present day. So Hakuri had time to change but why add the straps? Where did they come from??? I cannot let this go. HELP.

Da Vinci Magazine Interview

Hokazono-sensei provided a long interview to the magazine that was published to help promote Volume 4's release. Brasilbro posted a lightly edited Machine TL of it, which has caused some buzz (my soul withers at the prospect of trying to do it myself...). As expected there's a lot of love given to Naruto, John Wick, and depicting blood splatters. He also references JJK and CSM as other manga that tell a faster story than previous shounen series. I've seen a lot of manga in recent years try to emulate Fujimoto-sensei's style, but I think Hokazono-sensei's done it the best because he's also a film buff. You can tell he loves action movies and has a movie director's PoV when he's composing the scenes (and especially the fights). Not that other styles are bad- I love me some more traditional shounen like Wind Breaker and HxH too. It's just if you're going to try and copy the feel of a Fujimoto manga, you need to be as insanely in love with movies as he is.

That's why the pacing in Kagurabachi is so fast, too- he doesn't want to lose reader engagement by slowing things down and having longer arcs with a few "dead" chapters here and there. He acknowledges that this makes the manga a very dense read at least. And I'm fine with it. I wish it was a smidge slower, but I still wouldn't change the pacing. I just hope it doesn't go any faster than this because every week is like a whirlwind already.

Kind of interested, kind of worried that he's using up all his prepared ideas as fast as he can to try and create new ones. Won't call it arrogant but maybe... idealistic? Creation is hard, man. Especially working at the brutal pace of a weekly serialization. I just hope he can keep up without compromising his health like so many other mangaka are forced to do. He mentions in the next paragraph that he's starting to feel the pressure. Not surprising in the least with all the extra art he's had to make for cover and color pages, volume bonuses, and re-draws.

I'm also really, really glad that I can put my worries of a sudden introduction of yokai or mythical beings as enemies to rest. He confirmed that he wanted Kagurabachi to be about people versus people. Yay! I wouldn't drop the manga if we changed course into fighting a supernatural threat, but I could get that pretty much anywhere. I'm invested in Kagurabachi for the storytelling about the human vs. human conflicts more than anything else. Keeping the cast and foes entirely (or mostly) human helps sell the extremely personal nature of Chihiro's revenge mission IMO.

Then there's this...

You wanted Hakuri to add some cuteness, huh?! Oh boy did you nail that one, Hokazono-sensei. These two are going to be fruity as heck to the end I can tell. But I'm also reassured as a HakuHiro shipper that Hokazono actually wanted Hakuri there and likes the character (he also mentioned that he likes drawing him in the Vol. 4 extras). I didn't believe the bad-faith accusations of Hakuri being the result of executive meddling for one second- don't sell me that short. I've read all of Hokazono-sensei's oneshots so I know he loves his color-coded SasuNaru expy duos. But sometimes I feel the relationship he's written between Hakuri and Chihiro is too good to be real. If he REALLY wanted them to come across that sus, though? Okay then! I won't worry about the wellspring drying up any time soon.

In general it seems like Hokazono-sensei's pretty put-together (for a memelord) and happy to be drawing Kagurabachi. I'm really, really glad for him and It's exciting to see his series finally get the recognition it deserves. Kagurabachi's on the big come-up now with all the extra promotion since winning the Tsugimanga award. Become the future of WSJ!

It's late. I've yapped too much today. If you read this- thanks. Say something nice to yourself, alright? And take care.

[tobylix-blog]

LotR Week (4/7): Gifts, burdens and choices - Boromir x Reader

Content & Warnings: angst, mentions of death Word count: 0.7k Summary: The weight of the gift, once a symbol of your love and hope, now pressed down on you as an unbearable burden A/N: this had taken my soul out just to finish the piece. Running to catch up with @lotrweek

You had been preparing the gift for a long time. Staying awake at night and thinking over and over what could be worthy of his status and practical in use, spending hours on drawing poor sketches and then throwing them into the hearth, until finally they turned out good enough to bring them over to Cobbled Street and explain your request to the craftsmen before entrusting the process to their skilled hands. It wasn't until months later that you could finally hold it in your hands.

The horn, crafted of polished walnut wood and adorned with intricate gilded filigree. Cold and real, it was even more beautiful than you imagined it. Each leaf and branch, each tower and spire, etched onto its surface by the artisans, had your heart and thought poured in it. It was for Boromir, a token of your affection, a symbol of your unspoken dreams. 

______________________________________________________________ The weight of a horn, heavy in your hand and cold even through the cloth wrapped around it, seemed only to make the pounding of your heart worse as you rushed through the echoing halls. Your steps quickened each time you jumped over the last stair, as if you tried to outrun the rising whirlwind of thrill and apprehension. You followed the trail of news, the whispered rumours. "Lord Denethor holds the audience, the wizard came from the North. They speak of Boromir." Your heart was sinking, but the hopes arose.

Your hold tightened on the horn, keeping it against your chest like a shield from the creeping fears, as you silently entered the grand hall through the side door, keeping in the shadow of columns and out of sight.

Denethor, sat upon his throne, his eyes fixed upon the figure of Gandalf, clad in white.  The hobbit, small and seemingly unassuming, stood beside the wizard, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination. 

Gandalf cleared his throat. “Boromir,” he began, his voice a low rumble, stirring fear mixed with hope in your chest, “fought bravely, valiantly. He fell defending the Fellowship, facing a horde of orcs.” 

The walls crashed around you like bread crumbles in the shaking hands of the ill. The white stones fell with thundering rumble, burying you beneath and filling your lungs with dust. Or so you felt as the words swept you off your feet like a storm.

Your hands trembled. The horn slipped from grasp. Loud rattle reverberated off the walls and gathered in the centre of the hall in an ugly blot of terror. Boromir, dead? The image of him, tall and strong, his dark hair crowned by the sunlight, filled your mind. His laughter, his stories, his gentle teasing. Everything vanished with a single sentence. 

“What a mockery,” Denethor hissed. “Pick up that trinket and get out!”. You heard his words, but they were lost in the deafening roar of your own grief, of the howling ache blowing through the gaping hole in your chest.

One of the servants, who remained hidden behind another column, hurried to get the horn and push it into your shaking hands. You stumbled back, vision clouded and obscure. A pair of warm palms, burning hot against your shoulders, shoved you forward. Stone floors responded to your unsteady steps with freezing firmness, and you broke into a run.

The weight of the gift, once a symbol of your love and hope, now pressed down on you as an unbearable burden. The intricate filigree, meant for the hero you loved dearly, now truly was but a mockery. 

______________________________________________________________ Boromir always made the right choices. For his soldiers, for the people of the White City, for himself. It was as if he had some impeccable compass in his chest, that always showed him the right direction, and followed its guidance without second thoughts. 

He had chosen you, though. Despite the whispers, the disapproval. He had seen past the expectations that dictated your lives. The world said that you were not meant for each other – such is the order of things. But you had chosen otherwise. 

______________________________________________________________ And now, he was gone. As if due to some cruel repayment for his only mistake — you. The world was going on, the pace of life unchanged, but in your eyes everything had stopped, faded, died. The horn was a silent testament to your love, never meant to come alive with the sound again.

[golby-moon]

threw a mermaid!cas art piece into the pot that is the @reversefantasyspnbang and like magic a mermaid!cas fic appeared :00

here's the banner I made for this, (yes another) desk with stuff on it. idk why I draw so many desks as banners either. but yeah this one is pirate flavored and has a spyglass and compass on it as well as a phoenix feather and fancy pendant thing that was inspired by the one from Disney's 'Moana' with a spn-themed pentagram thrown on there, though the pendant kinda looks like a Tamagotchi and I can't get that image out of my brain. the fish in the drawer was supposed to be a placeholder for something else in the original sketch but it was silly so it stayed 🎉

the title is on a pirate map that's supposed to tell its own story or whatever. the dashed line explores all around the area with various scribbled-out x's marking various spots as well as a whirlpool type deathtrap around what would be the 'a' in 'dead'. the only un-scribbled 'x' is on a tiny island called Mermaid Rock (the thing around the giant tail-shaped 't' in 'tails'), but since the pirates go out of their way to avoid that area (as seen in the dashed line where they get sucked into the whirlpool instead) due to superstitions about mermaids being bad luck, they don't know whether there's actually anything there or not and therefore can't eliminate it

this was the original art piece I submitted, featuring Dean holding up Cas, who's tangled up in a net. looking at it now I can see that angle of the boat is...weird (especially that ladder staircase thing) but ehh. I spent a ton of time planning Dean's outfit to be a somewhat historically accurate pirate but didn't realize Cas would be covering the neat jacket and sword holster thing I gave him and everything uh

the goal with this was to have Dean not the pirate captain for once in a pirate Dean/mermaid Cas fic (which I like reading but doubt I can write, hence why I dumped it on somebody else via reverse bang I mean what). I wanted Cas to look like he came from deep within the ocean, so his eyes are slitted to take in more light (think of cats) and his skin is more of a grey to better blend in. ofc Cas can't resist checking out the human world and ended up getting caught in a net but luckily Dean was there to pull him out...only to get in trouble for it. this was the original art idea and I really like the way the author adapted it and made Dean more of a reluctant pirate and Cas even more in love with 'humanity'

I do not like drawing bunk beds. or furniture. but it at least looks like a bed so that's okay. but yeah Dean's singing to Cas here and is kinda embarrassed about it, hence why he's looking away, but Cas can't actually tell what he's saying either way so Dean's just being Paranoid. the marks on Cas are scars from the net, a reference to what actually happens to irl sea creatures who get tangled in nets, if they live at all. those lines are supposed to be ribs to indicate that Cas is pretty thin due to a lack of food (probably due to humans overfishing) but they kinda look like he had top surgery. which...ignore that that's unintentional or I would've made them that same pinkish color as his other scars. also ignore the nipple freckle I had to include it okay

water is really weird sorry it looks so weird. but here's Dean and Cas preparing for some boat kisses because they're Them. I really like how the boat and especially the words on the boat (Riverside Blue, a reference to Led Zeppelin's 'Traveling Riverside Blues,' one of Dean's favorite songs added as per the author's suggestion) came out. the boat was supposed to be blue with the characteristic white underside all boats seem to have but then it was just...too blue and what goes better with blue than green 🤡

there was an idea thing going around where the crew on the pirate ship weren't allowed to wear colors, hence why both of Dean's outfits in the other two pics are so drab (the dull backgrounds don't help). so in this final piece where they're off the ship, I wanted to make it as colorful as possible with that orange sky and brightly colored boat and then Dean's colorful outfit with his shirt being somewhere between blue and green. yay contrast

man I didn't mean to ramble so much sorry about that. just put a lot of thought into these even though it might not look like it

the fic this is made for is called "Dead men tell no tails" by @quicksilver-castiel for the spn reverse fantasy bang

(02/17/24)

[rainintheevening]

West, Part I

Maps stretched out

The day after Peter ships out, the maps start appearing on the wall of the Fifth form common room at St. Maurice’s. Europe as a whole at first, then Italy, the Mediterranean, Greece, Germany, France...

He takes them home with him at the end of the term, Edmund Pevensie does, scatters them over his (and Peter's) room, mixed up with newspapers and letters in Peter's dashing handwriting.

Too many miles to count

He tries to find closer maps, more detail, tracing his finger across mountain ranges and down coastlines. He spans the entire Allied line with his thumb. He'd never felt the world to be so big before, never felt so small. Narnia had been such a small country. How long would it take to sail around the Cape of Gibraltar? How long would it take to fly to Sicily?

Sometimes he does the math. Sometimes he doesn't.

Let's just say we're inches apart

Remember watching the stars with Oreius? How you'd sketch them with your finger so carefully? How we'd lie out in the grass with Era and Philip, in silence sometimes, for hours? There were so many stars out there in the country. Some nights I'm lucky to see stars here. But when I do I imagine you seeing the same ones, mapping your way the way to well, your way to me. Sometimes I swear I can feel you beside me in the dark, little brother.

He lies in Peter's bed, letter in his hand, falls asleep with paper between his fingers.

And even closer at heart

For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it. Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.

Even as his pen moves over the paper, he finds his lips moving too, a begging murmur, mixing with the summer rain heavy on the roof.

And we'll be just fine

He laughs as Lucy places the crown of daisies on his head, and kisses her cheek. He rubs Susan's aching feet as she sits on the couch and reads aloud to them. He fingers his little silver lion against his collarbone, and smiles through the steam rising off his coffee.

Another pin pushed in

The maps on the wall grow a forest of colored heads and tiny flags, and anyone who wants war news or any better understanding of the progression of the European theatre goes to the Fifth's common room.

To remind us where we've been

He takes a map down to the stables sometimes, unrolls it on the table in the harness room, sits patiently as Master Gringham pores over it, searching for the boy who rode his horses like no one else, all of them trying to coordinate themselves.

The horses miss you, he writes to Peter. Have you had a chance to ride recently?

And evey mile adds up

He lies alone in their room, catching the faint murmurs of his parents downstairs, and he can't remember the last time he cried on Christmas, but he's doing it now, hot salt water on Peter's pillow, as Bing Crosby croons on the wireless in the girls' room down the hall.

Please, God, please let him come home safe, please let him be happy, please.

Leaving its mark on us

I was grieved to hear of your wounding, brother, but truly grateful it was not more serious. I wish I could be there, to make sure you were getting proper care and treatment. Be careful, please. But don't be a coward. I'd rather a dead brother, than a coward. But don't die. You're not allowed to die without me.

He means it, every word, that's why he doesn't cross any of it out.

And sometimes our compass breaks

Twelve of them dead, and I alive, and I don't know why, Ed, but I don't know if I can do this, I can't. Not alone. I'd forgotten how much this hurts. I only knew half their names, and I know Badger had four little kids back home, and I don't understand.

I don't understand.

And our steady true north fades

Snow lies thick on the moor, and Ed struggles to open his eyes in the morning. His feet are heavy, his mind moves slow, and he can't get warm. He sits as close to the fire in the common room as he can without setting his clothes aflame. Some mornings he sits with his hand on the black leather cover, but he doesn’t open the book.

We'll be just fine

There's a black and white photograph folded in with the thin paper, and there he is smiling up at them all, officer's cap set at a jaunty angle, shirtless with a bandage on one forearm. Peter hugs a scruffy looking mongrel dog close, hand rubbing the pointed ears, and Ed smiles back at the living shadow of his brother.

We'll be just fine

Warm spring sunshine splashes over Ed's face, and he leans on his spade, brushes mud off his hands, and surveys the dark turned earth of the school's Victory Garden, listens to the first formers laughing as they fling dirt clods at each other.

We'll be just fine

Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he hath made in the earth.

He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire... Peter writes.

We'll be just fine

Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.

The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge, Edmund answers.

I know that we will

"I miss him so much," Lucy says, and Edmund wraps his arm around her shoulders as they walk, remembering how he closed his last letter with those three words.

I just know that we will

He kneels by Peter's bed, his bed now, and the maps hang all round on the walls, he is surrounded by everywhere his brother is and was and could be, as he bows his head and the evening prayer comes weary and steady from his lips.

They used to say it together.

[initforthethrill]

HELLO. YOU PLAY RED DEAD TOO? im a hardcore rdr2 gamer at about 600h i need your thorough opinion about the lovely arthur morgan

YES LOL. i am a pretty hardcore gamer so chances are i've played or at least know of most games. i've worked on and off at gamestop since i was like 19 and with that comes a lot of gaming knowledge :)

i've been wanting to do a 3rd (?) replay of rdr2 now that i have a gaming pc and can mod it lol but cate dunlap brainrot has completely overtaken my life for the last year+ and now my unfortunate reality is that i live breathe eat sleep poop cate dunlap...

but yes arthur morgan! best boy! he's very near and dear to my heart, and like half of the western bots i have in progress were born specifically from my love for rdr2 and arthur's story. (definitely a lot less sad though lol) arthur and sadie are my favorite characters by far. also really love charles<3

can you tell i love a good redemption arc?! lol

arthur is one of those rare video game characters who becomes more real the longer you spend with him. which is one of the things i love about him because he's so deeply human. sure he's flawed and gruff but we get to see this aching tenderness under the surface throughout the course of the game. this man who’s constantly wrestling with guilt, loyalty, and the question of whether he can still be good in a world that is insistent on dragging him down. i love watching him slowly shift from a hardened outlaw to someone seeking redemption. it's genuinely such a compelling arc because he doesn’t just change for the sake of story in many cases he chooses to change.

there’s also something endlessly endearing about the way he interacts with the world around him. he’s this tough guy on the exterior but he'll also like...sketch a flower in his journal as if it's the most important thing in the world to him. he makes you want to stop and see things even if it pulls you away from the main story just to experience how he interacts with the world around him and see how deeply even the littlest of interactions affects him. his moral compass is bent but not broken (MUCH like cate...i'm seeing a trend lol), and whether you play him as honorable or ruthless (i'm always honorable lol), there’s this undercurrent of melancholy that sticks with you long after the credits roll. arthur isn’t just a cowboy or an outlaw or a criminal. he’s a portrait of loss, love, and the aching hope that it’s not too late to become the person you were meant to be.

[blocksmithkyra]

Decked Out 2 phase 1 doodles

[Description under cut]

A series of drawings sketched in pencil, depicting characters with large, round heads & cartoon proportions.

Top Middle - Etho in full armor with elytra. Small, laughing heads float above him. One depicts Tango; the other is a feminine version, intended to depict Mrs. Tango. Speech bubbles with scribbles in them are around the heads.

Top Left - Tango dead on top of a berry bush.

Below Top Middle- Doc stuck in the Ember Hole.

Top Right - Pearl & Gem. Gem looks smug & Pearl has a slight blush. Above Gem is a thought bubble with Pearl in it, this time wearing a cheerleader outfit.

Below Top Right - Zedaph in a snow hole, looking out with a spyglass.

Left of Below Top Right - Tango as a fairy, holding the Want of Gorgeousness.

Center - Impulse throwing a compass into the air.

Left of Center - Etho running into a hazard door.

Below Left of Center - IRL Tango screaming in question. Next to him, mostly cut off from view, is Mrs. Tango talking about an Ice shard.

Below Center - The Pick of Shame, worn on both ends.

Right of Center - Rendog drowning between Magma & a sheet of ice

Bottom - Six heads poking out from behind podiums made of note blocks above emerald blocks, except for the far right podium which is wood instead of emerald. From left-to-right the heads depict Hypno, Cub, Gem, Scar, Grian, & Etho. On either side of Scar's podium are wheels, resting on a raised platform to make his head height even with the others'.

[richardazer]

Anyway no one except Ravi wanted to talk to me about what kind of bugs the boys would be

So tumblr gets this because I sad

Brainworms with HK lore for nerds like me below + a silly ship sketch

So a bit of lore, technically the setting is in the middle of HK playthru yk?? But it's also on its own kinda?

The hive is opened after many years, there's a lot of commotion and infection and obviously the king is no more sooooo

3 pretty pale siblings come through the world searching for followers, all three are wyrms but they take on forms of different bugs

Ianite is a mantis

Mianite is a wyrm (kings mold kinda build?)

Dianite is a moth (Grimm type heho)

Sparklez the mighty ant

Born and raised in the city of tears (don't ask me where the rest of the ants are, we're all waiting for silksong lol)

He wanted to become a city guard but did not make the cut because of his size and species, seeking to become worthy he travels outside the city later to train with the nail masters and meeting Ianite and the Mantis Lords.

His charms are Nailmaster's Glory (for obvious reasons) and Mark of Pride given by the Mantis Lords. + unbreakable strength

He spends most of his time in the Colosseum of Fools and has become a valuable champion

The deepnest pretty boy aka Peter 'za' hhutt

He's the Midwife's precious son, he gets his hunger from her. Pete found the Wayward Compass charm and quickly became an expert in the maze that is Deepnest making him the most dangerous predator. He has never left the nest, didn't need to. Bugs would come wandering in, traitors and weaklings would be thrown in by the Mantis Lords. Plenty of delicious food keeping him fed and sane.

The other charms he's given by Sparklez when they meet. Sparklez loves exploring, taking on any battle he can. Pete puts up a great fight. The spider isn't used to pray fighting back so vigorously so he lets Sparklez go. Meeting a worthy opponent Sparklez offers companionship since the deepnest is a tough place to traverse.

Quick Slash and Dashmaster made Pete more of a beast but he's no longer fueled by hunger because Sparklez consistently brings him dead bugs from the coliseum fights to feed Pete.

Fuzzy bee X33n

He's just a Hivelink, some of them patrol outside the hive but Xeen never been outside. After the hive was forced to interact with an outsider X33n musters up the courage to go explore. He missed his exit at the Ancient Basin because the infected bugs there scared him. But the first time he goes to explore he ends up in Deepnest.

Poor bee gets chased by a hungry spider and ends up running into an armored ant hehoo

Sparklez saves X33n from hungry Pete and they sit down to talk about the hive and how a bee got lost so far away from home

X33n's charms are Hiveblood (obviously, he's a bee it comes with the Xbox!) Thorns of Agony and Heavy Blow to help him against the infected bugs

The ship silly for anyone who is nerd enough to read through all this

"fed a stray cat now he loves me" VS "how can I NOT want to eat him he's so plump and fuzzy!!"

[spookythesillyfella]

soo if it wazn't obviouz . ive been sorta crazy about thiz song for a hot minute [itz my blog aesthetic atm like c'mon] and i feel like itz about time i give it a proper analysis

"I Should Be Unfinished" – Dobu no Awa with the boy . HV! Tony

"From right to left over and over and over and over again" – thiz could reprezent the fact Tony feelz stuck in that neverending loop of suffering . and how he seez no point in trying to live anymore

"I feel my ears overflowing with blood" – not only iz thiz a parallel to DHMIS 2 . but i also think it fitz in with HV! Tonyz lore phenomenally ; the "blood" can reprezent "life" in thiz scenario and . given who he iz after all . thiz "blood" iz no longer a part of him – figuratively and literally

"I'm tired of hearing it // I've had enough of this // I've memorized it // And yet I've fallen into the habit of pretending that I had forgotten" – once again . representative of the neverending cycle he feelz trapped in ; could also symbolize the fact people around him are alwayz of the mentality of "it getz better !! don't give up !!" and that he feelz sick of hearing thiz . since hez been around for so long and "nothing haz gotten better" – still . he haz thiz facade of arrogance that he uzez to brush off said commentz and "forget" about them . and the constant reminderz that they bring

"It's futile, no matter how much time I wasted // I'm still unfinished" – Tony seez himself az a very one dimensional person – he feelz like . even with all the time hez spent in the world . he hazn't been able to recover from The Event ; he still feelz incomplete becauze of the fact he can't let go . hence him being "Unfinished"

"'Like that–' // 'Such a thing–' // 'What's happened?' // 'Was that not it?'" – i feel like thiz part iz actually in relation to the fact hez been through so much and . in each era of hiz life . he hazn't been able to find something – someone – that would help him feel alive and / or hazn't ended horribly

"Even if I cried out // Even if I tore my hair // You should have a look, // It's not like I can disappear" – still . deep down . he cravez connection and having a sense of safety and belonging – he wantz someone to look at him with compassion . even if he'z so broken and bruized ; he cannot disappear completely . he'z already dead . so might az well forget looking forward to a peaceful . everlasting slumber

"Why don't we end that escape drama? // are you worn out? Let's take a break..." – personally . i see thiz az the shift in HV! Tonyz life – it goez from the bleak . isolated everyday to a slightly more tolerable and exciting experience after meeting Sketch ; stop running . even for just a moment . and letz sit down together . breathe and take a break – you must be terribly tired ...

"Suppose you've wasted that much to complete it? // Can you really say that it's right, in all sincerity, // Without averting your eyes?" – now met with care and love from people around him . he can't accept it – he must prove to people that someone az wretched az him should be left to rot . not be cared for . az hez just dead weight ; i also think that thiz iz a genuine question that he pozez to otherz . az he cannot understand completely why or how hiz loved onez can find themselves to put up with him – maybe by finding an answer . he can finally start learning to value himself properly az well

"Even if I grieved // Even if I made a fuss // You should have a look at what remains of me" – even with all hiz flawz . maybe Tony can at least accept that he still cravez to form a bond with otherz – to have something he once had again . even if he'z now "wrong" . "broken" . "Unfinished"

"I don't want to deceive myself anymore. // Are you worn out? Then let's take a break." – you're with people who love you and who you love – stop running from the truth . sit down . take a break.

"Even if I cried // Even if I was sorry // You should have a look // Give it back to them!" – i have shown you all there iz to show – all the remorse and how much i lament thiz event – give thiz happiness back to him . to her . to everyone else ; give it back. to them.

"This is how it should be, I'm alright..." – "Unfinished" . "broken" and "wrong" – thatz all i'll ever be . and thatz fine by me ; nothing can be done to alter who i am . and thatz just how thingz are going to be

"This is how it should be. I'm alright. // Hey, I'm worn out already // Goodnight..." – "Unfinished" . "broken" and "wrong" . thatz it.

[homenecromancer]

Nosferatu is a film for adults and I am aware of that.

It’s a good thing that Nosferatu came out when it did, but I do sort of wish I could see how I would’ve reacted to it when I was between the ages of about 14 and 18. The general vibe is one that would’ve absolutely appealed to me:

Imagine that you are the saddest girl in the world, but also the most special. You have made terrible choices in your short life, which you cannot bear to confess to anyone. No one really understands you for most of the story, including your closest friends, who refuse to listen to your desperate pleas, or recognize the true depth of your suffering. Then a non-threatening older mentor figure offers you compassion, listens to you, and tells you that you are the single most important person in this story. In a final act of bravery, you choose to sacrifice yourself, and it is only as you die a tragic death that everyone truly appreciates the gravity of what you’ve done to save the city.

Being a teenager means feeling big emotions and not quite knowing what to do with them. Horror fiction offers a space to safely explore new feelings or thoughts about life in a heightened, metaphorical way. “Maybe everyone would finally appreciate me if I were DEAD” is so normal of a teenage thought to have that Mark Twain uses it in Tom Sawyer. Same goes for “no one really understands what I am going through, but I wish someone nice would tell me that they get it, and that my feelings are valid”.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention something else about Nosferatu that I think a lot of people on Tumblr could appreciate: look, sometimes you want to read or watch a story where the heroine finds herself irresistibly attracted to / ensnared by someone or something who is objectively terrible in every way. It’s just in Nosferatu, that person is a literal monster. (This is a heightened version of a real-life dynamic that applies to far more than romantic relationships: “I can’t stop going back to this thing that is hurting me” applies to addiction as well.)

So let’s talk about Van Helsing (2004) for a minute.

I saw Van Helsing when I was just a little too young for it — I was 11 when it came out — and though it’s much less adult in content (it’s rated PG-13 in my region), it hits some of the same emotional notes that Nosferatu does. Let me think:

A beautiful woman finds herself in the clutches of a monstrous man, who she finds both scary and kind of hot. There’s an emphasis put on the age difference between the two of them — she’s a normal human, and he’s super old. She is the ultimate key to destroying him, and finally manages to ensure that this happens, but herself dies tragically in the process.

Of course, there’s a lot that’s different about the two movies — Nosferatu is all about the woman/monster dynamic, but there’s really only one memorable scene in that vein in Van Helsing. (And that vampire ball where Anna dances with Dracula is still pretty striking, I gotta say.) And Van Helsing is entertaining on a pulp level, but Nosferatu is actually a good movie.

Van Helsing is all surface. Some of that surface is quite fun, or hits evocative emotional notes, but it’s not exactly a deep movie. A lot of what makes Nosferatu good is happening under the surface, and it probably would’ve missed me as a teenager, for the most part. (Orlok is not the only man in the cast who refuses to listen to Ellen, nor is he the only man who abuses her “for her own good” or because she “wanted it”.) But those broad emotional notes I sketched out at the start of this post definitely would’ve worked for me. They are story elements that still appeal to me today, and Nosferatu uses them in a skillful, adroit way — I haven’t been so strongly affected by a movie in a long time. It’s not for everybody, but for some of us, it’s great.

edit: “Hey, what about Thomas!” I hear you cry. OK I made another post about that.

[axisjr]

It's Conditional || Nora & Regan

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Saol Eile, Cliodhna's house. PARTIES: Regan @kadavernagh and Hamstring @honeysmokedham SUMMARY: Regan is ready to go against her training. She's ready to tell Hamstring what Declan is supposed to be.

“Declan is going to die in front of you. That’s how it works. You are going to love him, and he will die because of it.”

The thought of opposing Fate, of even thinking about it let alone suggesting it, roiled in Regan’s stomach like her grandmother’s cooking. Yet she was doing just that. As if the clandestine plans she had made with Wynne weren’t bad enough (but she didn’t need to be part of them herself, she didn’t, she was going to think about it, and that’s what she was doing, not–) her attempt to convince the ham child that this place wasn’t what she thought, was in direct opposition to Fate. Declan was going to die, and practically all of Saol Eile knew it. How many banshees had screamed for him already? And even if, somehow, someway, he managed to escape his destiny, they could not let him leave this place alive. 

Yet Regan was still going to try one more time. The way her chest felt loaded down with rocks was surely a response to the disobedience possessing her, and not out of the compassion she was still trying to exile. Regan waited until her grandmother had left – there was a highly-anticipated worm race in preparation of the holiday – and found the ham child in the guestroom, drawing something, and becoming less and less like a guest every day. That was about to end. “Who’s that one for? Declan? We need to discuss him.” She couldn’t count the number of times she had declared that, then been brushed off, or ducked away herself, too cowardly to say what was necessary and go against her kin. This was the first time she had broached the subject since actually seeing Declan, screaming for him, though. And if she had any hope of pulling the child out of here in the short window they might have soon, she had to strip the paint from whatever rosy walls the child gazed into all day.

She invited herself past the threshold of the door (was it inviting? This was her place of residence) and leaned stiffly against the wall as the child sketched out some of the finer details of a badger’s skull. The child was talented, there was no doubt, but something stung like dirt rubbed into an open wound whenever Regan walked by one of the drawings adorning the walls where there had previously been only blank space. Cliodhna was fond of them. She did not smile, but the small grunt of approval at that first drawing of a dead cow replayed in Regan’s head, where bitterness gnawed like it had teeth.

Regan watched, sternly, pointedly, before realizing the child was too absorbed in what she was doing to listen (and probably wouldn’t even so; it was no wonder Emilio let her do as she pleased). Had the child even heard her before? Regan cleared her throat, tight and controlled; it would have broken nothing. “I will first say what I’ve said every time I’ve spoken to you: leave, because I am not.” It was lip service at this point. The child wouldn’t, even though this was detrimental to the both of them. And as for Regan… she glanced down at the ring on her finger, the one she had almost lost in the lake for making her feel like even half a person every time she saw it, and she had lost the ability to pin her failures on it. 

The child’s assent did not come; of course, the child would not go either. Regan had a decent idea of what would get her attention. “I met Declan. He had an appointment with me. Did he tell you about that?” She was probing for potential knowledge about what Declan was, the honor that awaited him (had the child been a banshee…). Her wings flicked in agitation. “You don’t listen. I’m doing this to you as a favor right now.”

—---

Each day the barrier between guestroom and her room was dissolving, the letters of guest morphing into something adjacent to home. After discovering, and approving of, Hamstring's drawing prowess, Cliodhna had supplied her with paper and charcoal, in return Hamstring had been making her art. The older banshee appreciated the grotesque and morbid art Hamstring was supplying, something the humans in Wicked's Rest would blanche at; shuffling away with muttered lines of distress because monsters were what haunted them and not what they appreciated. 

This badger skull was a new one for Cliodhna. When she returned from the worm races, they would have bone broth and discuss banshee things. Cliodhna's English was confusing. Sometimes she spoke in easy-to-understand phrases that followed all conventions of English grammar. Other times her questions felt badly translated, "Is your flesh ready?" "Are you bonded?" To which Hamstring would employ years of media training. You see, telling interviewers you don't understand their questions is rude. It makes you look uninformed, and being uninformed means you don't care. Instead, you deflect the question, bringing up something new. Deflections were easy when Hamstring was genuinely curious about the giant worm statue and the story that goes with it. 

The heavy thrum of instruments slamming and a "vocalist" screaming leaked out of Hamstring's headphones. Head down, her fingers worked on the fine shading of the badger's skull. Hamstring discovered that Cliodhna liked her bone art to be true to the source, but she still added a twist of her own, a break near the temple where a knife and worm were entwined. A whisper of words, catching on Declan, brought Hamstring to attention that she wasn't alone. Hamstring looked up, slipping off the headphones and staring blankly at Regan. This was new. Normally it was Hamstring walking into Regan's room every morning, asking the banshee if she was ready to go home yet. "Sup?" Hamstring was considerate enough to turn the music off, eyes plastering on Regan. 

"I want to leave Regan." That wasn't true anymore, it was a lie that slipped easily from her tongue to dance in the space between them. A jester performing for his king out of duty and not out of joy. Because if Hamstring left, her days of lounging by the waterfall with Declan would end. That alone was enough to chain her to Saol Eile for the rest of her life, despite the promises she'd made to return to Wicked's Rest. But they wanted her there in one piece. Return whole, is what she had promised. Declan - and this was hard to explain- felt like a piece of her. Leaving him and returning would break something in her. A broken promise. A broken Hamstring. Those were too many breaks, it was easier to stay here, where life was simple.

"But we both know I can't without you. If you want me gone, say you're ready and we'll be out by tonight." Regan wouldn't call her bluff, Hamstring knew, Regan was still searching for something here. Hamstring suspected that something was supposed to stop Regan from feeling like an outsider and fit in. What Hamstring had found here. In Hamstring’s mind, the jealousy of seeing Hamstring fit in this place she was forced to run from, was tearing them apart. Constantly Regan would turn the other way if she saw Hamstring coming, avoid conversation with her, or simply make an excuse to leave her presence. But Hamstring understood. Hamstring knew the bitter feeling of watching someone else thrive where you longed to simply belong, so she didn’t hold it against Regan. Hamstring would also have given anything to help Regan find that missing piece. Maybe with it, she’d feel confident enough to return home to those waiting for her. Or happier with their life in Saol Eile. 

“No, he didn’t tell me,” Hamstring answered, looking up with a question at Regan. Regan had been telling Hamstring to be careful around Declan since the moment they met. To leave him alone, give him space. So while Declan had told Hamstring about his doctor's appointment, the lie was once again easier. To stop a familiar argument from repeating. It would be a waste of time, a record on repeat forced to play the same song over and over again. Hamstring took a deep sigh, looking back down at her art and starting again. “And what is this huge favor, Regan?”

—------

Hamstring didn’t want to leave. If Regan said she was ready to go right now, would the child even go with her? (She wasn’t ready to go (she might have been ready to go), not unless– and even then, how– no, she couldn’t leave, even if she wanted to (did she? Did it matter? (yes, there were things that mattered, people that mattered, one person (Jade, it was Jade (did she get the message?). But her brothers were also (what about her mom? And her dad would have hated to see her here, it was what he spent his whole life trying to avoid))– and they would never know why, would never understand. (but what if they could?)) who mattered so much she–) Did anything matter beyond these short, wind-up toy lives the humans had?), and she didn’t want to, she didn’t, don’t think about the lake (the plan, there was a plan, a loose plan, but a–), focus on them). 

Regan frowned, trying to ignore what was definitely indigestion (she was a medical doctor).

But no. Hamstring had Declan here. She had been able to reinvent herself even if it was as something she was not: the child was able to do what Regan couldn’t. No wonder her grandmother approved. Sometimes Regan wondered if Hamstring remembered she wasn’t really Hamstring. The way she looked at Cliodhna with admiration that Regan never possessed for her grandmother… it wasn’t going to last. Declan was going to die, and Hamstring had to be gone before his body grew cold. And Regan sat complacently by. She had. She held Declan up at the clinic for an unnecessary examination to keep the two of them away from each other, her efforts to tell Declan of what else was out there came from a half-stone heart, and if it hadn’t been for Wynne, for the lake, she was not sure she would have been brave enough to be standing here right now.

Bravery often felt like the worst kind of foolishness, didn’t it? Could a coward be brave? Would her grandmother have looked upon her boldness and declared that it came from a weak heart wrapped in undisciplined muscle and a body attached to wings and lungs she did not deserve?

Regan’s gaze dropped. The child’s question was not what it seemed – not only did Hamstring not really want to leave, but leaving without Regan was still out of the question. Regan wouldn’t play her hand yet. “I don’t know what your plan was. You can’t get out the same way you got in. They wouldn’t… even if I… they wouldn’t let me leave again. There is no walking out.” Which didn’t mean she wanted to go (but–). She couldn’t want. She didn’t. She hadn’t. She couldn’t. Yet worry about those back h– in Wicked’s Rest hooked onto her skin even more than the feeling of fae all around her, and that tiny, stupid, remaining ember of hope for something better kept sparking no matter how many attempts she made to drown it out.

She had told Wynne she would think. This was thinking. That indigestion really was homicidal. 

Wynne left the lake yesterday, sensing that the purpose of this journey here had been worthwhile, feeling the victory of a successful mission, if only they could wait her out for a few more days. Regan remained deeply uncertain. When she came back here last night, Cliodhna’s eyes tracked her in. Her grandmother was silent, until she wasn’t. 

“You breathe,” her grandmother had remarked, and Regan registered the concealed disgust in her tone. 

“Yes.” 

Regan had meant it as assent, agreement, that she had failed and would always fail. Her grandmother had raised a brow and let her slink upstairs. Only now did Regan recognize the defiant edge that had developed that day. She did not feel nearly as sharp as that single, cutting word.

Her disobedience made her feel the burn of the lie she’d told here weeks ago to keep the child away from her grandmother’s scream, it forced her to remember the other lie she’d told at the clinic to afford Wynne and Elias enough time to get out of here if they were smart enough to use it, it made her recall how she spoke of cremation with Declan in a voice so quiet it did not feel like it came from her lungs, it reminded her how obvious the message she’d sent yesterday had been, how even Wynne knew who Regan had been inspired to talk to. There was a common thread weaving all of these together, and it was not Fate, but something more tangible.

It made clear, finally, why she was standing here right now. Regardless of whether she remained here or not, she cared.

“Listen to me.”

Regan wasn’t sure how much she believed that Declan didn’t immediately run to the child after that appointment, but it almost didn’t matter. Declan wouldn’t have told Hamstring what Regan was able to tell her about the rites. All of Hamstring’s gratitude was reserved for Cliodhna, though, not her. 

The child was as stubborn as Regan was desperate. “Put your pencil down and listen to me. The favor is information.” Information she was supposed to spill to the child weeks ago. She had tried, though, she had. Just… not that persistently. Not like this. Never like this. Regan rolled the back of her skull against the wall. She wasn’t supposed to tell humans any of this, but right now, Hamstring was not in a position a human would ever be in. Regan had put her there. “Declan is… he’s part of your an chéad scread. You’ve heard my grandmother mention that, yes? Of course you have. It’s all she talks about.” If Hamstring heard bitterness seething behind her words, no she did not. “It’s a rite. We all go through it. I did. And the second it happens for you, you’re going to be revealed as a fraud. You won’t scream. You won’t have wings. You will break, but not in the way you’re supposed to.” And Regan hadn’t even begun to think about what might happen to her for perpetuating this lie. “Let me guess. She’s asking you about how fond you are of Declan, and how prepared you are to accept what’s yours, or something along those lines.”

She had never asked Regan any of that. She just… she just…

Regan tried to stand a little straighter, pushing her shoulders up, but she wasn’t sure she’d be standing had the wall not been propping her there. Never had she spoken of this so plainly with anyone, and it felt like a betrayal coating her mouth with ash, even though her heart told her it wasn’t a betrayal at all; it was exactly what she needed to say. Like the protective lies, like telling Declan about her father’s smile, like sliding her ring back on her finger. 

“Declan is going to die in front of you. That’s how it works. You are going to love him, and he will die because of it.”

—--------

"There is always a way out. We could steal one of the cars. We could walk. I can turn into a bear and you can ride me out. You have a personal entourage of talented people, and Elias. We'll make a way out for you." This was their impasse, the reason Hamstring knew she'd have more time with Declan. A rock pressing against a hard place, each expecting the other to move, each an immovable force. What was that book she'd started reading? Greek mythology was always good for comparisons. Perhaps Regan was Sisyphus, pushing the boulder Hamstring up the hill to send her home, and each day Hamstring would roll back down, starting the day in Regan's room, proudly proclaiming she was still there with her presence. Or the metaphor could go the other way. Hamstring had never been good at metaphors. 

Regan had a serious tone. Combined with the fact this was the most Regan had spoken to Hamstring in days, she decided to take this seriously. Hamstring placed her charcoal down, and turned in her chair so she was facing Regan dead on. Blank eyes staring at blank eyes. A contest of emotionless presenting. Hamstring had heard of her chead scread, an event she assumed was the banshee equivalent of a debutante ball. Which, by the way, was something she only escaped having because of its roots in white supremacy and was not feminist, as her dads put it. Hamstring knew her dads would have loved to present her to all their peers in a ball gown with a dance. Actually, hadn't that been what happened anyway? This was not paying attention. Hamstring drew her mind from her past, the past that didn't matter now that she was Hamstring. 

Hamstring took a moment to digest everything Regan was saying. It was a loud accusation. It felt like a slap. A sting of pain shot through her body. Hamstring had to sit with it for a moment. Why did these words hurt? "I ran away from my home." Hamstring looked away from Regan, her eyes searching the bright blue sky out the window. Anything but eye contact. "I wasn't good at being my fathers' daughter. I didn't fit into their idea of family and success. I'm a monster. And they are human. It was never going to fit. They loved me. I love them. But I could never love myself there." Her hand started tapping at the desk. The only sign, in a perfectly crafted mask of indifference, that something was wrong. 

"Two years after I left, they adopted a new baby. She's... just a kid. But I think she'll be a better fit than I ever was." A moment, a pause. A silence. "It hurts to see her take my place. Fit in better. Be where I should be and do it right, knowing that I could never." A deep breath. "I'm sorry that's what I'm doing to you here. I would help you, if I knew what I was doing right. This shouldn't be you vs me. It's us vs them. Which is why I don't understand." Another deep breath, as the anger started to boil over. "Why you're trying to scare me again? Every time I do things you don't like, you do this. You tell me someone is going to die. I broke into your house, suddenly I'm going to die. I'm getting close to Declan, fitting in here, and you don't want me, so I better leave so Declan doesn't die?" 

Hamstring was on her feet now, her monotone tinted with emotion. "I know it sucks. But that's not my fault." The anger was too much for Hamstring. She started shoving her way past Regan, intent on leaving the house, putting some distance between them and walking this big emotion off. Maybe then she'd be ready to deal with it. 

—--------

“You will leave even if it’s without me.” Regan was firm, giving her final words on the matter, knowing that it would likely come down to this, and much sooner than the child thought. She would hate Regan for the rest of her life, but she’d be alive to do that.

Unlike… it wasn’t what Regan had expected, the way the revelation of Declan’s death seemed to wick right through the child’s face. It hadn’t been absorbed, only heard. If the child were to move her head, Regan might see the sentiment dripping out of her ears. “Are you listening? I told you to pay attention. Declan is going to die.” And as she said it, Regan realized her mistake. Not one right now (though she was sure there were many now too), but months ago. Why should the ham child believe her about someone’s death when, in a moment of perceived retribution, she had managed to make the girl think her death was near? That she had taken off into the mines shortly after – Regan’s words no doubt on her mind – was something Regan still tried not to think about. Even though Regan didn’t think she was getting to the child, Hamstring did still have a thoughtful look on her face, one aimed toward the past and not the future.

When the child did eventually speak, it was a seeming non-sequitur. Her being a runaway made sense. Regan always knew there was something, some personal interest, that kept her personally involved in Regan’s situation. In hiding in Regan’s luggage, she had been seeking something for herself, too. Regan didn’t even pretend to know where this was going, not that it mattered – the child was doing everything she possibly could to not even look in Regan’s direction. “Why… why would you run away if they loved you?” She probably shouldn’t have asked, but she did; she had known a family that loved her, and the only force that could have pulled her away from them was Fate itself. Something else slipped across her mind, but if it was irony, it was gone before she could see it. And Regan did understand not fitting in, never being able to measure up. She did. Was that the child’s point? No, that didn’t seem right.

It hurts to see her take my place. 

That was it. A connection she never would have made on her own sparked, making her hair raise as if it generated static. “What?” The t came out hard, flipping out of her mouth. A couple of days ago, she might have been able to hold it back, to keep her lip from curling and her brow from lowering, but now the accusation skimmed off her epidermis. She stood up straight, pushing herself off the wall.

“Are you out of your blistering mind? You think I’m jealous? You think…” Regan had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping in the wrong direction, “This is not some adoption, dúisigh. My grandmother does not adopt. Have you watched her at all, downstairs, with the animals? The carcasses with blood crusted around their ears? She deafens them and hollows them out, displays their pelts as triumphs, and then she is proud.” Hamstring didn’t see it. “She is proud of her rows and rows of patellas, selected and cleaned and organized precisely how she wishes. The first words she spoke to me after she– after my– she said ‘at least your wings will be impressive’.” Desperation seeped from Regan’s voice in too many places for her to plug up. She had been leaking since walking out of that lake, shoulders hung in defeat, and it would take decades to undo it. If she ever could. She suspected she couldn’t. After all… it wasn’t working. 

Hamstring was not tolerating any of this well either, though probably for other reasons. She had never heard the child speak this much of her past, and for it to surface in this way– did she feel robbed? Like she had bounced around looking for something like this for years, and finally found it? Regan didn’t care. She was going to feel robbed of so much more if she didn’t listen. “Stop!” It came out as a screech that sent a stab of humiliation through her. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The door swung on its hinges, Hamstring pushing out. Regan chased the child down the stairs and found the front door much the same, with only Hamstring’s silhouette ahead. “You’re not listening to me. He’s– he’ll– it isn’t about fitting in. He’s–” Outside. They were outside. And all of Saol Eile could hear this. Regan’s mouth dropped open. She debated following, but she couldn’t keep up with a bear, nor would it be good to provoke the child to become one. With one last breath, one last attempt, Regan called after her. “It’s conditional.”

[review-anon]

Hey RA? Thoughts on tonight's stream?

Well first of all, I have offically created the Askblog version of Meeby; Dabbles.

Bubbles is not amused. Timeline Anon is though.

I also feel like I am living in China with Streamlabs because it keeps deleting my messages due to being as ban trigger happy as a Reddit Mod.

Chapter 3 started off all sad due to all the deaths and how everyone is coping and eventually we get some labs to explore and stuff which is call.

Tsuno is defienitely coming down with compassion fatigue which is not cool, as she worries too much about everyone.

Mai is also taking a lot of central stage which is both good and bad since you know Chapter 3, shit happens. Her cooking foods from various places where the students have been was so wholesome and so wonderful and it was also so interesting to learn so much about Japanese food. Bubbles got hungry I had eaten so I did not.

Okazaki proves why I think there is something wrong with her since she intentially triggers Wada's phobia for research purposes.

I mean yes I want to do that to Ryohei but the difference between him and Wada is the former deserves it; the latter doesn't.

And the masterminds prove to the collosal dicks they are since their next motive is freezing people to death via lowering temperature, and you guys wonder why I think this is a psychological experiment.

The more sadistic these scientists get the more they are gonna regret it because here's the thing. You guys have no idea how evil and sadistic I can be in my writing. The sketches are light hearted by design because I feel with how serious most askblogs get, they need to be comedy filled to make people happy. But when I say the scientists are gonna wish they were dead I really mean it. As making the Tetro Pink universe be Review Anon's home universe where her original life was, is a fate literally worse then death itself.

Especially when after Ojima does what we were all thinking and attacks Monomeko, Biology Head decides to remove all of the rabbit's limitations which probably means if Mai attacks Monomeko she's gonna go the way of Mukuro and Nikei.

On the plus side Hiroaki is gettin more compassionate with people.

That's all we caught up with since Timeline Anon is going away soon on Christmas holidays and as such they won't do Project Eden's Garden until January. Overall as emotional as all the previous ones are and I got some very nervous feelings who the victims are gonna be.

And yes its plural because its fucking Chapter 3.