#late story post

[cinamun]

Apartment Hunting

[ask-de-writer]

My next story post will be late.

My battery bed is running out and I have to shut down.  The next part of THE PRICE OF AMBER will go up as quickly as I can manage it on Saturday morning.  I have a bit still to write.

[artharakka]

Sneak peeks of some horses I've been posting on Patreon 🐴

[ruporas]

feast (ID in alt)

[prokhorvlg]

The year is 2024.

You’re watching the latest episode of Kid Dynamo in low resolution monochrome on your teleindexer. An announcement echoes in the background.

"Pan Sol Flight 320 to Titan, boarding is now open."

Advertisement for a business-oriented teledex with a neuromorphic advisor.

The BBM Executive 210 was one of hundreds of competitors to the PAL. Form factors and roles were wildly unique, with each one specializing in some selling point... audiophile, business, multimedia, you name it. Just be sure to choose well, the neuromorph within couldn't be transferred between brands.

[zephyrchama]

An idea for around lesson 41~ in OG Obey Me! when the brothers come to the human world.

In their first week, they all go somewhere with MC to celebrate. MC is very used to going out and drinking demonus alongside them, as it does nothing. So nobody thinks twice about ordering a round of drinks for the table. Maybe two rounds. Maybe just keep the drinks coming. It's a happy reunion, after all, and the house is close by.

MC drinks enough to get absolutely plastered by the time anybody realizes what's happened. You now have a table of seven very flustered, concerned demons and a human who can barely sit up in their chair.

[onehundredfallenpetals]

A change of trains, an unexpected companion on the way home

[sableeira]

whoever edited that bsd official art to make it look like chuuya is holding onto dazai’s arm will be put on trial for irrevocably changing my brain chemistry and making me so much worse

the original and the edit in question. this artwork really makes me crave a mid to late 19th century historical au where Chuuya is a swordsman struggling with changes to his job due to the meiji restoration and with Dazai as a detective/private investigator who hires Chuuya as his bodyguard when a seemingly harmless investigation turns dangerous. they kind of hate each other (as per usual) but Chuuya needs the job and Dazai, while he proclaims to dislike chuuya, is also very smitten with chuuya’s fighting style and temper (as per usual).

[gigizetz]

Day 1 of Classicstober: Cassandra

[alicenpai]

forgotten playthings, forgotten child 🧸

Jack from my series Lost & Found Children 🤍🖤

i hope to showcase more of my ocs in 2024 hehe! im FINALLY getting around to finishing art i left to rot in my folders (the pandora hearts drawing last month being one of em). if you saw the WIP of THIS particular drawing 2 yrs ago... no you didn’t 💔

my charas are very personal to me, but tbh ive always been a bit hesitant to share their stories. over time i realized ... it’s kind of a shame to not make art from one’s heart. which is something i regret a lot year after year whenever i make my yearly art summary reflection. i'm like damn i need to make more emotionally evoking pieces!!! so i'm gonna keep going in 2024 with that in mind ❤ i have to admit, although this drawing started 2 years ago, and there's a lot i would do differently if i were to supposedly draw it now - this concept goes pretty hard.

the final drawing stayed pretty close to the original concept which im so relieved for! i think part of the reason why i left it on the backburner for so long, was the fact that i included so many details, and i was unsure of how to colour the "background". (not to mention stuff like cons & real life getting in the way).

i'm glad for discovering a really handy watercolour brush, it's helped me a lot in my last few drawings, bc i dont have to colour in each detail. especially since the witch hat atelier: eternal ephemera zine piece i did. otherwise if i coloured this back in 2022 with my usual method, i'm pretty sure i really would have included a shading and highlight layer for each individual toy... HAHAHA. much to think about

oh yeah and in the last few days of drawing this i was listening to some visual kei bands. i love how some of the band members literally have been performing since like the 90s or something and DO NOT AGE and are literal vampires. every so often i fall back into visual kei (you can tangentially thank aggretsuko although yes i know it's not the same). and i kind of realized. i like Jack's edgy design so much because he looks like. a visual kei esque vampire.

[biblically-accurate-dca]

keep it up!

[micamicster]

Until then, I remain, Long John Silver.

Moby Dick by Herman Melville, chapter CXXXIV The Chase - Second Day

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[pineappical]

in light of tedtrent becoming so real, im also jumping on the tedtrent epilogue 😊

there's just no way ted wouldn't keep in touch with the others (and have weekly zoom meetings just like in the christmas special) and I just love the thought of the whole team having reunions once in a while.

and going back to trent's arc in s3, the sunflowers conversation, "And your daughter?" "She's never been happier." I think it could go the same for ted.. we've never really properly saw how henry felt about his dad being in london, it's always other people that told ted his son misses him, who's to say henry would rather see his dad happy because that in turn would make him happy too? he was there to win the whole thing, right? I just know ted’s story isn’t done yet when he still hasn’t learned to let others take care of him in return and who else to pair him with than the man who blew up his career because a man was nice to him (and also because they were so. so cruel for the fakeout tedbecca scenes for that finale) 🥺

I'm no writer so just pretend these are snapshots of a slow burn fic where ted visits london for their team reunion and slowly realizes that trent has a crush on him and they kiss about it 💛

[sopuu]

i think they’re neat

[chiscribbs]

Some miscellaneous doodles for ACT I of my Grown Apart AU!

If you squint, you can get a little context for the plot. ... If you don't feel like squinting, however, here are some convenient notes I've included about what's going on in each image:

(top left -> bottom middle)

Donnie hides his spidertech underneath a specially designed tailcoat that he made himself. The back has two openings on either side, hidden by an overlapping layer of fabric, from where the mechanical legs extend. Naturally, each spider leg hides a multitude of secret functions, most of which no one else but him knows about (not even Big Mama.)

Raph thinks Draxum's new prisoner/test subject, who he's been instructed to keep an eye on (no trouble there!), is just the cutest thing ever.

Leo and Mikey experience the joys of a two-child-household. When the little sibling is bored, no one else is allowed to know peace.

When Draxum joins sides with the Foot Clan, Raph is forced to work alongside humans for the first time. Draxum's always taught him that humans are the enemy of the yokai and that they need to be destroyed, so he's a bit...conflicted about this new development.

In an attempt to prove his usefulness to Big Mama - Donnie enters the Hamato residence as a spy, under the pretense of being an escapee of Big Mama's prisons (is it really all pretense, though?) He manages to win the ever-optimistic Mikey over with little trouble, but Leo is not as easily convinced and remains suspicious of the purple-clad "yokai's" intentions.

Big Mama can't risk losing her best engineer and mechanic to the above world as she did her champion all those years ago. So, she takes every necessary precaution to ensure Dontavius (Donnie) remains under her thumb, exactly where she needs him to be. After all, Mama knows best ❤

Splinter searches for his two lost sons, ninja style - Leo and Mikey are still too young to be left at the lair by themselves, so he's had to improvise.

A little clue as to how April first meets the boys - Leo and Mikey, that is - in this AU.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Imagine Wayne Manor as a Haunted House (Bruce Wayne x Reader)

Been thinking about Wayne Manor.

What it would be like as a haunted house, and Bruce Wayne cursed as its last living heir.

Imagine Wayne Manor as a haunted house, its great stone walls overgrown by twisting kudzu vines, its hallways creaking with the weight of all the tragedy that had befallen the Wayne family tree.

In an upstairs bathroom, a leaky faucet drips water like tears. A strange stain darkens the bottom of the tub, where one of Bruce's ancestors had drowned herself after the loss of her lover.

No one ever uses that bathroom, yet there are days when Bruce can hear running water. And he would feel a grief so profound that it would leech all of the color out of the sky.

And he would remind himself, with renewed determination, of all the terrible fates that befell anyone who has loved a Wayne.

Imagine Wayne Manor as a haunted house, older perhaps, than Gotham itself. Where the walls are overrun by kudzu vines, the fat purple clusters of their flowers all but hiding the weathered stone.

Except, perhaps, in the East Wing, where even the vines do not grow. The walls remain blackened, the windows cracked and warped. Here, there once lived an heir who thought that he could outlast the curse. Or perhaps he believed that there was no curse at all.

He had held the wedding on the grounds itself—ignoring the way the grass twisted around his bride's ankles like starving rats—and moved her into the East Wing that very night.

One would hope that they were happy in the week before the fire. Where the heat was so intense that it blackened the Manor's stone walls and the smoke that rose from it blotted out the sky.

One would hope they died instantly, suffocated in their sleep before they even knew what would happen.

And yet, Bruce knows they did not. Perhaps it is only his own pessimism. Or perhaps, the Manor wanted him to know.

It was she who died first. Her smooth skin turning cracked and leathery, blisters forming on her skin and bursting like the fat of a pig on a spit.

It was she who died first, and the heir had enough time to run away. To live with the knowledge of what he had done to her.

But he did not.

Instead, he lay down next to his bride and let the fire claim them both.

And Bruce Wayne, heir to Wayne Manor's wealth and tragedy memories, would wake up some nights with the taste of ash in his mouth.

Imagine Wayne Manor as a haunted house, a cursed house. A house that has claimed everyone its heirs have ever loved.

But oh, it is hungry. Its once-thriving grounds have become dry and barren. The grass that had once twined around a doomed bride's ankles have grown yellowed and shriveled.

For while its previous owners have kept it fed with its share of tragedies, Bruce Wayne had starved it.

Bruce Wayne, who as a child would wake up with the taste of ash in his mouth, who once used an upstairs bathroom where the faucet drips water like tears.

Bruce Wayne, who promised himself that he would be the last heir Wayne Manor would ever have.

Now, imagine you. You who have lived in Gotham City, your whole life.

You who would pass by the Wayne Manor on the way to classes or to work, and you would look at its barren gardens and its cracked windows.

And you would feel...something.

A pull perhaps or an ache, one that could only settled by approaching this house, this cursed lot, placing your hands against the wrought iron gate so that you can get a better look.

And you would see its blackened walls and its barren gardens, the grass yellowed and withered and dead.

And you would feel a strange sort of tenderness for a place that looks so unloved.

You feel the cold of iron against your palms, a flash of heat.

And then—

"Ouch."

Somehow, you had cut yourself against the gate. A wide cut, a deep cut, straight against the meat of your palm.

You don't quite know how it happened. And perhaps, it did not matter, because the only thing you can focus on is the pain that throbbed against your skin like a heart.

You curse, try to staunch the flow, and in doing so, you catch a glimpse of a figure.

Perhaps it was the mansion's old butler or perhaps one of its many ghosts. But as he approached, you knew that this could only be one person.

The heir to Wayne Manor was said to be a glib playboy, one who would spend rather spend his family's vast amount of wealth on drugs and women and sex than actually fixing his broken-down home.

And yet, when you meet him on that fateful day, he did not look like the blindingly beautiful man you had seen in the newspapers.

He didn't have a fixed smile that could have meant anything from loathing to adoration, he didn't wear a suit that cost more than your yearly salary.

That day, he looked human. He looked reachable.

Perhaps that was what made you accept the handkerchief he so graciously handed to you. Perhaps that is what makes you smile—a little clumsy, a little lopsided, but a smile all the same—as you say,

"Thanks a ton. See you around, Bruce Wayne."

And when you walk away, you do not look back.

You do not see what Bruce Wayne saw.

You do not see how your blood dries preternaturally fast on the surface of the black gate, as if something was drinking it in.

You do not see the way the grass along the driveway twists around your ankles like a starving rat.

And you definitely do not see the expression on Bruce Wayne's face when he realizes what it all meant.

Imagine Wayne Manor as a haunted house, its great stone walls overgrown by twisting kudzu vines, its once-barren gardens now blooming with life. Galica roses with buds so heavy that their stems drooped, as if begging one to cut them and place them in a bouquet.

Imagine Wayne Manor, which has fed well on centuries' worth of tragedies, as a house starved.

For its latest heir, Bruce Wayne, had vowed never to fall in love.

Had vowed that whatever curse lingered in his family tree like the rot in an oak would die with him.

Imagine your blood drying on a wrought iron gate. And a leaky faucet that drips water like tears for a story that already has an ending.

Imagine a blackened wall, and the story of a man who lay down next to dead bride, to be consumed alive in a fire.

Imagine Wayne Manor, its hallways creaking with the weight of all the tragedy that had befallen the Wayne family tree.

And now imagine: its hunger.