#i just visit to post once every blue moon

[baldislearnersinitiative]

Hello kiddos. What’s your favorite teacher/staff member at the school in the moment? And why?

Do well in class now! -🌹

PART 1 / NEXT PART

[yardsards]

i have no room to insult people's food preferences because i HAVE drank condiments for enjoyment on multiple occasions

[farfromstrange]

Lizzi’s Valentine’s Special & Follower Celebration

Dear Everyone,

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and I thought, since this silly little blog hit over 1.1k followers yesterday, I want to give you something special.

First of all, though, I want to thank you. I’ve been on here since (and I checked with the archive) July 19, 2022. I can't believe that it has been almost two years. I started watching Daredevil after watching Spider-Man: No Way Home in December of 2021 and hearing Matt Murdock say, "I'm a really good lawyer," after catching a brick. So, I started watching the show, and that was during a time I was really miserable. Mentally and physically, I wasn't in a good place, but after watching Daredevil for the first time and falling in love with Charlie Cox as a genuine person and an actor, it felt like I found a reason to keep going.

I started writing fanfiction again, which I kind of neglected because I felt like this hobby of mine wasn't going anywhere. I wasn't inspired at all until I watched the show. If I hadn't, I probably would not have gotten back into writing and using it as an outlet for my feelings, and I probably wouldn't be where I am today. Thanks to Charlie's portrayal of Matt Murdock, and watching his interviews, I felt like I could do the things that I love again and follow my dreams. He's the reason I chose to major in English. And while I owe him that much, I owe you guys here on Tumblr and AO3 even more.

When I first posted here, I didn't think people would even be interested in what I had to say and write. But then more and more people started visiting my profile, you guys started following me, and it kept me motivated to keep writing, even when I'm miserable, and I sometimes only post once every blue moon.

I feel so honored that you guys chose to follow a silly little blog run by a silly little 20-something-year-old whose first language isn't even English (but made it her entire personality), and who chose to write about traumatized dark-haired characters portrayed by Charlie Cox. I'm overwhelmed by the love you continue to show me, and every time one of you chooses to reblog or comment on one of my works, saying that it resonated with you, I feel like I'm doing something right. I'm sharing my ideas, my own experiences, my wishes, and even my deepest, darkest dreams through my writing like it's a fucking diary, and you eat it up every single time.

I'm just so glad that this community exists, as chaotic as it sometimes is, and that you chose to stick around, even when I suck at keeping promises sometimes. You keep teaching me new things about who I am, my writing, and how important it is to put myself first. I don't know if you've heard it lately, but you guys are incredible and I appreciate the hell out of every single one of you.

Thanks to Tumblr, I made lifelong friends (especially looking at you, @blackshadowswriter) and found like-minded people that made me feel less alone. That alone was worth making this account and continuing to post on here.

You may think that I'm being dramatic, but for someone who has never really experienced the kind of validation this community gives me, I want to celebrate this milestone. It means more to me than I can even put into words. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I love you all so much! Please, don't ever forget how amazing you are.

That being said, I've got some exciting things planned.

The other day, I found a folder in my Docs titled "the vault". I completely forgot about it because I usually keep my WIPs in a different folder. As it turns out, I made that folder for fics that I originally never planned to post, or ones that I'd finished but wasn't happy with. It’s many, but it’s a few. Some are deeper than others. I also jotted down rough ideas and outlines last year that I stuffed in there, some of which I've actually shared with you but never started working on. Until now. And the contents of that vault are what I want to give to you now.

INTRODUCING: The Vault

6 stories from the vault. 1 bonus fic. 7 days.

I went through a myriad of emotions while I wrote these. For some, I actually bled my soul onto paper. For others, it was merely a brain fart that led to their existence. They're sad, horny, and at times angry, but some of those were originally written for me, and only me. Those that weren't started as a few sentences in a folder before I forgot they existed. Either way, I don't want them to catch dust. And I wouldn't want to share them with anyone else.

Starting February 14th, I will be posting one fic every day until February 20th. My “The Vault” works are Matt Murdock x Reader works, but I've made an exception for the bonus fic. I won't tell you what they are about, but I will give you a list of installments and what kind of fic they are so you know what to be excited about (and maybe which ones are not your cup of tea).

-> The number at the end tells you the date I will be posting it on, but I put it in chronological order as well.

INSTALLMENTS:

1. If You Need To Be Mean (angst, hurt/comfort) 14.

2. Mismatched Bridesmaid (fluff, smut) 15.

3. Weed Cookies (humor, fluff, cw: accidental drug use) 16.

4. the grudge (songfic, angst, hurt/comfort, cw: death of a parent) 17.

5. Halloween (Smut) 18.

6. I Want To Fuck A Priest (Smut, cw: priest!Matt) 19.

BONUS:

7. Now That We Don’t Talk (Part 2 of Is It Over Now?) -> Frank Castle x Reader (smut, angst) 20.

A few more words: You are free to send me an ask if you want to know more, but be prepared that I won't be answering in much detail. I don't want to spoil the fun. I would, however, not mind talking about them as vaguely as possible (if you’re interested).

Thank you all. For everything. And I hope you stick around to read these little gems.

With love from yours truly,

Lizzi <3

[nightwalker6200]

Dad Gojo Headcannons:

I know the timelines/ ages are messed up with quite a few but I love little kid Meg and Tsumiki: I'll post more as I think of them :)

Gojo almost always has glitter or stickers somewhere on his clothes/ person. He normally doesn't notice and can go the whole day with a cat sticker or blue glitter on his back/ pant leg.

Gojo once handed back a report that Tsumiki had drawn all over. Yada keeps it tucked away in his desk.

Tsumiki and Megumi drew all over several graded papers (accidently) that Gojo then handed back. Inumaki, Maki, Yuta and Panda hung them up on their walls in the dorms.

Inumaki and Yuta are no longer allowed to babysit Tsumiki and Megumi. Yuta ended up being the responsible adult (basically babysitting 3 kids), and Inumaki ended up with a makeover. He wore the makeup for three days straight until Maki ended up dragging him to the baths, demanding he take a bath because he looked like a sadistic clown who just broke up with their boyfriend.

Gojo knows how to do hair. He practiced on Shoko despite her complaints and can braid neatly.

Tsumiki likes to paint nails and uses Gojo as a test subject when he's asleep - once during a fight, a villian had to stop because they couldn't take Gojo seriously with bright purple nails.

Gojo is surprisingly a good cook. He failed horrendously at first but learned from Shoko, Nanamin, and even Tsumiki. He quickly learned how to make the kids' favorite dishes.

Gojo knows all of the gossip at school and constantly gossips with Tsumiki about her classmates. Tsumiki always has the dets/ drama/ tea.

Tsumiki likes to be close to someone when she's upset or sick or hurt. Megumi only likes to be close if he feels really bad.

Gojo almost always has candy on him, something Inumaki and Panda take advantage of (he's used to stopping bickering between the kids so he throws it at any problem).

Megumi is the hardest to put to bed. He sneaks around, finding new ways to try to stay up past his bedtime and around the Six Eyes.

Gojo has a lot of guilt over Tsumiki's accident. He tears up almost every time he visits her and spent a week drunk after it had happened. He gave her permission to go (even though she would have gone anyway being a teenager) and feels as though he failed at his promise to protect her.

The first time Tsumiki took a boy to the school dance; Megumi and Gojo stood at the door, arms crossed, staring menacingly at the boy until Tsumiki was ready to leave. Gojo might have threatened him... Megumi might have summoned his dogs, who stood at his side, growling.

Gojo has millions of pictures on his phone of the kids, including his students.

Gojo gets squeamish over pulling out Megumi's loose teeth. Tsumiki always has to do it for him, or Megumi will rip it out, mouth full of blood.

Despite his protests, Gojo showed up to every classroom visitation Megumi had in elementary school. He went to Tsumiki's too (who was over the moon).

Gojo once paid a kid money to stop crying. The kid was probably Yuuji.

When Tsumiki has nightmares, she will loudly barge into Gojo's room whereas Megumi will stand quietly at the foot of the bed or side of the bed and wait until Gojo notices him. Gojo has almost punched the 8-year-old several times.

Tsumiki begs Gojo to read to her or tell her stories when they have down time. Megumi lurks in the hall, at the end of the couch or in the shadow, listening. He secretly likes it just as much as his sister.

Gojo knows all the lyrics to all of the Taylor Swift songs. He finds himself humming them at random, and him and Miki sing them loudly in the car to annoy Megumi.

Megumi and Tsumiki got lice from school. Gojo freaked and spent three days with his hair under a shower cap and hat despite Shoko telling him he didn’t have it. He even begged Nanamin to let him sleep over. Megumi threaten to master a louse as a shikigami to freak Gojo out.

Megumi tries to sneak attack/ scare Gojo at random. Tsumiki is the only one who has succeeded.

Gojo playing Barbie or stupid things like store or restaurant. He’s very dramatic and almost always asks to speak to the manager who is Gumi. Gumi tells him to piss off and never come back.

[niphredil-14]

pls write some fluff for raph <3333

its 2 am rn so i just want something comforting to read lmao. maybe some headcannond about trying to get a peaceful nights sleep while ur crime fighting boyf sneaks back into ur room after patrolling/a mission?🥷🥷🥷

ty bby

METRONOME OF AFFECTION (2012 Raphael Hamato/Reader) Warnings: some pining, some light insecurity, lots of fluff, friends to lovers word count:1794 notes: tumblr wouldnt let me post this all at once so i was forced to break it up.

Protecting a city as massive and crime filled as New York was far from an easy task, no matter how many people were on the team, and in some cases, the team could add more to his plate than they took anything off of it. From small annoyances, and petty arguments to full on battles, it didn't take long to wear Raphael down, he could feel his patience falling away from him like loose scutes. Every little inconvenience and setback sticking to him like algae on his shell. By the time that the bright moon, clouded by the fog and smoke rising from the city, had begun to set over the skyline, Raph's feet were dragging with every step, his very bones ached, and what risked becoming a permanent scowl had carved itself onto his face, his mouth curving downward, pulling awkward lines down his jaw from his beak. The group had all been heading towards their go-to sewer cap, located in a small, cramped alley in the Italian district, right next to a small Mom-and-Pop pizzeria that they had April and Casey frequenting on their behalf. The closer they got to their equivalent of a doorstep, the more Raph's appetite lessened and a strong sense of dread set into his chest. He did not want to end his less-than-ideal night with going back to the lair, with people who has spent the past six hours doing nothing but getting on his nerves, only to brood and stew in his misery, holed up in his room or the dojo until the stars rose yet again as the next evening dawned, where they would all rinse and repeat their ass-kicking and name-taking routine, he needed an escape, and he knew exactly where to go. He had stopped walking, letting his brothers and friends build a gap between them as he slowly melded with the shadows, turning and heading east. After five minutes or so, he would send them a text, just before he arrived at his destination, letting his family know that he was okay, and that it was just a bit early for him to crawl back to the sewers to hide from the world again. Pausing after sending the text, letting the dim blue-light from the screen minimally illuminate his face, he hesitated on their fire escape. The window led into their living room, and he could tell that there was not a single light on in their apartment, save for a small night light kept plugged into the hallway outlet, so that they didn't trip if they had to get up in the middle of the night, as they so often did. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb their sleep, he knew that with everything they had going on in their life, that they weren't getting nearly enough, and yet he couldn't stop himself from at least slipping in to use the first aid kit they kept underneath their bathroom sink, and making sure that they were okay. He placed his fingers underneath the window, and let out an exasperated sigh when it lifted open without resistance. The number of times he had warned them to keep all their windows locked was as impossible to count as the stars with the naked eye. He faced the evil of the city every night, he knew what hid in the shadows, he knew the monsters that would give anything to hide in their closet or under their bed, he could be counted among them, though for contrasting reasons to the other freaks and low lives. Silently crawling through their window, with some struggle due to his sheer size, he made his way to the kitchen first, grabbing a glass of water, and some of the snacks they had begun buying once Raphael's visits became more frequent. He smiled to himself in the dark of the kitchen, his heart touched at seeing that they had restocked his favorite snacks. After having a quick bite, he snuck into the bathroom, taking out the first aid kit an patching himself up where needed, which fortunately for him, was not much, he hadn't gotten more than a few cuts, and only had to remove two bullets. He slid the kit back into the cupboard and shut the door behind him, walking as quickly as he quietly could towards the end of the hall, where their bedroom was.

The door was closed, but he could hear their soft breathing behind the door. Their breaths were slow and even, and he was sure that they were in a deep sleep. He felt as though he shouldn’t intrude, but they had always told him that he was always welcome, no matter the time or the day, and maybe, he thought, he should just do a quick check to make sure a necklace they forgot to take off wasn’t choking them and that there weren’t any intruders or creepy-crawlies hiding in the room, waiting for the perfect moment. And so, he slowly opened their bedroom door, cringing at the low squeak that resulted. He froze, waiting for any sign that he had disturbed them, but their breathing did not change, and they only slightly shifted. It wasn’t the first time that he had shown up in the middle of the night, and though he always felt so guilty about it, he knew how it usually ended, with them tucked close to his plastron, as the two cuddled close underneath the comforter, drifting off to sleep, with only a small stream of light creeping in through a small crack in the blinds. And yet, though this was far from his first time entering without prior notice, he was afraid. Afraid that it would be the last straw, that they would turn him away, tired of his company, tired of his existence. Despite his fear, the turtle took a step into their room, and then another. He walked around the perimeter of the room, checking the closet, the blinds, and any other potential hiding spots, before making his way over to the side of the bed. He did not lift the covers, just stood there, blocking the small bit of window light, and casting a shadow over their form. They looked so peaceful that he couldn’t help but just stop and stare, unable to fathom how someone as gruff and rough around the edges as him, someone with a shell even harder than their head, could end up with someone who made them feel so soft. Looking down at his friend, the one he had loved for what felt like several lifetimes before his own, he felt a sense of hopelessness. He loved being close to them, and yet he was so sure that they could never feel anything more than platonic, if even that, for him. Sometimes his brain turned its rudeness towards him, yelling at him that they only ever kept him around out of the kindness of their heart, out of pity, that he was a charity case, that they would never willingly want to be with a mutant such as him. In a moment where he wanted to be close enough to crawl inside their skin, but was to fearful of the rejection, he could only grant himself any sort of reprieve from the tightening of his heart, by lightly brushing his finger along their face, tracing swirls on their cheek. Being with them was as torturous as it was heavenly, they gave him a safe haven when he needed an escape, but with their gift of hospitality, their bright smile and caring eyes had planted a seed of sickly sweetness deep within him. He didn’t know how they had managed to reach through his plastron to tug directly at his heart strings, puppeteering him like a string marionette, but they had and there was no one else he would rather have such control over him. And just as he was about to let his hopelessness consume him and leave, their eyes slowly blinked open, their head lolling to face him as their gaze followed his arm up to his shoulder, jaw, then face. A sleepy, almost drunk-like smile graced their features, and his heart swelled. In a moment of vulnerability, they had smiled at him, so genuinely he was convinced that it couldn’t have been an act of pity.

“Hey, Big Guy.” The exhaustion seeped into their words, slurring them. His voice caught in his throat, and he coughed, clearing his throat.

“Hey.” He replied, trying to pull his hand away from their face, unsuccessfully, as they grabbed his wrist and tugged them towards them, lifting up the covers for him to crawl under. He sat down on the side of the bed, undoing the wraps on his feet and hands, and taking of his belt an harnesses, finally taking off the bandana as well, before finally climbing into bed with them. It was a small bed, twin size at best, which did not leave much personal space between them. He hovered his hands on his side, until they shifted forward, hugging him as they buried their face in his shoulder. “Sorry for waking ya,’ Doll.” They shook their head, nuzzling into him some more in the process.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Raph. You know I’m always happy to have you. It’s been too long.” He gave a light chuckle, caving to the cuddles they both craved, and pulling them even closer to him.

“It’s been three days.”

“Exactly, that’s far too long to be without my love.” Raphael sputtered, and he was sure that if reptiles could blush, that he would be red as the first roses, dyed with the blood of Aphrodite herself.

“You love me? Like, love me, as in, a more-than-friends kinda way?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“’Course I love you, Raphael, you think I’d let anyone else break into my apartment at five in the morning to wake me up for a cuddle sesh? You’re my everything.” As embarrassing as it was, he could feel his tail thump against the mattress behind him.

“You’re my everything too.” Raphael replied. He wanted to tell them that he loved them too, but the words were too heavy in his throat, and too scary for him to let escape just yet, so he settled for mimicking their last sentence, and lowering his beak to gently press against their forehead, to mimic a kiss as closely as he was capable of with his beak. Giving them a tight squeeze, he shuffled even closer to them, nuzzling the top of their head, and drifting off to sleep, with their hearts synching to beat together as a metronome of their affection.

[yourantag]

Rises the Moon (Ithaqua×Reader)

AN: 3 posts in a row? More likely than you'd think! The next is probably gonna be dropped on New Years since I heard if you post too much at once, you can get shadow banned. Still, gotta feed you guys the few things I've written before I'm dragged back to school. This fic was actually written in August for the Ithaqua server's Ithaugust. The prompt was "you forgot, but I remember." I was between hitting the reader with a car k-drama style or this, but luckily I ended up with this. Enjoy! Word count: 2.0k words TW: Mild violence, death, and yandere themes. Summary: The sun god has always loved the deity of the moon. Even as galaxies collided and the stars died, he has loved them. But fate is not kind, ripping you away from him. Again, and again, and again. So, even if you cry, he can only apologize. He'd rather confine you in these walls than lose you ever again.

"What do you think of mortals, my sun?"

"They're selfish fools who yearn for more than they need, so easily consumed by greed."

"My, such cruel generalizations. Not all of them are like that."

"Perhaps, but can you truly claim that most are innocent?"

"I suppose not, but I believe in it."

"Believe in what?"

"The good in humanity. I'm willing to bet my life on it."

-

The ebbing and flowing of time was as inevitable as the pushing and pulling of the tides, taking with it lives and memories of the past. With each rotation of the sun, the rise of a new moon, and the occasional visits of comets and asteroids from beyond, life continued. Regardless of the pain and suffering of those who lived on, the world continued to turn, just as time continued to march on. Sometimes, Ithaqua wished it would just stop.

Thirty million, two hundred two thousand, and twenty three years have passed.

Twenty five human lifetimes have come and gone, each one leaving him more grief-stricken than before.

Every encounter with you was as devastating as the last, leaving Ithaqua yearning to see you again while praying he didn't. Every time he met you, you'd steal his heart again, as if you could steal something that was already yours to begin with. Yet, still, he'd fall in love with you again and again, lifetime after lifetime, like a fool.

Each life only really started when he met you, held you in his arms, and loved you. Then, tragically, horribly, unavoidably, his life ended when you died.

The first life had been fine, the two of you born as commoners in some civilization long past. It was a hard life of surviving the elements, fending off wild animals, and trying to just live in a world humans had not yet adapted to. Still, however difficult it was, Ithaqua treasured the memories of that life as it had taught him so much about humans. 

Such resilient creatures, capable of persevering and creating. He saw just how brilliant they were, and just how stupid as well. They could take down animals twice their size and weight yet couldn't figure out how to navigate. 

Incredible. 

Regardless, sitting around campfires, singing songs, running in the fields and just living was invigorating. Ithaqua came to appreciate life and the small things within it; from the crunching of leaves to the chirping of birds, the blue seas and the cloudy skies. The views and experiences he'd never get to have as a god, the ones he'd never get to know or love as an immortal, even the very essence of fleeting lives became so, so very beautiful to him.

Humans were nothing compared to the gods, but when Ithaqua sat among them, talked to them, laughed with them, he came to find that you were right. Despite how difficult it was to live in this world, humans still held kindness for each other. They offered him food despite not having much for themselves. They offered him shelter despite not having much room. They offered him help despite needing help themselves.

Such complicated, foolish, yet oddly kind creatures they were, but that made them all the more charming. Ithaqua genuinely considered that the humans in this world were unlike the ones from the last, that they were truly good. They treated the two of you so well, and taught him so much.

The last lesson they ever taught him was just how far they'd go to ensure their own survival.

It wasn't something Ithaqua ever expected to experience, not when he had been a god his whole life. The rumble of the earth as it trembled under the stamping feet of hundreds of cattle shocked him. Fear bloomed in his heart as he saw animals he'd only ever regarded as sacrifices before becoming deadly, stampeding through the small village the two of you resided in.

He was lucky, or so many had said. Surviving such an experience by not being too close was a blessing. Yet, how could Ithaqua feel that way when you hadn't made it out safely? When he saw, from the cliff that watched over the village,  that a man pushed you in front of the charging cattle to save himself?

The bitter taste of betrayal lingered on his tongue for a long time, even after he had killed the man and everyone whose negligence led to the incident.

The next life was kinder, as though the world itself understood he needed time to process things and feel better. When he met you once more, you had given him a warm smile and a hug.

Ithaqua held you for a long, long time. He breathed in your scent, listened to the steady beat of your heart, and slowly started to compose himself. He hadn't even realized how distressed he was until he found himself calm once more.

The two of you caught up, explaining what had happened in this life, what you wanted to do in this slightly more advanced time, and more. At some point, Ithaqua had to ask you if you still believed in the good in humanity.

"Of course I do! Why wouldn't I?"

He wanted to say the obvious answer. He wanted to point out the fact that you died in the last life because of humans, because of their selfishness, their incompetence, their betrayal. Yet, when he looked in your eyes, seeing them clear of any feelings of hatred, Ithaqua let it go. If you forgave them, he would too.

Really, it should've been more obvious to him that it was a warning.

The gentle days of sitting in the sun, playing in the river, and feeling the pure relief of having you back had made Ithaqua blind to such a hint. He simply went on with this life, living happily with you by his side.

Though extremely wary, Ithaqua came to trust humans once more. Naively, he came to believe that perhaps, the humans of this time period were better. Perhaps, they were more civilized. With less of a focus on surviving and more so on improving the quality of life, things were more peaceful than before.

Ithaqua relaxed as he once more laughed among humans, sharing new jokes, reciting old poetry, and learning new things that had recently been discovered. You always smiled so sweetly when you saw him interact with mortals, so he tried his best to be more social.

"Talking with humans is crucial! It helps stimulate the brain and be happier. We're humans now, so we need to keep in mind what they need to survive."

Ithaqua would've loved to disagree, claiming that this vulnerable mortal shell was not who he was, therefore his needs were not the same, but his stomach would always disagree. Still, he vehemently denied being human, even as he ate whatever you had made for him. At the least, Ithaqua knew he didn't need to spend time with others. You were more than enough.

The moments he had with you were treasured more than any others.

He shared the first snowfall of his life with you, the soft specks of ice fluttering delicately in the wind. They swirled around you two as you danced, laughing as the surroundings became blanketed in white. Ithaqua thought, once again, that the world was beautiful. But, perhaps that was just because of you?

However, it seemed like only when the wounds of the past had healed that tragedy would strike once more. This time, it was a more targeted murder, one where they were out to kill you specifically. Poisoned to death because of jealousy, because of someone who apparently loved him and thought that, somehow, he'd love them if they killed you.

The first winter of that year was tainted by the blood on his hands, soaking into the snow. Red seeped into the ice and polluted the otherwise serene beauty of the frost covered land, painting it in ugly colors that seared itself into his mind. However, compared to the sight of your cold, lifeless, glassy eyes, the once comforting and kind ones that shined like stars in the sky, it was no travesty.

No words in the world could express the pain in his chest or the severity of this crime. Not even if the heavens fell or if the world itself turned its back on its inhabitants, nothing, nothing at all could be worse than the sin of robbing you of your life.

Ithaqua's heart ached more than his frostbitten fingers realizing that, this year, he wouldn't get to dance with you. Not this year nor the next, or the next, not until he died and was reborn to start the cycle anew.

Even after the first betrayal, the first death, Ithaqua felt incredibly hurt that he was betrayed again by humanity.

Still, he pushed on.

For you.

Yet, with each life that passed by, you recognized Ithaqua less and less. You forgot things about him, be it his godhood or the memories you shared. You were starting to forget yourself, not remembering that you weren't human, that this wasn't how you were supposed to be.

By the tenth life, you didn't recognize him at all.

You remembered nothing about your past lives, nothing about your godhood, not even his name, nothing, you remembered nothing.

You forgot.

Still, he desperately sought you out. In each life, Ithaqua tried to get you to remember your past lives, the happy memories, the bad ones, even just his name or the stupid bet, anything. It would be fine if you remembered that time he slipped and fell like an idiot. It would be fine if you remembered how he tried to drown a fish. It would be fine if you remembered anything, anyone, just as long as you remembered.

But you didn't.

And, every time, you'd die.

Again. And again. And again.

You fell for the trickery of humans time and time again. To their cunning, their cruelty, their evil. No matter how he tried to save you, how hard he tried to convince you not to trust them, it never mattered. Everything he did was futile, only ever allowing him to miserably watch as you died again.

Once upon a time, Ithaqua believed. He thought it was possible that, in another world, another place, humans could be kind. They gave kindness so freely, offering assistance and support with smiles, but in the end, the results were always the same.

Humans could never be trusted, not when he- you had been betrayed in every lifetime.

…

Twenty five. 

Twenty five lifetimes with you. Watching you get betrayed, watching you suffer, watching you die.

And yet, you remembered none of them.

It's no different this time, you see him and feel a connection, yet you don't remember him. You sometimes remember things about him like his favorite color, his favorite foods, even the things he hates, but it's always chalked up to instincts, nothing more and nothing less.

Ithaqua is tired. Tired of being forgotten, tired of being betrayed, but most of all, tired of losing you. So, there's really only one thing he can do. If you won't listen to his warnings, and if all of his efforts to protect you are futile, then the only logical option is to keep you away from humans.

It's not hard to get you away from them when you trust him with your life.

Delicately trailing a finger down your face, Ithaqua smiles. Blindfolded, chained, and trapped you may be, but you're still radiant in his eyes. Ever so brilliant and glowing, even within the confines of a dimly lit room.

"It'll be okay, my moon, all will be fine. Here, you are safe. No one can hurt you, and no one can take you away." Ithaqua drags his hand down your arm, watching you shiver. He pulls up the blanket on your lap to cover you more, humming lightly.

"You know, I'm quite a jealous man." He says off-handedly, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles, the chain around your wrist clinking at the faint movement.

"Death has had you for so long... would it be so selfish of me to ask you to stay with me for eternity?"

If you don't remember, it's fine. After all, he remembers, and that's what matters. Ithaqua can remind you as many times as you need. After all, you can't leave.

[pandoa]

Hello hello! Pando!!,for you even can I request

Zinnias &Snapdragons for idia?,just a lil theme of him and his s/o after hanging out!

Zinnias ~ “i miss you” “you just saw me, silly” “and? i wanna see you again so come back~”

Snapdragons ~ “this can’t be real…it feels too good to be real. tell me this is all a dream before i start believing”

~idia shroud x gender neutral reader~

AAAA thank you for requesting!! i had so much fun writing this one lol idia is always fun to write for~ hope you like it!

♡player two♡

For the first time in—well—forever, Idia Shroud had found that he did not wish to go home.

There the blue-haired boy stood under the dim lamp posts spread across Night Raven College, silent and still, as he stared at the iridescent glow coming from the moon with the multitude of stars accompanying it in the stratosphere. The sight had solaced him as it always did, and Idia had never failed to let the restful gleam of the moon entrance him all throughout the night. The housewarden then slowly walked the path back to his dorm room at Ignihyde, eager to make it back to the comforting sheets of his light blue bed. He imagined the disorderly mess that he was much too used to—even the thought of organizing the chaos left him with an odd discernment at the unfamiliarity of it all. He imagined the rows and rows of his beloved manga collection, the posters hung up on his walls, various electrical chords entwining his room like the veins of a living being, and, most importantly, the silence of it all. The silence that let him roam free from the taunting gazes of the public; the silence that let him escape.

Idia had always loved the night. Idia had always loved his dorm. 

But staring at the night made him realize he had missed one main thing. You. Because for some strange reason, the moment the two of you bid your goodbyes, the instant you shut off your rather old gaming monitor, the second his two legs had managed to drag themselves out of Ramshackle, stepping further and further away from you, Idia had found that the moon he once adored was simply just a gray piece of matter waiting to mock him with the stars in the sky. That the comforting feeling of home was not complete without you there to fall asleep with him, empty bag of chips laying in your arms and inches away from falling to the ground. That the quietness he had once longed for pierced his ears like a sharp ache in his head every minute he was not surrounded by the frustrated groans or contagious laughter coming from your form each time he had beat you in a riveting game on your console. 

It was weird. 

Sure, you two had been dating for quite a while now—that he knows—however, since when did Idia ever dread alone time in his comfy, cozy, humble dorm room? Ramshackle wasn’t nearly half as up-to-date as Ignihyde had been, so what’s up? 

Idia reluctantly continued walking back to the mirror chambers, crickets hidden in the trees chattering and chirping a midnight song, as he reminisced the time he had spent with you within the dark walls of your dorm’s lounge. His visit to Ramshackle was sudden on your part; an act of playful impulsiveness from Night Raven’s prefect. Crowley, as competent as could be, gifted you a rather out-dated gaming console featuring a copy of Magic Gario Cart—retro and rare among Twisted Wonderland’s gaming community. And knowing your boyfriend’s raging interest in video games of all kinds, you took your phone and immediately called him over to your dorm, as if on instinct. 

The time spent playing games with you then dashed past in what seemed like an instant. Every second with you was a second he wished would never end, but it was still odd nonetheless. He had never been this way before, not to anyone. But then suddenly, with you around him, days spent outside his room weren’t as dreadful anymore. Isolation was a distant memory; anxiousness had faded away.

Idia found himself not wanting to leave just yet. 

“This can’t be real… It feels too good to be real,” Idia muttered as his steps slowed, mind still processing the luck he had struck with you being his romantic partner, “Tell me this is all a dream before I start believing—”

Beep, beep! A small noise peeping out of the blue-haired boy’s pocket then interjected Idia’s roaming thoughts.

“Huh?”

Beep, beep! It rang again.

“H-Hello?” Idia hesitantly said as he stared at the amusing profile picture he had set for you on his phone, “(Y/n)?”

“Come back,” a stern and certain voice came from the other side of his phone, causing the Ignihyde housewarden to halt in concern.

“What?”

An exasperated sigh then escaped your mouth, tone wistful and as-a-matter-of-fact, “I said come back. I miss you.”

“You just saw me, silly.”

“And? I wanna see you again so come back~”

Idia pondered carefully of your request as a joking hand made its way towards his chin, imitating and feigning deep thought, “Fine. But only if you let me be Player One this round.”

“What? No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because Crowley gave the set to me, not you,” you said defending your position on your console, “Therefore, I will always be Player One. Plus, you get to be One when we play at your place; let me have this.”

“But I wanna be Player One.”

“And so do I.”

“Please?” Idia began to lightly beg.

“No.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll let you be Zoshi this time.”

The boy, begrudgingly, caved at your offer, “...Deal.”

“Good,” you grinned into your phone’s speaker, “Now get back here. There’s this level I found that we haven’t tried out yet.”

a/n: i love zoshi from magic gario cart on mimtendo

[frostclan-is-lost]

Hey 👋 This blog is all about my clangen cats n their clan Frostclan!

Asks always open ✨ I try to post as often as I can, but my aim is minimum one comic page (1 moon) every week.

(I'm struggling with both my mental health and physical health in a big way at the moment, so thanks for being patient when I can't post comics super regularly. It means a lot to me you sticking around! x)

Visit the tag #frostclan/comic to see all comic pages up to this point. :)

~~~

At moon 0 we begin with just three, a young warrior named Morningbreeze, and the two tiny kits she was able to rescue…

After the accident, very little remained of the once proud clan…

Frostclan | Allegiances

Leader:

Morningstar: A silver-grey she cat with white patches and a frozen look about her eyes.

Kits:

Sunnykit: A cream she-kit with icy blue eyes.

Minnowkit: A light grey male kit with just a few lighter spots speckling his coat.

[someonetaughtmetowrite]

Well, my blurb of a post has turned into a story. Here’s Older!Locklyle if they finally got their heads out of their asses and tied the knot. A/N: I haven’t read the books yet and I write every once in a blue moon, so please don’t come for me for any odd characterization.

It’s For The Insurance

It was the third time in two weeks that one of them ended up in hospital, Lucy having sprained her wrist the first week and Lockwood, being Lockwood, on his second visit in five days. George, unable to look at them without sighing loudly and rolling his eyes, went home with the promise of an early morning breakfast and a muttered prayer to save him from his two idiots. Lucy would’ve smiled if she’d not been faced with her current task: getting pass the front desk. The nurse behind the counter wore a tight bun that pulled at her already pinched face, making her look as if she’s eaten something sour. Her eyes, decorated by crows feet, narrowed at an awkward Lucy.

“What do you want?”

Lucy coughed slightly. “Uh-em, I’m here to see Lockwood? Anthony, Lockwood, that is. I came in with him.”

The nurse hmmmed disapprovingly. “And are you his sister? Immediate family?”

Lucy gaped, fishing for an excuse. Yes, we’re family, we’re all we’ve got. “Uh-m, I’m…”

Just then, a woman rushed up, panicked. “I’m here to see my husband, they said he was in an accident?!”

The nurse tried to shush her. “Alright, miss, one moment.”

As they talked, Lucy got an idea. A crazy idea. An embarrassing, slightly mental idea. It’s alright, Lucy. As long as no one ever knows. Because goodness knows George will never let you live it down.

As the frantic woman rushed off, Lucy whipped back to the nurse. “I’m Mrs. Lucy Lockwood. I’d like to see m-my husband.”

The nurse cocked an eyebrow, mouth pinching tighter. “Aren’t you a bit young to be married?” she asked, looking her up and down.

Lucy stood a little taller, trying not to choke. “What does age have to do with anything?”

The nurse narrowed her eyes. “I don’t see a ring.”

Lucy allowed some of her impatience to slip through now. “We’re agents, rings would just get in the way or get lost too easily.” She hesitates, then pulls out the necklace from under her sweater, the one Lockwood gave her what seems like forever ago. “This is our ring, in a sense.”

She holds her breath, waiting for the nurse’s judgement. Finally, with a roll of her eyes, the nurse flips through her registry. “He’s in room 429, Mrs. Lockwood.”

Not wasting anymore time (and trying to hide the suffocating blush creeping up her face), Lucy takes off for the elevators. She bolts out of them the minute the door dings, and then she’s huffing and puffing at Lockwood’s door.

He’s sitting up, looking impatient and somewhat amused at her harried appearance. She feels a grin creep up her face, the tight knot of worry loosening somewhat as she sits by his bedside. Carefully, she brushed her fingers against his, which curl slightly over hers in response. His grin mirrors hers.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad. Doctor said I’ll probably have a scar, but it should heal quick enough,” he drawls, ever the picture of unbothered grace.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Is that really what she said, or are you just trying to get away with going on another case as soon as possible?”

His glance away from her is answer enough. She sighs. “Lockwood, we both know it’ll take a couple of days for those stitches to properly heal. And it wouldn’t be fair for you to go gallivanting about while putting me on watch duty for a barely sprained wrist.” Lockwood opened his mouth in protest, but she trucked on. “And I really don’t think we need to come back anytime soon, I mean, goodness knows DEPRAC will skin us for another injury assessment, and the things I had to do just to get up here-“

“Like what?” he chuckles, desperate to stop her rambling. To his surprise, she clamps her mouth shut, and a dusty pink roses to her cheeks (And it’s quite beautiful, whispers his brain. Shut up, he whispers back). He leans towards her, eyebrows wiggling a bit. “Lucy Carlyle, what did you do?”

She bit her cheek, glancing at the door, the pink quickly turning red. “Just, promise you won’t laugh or get mad,” she pleads. Though his interest is thoroughly piqued, Lockwoo struggles to reign in his grin.

Exhaling a bit forcefully, Lucy leans back in her chair, staring off at a corner somewhere as if it might take her far away from this awakwardness. “I…may have told the desk nurse that… I might be… I might have said that you’re…my… husband.”

Of all the things she could’ve said, that was not one he expected. After a terribly long silence, Lucy finally looked up at him. And suddenly, as if struck by some god of prophecy, he saw a future where her words might be true: sitting at the Thinking Cloth every morning together; reading in the library, all cozied up on the sofa together; sprawled out in the loft, fingers laced together.

“What if we were?”

It takes a moment for him to register that voice as his own. Lucy stares at him, mouth falling open. “You- you mean- you… what?”

He can feel the fire spreading over his face. “I- I just mean- there’s discounts for things like this- it’d be very practical, if you think about it- I mean, I don’t see myself being with anyone else anyway- NOT THAT YOU SHOULDN’T, OR THAT I SEE US TOGETHER, I DONT MEAN-“

A hand on his face cuts him off. Lucy leans over him a bit, gently cupping his chin, thumb barely caressing his bottom lip. In his wildest dreams, this is how Lucy looks at him every morning, tucked into bed next to him. They still haven’t put a name to this thing that they were, but at least they weren’t nearly as oblivious as they were a handful of years ago (though George would sometimes disagree). They grin at each other slightly, one of Lockwood’s hands intertwining with Lucy’s still plastered one while the other meets the hand on his face. He gathers a bit of courage, meeting her denim eyes.

“What if we were? Married, I mean,” he whispers.

She inhaled sharply, then smiles, all teeth and pink lips and rosy cheeks and- god, was he whipped. “That’s an interesting way of proposing, Mr. Lockwood,” she whispers back.

The reality of the situation isn’t entirely lost on him, but something about it feels so natural that he doesn’t stop. “That’s an interesting way of saying yes,” he prompts hopefully, a question written in his tone and his face.

She leans in, gently pressing her lips to his. It wasn’t their first, but every time it happened, Lockwood felt like flying. Lucy pulled back first, but gently rests her forehead against his. “I do,” she murmurs against his lips, and suddenly his whole world is drenched in color and warmth. He pulls her in close, burying his face into her neck as she does the same, fingers burying themselves in hair and twisting into clothes, clutching at each other like the dream could end.

But it doesn’t, and suddenly there’s a name for what Lucy and Lockwood have.

_______________________________________

“You have got to be joking.” A grumpy and bewildered (and pantless) George stares at his two blushing, cheery best friends who have just hastily explained their plan to be wed as soon as possible. Perhaps in his wildest dreams, George may have expected this; but he also rides on giant herons with Flo Bones whispering in his ear in his wildest dreams, so he doesn’t give them much credit.

Lockwood holds his left hand up placatingly, the other too busy clutching Lucy’s. “George, I know it sounds rushed-“

“Rushed is quite the understatement-“

“But you’ve been telling me to make a move for nearly three years now-“

“Yeah, like making your relationship official, not-“

“What’s more official than-“

“Do you even know how much-“

“Guys!”

The two boys look at Lucy sheepishly.

“George, it may seem a bit unorthodox, but we promise we’ve thought it through.” She gives Lockwood a tiny, secret smile that makes the man melt just a little more. “And if it can save us time in waiting rooms and filling out the insurance, why not go this far?”

George was all to familiar with how unorthodox his friends were (though he was one to talk). And so, as pigheaded and rushed this all seemed, he knew well enough that this was exactly the sort of thing his best friends would do. And, really, who was he to say no to them?

Though, it really was a shame that Kipps of all people would be winning the betting pool.

—————

Bright and early the next morning, on an unusually warm and sunny March day in London, Lucy and Lockwood became Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood. George, Flo, Barnes, Kipps, and Holly all stood as witnesses. Holly flew into a bit of a tizzy when she was told, Flo just cackled and promised to bring ‘the good stuff,’ and Barnes and Kipps traded between looking like they were going to explode and shaking their heads in exasperation. But there was no stopping Lucy and Lockwood once they put their heads together, and soon the party ushered out the flushed newly weds in their borrowed Sunday bests with gusto.

They meandered their way back to 35 Portland Row, where George whipped up a mighty feast for the entire crew. The Skull, glum about missing the courthouse ceremony, entertained itself with giving Lockwood the shovel talk (of which he could hear nothing, of course, but which made Lucy tighten the valve more than a few times). Then, after some games and small gifts were had, Flo busted out the spirits (“It’s only 4 o’clock, Flo-“ “Oh hush, Georgie, it’s 5 o’ clock somewhere”). By 6 o’clock, George was a bit flushed, causing Barnes to take over dinner, Holly and Kipps were fully relaxed and a touch pink, Flo was cozying up to George, and Lucy and Lockwood were cuddling in the armchair together.

After dinner and cake, the festivities began again. Holly broke out the albums, and the raucous young adults jumped around the flat to the great amusement of Barnes, who took Polaroids and nursed his second glass of brandy.

By 9 o’clock, the occupants of 35 Portland Row were thoroughly tipsy if not entirely drunk (George had been passed out in the living room for a good hour now), and Barnes began shuffling about, cleaning up what he could, coaxing half-full wine glasses out of clumsy hands, and ushering his kids to take a seat. Somewhere in the midst of Flo attempting to drag George away and Holly debating some half-baked argument with a sleepy Kipps, Lucy and Lockwood snuck upstairs, slipping into his room with a quiet click of the door.

———————-

Lockwood woke up the next morning to the sun dancing against his door. A glance at the clock told him he’d slept well into the early afternoon.

An attempt to stretch was quickly foiled when he finally registered the warm mass curled against him.

Lucy had her head tucked against his chest. Their legs had, at some point, become hopelessly entwined together with the blankets. They were still almost fully dressed, having only seemed to be able to toss off their shoes.

If Lockwood was honest, majority of the night was a blur, save for the ever-present warmth of Lucy- tucked against his side, fingers threaded between his, feet touching beneath the table. They had stumbled up some time in the night, seemingly unnoticed by their equally tipsy friends. He remembers swaying slightly, Lucy wrapped up in his arms, murmuring all sorts of most likely embarrassing things (hopefully she wouldn’t remember much). There are snippets of Lucy laying beside him, hand gently caressing his cheek, quiet, slurred words passing between them, and a whisper like a trail of smoke. It flitted around the memories, familiar and foreign, happy and tearful, rumbling around with the voices of the past until it came back to him, quiet and sweet and warm to the touch. She had whispered it against his collarbone just as they both drifted off to sleep, like the end of a bedtime story. Beautiful and simple and warm.

I love you.

Lucy Carlyle- no, Lucy Lockwood (his heart trembled to think it)- loved him, Anthony Lockwood.

A soft murmur stirred the giddy young man from his love struck musings. Lucy rolled away a bit, socked feet curling as she stretched in the sun like a cat. Lockwood felt honored to see her like this, all cozy and peaceful. Slowly, she blinked awake, and when she registered the person on the other side of the bed, she smiled.

Lockwood almost thought he could die a happy man now. Being married to Lucy Lockwood was probably the best thing he was ever going to do, after all. But the rest of him denied it. Lockwood could die a happy man when he was well off into his silvery years, bent and wrinkly and hard of hearing, as long as Lucy, quick-of-wit and gorgeous even with age, was there beside him.

“What might you be thinking about?” Lucy murmured, tongue still heavy with sleep.

Lockwood pressed his smile to her forehead, hands gently drawing circles along her arms and back. “I’m thinking how I must be the luckiest man in the world to be waking up to such a sight.”

A sleepy chuckle rumbled from her chest. “Mmm, good answer, Mr. Lockwood,” she murmured against his collarbone.

Eyes fluttering closed at the feeling, he replies, “I do try, Mrs. Lockwood.”

And, if the morning is spent giggling and pressing kisses to each other’s faces and whispering “Mr.” and “Mrs.”, well, then it’s really no business but their’s, is it?

☠️🤍🗝️

[astronicht]

whumptober day 3: “like crying out in empty rooms, no one there except the moon” | (implied) solitary confinement

tbh only meets the prompt if u squint but!! fic amnesty just post bb

Modao Zushi | WWX & JC gen, background wangxian | 1.1k

“He doesn’t understand it,” Wei Wuxian says. “That you have to sweat out the heat.”

“Please do not talk to me about Hanguang-jun,” Sect Leader Jiang says.

The cicadas sing in the wide hot dark beyond this room, where it is humid and close and lit by two little oil lamps on either side of the table. The oil lamps are clay and shaped like leaping fish the size of a child’s cupped hand. On them is a glaze called Yunmeng blue; the alchemical recipe for it was one of the things Wei Wuxian might have found in the Lotus Pier treasure rooms, had he been looking for that in particular.

Jiang Cheng has not met Wei Wuxian’s eyes this entire conversation at this little table with its yours and mine oil lamps, arranged like a banquet. Wei Wuxian is eating a meal: sliced steamed fish cakes in oil, Hongshan caitai fried with chili and garlic, plain congee rather than what was first offered, which had been rich with the white meat of Yunmeng fish. Wei Wuxian knows how to delicately reintroduce this body to food.

Jiang Cheng is not eating, because the dark night outside is nearly false dawn. Outside this little room, Sect Leader Jiang’s cooks are hanging out fresh noodles to dry in the coming sun, whispering to each other in the dark as their hands do a job they have done a thousand times.

“Will you tell him about this,” Jiang Cheng says.

“I thought we weren’t talking about Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian says. Then adds, “I don’t keep secrets from him,” to see if Jiang Cheng will have him thrown out of this room. He keeps eating, very slowly. The fish cakes and the vegetables are very spicy, Yunmeng spicy. It is burning his cracked lips.

Jiang Cheng does not say anything or move, so Wei Wuxian says, “What I was saying is that there are only a few things that Lan Zhan doesn’t get. He doesn’t know how to survive the heat, you know, not really. I always liked eating spicy food in the heat, right? To sweat it out. He likes bitter melon and mung beans.”

“You are supposed to eat those in summer.”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “After three days in your dungeon I would’ve eaten mung beans till I couldn’t stand up,” he says agreeably, even though in fact he has spent three days alone in the dark and is calmly eating a single fish cake one tiny bite at a time. His hands only shake a little with the effort of not shoveling in food.

Jiang Cheng’s knuckles crack as his fists clench on the table. Wei Wuxian looks at him from under the lashes of a dead boy. “Well, I would,” he says mildly. “And it was all a misunderstanding, so I hope you have not disciplined the responsible parties. Of course your new disciples would not recognize little old me. Congratulations, of course, on the new disciples.” He means this very genuinely, though Jiang Cheng will take it as a cold joke. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to fix that. Maybe it won’t ever be fixed. Maybe this humid little room where once decades ago the walls were painted red with purple lattice designs, the murals flaking from the plaster in an old unburnt part of Lotus Pier, will be the closest they come.

Wei Wuxian takes another careful bite of food he finds easy to digest. Below this little room off the kitchens he can hear water moving among the stilts. The kitchens are built partly over water here, to reduce the constant threat of fire. Similarly, to get into the Lotus Pier treasure rooms you must swim under buildings whose bottom is flush with the water level, holding your breath. The currents are strange among the stilts; there are underwater barriers and pylons and it is very dark even in the daytime. Every movement stirs up muck from the bottom.

Wei Wuxian had wanted to see a treasure. So he had come to Yunmeng alone, while Lan Zhan was visiting with Head Cultivator Zewu-jun, doing brotherly things, probably having meals not so unlike this one with so many horrible things unsaid. Though honestly, Wei Wuxian cannot believe this current luck: that he got into the treasure room at all, that he was only imprisoned in the dark for three days before Sect Leader Jiang returned from a night hunt to find a trespasser held in a cellars built up on the hill. It was hard to think of Jiang Cheng who once kept puppies and now keeps men in holes in the hill, a line of them that they have always called the dungeons, where perhaps people who learned some of what the Yiling Laozu taught died in the belly of the dirt of Yunmeng.

Jiang Cheng, who once spent months with Lan Wangji, trying to claw Wei Wuxian out of the soil and horror of Yiling.

It had felt very different four days ago when he dived beneath the surface of the lake again, silent and small as a black cormorant. The water closed above him, warm and for a moment almost clear before the rich silt stirred. He had held his breath and swum the old path.

Wei Wuxian looks at the little oil lamps, deep blue glazed. “Yunmeng blue,” he says, tapping one with a fingernail. The ceramic sings. The little flame wavers in its broth of oil.

Jiang Cheng’s gaze sharpens. “That’s not what you were after,” he says, and then looks like he meant to say something else, a stronger accusation. The Lans would love to know the secret of Yunmeng blue. It happens in the hills, the alchemy of it, in the potters’ kilns that stretch two li from hilltop to valley like snaking dragons with bellies of fire. There, among the azaleas, mostly unbothered by the night hunts, the people of Yunmeng cook a blue deeper than the sky.

“That’s not what I was after,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “I was looking for the rubbing of the old Han Dynasty star map and I didn’t find it anyway. Your disciples are very thorough in responding to their alarm talismans. Very diligent. I’m sure I am very lucky Sect Leader Jiang returned tonight.”

“And you took nothing,” Jiang Cheng says.

“I took nothing.”

“Well,” Jiang Cheng says, and clears his throat. Wei Wuxian’s brother, once. “It was only three days this time.”

Wei Wuxian looks at him, long and black-eyed and birdlike in a stolen body. “Yes,” he agrees. “Only three days. I’ll sweat it out in no time.”

—

idk man idk! important to state that i love jiang cheng, this is just as much about jiang cheng. anyway. i cant shut up about the development of chemical blue dye/pigment. also i couldn’t get Wei Ying to admit even to the narrative that he touched the dead husk of a silk worm stored inexplicably in the treasure rooms of lotus pier and knew it was there for their sister, whose work and life is all unrecorded in the treasure rooms of Yunmeng. etc.

[nakitengoku]

oc interview: 💙Vex💙

Shoutout to @mail-me-a-snail for tagging me in this post and also egging me along with getting into Cyberpunk 2077 and subsequently creating Vex 💫

(I don't have a single good photo of Vex so you instead get the Compilation of sillies I've drawn, many featuring Snail's Vance!)

💙 Name?

"Name's Vex, but call me anything you like."

💙 Nickname?

"Some people used to call me V, but that was a while ago."

He used to be called Ghost when he was younger, being able to slip into the background unnoticed at any moment, but he later grew out of that. When he eventually adopted the name V, it was less of a nickname and more of a stage name. It's mostly forgotten now, but some hardcore fans will still recognize and call him V.

💙 Gender?

"Prettyboy 💖"

💙 Star sign?

"Oh, I used to be really into these! If I remember right, My sun and moon are both Libra. Missy could probably tell you more about what that means though."

I decided to take one out of Max's book and use the first time i drew him as his birthday, which if we're going by the absolute first concept, was September 26, 2022. He's changed a Lot since then. Also, reading up on libras with Vex in mind is just 💥

💙 Height?

".....5'8."

He's actually 5'7 and a half.

💙 Orientation?

"Anyone able and willing. Why, you interested?"

If he cared enough about labels, it'd probably be pansexual. But by the end of the day, he doesn't really care what he gets called. As long as he gets what he wants out of it, anything's fine.

💙 Nationality/Ethnicity?

"White."

💙Favorite Fruit?

"Oh man, okay so I've only had it once at an after party forever ago, but it was this round, redish purple thing. When I bit into it, it was a little tart at first, but the inside was such a sweet taste that I was in heaven. By the time I finished and threw the pit away, there were no more left and I nearly cried. I haven't seen it since and I can't remember the name but man. Best organic thing I've ever tasted."

If you give this man a plum, he'd kill someone for you. Which isn't a lot given that that's his job, but still. He'd do it without expecting to be paid in money.

💙 Favorite season?

"Fall, for sure. While I was in Atlanta, they had these parks with trees that would change their colours to these gorgeous shades of reds and oranges. God, kinda makes me wish I could grow something like that here."

I don't actually know the plant life in Nevada or how much the temperature differentiates between the seasons in Night City, but I imagine that what shrubbery they do have there have leaves that are always green or simply non-existent. Vex saw a plant change colour outside of blooming and immediately fell in love with it.

💙 Favorite flower?

"Officially, Lilacs. But between you and me, I'm very partial to forget-me-nots."

He used to be gifted Lilacs all the time during his first career by Jonathan, his producer, but Vex always found himself enjoying the little forget-me-nots that acted as accent flowers than the actual lilacs themselves.

💙 Coffee, tea or Hot chocolate?

"Hot chocolate. Although, I will drink coffee in a pinch."

This man has the biggest sweet tooth. The amount of sugar he puts in his coffee before he chugs it down for the caffeine should be illegal. [I cannot judge bc I am the same way <3]

💙 Average hours of sleep?

'We talking Mean, Median or Mode?"

It varies so much that the actual average ends up being about 6, but um. Do not be fooled into thinking he's actually sleeping 6 hours every night. Think more along the lines of several all-nighters followed by crashing super hard for a day or two.

💙 Dog or cat person?

"Oh, a cat person. I'm just not home enough for a dog."

💙 Dream trip?

"I saw a pamplet once of Crater Lake in Oregon. It was something about the ten deadliest lakes in the world or something, but I'm just into how Blue it is. If I could, I'd visit the rest of those lakes too, but. Eh, I doubt it."

💙 Favorite Fictional Character?

"Hmm, it's a toss up between a side from this really long and old comic from the 2010's and the protagonist from a just as long manga from the 2000's. I think their names were Kanya and Ruffy? It's been 15 years though so don't quote me on that."

It's Kanaya from homestuck and Luffy from One Piece. He likes Kanaya because of her fashion sense and her dealing with the responsibility of her entire species on her shoulders. And he likes Luffy for his optimism and stubbornness. At one point, he imagined finding friends like Luffy did, being surrounded by so much devotion. The reasoning has since faded and he just barely remembers much about them now.

💙 Number of Blankets you sleep with?

"Eight. I like the weight and warmth."

His AC bill is through the fucking roof but he refuses to take a single blanket off, instead insisting on just making the rest of the room freezing. Giving him a weighted blanket wouldn't fix it, but he'd probably go down to five instead of eight.

💙 Random fact?

"When i was really little, my mom used to take me to a church. Don't think it exists any more, but I remember the Stain glass windows, how the light shone through and fell onto her. In normal lighting, I remember her looking pale a sickly, but once a week, with a statue of a half-god watching over us, my mother glowed. She was gorgeous.

"Anyway, I stopped going after she died. For a while it was because I never remembered what day it was, but later it was because I realized I only ever went to see my mom glow."

~~

Thank you for tagging me, Max! This was much longer than what i thought when i was getting into it but I'm still glad I did it.

I can't think of anyone specific who'd want to do this, so if you see this and want to give it a try, please do and tag me! I'd love to see your little blorbos :)

[xdogteeth]

No one will be safe over this post because I will actually be insane over the fact Leon has canonically religion trauma and I will force you to read my hc's. Someone on twitter has been translating the Japanese version of the Vendetta book and it was talked about Leon will quote bible verses on long stakeouts out of boredom before getting mad at himself for it. (Here's the link to the translation)

So, let's begin.

Leon was 100% a perfect little Christian boy, and I have a gut wrenching feeling his father was either a priest or a deacon. Either way, Leon was a good boy and everyone loved him. I like to really think his faith in God immediately dropped when he arrived at the gas station in RE2r because he would go: "What the—" almost like he's never cursed before.

Like every religious kid, you knew cursing was a huge no-no and maybe Leon had fear in it still as he suffered through unimaginable hell. I wouldn't doubt Leon had a continuous train of thought of: "Why would God...?" and "But God is supposed to—" because that's what he was taught from day one. So, Leon losing faith in all humanity and God, there's a reason why he turns that way years later in 2013 to binge on alcohol.

Though, the idea of Leon being bored on long stakeouts to quote the bible and recalling memories of perhaps Sunday school and youth group, makes him only that pissed off because it used to be normal. Leons' life was normal once and I don't doubt that bothers him.

But this trails into RE6, the little note of Leon expressing his regrets of not ending his life back in 1998. I wouldn't doubt Leon has a lot of things to say to God, let alone, talking about his anger to God. He had valid reasons to feel this way, valid thoughts of "Why would God treat us like this if He cared?".

Younger Leon was still learning new things because he'll have that religious mindset for a while. (Perhaps in the middle of RE2 and 4) I like to think back in 2 Claire definitely noticed it first when he would awkwardly go "...Dammit" or something. It would make her giggle at it, hearing him use bigger curse words through the trauma, finally loosening up on God and the commandments.

Moving on, Leon wholeheartedly despises his religious background and avoids talking about it like the Incident. I believe when he's in those life threatening situations of almost dying he would go on a rant of a prayer.

"God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so scared, don't let me die I promise I'll change. Please, forgive me."

Though, when he miraculously lives, he shoves it under the rug until he lies in bed recounting those moments on his fingers as he falls asleep.

Leon lying in bed at night recalling himself begging to God to save him bothers his subconscious more than it should. Wonder if binging the alcohol was a good idea, using God's name in vain, so on. It 100% keeps him awake at night, feeling the hot waves of guilt of disappointing God like this. Maybe, just maybe, Leon would visit a church once in a blue moon to clean his slate.

Standing in the back of the crowd on a Sunday morning, just some dude wearing a leather jacket in blue jeans watching these people sing and praise their God with blood on their hands from their own sins. Just maybe, it makes Leon feel like filth standing there and stressing he'll burst into flames for what he's done in the past 20-something years. The trauma will never leave him and he knows that, accepting that it'll follow him even into the grave.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Eliminating Repeated Words

Anonymous asked: So, is repeating words okay or would using a synonym work? I feel like when I do, it makes the sentence awkward. For example.. “We sat in the car silently, awaiting Sam’s return from the broken down building. After a couple of minutes, the car was approached speedily by a tall figure who wasn’t Sam.” Car is repeated twice, would it be better if in the second use of it I put vehicle? Or would that make it awkward?

Most of the time, you want to avoid using the same word twice in the same sentence or short paragraph. However, replacing with a synonym isn't always the best option:

“We sat in the car silently, awaiting Sam’s return from the broken down building. After a couple of minutes, the automobile was approached speedily by a tall figure who wasn’t Sam.”

Yuck, no.

Instead, the first thing you want to do is try to reword the sentence to eliminate the word or the need to repeat it:

“We sat in the car, silently awaiting Sam's return from the broken down building. After a couple of minutes, we were speedily approached by a tall figure who wasn't Sam."

The reader knows they're waiting in a car, so the reader understands "we were approached" means the tall figure approached the people waiting in the car. It doesn't have to be explicitly stated.

Another option is seeing if there's another word you can use, not a synonym for the repeated word, but an alternative to it:

“We sat in the car silently, awaiting Sam’s return from the broken down building. After a couple of minutes, the driver's side door was approached speedily by a tall figure who wasn’t Sam

The reader knows the "driver's side door" is on the car, so this is just another way of saying the car was approached without actually saying it.

And, for anyone wondering, it's okay for some words to be repeated. Articles like the, an, a... prepositions like to, at, for, on... When you see those repeated in a sentence or short paragraph, see if you can eliminate them with rewording. But if they have to be there, they have to be there. And that is very occasionally true of other words, too. Just follow your gut instinct and do the best you can. Every once in a blue moon it might actually make sense to use a synonym, but it should always be your last option after rewording/trying to eliminate the use of the extra word.

I'm going to move your other question into a separate ask. :)

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[unladielike]

So since it has been brought to my attention some rumours have been circulating about me, I just wanna make a few things clear.

First off, I did not supposedly stalk anyone's blog for years.

If need be, I can even provide my IP address (aka self-dox myself) to prove any screencaps to be false, but I'm nowhere near obsessive enough to check somebody's blog everyday. Like, sure, I might visit blogs of ex-mutuals every once in a blue moon out of curiosity, but contrary to popular belief, tumblr doesn't take up 90% of my time and at best, I would maybe lurk on COAR to read new confessions or refresh my dash once per day just in case non-active partners of mine have returned.

If anything, my time has been mostly comprised of going to work and grinding mobile gachas; in fact, should I notice I have replies to write, I will log in, throw my replies into the queue/save written replies in my drafts folder to queue later, and then fuck off to do other stuff. Honestly, provided someone has beef with me, it's unlikely I would know why unless my encounter with them on tumblr had been rather recent.

To my knowledge, I haven't harassed anyone off of tumblr.

Now, did I have spats with my own fair share of people over the eight or nine years I have been on this hellsite? Yes. Have I made vague posts about ex-mutuals, unintentionally ghosted others, privately vented to friends about people from the RPC I personally can't stand, and commented on COAR confessions? Also, yes.

But that being said, the only one I've ever sent anon hate to was myself and if I played a part in somebody deactivating their blog or quitting tumblr roleplay altogether, then that's certainly news to me, because I don't like participating in public smear campaigns, to the point where I even avoid name dropping certain users in my rules or PSAs I've made. Heck, the way I see it, I can only ever recall myself being relentlessly harassed/bullied, because when it comes to me for some reason, people on this site sadly don't know how to block and move on like normal people.

I also have never encouraged anyone to delete their blogs or chase them out of the RPC and have only ever reported one person due to the fact they would not stop posting about me/attempt to provoke me into engaging in drama on a site that we both frequent despite having me blocked; therefore, I have no idea where the narrative of me harassing people off of tumblr even comes from. Besides, I'm nowhere near popular enough to influence whatever following I have to dog pile on whoever I have grievances with, let alone have many people who would go to bat for me each time I'm being unfairly criticized. Honestly, the one time someone did call out my harasser, it was something I had no control over and they did so without my permission, to the point where I did privately tell them to stop url-dropping me and engaging with this person on my behalf... because again, I just wanted to be left alone.

Furthermore, I make it very clear to mutuals I've vented to that they don't have to unfollow/block roleplayers I've had bad experiences with... so I'm not sure if this is merely a case of the Mandela Effect rearing it's ugly head, individuals making up bad faith reasons to dislike me, or an issue of mistaken identity (especially since I'm likely not the only one who goes by the mun handle, 'Livi', and it has happened before where somebody had wrongly assumed a blog belonged to another person).

Of course, it's possible I could have forgotten stuff, as I have had more than three blogs over the years, so naturally, I won't remember all the OOC posts I have ever shared, let alone every instance before 2022 where I have been involved in drama... but regardless, I refuse to take accountability for things I have never done unless you personally come to me off anon with screenshots that provide evidence.

[my-1heart]

I hope you’ve been well.

Vil Schoenheit x GN Reader

Angst I think?

Here he sits another sleepless night, seeing the sun through his curtains and sighing.

It hurt to sleep. It hurt to move. It hurt to even be near the bed. It felt empty. Cold. Lonely.

It’s been 2 months since they went home. 2 months since Vil made the biggest mistake of his life.

How could he just… let them go like that? A question that frequented his mind like a plague.

Getting out of his bed and getting ready for the day became a hassle. He’d never be able to leave his room to experience their surprise visits anymore.

He missed them dearly. More then he had thought he would.

But alas, he had to be productive. An episode like this will pass. Except, it’s been well over a month since his mental state began deteriorating.

Looking in the mirror for the umpteenth time this week, he applied a few layers of concealer to at least hide the bags under his eyes.

After they left, everything began to dissipate within him and his life. He no longer chastised Epel. No longer payed attention to Rook’s comments on his looks. No longer put in the equal effort he once would put in.

The only thing he could think of was if they’d been okay. Had they been eating properly? Had they been sleeping enough? They weren’t crying too much were they?

To many questions of them filled his head as he laid his head down on his arms.

“Please…” he pleaded. Vil was never below begging, but perhaps this once someone above would pay no mind to how low he’d put himself to beg for them to come back.

“Please, give me another chance..” he’d cry out, but the truth is cruel. And he knew all too well.

The truth was, he made this choice. He made it with no hint of hesitation. And this was his punishment for it. But even through his punishment, he could only wish for one thing.

“I hope you’ve been well.” He’d whisper, before closing his eyes and hoping to meet them in the dream realm.

Hi!! Sorry for being gone for so long! I missed all of you so much ahhhh!!

A simple sum up of me disappearing and re-appearing every blue moon or so would be highschool is hard! And well my motivation goes well into my studies a lot of the time!

I try to have posts ready in advance and to have at least 1 post per month though!!

Also, Happy Halloween (it’s tmr for me!!)

[tears-in-my-tardis]

analyzing the songs in my good omens playlist

The Bomb by Florence + The Machine

link to whole playlist here

exhales:

You said this could have been the best thing that ever happened to you, so you decided not to do it

aziraphale basically says he loves crowley. he wants eternity in heaven with him. as an angel, though. i forgive you.

Now you come back every summer like a carnivorous flower, and I stare at your hands in the heat, and I think they are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen

aziraphale comes to visit the bookshop once in a blue moon, under pretenses of "checking in" and crowley hates him for it but he can't help but love him regardless.

But if I was free to love you, you wouldn't want me, would you?

"i just found something more important than choosing sides" *feels love so strong the only thing az can do is clutch crowley* the option is presented on a silver platter, and yet aziraphale goes back to heaven. in crowley's eyes this is as sure a confirmation of unrequitedness as one could get.

I've blown apart my life for you, and bodies hit the floor for you

i've burned every bridge with hell or heaven that i had to be an us, i've killed others to keep us safe.

And break me, shake me, devastate mе, come here, baby, tell me that I'm wrong

and yet, aziraphale is unable to do the same for crowley (due to his own complex issues but this is about crowley angst rn).

I don't love you, I just love the bomb

this feels like a bitter post breakup crowley saying something like "i don't love you i just love the way you ruin my life constantly, apparently."

Buildings falling is the only thing that turns me on

i guess destruction is the only thing i can keep close to me because i destroy everything i touch.

I don't love you, I just love the bomb; I let it burn, but it just had to be done

this just hurts me.

And I'm in ruins, but is it what I wanted all along?

crowley is self destructive to a fault you guys. he's a little dark sad guy. he laid his heart bare and was left with a cavity in his chest. but isn't that what he wanted?? it's definitely not

Sometimes you get the girl, sometimes you get a song

🎶"and a nightingale sang in berkeley square"🎶—