#it gets messy so its better to just Not

[br1ghtestlight]

this is so funny to me actually bcuz this is 100% how i talk abt my characters ages. i know what YEAR they were born and i know what rheir ages are supposed to be at the start of the story but i dont actually know when it takes place?? im really bad at math. There was a moment where rainbow was supposed to be 23 and i somehow accidentally made her 17 lmfao

[cryptocism]

You think just anybody can qualify for a crush on Superboy? There's a vetting process. You have to submit an application to the board.

I continue to draw the silly bits of Frequency (this one is from Chapter 5, if context is a thing you like to have)

[plulp]

IM NOT A DOCTOR BUT I THINK I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP

[myokk]

💘

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

tbh i think that even unwinnable fights should be winnable. some of the BEST fights i've ever run as a dm were ones i built kill the players (in a fun way. I had some cutscenes prepped so even the loss would be a different flavour of win)- but then they were clever bastards and managed to either win the fights or pull themselves out of trouble. I think it's perfectly fine to plan for a fight that players aren't supposed to win, but you need to let them. if they can't win, they can't lose, and the meaning of that encounter is diminished. do that too many times, and they stop trusting you to give them roleplay prompts and start expecting to sit there waiting while you drive the story for them.

but if they can win... if there is always the chance to win, no matter how impossible the odds, then they ALWAYS have hope. they always get invested. they feel the big emotions of success or the big emotions of failure, and you fucking Win as a dm/roleplay prompter/lead bastard.

[s0fter-sin]

it’s the sound that tips him off.

it’s late, half-past hell by his last count, and mactavish knows there shouldn’t be a single soul in the showers this time of night. though he’s sure if he asked, he’d be told a soul isn’t in there.

just a ghost.

he almost chokes on the thick steam filling the locker room; humid and hazy and the perfect cover. or it would be, if the man collapsed in the far stall cared about hiding.

mactavish hates himself a little for the low sigh that falls from his lips. he wishes he wasn't so disappointed; that the promises he's heard over and over and watched be broken as many times hadn't wedged their way into his heart and convinced him that maybe, maybe this could be the time it sticks.

he doesn't know what's worse; the disappointment or the lack of surprise.

he holds his breath through the steam and leans over the limp body; stinging hot water hitting his back, instantly soaking through his clothes and already starting to burn. he flicks the tap enough to take the bulk of the heat out and straightens; a groan startling out of the man beneath him at the sudden lash of tepid water.

mactavish crouches, knees clicking and hooks a hand under his bicep to pull him up straight against the wall. if there was any vomit on his skin, it's been washed away by the pelting stream and he supposes he can count himself lucky for that. he tilts his limp head back and slips his fingers into his mouth; holding down his tongue and ignores the way it lazily jolts under his fingers to check his airway.

clear.

another small victory.

mactavish pulls his fingers out and cups his chin, keeping him tilted up and moves in the way of the water again so he can pull at his eyelid.

the eye he's met with is cloudy, so dilated there's hardly a ring of blue left.

he sighs again; hand falling away and letting his eye fall shut. "god damnit, riley."

riley moans, all his weight resting on the hand holding his jaw.

"aye, 'm talking ‘bout you," he grunts tiredly.

he lets riley's head fall forward to grab his arm, pulling him away from the wall to sit behind him; propping his body up against his chest. he leans his head back over his shoulder, keeping his face out of the water and his airway open just in case he hasn't actually finished throwing up.

he takes the rag riley'd half-managed to soap up and mechanically runs it over him; cataloguing new bruises and cuts and checking if the old ones are healing. sickly yellow fingerprints ring his hips, red splotches paint his ribs; too new to have settled into the deep purple he knows they’ll become.

riley slowly makes more noise as he rubs life into his body; still lying limp against his front but his head's starting to roll restlessly on his shoulder. he swipes between his legs and carefully doesn't think a single thing about what he finds.

"sean?" he rasps and mactavish's hand stills; eyes falling shut. he bites his check, hand clenching around the rag tight enough to shake and breathes hard out his nose.

he doesn't say a word, just forces himself to go back to cleaning.

he's not sure what would come out of his mouth if he did.

riley isn't conscious enough to hear him anyway.

he runs his fingers over his inner elbows for tracks and manages to muster some relief when he doesn't find any. seems to be a pill and booze night; far from the worst condition he's found him in.

he rinses him off, running a curtesy hand over his shaved head only for it to fall back to his jaw; his thumb stroking over the thick scar carved into his cheek.

"you gotta stop doin' this," he whispers.

he isn’t sure if he’s talking to riley or himself.

mactavish gathers up riley's too-light body into his arms and turns off the shower. his head lolls into his throat and he throws a towel over his dripping body and another over his shoulder. it doesn't stop him from tracking water all the way to his quarters but he'd like to see someone try to put in a complaint about it.

he lays out the other towel on the bed and sets riley down; moving his body into the recovery position in an all-too familiar routine. he dries him enough that he won't soak the covers as he pulls them up to his chest and kicks the waste bin within grabbing distance of the bed.

he goes to pull off his sodden clothes when a different noise makes him freeze.

a low sniffle.

mactavish slowly turns back to the bed to find riley's eyes squinting open; glazed with tears as he kneads at the covers.

he stares at him for a moment as he looks around the room and those hazy eyes lock on him for the first time. "cap'n?"

he swallows. "aye; s'just me, riley."

his hand pokes out from under the covers and for all the promises he's made himself - all the “never again”s and “this is the last time”s - at the end of the day, he's weak.

he sits on the side of the bed and takes riley's hand in his; already so cold after nearly boiling himself alive.

"y' mad a' me?" he sniffs.

mactavish runs his tongue over his lip and slowly shakes his head. "no, i'm not mad at you."

"prom'se?" he pushes.

he reaches out and caresses his temple with his thumb. his hand almost covers his head and it cuts like a knife to remember just how small riley is. "aye," he says, hushed. "i promise."

riley's eyes fall shut, voicelessly murmuring 'promise’ to himself over and over.

"I’ll ge’ bett'r," he slurs and between one breath and the next, he's out.

mactavish sighs, running his hand in a final pass over his head and stares at a face that looks so much younger in sleep; bruised and sallow skin hidden in the shadows. "i know you will."

he presses a slow kiss to his forehead, shutting his eyes against the grief that wells in his heart and gets up to pull a chair over to the bed; settling in for another long night's vigil of watching his broken lieutenant sleep, ready to tilt him over if he throws up, eyes locked on the slow rise and fall of his chest fearing tonight may finally be the time it stops.

[taravangians-storming-balls]

There is plenty of talk about adolin calling kaladin bridgeboy being a bit. Off. But something that continuously bugged me was that everyone outside of bridge four constantly calls them bridgemen long after they've been freed. Like these guys are your honor guard why are you still saying "bridgemen, come here." They aren't bridgemen anymore my dude

[masochistikitty]

rough draft

[chr0n1c-ag0ny]

(cw: talk of suicide, self harm, etc.)

Kunidazai's first kiss not being some moment of realization or confession of feelings, not some romance movie moment, it's not followed by smiles or laughs, or even words.

No.

Their first kiss came months after the pair had been partnered up at the ADA. Kunikida had thought he'd seen it all. He'd learned to call Dazai at least twice a day, once in the morning and once at night, three times if they didn't have work, more than that if Dazai never showed up. He'd learned how to tell a bad day from a bad day just by the sound of the other man's voice. He'd spent long nights and weekends and days off (most of which were sick days he took off for Dazai's sake) taking care of the other man, changing bandages hand holding his hand. He didn't think it could get any worse.

but it did, it found a way, Kunikida had stopped Dazai from genuinely making an attempt on his life (he'd stopped his more... spur of the moment attempts, the ones that had minimal effort or true intent to them, before. they were always scary even if he knew dazai would more or less walk away unscathed, but this was different), barging through his door just in time to keep the blade from hitting his wrist that final time.

Dazai wasn't there, for lack of a better word, sitting there, loosely conscious, as Kunikida re-wrapped new and old wounds, as he wiped the blood off of him, as he helped him change into new clothes. Kunikida could smell the alcohol wafting off of him, stared into blank, empty eyes, talked to deaf ears, hoping to coax his partner back from his absent haze, but nothing broke the blur his partner was stuck in.

he tugged him up off the floor and onto the couch, knowing it was a safe 'no-mans-land' both could sit on without waking up dark memories. he wanted to hold him, wanted to take him into his arms and never let go, but he didn't know if he was allowed, if he could touch Dazai like that, so he just sat and watched, not knowing what to do, when Dazai suddenly spoke.

"why?" his voice a whisper, "why do you even care so much?"

and he would try and put it into words, tried to tell him he deserved to be cared for and to have people worry for him, that he was his partner and it was his job to worry, that he loved him goddammit and he was scared of losing him, but nothing seems to reach Dazai.

he he leans forward, slow enough for Dazai to pull away even in the state he was in if need be, and kissed him. not on the lips, this wasn't a profession of love, no, no he presses his lips to the curve between his nose and his cheek.

- I don't want to lose you. I love you. it hurts and is stained with tears, but it's there and I don't want it to go away. I don't want you to go away. stay here, please, please stay here - He hopes to say.

the kiss is soft, so soft he's not sure Dazai could feel it, but any firmer and he thinks he might shatter his partner. He keeps placing little butterfly kisses to his cheek and the bridge of his nose regardless, tasting the salt of their shared tears. he doesn't even know why he did it, it wasn't something he ever thought of doing, but he didn't know how else to tell Dazai how he felt, so he showed him.

Dazai sinks into it, tries to make Kunikida kiss him in earnest, but Kunikida knows better than to try and let Dazai self medicate with physical affections, and instead takes him close, hugging him tighter than he's ever hugged anyone before, as if to hold the brunette together. Dazai lets him with a huff. Kunikida rests his lips against the man's greasy hair, holding his partner as close as he could. they're both crying. it hurts. the kiss burned and ached and might as well be a bruise festering on both of their faces. but neither of them would trade it for the world, cause there is some understanding in it.

Dazai calls Kunikida next time.

[a-drama-addict]

little grumpy sigrid doodle

[todayisafridaynight]

[springcatalyst]

shogun (book) does the 'characters speaking in multiple languages' thing the best ive ever seen its so fuckign. the 'defaults' are typically either portugese or japanese and so those are written normally, with the exception that the japanese we hear from blackthornes perspective is either unintelligible (not direct quotes) or short words and phrases that he picks up (things like wakarimasuka and kinjuru are written just like that, and we the english reader learn what they mean as blackthorne does, so dont need translations evey time). japanese when heard from a japanese character's perspective is written in normal english, because its still the default, its their first, usually only, language. but it gets funky when youre speaking, say, latin, which they do sometimes. because blackthorne knows it fluently, but its not his first language (though neither is portugese) and its not the one he uses the most. so its written recognizably to us, an english-speaking reader, but in a way that makes it clear it is NOT portugese (default). so its written in this kind of old-englishy very elaborate style, with thees and thous and -ith at the ends of verbs and even just a different grammatical structure than normal english. "who giveth the sign? with importance it should be given quickly." <- not a sentence that comes naturally to english but it is A: recognizable as of the meaning and B: clearly Different. it signals theyre speaking latin even when the whole book is written in English and i think its NEAT

[boxwinebaddie]

it’s the way a lot of my ask memes could be done a lot sooner but i keep accidentally starting beyond beef with people who i presume are going to try and grief me,

( aka uncle nina in her angry girl jerseykyle scare-ra )

[andragoras-in-vanity]

for the love of god someone convince me from texting my ex, i daydreamed too closr to the sun and now i want attention😭

[irregularbillcipher]

watched the musical demon show (don't wanna name it so this post isn't in the tags) at the behest of an IRL friend and i can already tell this is going to be a piece of media where i absolutely cannot stop thinking about it, not because i really love the show as-is, but because it has so many individual components i really like and find incredibly fun or compelling, and i'm so frustrated that it doesn't come together for me

i think the main thing i can say about it as a show, setting aside some of the insensitive choices that were made that i really don't feel qualified to tackle or talk about, is that the entire thing sort of gives off this vibe of someone really excited to show you every single oc they made in high school and college and i very genuinely mean that in both the best and worst ways possible

there are some good hooks for season two though so i will absolutely give them that

[fuck-off-im-ace]

A while ago i listenned to "A House in Nebraska" by Ethel Cain and honestly i don't think i've moved on since. On all levels except physical, i am still in that Nebraska house.