#it was a 2 stars read for me

[imaharrie]

-

[meamiiikiii]

silly comic based on a time i struggled to read live on stream :thumbsup:

context clip compilation below ASDASDFASA

(cw for brief mention of hospitals/strokes)

[expelliarmus]

[spockvarietyhour]

I can't help but feel this might be a nod to @dduane's Dark Mirror novel...

[bioluminesced]

i read like 5 high republic books in a week.

[pup-pee]

SO I MIGHTVE GOTTEN A BIT INSPIRED BY THIS POST

[fumifooms]

When Marcille roleplayed as Chilchuck’s wife because it’s a normal way to engage in gossip of course of course, her appearance is really just her as a half-foot in a common dress and two braids. Uncharacteristically simple for her, though she did wear those as a half-foot too. At the end of canon, Chilchuck, implicitly by the text ~filling the hole in her heart~ by doing her hair for her when she lost the will to care for it herself, puts it in two braids.

She’s one step closer to her "I wonder what Chilchuck would be like as a husband" fantasy…. Don’t give up girl dreams come true, keep asking him about spending the rest of your daily lives together Mfw his love language is acts of service

[collophora]

haha I'll never finish this

but hewwo new followers <3

[vic-does-battlecats]

Minor spoilers for the already revealed chapters of the next A Starless Clan book Wind

[kagoutiss]

green beetle black beetle

[rosalie-starfall]

Just sayin, there sure is a lot of Technobabble for a show meant for kids... I don't know what's going on, I can only imagine what it's like for little ones lol (That being said I still really liked it, But I'm gonna need to watch it a few times before I get it. Although I'm always bad with wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff.) And no... I did not read Temporal Mechanics 101

[cosmicvaca]

Star Platinum’s arms closed around her, tight without being crushing, and the stand rested her cheek against the top of Jotaro’s hat. Her initial instinct was to squirm away. Pressed that close, she could feel Star Platinum’s breasts against her back. Why did her stand have the proper body when Jotaro didn’t? It was bullshit. When squishing the disappointment out of her didn’t work, Star Platinum flitted over to the other side of the room, one huge hand digging through Jotaro’s luggage, unzipping its inner pockets until she found something and darted back. When she uncurled her fingers, Jotaro’s dark blue lipstick lay in her broad palm. It hadn’t burned up with her original coat, since she had started keeping it in her luggage after the close call of Polnareff trying to jam his hand into her coat pocket looking to bum a cigarette, the other week. She still hadn’t gotten the opportunity to try it on, and it was still pristine. Her hands were shaking, as she raised the tube to her mouth. After a lifetime of watching her mother do this, Jotaro knew how—hell, if she was putting it on someone else (Kakyoin, her brain insisted, Kakyoin with his wide mouth pursed for her to paint soft pink...) it would have been easy. At this rate, she’d probably smear it down her chin. Star Platinum gently took it from her, her fingers dwarfing the lipstick as she held it between her thumb and index finger. Her other hand came up, very lightly holding Jotaro’s chin still. Her first stroke was tentative and barely left any pigment, like she was afraid to break it in half, but at Jotaro’s direction, soon she had lined her lips in dark blue. It looked good. It didn’t give her a chest, or round out her hips, or fix the trainwreck between her legs, but... Despite the harsh color, her face looked a little softer, more feminine. She could be the kind of girl to leave little lipstick marks on the ends of a cigarette, or on a coffee cup, like her Nonna Lisa Lisa. Strong but elegant. If there were vampires and stands in the world, then there could be girls with boyish bodies, right?

Have not been able to get this from chapter 3 of "Watching for the Tide" by glasscamellias on Ao3.

Save me trans girl Jotaro save me

Commissions and alts under the cut

[chimerahyperfix]

You are a scientist. You like testing theories, making hypothesis. Working with dangerous materials that get you scolded. You are a scientist, and you are also a writer! You’ve swung at a few things before: sappy poems, work papers, crab, you’ve even attempted a horror short at Mirabelle’s inquiry. You’re favorite thing to write, though, are just basic letters.

You like to write letters. It's easier, to you, to write your thoughts on a piece of paper and hide it somewhere the recipient can find than to tell them what you think face-first. You’ve done it for years, long before you even came to the House to learn about the Change religion. A childhood habit that’s rolled over through your life like a wave on the sea.

So, of course, when time begins to loop, you write. Many, many letters. They all get lost to time when it twists back, and now, many loops in, that leaves a hole in your heart and a spot in your brain you can’t itch, for the words of each letter are mostly forgotten before you fight the King. It’s… fine, you guess? You can word things as many ways as you need to. Anything described can be described some more, after all.

For the first handful of loops, you wrote the same letters. Rather sappy, lovey things, your specialty. The furthest depths of your heart smeared onto a page for eternity, for you love and love and love, and you want those around you to know it.

Though as time trudges on, the same twenty four hours over and over in a nice single circuit built for it to run through, built by wishes and stars and twisted leaf-baring branches, so do your thoughts; therefore your letters move so, too, to adapt. More theoretical things. Questions. Ifs, ands ors buts and whys. Sadder ones after the bad loops, wailing and endlessly upset and mourning those who froze and those who were killed for standing in the King's way.

They get angrier as time goes on. More enraged. Wrath melts into the corners, edges fold and tear and warp under the weight. You stop delivering them, because you're here in this time loop hell to protect the ones you love, and you'd just make it worse if you gave them a letter like that.

You write a scathing letter, once. You write it after an absolutely abysmal loop, ending with blood and tears and probably the loudest you've ever screamed. It flows onto the page easily, and you leave it out on your desk, because you were hungry and hadn't eaten that loop with how beside yourself stressed you were.

Mirabelle finds it. Asks you, quite worried, if you're okay. You must've said something, and it had to be bad, because she flinched away from you like you'd tried to light her ablaze.

You panicked. Time looped.

Never again.

You hide them, after that. Shoved in your pillowcases or in piles of books, stacks of other papers. In the barrels. When you write only one or two you shove them in a bottle and push them to the back of your potions.

You're a shedding snake, a leopard changing its spots. Time is your prisoner and you are it's, and that melts into you as a human being until you are flesh and blood and twenty four hours that shouldn't continue.

Words spill from you, your mind, onto the page. You don't read them anymore. Just write and write and write, and tuck them away and pray no one finds them. You long for the days you could sit and write sappy love letters-- and sometimes, you still do them, but they're tinged with something, regret or rage or the absolute despair you feel, they're wrong, so they're tucked away as well. Letters just wrong, noticeably so. You’d be asked what’s wrong. Cornered. You can hear it now, “What’s wrong? What does this mean?” And all you can think of is the horrors you’ve seen.

One of these loops, whenever you get out, you expect to have a pile of ramblings with time-burnt letters and tear-stained edges. Whenever you get out, if there are any, you'll burn them. As a rite of passage, or something. A Change. Because time changed you, and the less people have to know about it the better. You can't get rid of your rotten voice or the tiredness in your bones or the way your brain has twisted to think, but you CAN get rid of letters.

You like to write. The horrors you write, of twisted time and dying and what being frozen in time is like— it can go. No one needs to know. No one WILL know. It’ll all fall on you, like every other crabbing thing in the time loops. And that’s okay, it’s enough.

[starwarsanthropology]

Did a little palette challenge! Had a lot of fun experimenting with style and lighting.

Characters suggested by @grackle-draws @adhd-coyote @mamuzzy and @thivell! Vert is Grackle’s OC, Carmine, Pudding, and Bestie are Coyote’s, and Tomo and Upyours are mine. Thank you all for helping me choose characters and palettes for this I really wouldn’t have been able to get through it otherwise!

Completed sheet under the cut.

[obsob]

happy autumn!!!

[feroluce]

So I went to the wiki page for the henghill Bullet & Brain mission of 2.2 looking for some dialogue I had missed and

a) I found something incredibly tasty that slotted into some other thoughts I'd been having, more on that on another day, and

b) I saw this super fun little trivia at the bottom, which!

I knew Penacony characters like Boothill took a lot of inspirations from old movies, but I didn't realize it was even in his and Dan Heng's relationship, that's so cool!!

It fits them very well, it's such a fun reference. "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" was an old buddy Western film (from 1969- nice) about a pair of outlaws. Butch Cassidy was the leader of a gang, and described as clever, affable, and talkative. Meanwhile, his closest companion, the Sundance Kid, was known as a man of few words.

Cassidy's original birth name was much more plain, but similar to Boothill, he took on a new moniker when he became an outlaw. "Cassidy" had been the last name of his beloved mentor, who taught him how to shoot and ride. And Sundance Kid was known as he was because Sundance was the name of his hometown, and it was the only place that had ever managed to catch and jail him, back when he'd been younger (also similar to Dan Heng, but ouch).

These two stick together like glue throughout the length of the film- through Cassidy's leadership of the gang being challenged, through a train robbery gone wrong, through being pursued by mercenaries, and even through fleeing to Bolivia and trying to start over together.

I don't want to say too much more, since the mission title is referencing one specific movie that I've never seen. I kinda wanna watch it now, though, just to see the inspiration that went into Boothill and Dan Heng and how they get along. I just think it's really sweet that these two were literally made to be the best of bros, how lovely is that. 💕