#pallis — crack.

[temeryte]

NEW CHARACTER ALERT — Introducing Pallis, from Forgive Durden's Razia's Shadow. Pallis is the Crown Prince of the Dark, son to King Orionis and brother to Adakias. He is a study on The Resenter, The Dutiful Son, Forced into Evil, and more.  His face claim is Jonathan Rhys-Meyers and he is currently a secondary muse. Feel free to learn more about him on my Carrd.

[downs1de]

PALLIS: TAG DROP.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

what are some ways to describe people other than eye and hair color

I am assuming you are looking for physical descriptors. Here are some examples. I may just make a different post on psychological descriptors.

Arms: Long, Muscular, Pudgy, Short, Skinny, Thin

Back: Bent, Hunched, Ramrod Straight, Rounded

Build: Anorexic, Athletic, Beefy, Brawny, Burly, Chubby, Coltish, Compact, Fat, Gangly, Gaunt, Gawky, Haggard, Heavy-set, Herculean, Husky, Lanky, Lithe, Muscular, Obese, Overweight, Petite, Rangy, Reed-like, Scrawny, Skinny, Slender, Slight, Solid, Spindly, Statuesque, Stocky, Strapping, Sylphlike, Taut, Thickset, Thin, Trim, Underweight, Voluptuous, Well-built, Willowy, Withered

Cheeks: Blushing, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Disturbed, Glorious, Glowing, Hairless, High (cheekbones), Hollow, Honey, Livid, Pale, Pallid, Pink, Plump, Puffy, Radiant, Reddened, Rosy, Rounded, Ruddy, Shining, Smooth, Soft, Sun-burnt, Sun-bronzed, Sunken, Sun-tanned, Tanned, Tearful, White

Chin: Angular, Bony, Bumpy, Chiseled, Defined, Doughy, Firm, Protruding, Round, Smooth, Soft, Square, Strong

Ears: Jug-like, Large, Protruding, Tiny

Eyebrows: Arching, Bushy, Emphasized, Near, Spaced, Thick, Thin

Eyelashes: Artificial, Beaded, Beautiful, Blinking, Dark, Dark-fringed, Dense, Dusky, Heavily-fringed, Long, Mascaraed, Sandy, Sooty, Sopping, Tear-drenched, Thick, Uplifted

Eyes: Almond-shaped, Bright, Bulging, Expressive, Frightened, Gentle, Languishing, Little, Luminous, Made-up, Round, Shining, Shortsighted, Smart, Stunned, Thin, Wide, Woeful

Face: Baby, Blood-stained, Bold, Chiseled, Contorted, Dead, Expressionless, Fair, Familiar, Fierce, Flat, Frightened, Furrowed, Honest, Indifferent, Little, Pale, Poker, Pretty, Radiant, Rough, Ruddy, Sallow, Square, Stained, Swollen, Trim, Weather-beaten, Wry

Feet: Athlete's, Big, Flat, Pigeon-toed, Small, Sore, Stinky, Stubby, Swollen

Fingers: Gnarled, Long, Short, Stubby

Finger Nails: Bitten, Broken, Claw-like, Dirty, Hooked, Long, Painted, Sharp, Talon-like

Hair: Afro, Bald, Beehive, Braided, Bristles, Bun, Chignon, Coiffure, Combed, Corkscrew, Corn rows, Cowlicked, Crew cut, Curly, Disarrayed, Disheveled, Dreadlocks, Dry, Flattop, Flecked, French braid, French twist, Fringe, Greasy, Grizzled, Knotted, Layered, Locks, Matted, Messed up, Mohawk, Mussy, Muttonchops, Neat, Oily, Page boy, Perm, Pigtails, Plait, Pompadour, Ponytail, Ragged, Receding, Ringlets, Ruffled, Shaggy, Shorn, Shoulder-length, Skinhead, Spiky, Split-ended, Straight, Tangled, Thick, Thinning, Tidy, Topknot, Tousled, Twisted, Uncombed, Unshorn, Untidy, Wavy, Wiry, Wisps

Hand: Big, Elegant, Small

Height: Big, Knee-high, Medium, Short, Shoulder-high, Sky-high, Small, Tall, Towering, Waist-high

Legs: Amputated, Bandy, Bony, Bowed, Brawny, Bulging, Fluted, Gartered, Gouty, Graceful, Hacked, Hairy, Jagged, Knotted, Leaden, Long, Lower, Muscular, Pitiful, Rickety, Shapely, Shivering, Short, Sinewy, Slender, Slim, Spindle, Stockinged, Sturdy, Thin, Thread-like, Tinder, Tiny, Toothsome, Tree trunks

Lips: Blue, Cracked, Cupid's Bow, Downturned, Dry, Fat, Full, Grim, Large, Luscious, Parched, Parted, Red, Ruby, Small, Smiling, Thin, Wet

Mouth: Arch, Ascetic, Baby, Cavernous, Churning, Compressed, Cooing, Coral, Cracked, Cruel, Delicate, Dumpled, Distended, Dry, Fine, Firm, Frothy, Full, Funnel-shaped, Gaping, Grim, Handsome, Hungry, Insistent, Irritable, Large, Luscious, Munching, Musty, Perilous, Puckered, Querulous, Relaxed, Resolute, Sardonic, Sensuous, Serious, Slobbering, Small, Sulky, Sweet, Tender, Thin, Wide, Winsome, Wrinkled, Yawning

Neck: Bullnecked, Elegant, Long, Short, Swan-like, Thick

Palm: Broad, Oval, Rectangular, Square

Skin: Acned, Alabaster, Albino, Apricot, Black, Blemished, Blistered, Blooming, Blotchy, Blushing, Bronzed, Cadaverous, Calloused, Caramel, Clear, Craggy, Cream, Ebony, Fair, Flush, Freckled, Glowing, Greasy, Ivory, Jaundiced, Leathery, Lily-white, Lined, Milky, Mottled, Nut-brown, Olive, Pale, Pallid, Pasty, Peeling, Pimpled, Pink, Pitted, Pockmarked, Red, Rosy, Rough, Ruddy, Russet, Sallow, Scabby, Scarred, Smooth, Splotchy, Spotty, Sun-burnt, Tan, Wan, Waxen, White, Wrinkled, Yellow

Stomach: Bulging, Distended, Empty, Firm, Flabby, Flat, Heroic, Hollow, Lean, Paunchy, Protruding, Unbounded

Teeth: Artificial, Black, Blunted, Buck, Canine, Chattering, Clenched, Clinched, Compressed, Crooked, Dagger-like, Dazzling, Decayed, Deciduous, Extracted, False teeth, Feeble, Ferocious, Filed, Flashing, Fluoridated, Foam-laced, Fractured, Gap-toothed, Gleaming, Glistening, Glittering, Gnashing, Goofy, Grinding, Hooked, Horrid, Ivory, Jagged, Lacquered, Large, Milky, Mottled, Neglected, Pearly, Perfect, Pretty, Protruding, Razor-like, Sharp, Shining, Short, Small, Snowy, Sore, Spaced, Straight, Sweet tooth, Tender, Tiny, Toothless, Toothy, Ugly, Unrelenting, White, Wisdom, Wolfish, Yellow

Hope this helps! If it does, do tag me or send me a link to your writing. I'd love to read your work.

More: On Character Development

[ironwills]

  “ Fuck it,Im becoming a warrior ”

[imperatorrrrr]

would Love to crack open the jealous jack manifesto 🫂 perhaps even sitting on the same shelf as the protective nico manifesto bc the contrast between him shrugging stuff off on the ice re: himself vs him trying to punch travis konecny’s lights out for that hit on jack is SOOO

I have three asks about my Jealous!Jack Hughes Manifesto, which I promise you all I will get to, but I wanted to answer this one first.

Protective Nico Hischier: A Study

You're absolutely right, Anon, Nico tends to shrug things off when he's the one being targeted. Now that isn't to say he doesn't love a scrum because he absolutely does like to get into it from to time when he's feeling extra feisty. But there are some very good examples of him fighting because someone has targeted one of his guys.

time for some exhibits! special shout out to @jonasiegenthaler who is my fellow New Jersey Devils Historian <33

Exhibit A - Trouba hits Mango, and Nico immediately goes after him.

Exhibit B - One of the Wild players kind of shoves at Merce, and Nico jumps into the fray.

Exhibit C - This one is insane because this was from Nico's rookie year. He's so quick to come to Palms defense after EJ's knee on knee hit. Like look at how young Nico was here. This is years before Nico's first letter even.

Exhibit D - After R*mp*'s hit on Siegs, Nico who is significantly smaller than him, tries to start something with him even though our designated fighty fight guy, Dermy, is legit right there.

Exhibit E - Chucky Jr charges Shango and our Captain, who was getting ready to get back to the bench, must defend his teammate's honor.

Exhibit F - Chucky has a high-ish hit on Siegs then pesters Pally, and who comes rushing in to take him on? You guessed it! Its Nico Hischier!

Exhibit G - This one's a fun one because Bratter is initially defending Nico and then Nico comes back to defend Bratter. Silly boys.

Exhibit H - Last but certainly not least, Nico going feral when TK goes after Jack.

See the thing is, you mess with him? Most of the time he'll probably just charm the shit out of you or ignore you because you're not really worthy of his time he has hockey to play. Sometimes, if you're really annoying he'll call you a p***y and some other colorful things and shove at you or start something with you or if you're Adam Fox that one time he'll put his hands around your neck.

But if you play dirty with one of his guys, with his teammates, its mother fucking on. He's right there in the thick of it. He has been activated. You've said his code words. He will not be contained.

Its so very CAPTAIN of him isn't it?

[lopposting]

guys.

I think I did it.

I think I cracked Lies of P.

(me rn)

i keep going back and forth on carlo's death.

i know i was adamant before, on him dying from the petrification disease. i think logically he would have to have had it because of ergo.

but here's another weird point about his death,

i just realized why we intrinsically think he was killed.

Carlo is wearing his school uniform when his stalker finds him, and on the floor at that. That's quite odd. Maybe not being on the floor, but the uniform. Why the uniform?

"He didn't even come to your graduation?"

For the son of an aristocratic family, would this be the image of a deathly ill son in care? Did Geppetto know? Wouldn't he be in palliative care, as Lady Antonia could afford?

Why wear the uniform after graduating?

"Oh, she's here! Grab her!"

"...Gemini, get rid of them! I'm off!"

Was his death literally right after his graduation, on the same day?

And also, Gemini is a little lamp guy. (She doesn't look to be carrying the lamp.) Why does she tell him to take care of the boys? What can he even do? Tell them off?

Here's another funny thing... We NEVER see Carlo outside of his school uniform. (at least, in the "past", "real" Carlo time line).

And as we know, the school uniform has a prominent Sailor collar, the type that is associated with nautical outfits [down to the three stripes, supposedly called a "naval collar"]. The Graduation pendant that he gives to Romeo is of an anchor. [I know that these are all artifacts of the charity house. but they are nonetheless associated in tangent with Carlo]

When we find Carlo's painting, it's right next to this one of a ship. [also, two bottles on the counter, perhaps representing the "two lives" of Carlo and Pino]

also... when Carlo's memories materialize... it's in the sand. Only on the seaside.

Remember, Romeo seems to be associated with a fire element, and Pino with water, the same seems to go with Carlo. The original novel of Pinocchio itself seems to have a strange fixation on the ocean.

And now, might I present to you:

The DLC images are also of a ship and some kind of water turbine.

Director Choi (in pre-release interview): "I'll put it this way: there are more stories I want to tell in Lies of P, so I hope [it] does well."

Also: "There sure are stories we could not introduce in the game" (talking about the story being adapted into another form)

[basically, that there was more to the story than what was really present in the final game.] I'll leave all this to your consideration without adding my own just yet. (I'll add it in a reblog on my own blog without tagging it) Just kidding I want to keep wasting everyone's time

Perhaps after the events of the game,

This is some sort of effort by Pino to either learn more about the deceased Carlo or try to remember his "previous life" as Carlo, by taking to the sea.

Maybe even after the game, Pino will STILL attempt to "awaken" as him so to speak [:(].

[Maybe he actually will.]

Again, Carlo is strongly associated with nautical elements. Again, he is never seen outside of a sailor suit, basically. Also, when we gain the memories of Carlo, they materialize on the sand, at the seaside. Remember, he DIED in the sailor outfit

Maybe we are to take the "sand memories" more "literally" as they are in the sand?

Did Carlo drown and his body wash ashore, which is why these memories materialize in the sand? Why is he so associated with ships?

Pino is also depicted in the water, remember, including what looks to be concept art that was used for the OST? Maybe it isn't "just" a motif? [even simple things like his "official" coat and his eyes being blue, blue blood's tailcoat, and him being associated with the colour blue in general]

Which is why Pino is pictured in the water, since he was "born" from Carlo's death... He was birthed in the water the same way Carlo died in it?

[more notes in reblog]

[rishiguro]

55; “I’M NOT LETTING YOU DO THIS ALONE”

“well, this seems alright,” you mumbled to yourself after sitting down on the bed in what now would be your room.

the room was about as big as the one in the hospital’s palliative ward, with beige and one brown colored wall and a few pieces of furniture. it even had a big window and a small balcony to stand on.

“not too bad, huh?,” aran said, putting down your luggage.

he turned to the door, exchanging a few words with the black haired nurse that had greeted you — and as you were told, was also the one who would tend to you. the man informed your best friend of the next steps, his eyes often wandering to you before leaving the two of you to settle in for the next minutes.

you nodded along absentmindedly, not really paying attention to your best friend.

clenching your jaw for a short moment, you looked down at your hands, both placed in your lap, fingers twiddling.

“hey” the mattress dipped beside you as aran sat down. “it’ll be okay,” he said slowly, carefully, after waiting a couple seconds to figure out what to actually say.

you cracked a weak smile, still not looking at him.

a part of you wanted to agree with him, even if you weren’t even sure what ‘it’ actually meant. after all, it couldn’t get much worse than that, could it?

you knew that this must be hard on him too — aran has been your best friend for practically your entire life, obviously he’d be devastated too. and as his best friend your first instinct was to comfort him too, just like he tried with you.

but you couldn’t. what would you even say?

‘it’ll get better’ — that sounded stupid.

‘i’m sure it’ll work out’ — yeah, as if.

‘i’ll be healthy again’ — as if you were ever healthy to begin with.

as if you ever had the same chance at a long life as him, iwaizumi or any of your friends.

but you knew that, didn’t you? ending up here was inevitable, wasn’t it? so why were you so beat up over it?

although, a little more time would’ve been all you needed. a warning, a message, a hint, anything for you to know just how fast you would end up here and how quickly your illness caught up with you.

something to help you come to terms with it. something to prepare you.

and also something to prepare the ones closest to you.

you could still feel aran’s eyes on you, waiting, but not pressuring you to reply. so after a while, your mind still wiped clean of any words you once knew, you could only bring yourself to shrug.

“this is… odd,” you finally said, “i don’t really know what to feel”

“i know,” aran replied slowly, letting out a breathy laugh before he went on. “at least we know you’re still sane”

throwing a quick glance at him, you shook your head, not being able to stop your mouth from curling up. “i guess so”

after a few more moments of silence, aran reached out, putting his hand on yours. “listen, you’re not on your own, okay? i’m not letting you do this alone”

you looked at his hand, fondly remembering how this was something the two of you had done ever since you were little. it was a simple gesture, small and almost insignificant, but to you it meant unconditional support, friendship and trust.

“we’re not letting you do this alone,” he continued, “you got all of us and we’re here for you”

aran could sigh relieved as you finally lifted your head up, directly looking at him. your eyes were teary and your lips were dry and trembling slightly as you nodded weakly.

he immediately pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around you and engulfing you in a warm hug. “we got you,” he whispered, “i promise”

evanescent

/ɛvəˈnɛs(ə)nt,iːvəˈnɛs(ə)nt/ — “soon passing out of sight, memory, or existence; quickly fading or disappearing.”

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[dracomort]

Reincarnation? If you so please

For the ask game

This is really just my Tomarry reincarnation scribbles for any AUs that come to mind.

I'm cracking up rn because the only scene I have polished enough to share is one with secondary-school-student!Tom and dying-in-a-pallative-care-ward!Harry 💀

Anyway, you're welcome:

Scene

“Look at you.” The voice of a teenage boy.

Harry pried one eye open.

There, leaning in the doorway, was none other than Tom Riddle, looking perhaps sixteen at the oldest. He was dressed in a crisp school uniform that looked expensive enough to pay for private palliative care thrice over. His hair was artfully tousled in a way that might have been carefree if it had been anyone other than Tom. On the breast of his blazer was pinned the predictable prefect badge.

“This is perverse,” Harry said. He closed his eyes, wishing Tom away, thinking of Ginny, the children, the grandchildren. Anything other than Tom Riddle.

It didn’t work. He could still hear the soft sound of Tom’s feet on the lino as he approached.

“I won’t disagree.” Tom dropped himself onto the mattress beside Harry, peering down at him with his dark, pretty eyes. “You look hideous. How old are you? One hundred? Two?”

“Eighty-three,” Harry replied, “and not likely to make it to eighty-four.” It was jarring to see his sun-beaten, wrinkled old hands beside Tom’s pale, youthful ones. How would it work in this world? Would Tom continue to live a long, healthy life after Harry had passed? Would he forget him?

“You look much older,” Tom said, matter of fact.

He wasn’t the most conscious of the Toms, Harry mused. He’d met versions of him with varying degrees of knowledge of their shared pasts—some who remembered only when he saw them, some who had known for decades, some who didn’t recognise him in the slightest. This Tom seemed to remember well enough, but he didn’t hold himself with the maturity of a Tom Riddle who recalled a thousand lives. He was a boy, nothing more.

And even from the brief words they’d exchanged, Harry could already tell he had been raised by his father.

“This coming from the lad who didn’t manage to make it to his seventy-eighth birthday?” Harry said.

Tom shrugged, which was not the reaction that an iteration of him closer to Voldemort would have had. If—in his decrepit, geriatric form—Harry had dared voice that to the Librarian Tom, he was certain all the life-saving equipment currently attached to him would have already been severed. But instead, this Tom only watched him curiously, head half-cocked.

Harry was, predictably, charmed by him. However, much to his relief, he felt no great surge of attraction. It was one benefit of being eighty-three and on seven different medications with a total of forty different side effects.

“I saw your name on the door. I remembered it, though I wasn’t sure where from.”

“Almost like a half-forgotten friend from when you were very young?” Harry supplied.

“A friend?” Tom’s lip curled. “I never had friends.” He spoke as if Harry had gravely offended him by even suggesting the possibility.

“No,” Harry said, “neither had I. But that was how I felt when I read your name—the first time.”

“Hm,” Tom said, mouth twitching down. “Why’s it always you, then? What’s so special about you?” He didn’t question his own importance—as Harry recalled doing in iterations further from the core—simply accepting his place at the centre of infinite parallel universes without batting an eye. 

“You marked me as your equal,” Harry said. “Really, it’s all your fault. I’m still waiting on an apology.” His throat was dry, arms too weak to reach for his water, but he didn’t ask Tom to help him. Not this petulant, young version of him.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

A nurse came in, almost as if she’d read his mind, bustling about and neatening up Ginny’s bags. She helped him take a sip of water, sparing an incurious glance at Tom. Harry supposed she imagined he was just another grandchild. It was nauseating enough to almost make him laugh.

“We fucked,” Tom said abruptly.

The nurse dropped the cup, the thin plastic straw spinning away somewhere under his bed. “Pardon me?”

It was likely Tom hadn’t even intended to provoke a reaction from the room. The memory had certainly just come to him. Harry had experienced the same many a time. However, while rarely was that an admission one would wish to make in front of a stranger, stating such a thing while in school uniform in front of a mandated reporter was surely near the top of the list of inadvisable decisions.

Tom flicked a disinterested glance at her. “I’m sixteen. If I have a taste for the toothless then that’s none of your business.”

“He’s only joking,” Harry assured her. “You’ve seen my records. I’m not up for any sort of physical activity.”

She did not laugh, leaving in a huff. Harry hoped she wasn’t off to make a call.

“I’m not going to have this conversation with a child,” Harry said. “Come see me in the next life.” 

“We did,” Tom insisted, perhaps not understanding that plausibility was not the roadblock to their conversation. “In an atelier out the back of a piano shop in Paris.”

“Well,” Harry said, memories of a thousand lives blurred and smudged together in his mind, “I suppose we may have.” That it was the closest iteration to this Tom did not mean it sprang quickly to Harry’s mind.

“We did, we—”

The door slid open again and Harry looked up, expecting a police officer or some sort of security. But instead, there stood an exceptionally handsome man who could have been the twin of any of the versions of Tom in his thirties that Harry had met.

“Tommy,” Tom Riddle Sr said, looking tired and rather distracted, “you mustn’t just go about bothering other patients. I’m very sorry, Mr…?” He was dressed in a crisp black suit and had his Blackberry in hand, looking like he had about a thousand things to do that were more important than apologising to Harry.

“Potter,” Harry said. “And that’s quite alright.” He was old enough to be the man’s grandfather. Never had he felt older. He was beginning to understand why Voldemort had paid him little attention or respect in the worlds in which they were fifty years apart in age.

“I was just saying goodbye,” Tom said. Then, with a sly glint in his eye, he dipped his head and kissed Harry square on the mouth. “When do you suppose you’ll die?” he asked, breaking away.

Harry glanced over at Tom’s father, but saw that he was typing out an email on his phone and had missed the exchange entirely.

“The doctors have given me two months.”

Tom’s eyes dropped to his own hand on Harry’s chest for a brief moment, then up at his face again. “This will be the last time I see you, then.”

“In this lifetime.” Harry winked. Tom frowned.

Behind him, Tom’s father cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, but we’ve really got to dash. Tommy, will you come say goodbye to your grandfather?”

[jacksprostate]

f Narrator wanting to murder maim mutilate m marla.. or marla/ male marla and narrator/f narrator worsties/besties. or marla/male marla and tyler… or anything with marla/ male marla..

Marlon called me, interrupted me at work, and he said he had a bruise. He said I needed to come and look at it right away, because he needed to know.

This was him, asking me, pounded flank steak, to look and tell him the nature of his bruise.

Marlon hasn't had health insurance in years, so he tries not to think about it, usually. It's easy, since there's no difference when you have health insurance. It's old hat.

But today, he thought about it.

And he noticed a bruise.

So I'm walking up to the Regent hotel after work, and he's in the lobby in his limp little tank top. He'd call it a wifebeater and imagine himself in place of the wife, I'm sure. I wonder if he isn't cold all the time. Mr. Marlon Singer, such a masochist just so he can show off his skeletal body with all the cigarette burns I have to hear him and Tyler laughing over.

I am Jane's abnormal hemorrhoid development.

He doesn't mention what Tyler and I stole from him, even though I think it was all the cash he had. Even though just three days ago he tried to chase me around the house and beat me with a broom. He made me and Tyler go sleep in the junkyard. Buried under our furs, howling at the moon. Maybe I can't fault him for that.

He couldn't keep it here where the guys he brings back could get at it, he said, and sure. But he should've known better than to tell Tyler about it, because now it's bags upon bags of lye being kept in the driest room in the house.

I work on grinding cracks into my remaining teeth as he grabs his neighbors Agatha and Dianne's Meals on Wheels kits. The delivery lady remarks on what a good young man Marlon must be, helping out these old ladies. Oh, yeah. A real, upstanding, mummified rat of a man. Maybe he helped them into the ditch. He yaps at me the entire walk up to his room, and I don't hear a word as I methodically rip up the skin around Tyler's kiss on my hand with a broken nail. It's been infected since Tuesday, and the ring of puffy red flesh makes the ghost of her lips white like the center of a neon tube. Always buzzing.

We get to his room, he says to me, "One of these boxes is for you, you know."

I think about all the women who bother to use what little time they have to operate charities that keep the poor and destitute alive enough to want to kill themselves. All that time spent cooking mac and cheese en masse and putting little packets of powdered milk next to little cartons of the liquid, like they get at schools and prisons, packets that can only be opened by the nimble fingers of caring relatives these elderly recipients do not have.

Sure.

Tyler told me I need to be eating at least two meals a day, or she'd steal a blender and make me drink raw chicken. So I eat the Meals on Wheels box. Sorry Agatha. I rip open the powdered milk packet, dump it into the carton, hold it closed, and shake it. Twice the calories. A recipe for palliative care.

Marlon's sitting there, quiet, eating Dianne's latest last meal. All the urgency is gone. Sucked dry. He's got pallor like a hospice heart failure. When dogs get treated for heartworms, the worms die, and sometimes, not all of them break apart. Sometimes, there will be thin, dead cords of necrotized nematode strung through their heart waiting for the right beat to fall apart and clot a vital artery. This can take years to happen. Your pet recovers perfectly from treatment until seven years down the line, you give it a doggy cupcake and a pulmonary embolism for its tenth birthday.

Marlon looks like he's had his first melarsomine injection and his owner is thinking about taking him to a dog park instead of bothering with the second. If you let a dog get its heart rate up too high when getting treated for all the parasites you let grow in it, its heart will explode. Or all the worms will clog its lungs. Whichever one it is, it's happening to Marlon here in this room. On this bed.

He says he'd found a bruise, a while back. A nasty little thing, like the crush of a plum under your thumb. Near one of his ankles. And Marlon Singer knew he couldn't afford any novel treatments, and he'd seen too many people rot from the inside out from them already. He did not go to the clinic down the street that gets its windows broken in often enough that there's just big black billowing sails of trashbags over their storefront more often than not. Marlon says he once saw a rat nailed to the door, which is something you'd think would be too neat and poetic for real life. He didn't go to the clinic because he didn't have to. And maybe if he was fucking guys he wanted to he would be a bit more cautious, but the men Marlon Singer gets to fuck are the type to have given him those bruises in the first place. They're the reason there's single mothers visiting that clinic, like half melted wax getting scraped out of the picture. He says he shouldn't feel guilty.

I tell Marlon about where I got the idea for poisoning all the food at the Pressman hotel.

He asks me what I mean by that, and I tell him about my first boss at the company I work for now.

When I first started there, I was selling our cars to companies. Bulk orders for work vehicles. My job was to not fuck up any contracts we already had. Marlon is probably aware, but the type of man involved in that sort of thing, he knows he's got you on a collar and chain. You and him both know he'll be renewing the contract, but you have to do the song and dance for him. Pretend you like how close he gets to you. Pretend you don't want to rip his testicles from his ballsack when he leans in sweaty and tells you how he likes your hair, did you go and do all that just for me?

Because he knows. And you know. But enduring this is what you were hired to do. If you were a man, you would've been hired to create a sense of the old boys club with this guy. But you're not.

There is so much pretense in the world.

Anyway, my first boss, call him Joe — whenever I'd return from those trips and dinners, Joe wouldn't pretend that it wasn't a shit job. He'd commiserate and wish me luck with the next one. He didn't overstep, he wasn't creepy, he kept his distance. The best you could hope for. Thirty days on the job, they asked me how I was doing, and I told them I was doing great. The job was amazing, I felt embraced by the company, my boss was great. One of those things was true to me.

And when Joe got his promotion, for being such a great regional manager, he cornered me in my cubicle and informed me he'd been jerking off into my nicely labeled thin salad lunches each time they showed up in the office fridge. He told me this with the same smile he'd always worn.

Marlon, he's next to me, and he leans closer like we're having a nice little confession. My skin itches.

It was before the 90 day clause kicked in my health coverage, so I had to wait at one of those free clinics like Marlon's, and I was surrounded by a lot of young men, wispy mangled pears. What little flesh was left was soft. When I told the nurse what happened, I watched myself die in her eyes. Dappling up with rashes and bruises until I was all painted and sunken like a bog body.

For the longest time, I wondered if I'd become the oral Mary. How many times I vomited in that office toilet, I don't know. I stopped bringing lunch.

The thing is, I couldn't see it in his face. Joe's, I mean. Not even when he told me. I couldn't see it in anyone. So I stopped eating out. Stopped eating altogether, really.

Marlon, his response was to go to the support groups. His tragedy was that it was a slow death, coming for him. Best to wriggle into the pile of dying bodies, see what it's like. Maybe that could muster enough suicidal impulse.

I tell Marlon, of course, I couldn't go to HR. I was a new hire with no evidence and previous record of liking my boss. I didn't want to tell my mom. I didn't want her to know. Those uncomfortable dinners became absolutely, wretchedly unbearable as I thought about the food I was being forced to share.

When the option came up for a dead end job in the least loved department in the building, I put on the best performance of my life to get the part. Best aspiring Compliance and Liability head and sole department employee, that's me. My new job was to keep secrets. It was, already, old hat.

For months I thought about waking up from a narcoleptic fit at my desk, with Joe leaning over the cubicle wall and asking if I was alright. I watched my stomach like it was nuclear. Every extra second it took until I bled like usual slid me closer to buying myself a shotgun and pumping a slug or two into my brain.

It's an unavoidable fear, I tell Marlon. You can't do anything about it. Once you know, you know. At some point, you have to find the peace in it. Imagine yourself, a balloon popping with meaty chunks flying apart, splattering onlookers and raining viscera.

For a month, six months, I had cancer. Worse than cancer. Every time I eat out, I get it again.

Marlon is looking at me, melting stained glass, drowning in that sort of shared pity you build together with someone who's dying.

I don't want Marlon to feel guilty.

I tell Marlon, that's why I poison the food at the Pressman hotel. Someone's got to do it. Blood in the tomato sauce, spit on the steak. Imagine what you could do to a soup. The men who go to the Pressman hotel, they're the kind that leave Marlon bloody and walking around Paper Street calling for Tyler to come out and burn more holes into him. They're the kind that get promoted from regional manager. They're the kind that lean in close, pull your wrist towards them, and say there's one way they know you could secure the contract renewal. The kind that almost ruin it in a temper tantrum when you don't, resulting in an upper management intervention on the 24th day of your new job. They're the kind that hear that shit and say you should've been more appeasing. More polite.

Don't feel guilty, Marlon.

I hope all of them rot so everyone can see the maggots eating their insides.

Marlon isn't smiling. I am unavoidably bad at distracting him. There's something final in it, when he sighs, and takes off his tank top. He says it's on his back, and I should just tell him.

I look. I see it. Black hole, botfly, necrosis. There's so many things these broken blood vessels could be. Withering, snapping apart like mummified heartworms. I imagine driving the two inch melarsomine needle deep into the muscles bunched upon his spine.

I look.

I press my hands into him, and I grip like I'm trying to rend my fingers through his skin, deep into his body cavity to rip out his guts. Like I'm trying to grab the rope of his small intestine and strangle him with it. Marlon's yelling at me and trying to hit me, arms flapping like a chicken, and I am bruising ten deep circles into the soft pearskin of his abdomen. It's the only place left on him that's mealy, that isn't frayed rope under worn out leather.

I tell him, you've got bruises. They look mostly normal, to me.

Don't worry too much about it.

And Marlon, he leans into me, and I let him.

[bumblinfool]

Stanley has my heart. Learning about his backstory broke it. He deserves all the french fries and hugs. 😭 I love the intention and thoughtfulness behind each Spiritfarer character’s design.

From the Spiritfarer Artbook.

[alt ID:] Stanley is a wonderful 8-year-old boy who met Stella as he was losing his fight against a fatal disease. Cheerful and whimsical, Stanley is gifted with an analytical mind which allows him to crack one-liners and aphorisms. His wisdom makes full grown adults blush in humility. Stan loves to experiment with all sorts of things, and is always delighted when Stella is by his side. She plays with him and considers him like a real person, not underestimating him. To Stella, the very idea of someone like Stan being in palliative care represented an immense challenge. How could such a gentle, innocent and young soul end up in her ward? This difficult grasp with a heartbreaking reality is portrayed in the world of Spiritfarer by the way in which Stan winds up on the boat. Stan is, at first, a seed fished from the sea. He then must be planted in the garden, where he “grows”, and is eventually plucked from the ground. As the youngest patient Stella has ever had to take care of, Stan left an unforgettable imprint on her. He helped her realize that death can take many forms, and that wisdom and peace of mind can be found in the most unusual patients. The fungal nature of Stan is also a testament to this difference, as well as his peculiar four arms which help put more emphasis on the unbelievability of his character. To add a more personal touch to the character, the drawings Stan makes of Stella and some passengers have been made by a real 6-year-old boy by the name of Hector, who is a team member’s son. [/alt ID]

[callme-adam-iguess]

Vessel syndrome |chapter 2 |episode 1

In his eyes

The tape recorder has been pressed to play. . .

"Status report," the man's voice cracked softly on the recording. "The- the pissin' virus or whatever it is- it's getting worse. It got Scout and The..." He took in a shaky breath, cutting himself off and deciding to just continue to his other sentence.

"I know it's stupid but I have a plan... Because the lil buggar's words kept sticking with me since today"

" 'cmon pally, you gotta see the lighter sides of things. Are you chicken or what?'... " Chuckling could be heard before he continued.

"... That lil shit always knew how to lift the team's spirit, heheh.... What I'm about to do is not just for him but for everyone on this damned team... Even if my life's in danger 'cause of it, ain't out of the ordinary, though.."

. . . Recording end . . .

♧

I sighed as I got up and slung my carrier bag around my shoulder and side, making sure it's filled with all I need... Am I really doing this?

Well, I need answers and staying here won't do pissing anythin'... Plus, I have- no NEED to check on them up close.

I hesitate with each step but I manage to force myself over to the large familiar building, I knocked on the door before suddenly-

Fwshh– pauck!

I felt a sudden pain in my shoulder, that's definitely their Sniper's work.

Before I could even lift up my head to see the bastard, everything went dark.

[temeryte]

snatches Pallis up by the scruff and lifts him up like a cat :) oh babygirl you've got a big storm comin'

Kicks his legs, trying to escape

[mugs-n-cans]

*Plays soccer with Scout, they are tied. There was only one goal left to win the game. Anon run trying to stop Scout from scoring a goal but...*

GOAAAAAAAAAAAL!!! ⚽🥅

Well played dude *and since what was promised is a debt, Anon gave the drink to Scout*

–🔥

[Scout opens his mouth for a second to start bragging and rubbing it in your face that he won. But then you say ‘well played’. He looks shocked for a moment].

Oh, well uh, yeah—yeah good goin’ pal! That was a lotta fun! And now I get to try this freakin’ sick limited edition Bonk!

[He cracks it open and takes a drink]. Oh wow! This actually kinda ain’t that great. [He takes another drink]. It’s not as sweet as usual Bonk!, y’know? Hey uh…ya want the rest? See what ya think, pally!

[Scout’s mouth glows a bit from the high levels of radiation].

[lore-gore]

For @notsosmallbean I have a cringe Ride The Cyclone x Nerdy Prudes Must Die Fic, set in the timeline where Karnak failed, featuring Jane being The Lords in Black blorbo, transgirl Ricky, a bit of perfectdolls, and Constance getting the revenge she deserves. Enjoy and happy holidays!

The choir gathered around the book.

Constance began. "We invoke the names... "

The choir followed. "Pokotho. Bliklotep."

They paused as whispers answered back.

"Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim."

They continued. "T'noy Karaxis."

The book began to glow and change colors.

"Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim..."

"Nibblenephim."

"Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath, Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath."

"Wiggog Wiggog Y'wrath."

"Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath, Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath. Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath, Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath. Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath, Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath."

Savannah spoke up. "Did it work?"

Suddenly a voice boomed out. "Hello friendy-wends."

Giggles surrounded them as several figures appeared. They began to sing.

"Out of the depths of Hell and back,

Us spawn of the black and white,

Cover our souls with robes of black,

And take up the arms of night,

Nibbly wants his sacrifice,

And Wiggly wants his wrath,

We dance around the pentagram,

And take all our kingdoms back"

"Babble the spell that gets it done,

Babble it on command,

Won't stop until all the blood is drawn,

The Lords in Black demand,"

"You summon us once,

You summon us twice,

You gamble it all on the roll of a dice"

"La-la-la-la la

La-la-la-la"

"The devil has won,

It can't be undone,

The book has all but closed on your life"

"The Lords in Black, ah!

The Lords in Black, ah!"

"Ah, Jane Doe, we finally meet." Said the green one. He had green hair and green eyes and wore a green cardigan with some black dots here and there and a big W on the left side and some white stripes on the left sleeve over a shiny green suit with a striped beige tie, chartreuse converses, and a gold plastic crown with fake jewels.

"She looks even cuter in person!" Said the purple one. He had long curled orange and yellow hair and wore a purple hoodie with a pink furry patch on the stomach over shiny purple leggings, shiny purple platform lace-up boots, purple tinted sunglasses with bedazzled lavender frames, and purple lipstick.

"I just want to eat her up!" Said the pink one. He had long curled hot pink hair in pigtails and wore a hot pink skirt with suspenders over a light pink shirt, light pink furry sleeve warmers, hot pink fingerless gloves, sparkly pink knee high socks with white stripes on the top, pink platform boots with pink hearts on the buckles, a light pink bedazzled visor that shadowed his eyes, and hot pink lipstick. He held a giant pink lollipop.

"Can we keep her?!? Can we?!?" Said the yellow one. He had wild yellow hair with orange goggles on top and wore an orange shirt, a yellow jacket with yellow fur around the collar, yellow cargo pants, and yellow boots with orange laces. He held a strange box.

"She's quite... Entertaining." Said the blue one. He had blue goo dripping down his face and wore a blue beret, an aqua shirt, a sparkly indigo jacket with blue fur on the collar and cuffs, blue pants, and blue shoes. He held a dirty and cracked white mask with big eyes and a mouth set in a permanent 'o'.

Ocean put her arm protectively in front of Jane.

"Are you- The Lords in Black?" Asked Constance.

They began to chant again.

"Out of the depths of hell and back,

We've traveled very far,

Cover our souls in robes of black,

The Lords in Black we are"

The green one, who seemed to be "Wiggly", spoke again. "Don't be so formal Connie. We're all pally-wals here. I mean look at us. We even hold court in your own tongue and form! Go Uranium!"

The rest of the Lords laughed at this.

"Our true forms would melt your minds." The blue one added.

"Don't frighten them, Pokey, you nasty boy!" Wiggly responded.

"We need the carnie brought to us. We heard- You could help us."

"The Lords in Black will help you yes,

You stupid silly girl,

Why help you with the Carnieman,

When we could help the world"

"Hmm we could. We could lure him here. But why?" Said Wiggly.

"We want... To kill him." Said Constance. She clenched her fist, rage bubbling.

"I want to see that!" Said the purple one.

"We'll give you whatever you want!" Said Constance.

"Whatever we want?" Said Wiggly.

"Whatever we want we want,

Whatever we want we get,

Whatever you want you want you want,

Forever in our debt"

"So. What do you want from us?"

"Nothing you aren't already giving us, Constance." Said Wiggly, smiling.

"What does that mean-" Said Constance, but by then they were already exiting.

"The Lords in Black,

The Lords in Black call us"

"Out of the depths of Hell and back,

Us spawn of the black and white,

Cover our souls with robes of black,

And take up the arms of night,

You summon us once,

You summon us twice,

You gamble it all on the roll of a dice!"

"La-la-la-la la,

La-la-la-la"

"The devil has won,

It can't be undone,

The book has all but closed on your life"

"The Lords in Black, ah!

The Lords in Black, ah!"

They laughed, disappearing, leaving them alone once again in the abandoned fair.

@rtc-secret-santa-event

[tiddyghostposting]

I ended up watching all the RE movies cos I bought the RE4 remake and watching Degeneration again has made me feel some kind of way.

I remember when we got it on DVD and I was soooo excited because I was like 11. I watched it with my brother in our living room and thinking it was one of the coolest things ever AND because mum let me stay up late just to spend the time with him.

I remember when RE5 came out and watching him play through it with a friend and us all cracking jokes. I miss my brother a lot.

Most of the time it feels like he died. Maybe if he was dead things would be easier than trying to live with the fact it's better for my mental health not having him in my life.

There's a rift in our relationship and I truly do not know if it can be fixed. I was so tired of him letting me down all the time, leaving me to deal with our mother's palliative care until I broke months before she died. I can't help but resent him for it and welcoming our primary abuser back into his life and allowing him to be around his child.

I get so mad when I remember how stupid the final straw was. Then I feel guilty until I read our last conversation where he got so vitriolic and nasty, blaming me for things I had no part in.

I spent my whole life looking up to him thinking he was the coolest person in the world only to be told he would have ghosted me years ago were we not family all because his fucking friend got banned from a game and had a meltdown. But cool, yeah. I totally did it and not the dozen people his friend bullied and harassed out of the game.

It was clearly me you see. I was one of the people that quit the game and lamented on my locked twitter account to my whopping 8 followers.

[catbirdstations]

my ocs and what dnd characters they would play:

kalarra. drow wizard. or incredibly tanky paladin of devotion if marie's playing a spellcaster (they can't let her be defenseless!)

marie... half elf or tiefling, usually an offensive fighter but enjoys sorcerer as well.

both kal and marie are obsessed with minmaxing because theyre just like that (leading to the most cracked level 20 nuclear bombs). also they'd be heavy into the larping aspect. they have elaborate backstories to their characters. both may end up backseat dm'ing at least once. also, their characters always end up together somehow (kalarra's pally making an oath to marie's sorcerer.)

johnny doesnt play dnd (but would end up making a character that seems "the coolest" to him; aka a barbarian guy or something. if he put his mind to it he could make and play a good rogue.)

wicker just plays a human fighter because that seems easiest to him. murderhobos for fun and profit