#vessels for good intent

[vessels-for-good-intent]

Vessels For Good Intent—Character Picrews

tom does not deserve a picrew at all. he has no flag. only the queers get those.

daisy is aro. and accurate hair colors!!

jordan. she’s cool. actual hair color from the novel!

nick is actually the coolest. he has single-handedly fixed jay multiple times. his design is pretty similar to how i look, except my side part is on the other side. i have more creative freedom with his and jay’s design cause fitzgerald did not describe them.

jay’s design is the literal best. i’m in awe of his hair, it’s actually so pretty. that lil smile. his outfit. he’s just so cute.

[cupidino]

I can't stop thinking about how perfectly the song "Tongues & Teeth" by The Crane Wives suits Charlastor

[moonchild-in-blue]

ii and iii wore what?

ii and iii did WHAT??

VESSEL?? DID WHAT???

TF IS UP CHICAGO, DID THE BEAN™ BLESS THE AIR OR SMTH??

[skelesharky]

I LOOK FORWARD TO CREATING A NEW FUTURE WITH YOU.

[i-eat-deodorant]

recent conversations reminded me but. so many songs by Crane Wives fit narilamb perfectly

[birdinabowl]

depending on how you interpret Lapis and Peridot’s relationship “Tongues and Teeth” by the crane wives can represent them so well

[riiviir]

i wanna know more about kyer and alisia, their designs are super cool and the stuff u said about them in tags sounds super interesting!!

AA PEOPLE BEING INTERESTED IN MY OCS

so. they're both major characters in this RPG I would really like to make someday called The Mission Of Imperium.

Basically everyone is aware of the 4th wall, Players are seen as an entity that must be summoned when the world is faced with a dilemma that ordinary heroes cannot solve.

however, Players need a vessel.

in this particular story, Kyer is The Intended Vessel. they were chosen for this role because they tend to be a pushover and thus would be easy for the Player to control.

Alisia has been Kyer's best friend since childhood, and planned to go with them and basically be the Game's deuteragonist while Kyer would be the protagonist. she doesn't trust the Player, nor does she particularly like the idea of Kyer being possessed, but she is willing to let this happen and support their decision to act as a vessel.

however, when the player tries to inhabit Kyer's body, it is revealed that they are actually unable to act as a vessel. having the Player inhabiting them causes a lot of pain and could lead to death (that the Player would not be able to respawn them from) within less than an hour if the Player is not removed from their body.

Because of this, the Player ends up switching vessels last minute, causing Alisia to become the Player's vessel. she hates this, but for the fate of the world and the fact that she seems to be doing just fine as a vessel, she ends up becoming the Game's protagonist.

aside from the main conflict of "go defeat evil and save the world", this story centers a lot around the Player being able to make whatever choices they want regardless of what Alisia and Kyer want. and boy do I have plans regarding that

[every-jiraiya]

[vervainium]

“can you hear me now?” // water color, colored pencil

this piece is forever fucking famous in my mind.

i was going to add an alt text to it but i don’t even. i cant even begin to describe it. it’s just. it’s so. like i love it and i can’t even begin to explain it’s meaning yet i have no words.

although it is based on this crane wives song, tongues and teeth. i listened it to repeatedly while making this piece. i’m doing a collection of pieces based on crane wives songs. yeah

[kiwisandpearls]

how am I only finding out now that tongues and teeth works SO GOOD with sirin

[gravitywonagain]

i am not a vessel for your good intent

the sunshot alliance requests the aid of the feared immortal, yiling laozu, in taking down wen ruohan and qishan wen. it does not go the way they expect it to.

happy birthday, wwx! you get to yell at sect leaders and be an immortal with wings!

[G? for now?, 3k, 1/1?, Pre-Wangxian]

(look, i have no idea where this came from or where it might go or if it will go anywhere. let me know if you want to see more or not and we'll figure it out from there?)

CW: suggestion of implied cannibalism

~

It begins as expected. 

Yiling Laozu sweeps into the banquet hall trailing smoke and shadow that folds itself into the shape of long, feathered wings. His eyes burn like cinders, or steel fresh from the forge. He is uncommonly beautiful, with long lashes, high cheekbones, a mole beneath petal-plush lips. But that too must be expected of an immortal, even one whose life force is fed by what he steals from others. If evil wasn't seductive it would be easy to ignore. Yiling Laozu is not easy to ignore. 

Lan Wangji swallows food he can no longer taste. Flattens his palms against the silk of his skirts. 

The prattle of the hall dies quickly; chopsticks are set to rest and porcelain cups and bowls clack down against lacquered wood tables. Silence bulges in throats. 

Yiling Laozu speaks and though his voice is smooth and pleasant, he is angry. Anyone can tell. None should be surprised. 

"Honored cultivation clans," he says, grinning sharp as shale, "I see you've set no place for me at your banquet."

Jin Guangshan rises to answer but Yiling Laozu stops him with a wave of his hand.

"A banquet for your gentry, it seems, while your soldiers eat millet and vinegar. Tell me, nobles, will you wait until they begin scouring battlefields for meat before you throw them the scraps of your pork?"

The implication is clear -- insulting, an outrage. Many stand, fury and pique poised on tongues, yet few speak. Those that do find less help from the mob than they'd anticipated and quiet themselves quickly. None so much as reach for their swords. 

Yiling Laozu sucks his teeth like a disapproving parent: a soft sound that somehow echoes throughout the hall. “A poor way to treat those you wish to fight your battles for you.” 

Lan Wangji can’t help but agree with him. He had said as much to his brother earlier that night, but Lan Xichen isn’t the one throwing this banquet, and it would have been discourteous not to attend. 

“Ah, Yiling Laozu!” Jin Guangshan is already standing at the head of the banquet hall, having sat himself there like the commander of the campaign despite his belated entry into the war. “Welcome to Jiangling, and to the Sunshot Campaign.”

Nie Mingjue, the true commander of this front, doesn’t quite manage to hide his glare at Jin Guangshan. He and the rest of the sect leaders in the hall stand and bow to the dread immortal in greeting. 

He inclines his head in return, but his red eyes are sharp on each of the sect leaders before him. 

“I have received your invitation. What is it you want from me?”

The leaders of the four largest sects represented, the four men who wrote the letter that was sent to Luanzang Gang, move to stand directly before Yiling Laozu. Three of them are too poised to fidget, but Jiang Wanyin is only sixteen. Still he holds himself well, to Lan Wangji’s eye, and stands strong enough to represent his sect well. 

"You know our request. We seek your aid in our war against Qishan Wen."

Jin Guangshan’s words are honeyed thorns. His tone is demure, but he speaks as if to a spoiled child. Placating, superior. 

The hall chokes with anticipation, cultivators holding their breath against hope. There has been no question asked, not really, but sect leaders and disciples alike await Yiling Laozu’s next words like his voice alone will save them. 

They expect a price to be listed, a negotiation, possibly. There have been rumors and wagers made on what the immortal lord of the dead might ask in return. Gold, land, slaves. A virgin bride -- a harem of them. The throne of the Sun Palace. Lan Wangji has not participated in such idle reverie, but he too is a soldier at war and he does not begrudge people their entertainment. 

His own fingertips turn a bloodless white where they are pressed into the meat of his thighs, blue silk dimpled around them. He breathes to calm his nerves. 

Yiling Laozu allows the silence to drag out. His ember-bright eyes flick around the hall from one person to the next. His head cocks to the side, as if he is considering them. At last, he returns his gaze to the four sect leaders who stand expectant in the center of the hall. 

"No."

"No?" The question is voiced by many. Different volumes and different tones, but all asking spin a thread of surprise.

It was an answer that was left undiscussed, the fear of it too strong to invite such an outcome into reality by speaking it. And, truly, it was unthinkable. They are on the right side of this war. An immortal would see that, would agree. Would help them destroy a madman. 

So nobody truly expected Yiling Laozu to say-- 

"No," Yiling Laozu confirms.

Murmurs begin to roll across the floor like distant thunder. Lan Wangji doesn’t need to hear them to know what they’re all saying: we’re doomed. 

A void carves itself into Lan Wangji’s chest as the refusal sets in. Ice follows quickly to fill it. 

If Yiling Laozu does not help them, they are dead. They have no other recourse -- they would not have turned to such a creature if they had -- and they are losing this war. Badly. It will be months, at most, that they will be able to hold out. But how many must die during that time? How many will they lose to Wen Ruohan’s mad grab for power?

It is Nie Mingjue who demands, "Why would you come all this way only to refuse?"

Lan Wangji has known Nie Mingjue all his life and he has always been quick to anger. Now, however, he is not angry so much as incredulous. Lan Wangji understands that, too. 

But Yiling Loazu simply shrugs, a huge gesture for all of its casual impertinence, as the massive smoky wings heave in tandem with his shoulders. 

"I get bored in Yiling,” he drawls. A lazy smirk. Lan Wangji wants to tear it off his face. 

"Surely,” says -- Nie Huaisang, surprisingly, from behind his fluttering fan, still seated at the table that was to his brother’s right, “there are less wearisome ways of entertaining yourself."

"You'd think that, Nie-gongzi. But nothing quite entertains me like sect leaders lying to my face."

"Lying?" Again, the question echoes through the hall like hail in a canyon.

"Indeed. Lying.” He says it coolly, assuredly. “Now, tell me sect leaders: Why do you seek my aid in your war?"

There is a pause, uncertainty swirling in the air. 

Lan Xichen asks, hesitantly, "Do you wish us to lie to you, then?"

"I do not. But that won't stop you. And neither will my imputation. That's what makes it so entertaining.” That shale-sharp grin again. “So. Go on. Why do you want my help?"

Jin Guangshan begins, "Qishan Wen has grown too hungry--"

"Nope. Next."

Jin Guangshan falters, shocked, the way powerful men are often shocked any time their power is undermined. Certainly he had expected Yiling Laozu to let him at least finish whatever speech he’d rehearsed. "Excuse me?" 

"I will not,” says Yiling Laozu. “Really, Jin Guangshan, were you even trying? You, Nie-zongzhu. Your turn."

Nie Mingjue’s brow furrows. He glances sideways toward his brother, though Lan Wangji doesn’t follow his gaze to see what encouragement or confidence Nie Huaisang might offer, and the exchange, whatever it was, is over in a blink. Yet Nie Mingjue seems to have drawn something from it. 

He meets Yiling Laozu’s bored gaze and says, "Wen Ruohan has pressed the borders of Qinghe for years.” He pauses, seemingly expecting to be cut off as Jin Guangshan was before him. 

Yiling Laozu says nothing, blinking his fire-bright eyes -- dowsing the flame in shadow and then sparking it back to life, the dark fan of his lashes catching at the ends the way treetops do at sunset. 

So Nie Mingjue continues, “He is a threat to my people and to my family and I want him destroyed."

"Oh, much closer.” Yiling Laozu’s grin goes lopsided, losing its edge and rounding with amusement. “Well done, Nie-zongzhu. But, you're still lying to me. Next."

"Revenge."

Jiang Wanyin is, as ever, blunt and irascible. But Yiling Laozu doesn’t seem to mind. 

The immortal looks at the teenager like Lan Wangji might look at the youngest of his juniors: indulgent but with guiding censure. 

"Yes, well, that is obvious,” he says, a pale hand emerging from the shrouding darkness to gesture vaguely at Jiang Wanyin’s person. “You're sixteen and wearing a white sash over robes made for a sect heir. Your shiny new guan might as well still have your father's blood on it. But why my help, young Jiang-zongzhu?"

"Because you have a power that he does not."

There might be a tremor in Jiang Wanyin’s voice. Yiling Laozu might hear it, too. If he does, he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t poke at it. He is not here to injure, it seems. Certainly not to step on those who are already brought low. But why, then?

"Flattery,” he grins again, as if it is his mouth’s natural state to be smiling in some way, “you might think will get you anywhere. But I prefer honesty. Next."

Lan Xichen is the only major sect leader left standing and Lan Wangji feels the ice in his chest crystalize into sharp, jagged points. They cut through his lungs, his spine, his belly. 

"Is this a game to you, Yiling Laozu?" Lan Xichen asks. 

Yiling Laozu’s head cocks to the side like a bird with wings like his. "Have I not already answered that question, Lan-zongzhu?” His other hand, just as pale and fine-fingered as the first, and he opens his palms to the sky. “Yes. Yes, it is a game.” 

He spins, exhorting each cultivator in the room. Lan Wangji thinks he catches an ink-slick glimmer of black robes inside the shadow. “You all claim to want my help, yet you will not tell me why. Why, then, should I help you? You waste my time, I waste yours.” The amusement has drained from him leaving frustration and ire to darken the handsome features of his face as he returns to face Lan Wangji’s brother. 

“Lan-zongzhu, I would remind the rest of this grand assembly that your sect has rules against falsehood. So, please, why do you want my help?"

"I don't."

The collective gasp shocks through the room like a discordant note. It holds, waiting for something, anything, to harmonize, to take away this sick feeling in Lan Wangji’s chest. The one that keeps his eyes glued to his brother’s face. 

Lan Xichen does not waver. He does not demure. He holds Yiling Laozu’s gaze, shoulders square, jaw set. 

And Yiling Laozu’s lips begin to curl once more. 

"Yes,” the word sizzles out of him. “Good.” He laughs, dark and delighted, “Now we're getting somewhere! Would you care to elaborate for the assembled gentry?" His arms sweep wide, gesturing around himself, but his eyes do not leave Lan Xichen. 

Lan Xichen’s do not leave Yiling Laozu, either.

"You are greedy and vain,” he says, tone much colder than the diplomatic voice Lan Wangji is so used to hearing from him, “your cultivation is abhorrent, you play games with people's lives, and you are here only to mock us while our lands are overrun and our people slaughtered.” 

Lan Wangji barely suppresses a flinch as Yiling Laozu’s eyes flicker brighter, but Lan Xichen does not pause his speech. 

“I do not want your help,” he reiterates, “but I do believe that we need it to stop someone even worse than you."

There is a strain in his posture that only Lan Wangji would be able to identify as fear. Lan Wangji holds the same fear within himself. His brother has openly insulted the Dread Immortal. It could very well be the last thing he does, and Lan Wangji would be entirely incapable of protecting him. 

But Yiling Laozu surprises him once again by bowing. A low and perfectly executed salute, as if he were but a servant among sect leaders. 

"Thank you, Lan-zongzhu, for your candor."

"Mn," Lan Xichen nods. Lan Wangji can see how tightly his teeth are clenched together. 

"But, if I may,” says Yiling Laozu with a similar courtesy to his overly polite bow, “I do have some counterpoints that may illuminate further why I have decided to crash your garish banquet.”

The darkness of his wings begins to unfurl, spilling feathery shadows across the floor. As if anyone would refuse him his piece. As if anyone could stop him if they tried. 

“To your first point: I live in a very small province on a mountain that nobody else wants, not in marble palaces draped in gold and snow-white silks." He does not need to draw attention to Jin Guangshan -- the man splutters enough to do it himself. But even if he hadn't, nobody in the hall missed the suggestion in the imagery. 

Yiling Laozu continues, "Second: you know less about my cultivation than you know about the Nie clan's." He turns to face Nie Mingjue, something complicated in the red tinged set of his brow, "Less than Nie-zongzhu knows about it, himself, I think. I would help you with that, should you wish it."

Nie Mingjue is clearly affected by the offer, though Lan Wangji cannot tell how, exactly. But Yiling Laozu moves on before he has the chance or obligation to respond to it. A mercy, of a kind.

"As for the rest of your accusation, you are entirely correct.” He looks back to Lan Xichen, “I am playing games and I am mocking you. But who in this room has even thought through the consequences of asking one monster to slay another? Anyone?” 

Nobody speaks. Nobody breathes louder than they have to. 

Yiling Laozu’s rage is beautiful and terrible to behold. It is a surprisingly quiet thing, his voice low, almost a growl. Sharp teeth bared in moonlight, bathed swiftly in blood. 

“I shall put it bluntly. What happens when the monster who helped you is exhausted and weak and suddenly there is no other monster to fight? Will you let him live peacefully on his mountain where he has been for centuries? Or will you, having defeated the evil to the west, turn your armies southward and descend on my town. On my people."

"We could offer you a treaty," says Nie Mingjue. 

"And who would keep you to it?"

"A marriage, then. An alliance,” suggests Jin Guangshan, surely without any intention of giving up his own son to secure it. 

"A hostage or a spy. Even if I could stomach keeping such a person prisoner in my house, they would only ever be someone you could bear to lose. Not overly effective as a deterrent for war."

"You wish us to give you someone dear?" Lan Xichen asks. 

"No.” Yiling Laozu spits the word. “You are missing the point. You have nothing I want and no possible way to guarantee the safety of my people, my land, or myself at the end of this war.” 

Lan Wangji does not miss the way he orders that list. 

Yiling Laozu shakes his head, his rage tempered by weariness. “Nobody in this banquet hall is without ulterior goals, and I do not begrudge you them. But I will not help you only to have you turn on me and mine as soon as you have enough room to breathe. Your self-righteousness and your fear and your hunger is all too thick."

The room is, if possible, more shocked than it was after his first refusal. There was still some small hope in that surprise. A chance for bargaining, maybe. Now there is none. Yiling Laozu has made sure of it. 

He looks sad. 

"See, Nie-gongzi. Wasn't that entertaining?"

Yiling Laozu turns to leave. The tips of his wings drag against the floor like physical things. In the stunned silence, his footsteps echo, strident, purposeful, as he makes his way toward the mouth of the hall. 

Lan Wangji stands. He is not sure what drives him to do it. He has never been skilled with words or diplomacy. But neither, he supposes, have helped here, tonight. 

And there’s something about him -- about Yiling Laozu. Some kind of pull that Lan Wangji feels. A connection, an understanding. He tugs on it and Yiling Laozu halts. 

"You prefer to let Wen Ruohan slaughter us, then?" asks Lan Wangji. 

He is surprised by the even timbre of his own voice. He feels himself shaking apart with something more than anger, more than fear, yet held together by something else entirely. Harmonics finally beginning to resolve the frozen discord in his lungs. 

Red eyes flick to his and Lan Wangji finds himself paralyzed under the weight of them. These eyes, he understands, have watched centuries pass. 

"What do you think this is, young Lan? Do you think you are the first people to conquer and be conquered? I have seen more of you fall to each other than to the ghosts and beasts and demons you all destroy in your contests for glory. You are in a war. There is no winning in a war, only death. Only suffering."

Lan Wangji did not notice Yiling Laozu moving; he did not notice himself moving. But now they stand an arm’s length apart in the center of the hall, gazes locked on each other. 

"There would be less death if one of the armies was yours."

He wonders what would happen if he reached out, if his fingers touched the shadows. Would they feel like the feathers they emulate? 

"True. But that is not your goal. Your goal is victory. Should I choose to support your side because you are righteous? Look around you, young Lan. Look at the men who lead your armies. Tell me, are they more deserving of their people? Their land?"

Lan Wangji doesn’t look, but he does understand. He does not, entirely, disagree. But there is no room for nuance in Yiling Laozu’s judgment. No room for hope. 

"You do not know them."

"You do not know them. And you do not know me." Yiling Laozu’s voice quivers over the last word. Only barely. A string that breaks upon stilling the final note. 

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes. "You came here tonight, not to mock us, but to weigh us. And we almost changed your mind. We defied your expectations as you defied ours."

"What is it you think you know, young Lan?"

He bristles. That’s the third time Yiling Laozu has called him “young” and he hates it. He hates it viscerally even as he recognizes the disparity between them. He is likely painfully young to Yiling Laozu. But he is not a child to be dismissed as such. To be lied to. You do not know me. 

"You want to help us. You want Wen Ruohan gone, just as we do."

"No.”

Lan Wangji almost staggers at the certainty in the word. He blinks. But he is sure. He is not misreading this. So he sets his jaw and raises an eyebrow, challenging the Dread Immortal. 

The immortal who returns Lan Wangji’s challenge with an eyebrow raise of his own. “I want him gone, sure, but not to assume his place,” his chin juts toward Jin Guangshan. Then toward Nie Mingjue and Jiang Wanyin, “Not to kill the terror from the north. Not for revenge. And not, young Lan, because it is right."

Young Lan. 

They are standing even closer now. Lan Wangji thinks he might be able to feel Yiling Laozu’s breath on his face. He might be beneath the arch of his towering, black wings. 

"If you do nothing, he will come for Yiling just as you believe we will."

"If I do nothing, that is likely true."

"So you will do something?"

Something softens around Yiling Laozu’s eyes. The red of them dims just enough that Lan Wangji can see the hint of an iris inside, likely only because they are standing so close. The corner of Yiling Laozu’s mouth ticks up -- a tiny smile, different from all the others he’s worn tonight. Lan Wangji’s breath catches in his throat. 

"Yes,” Yiling Laozu whispers, and it sounds like it’s a concession to even say it. “But not for you."

There is a sound like a thousand wings flapping inside of a cave and the world goes black. 

When Lan Wangji opens his eyes again, Yiling Laozu is gone.

[vessels-for-good-intent]

when you write things out of order and then you realize there was a much better place for the first kiss to go but it’s alright

[junewongapologia]

I know it's been lost in the many, many annoying years of ST writers deciding Vulcans are bad and contemptible for having what amounts to just really visible cultural differences from humanity, but I really like how... Culturally Vulcan Spock is.

His colleagues have like a fixation on his mother's heritage but... he grew up culturally Vulcan on Vulcan and his human mother all but states in Babel that she's basically assimilated into Vulcan culture because she agrees with its ethos. In all of TOS Spock considers himself Vulcan.

He's... very well adjusted and settled in so he is, he's a guy who sacked off the VSA to join a pseudo-military against the wishes of his pacifist dad and on the ship he plays Vulcan musical instruments with his human colleagues, and keeps a room full of Vulcan cultural artefacts that presumably remind him from home. (I get that this is half-retconned in the movies - most explicitly in ST V 🙄 - and also pretty inconsistently written in TOS but it's still there!)

Idk it's kind of sad to me that the Vulcans are literally the innovators of IDIC and they've been flanderized into these isolationist bigots because the stoicism/pacifist vibes can be kind of confused and off-putting to people.

Like. List of Vulcans we actually meet in TOS:

Spock

Spock's dad, ambassador to Earth, married to a human in some weird 60s sitcom couple dynamic, in-text reason he is estranged from his half human son is literally stated outright as being because he thinks Starfleet is too militaristic and he's a pacifist - like most Vulcans.

T'Pring - Spock's fiancée/wife, breaks up with him because it seems like too much of a hassle to be married to a celebrity, never seems to have any issue with his parentage, clearly thinks he's Vulcan since she divorces him via Vulcan ritual (logical, fight to the death) and not Human ritual (illogical, loopholes/contacting your local divorce lawyer)

Stonn - has two lines, neither of them are about Spock.

T'Pau - kind of maybe says something bigoted ("they say thy Vulcan blood is thin"), but then pulls strings to get the Enterprise off the hook for disobeying orders at the end of the episode, presumably as a favour to Spock, who she knows is going through a rough time, or out of respect for Not-Really-Dead Jim.

Surak - from a war torn civilisation five hundred years ago, still less bigoted towards other species than McCoy lmao

I might be so wrong about this but idk I just like Spock's room full of unabashed Vulcan shit, and I think ST has ignored and wasted opportunities for interesting stories bc they're kind of obsessed with deconstruction of everything about TOS/the ST universe to the detriment of anything else including the actual original ethos of Starfleet.

[quietwingsinthesky]

sometimes i think about my spn oc and how i rewrote everything about amara to interact with the story i was trying to tell about her. there were some really neat ideas in that i need to recycle for something one day. like, in the show proper, they just let amara take over a human baby and that’s fine, but amara’s not Meant To Be Here. this entire universe is one constructed in her absence. saying she can possess a human body should be like saying if you took a person and sent them to a universe where 1+1=3, they could just figure out how to function within that.

which in story took the form of Amara being something that could not be Understood, only Rationalized. a force locked outside the narrative who could only get inside and destroy things if given a role within it. by the Winchesters as A Monster To Face. by Chuck as Wayward, Unreachable Sister. and by miss oc as. simultaneously a projected creature to be saved, an amalgamation of injustices done to herself (and others) that would never be righted but could be made up for by being a part of this. and as something impossibly powerful that could be both protection and purpose.

and the Darkness wasn’t any of those things, really, but to have agency in her own story required new shackles, but ones she was always straining against. she wouldn’t fit inside the confines of a human mind, let alone a body, at least not well enough to leave it Intact. like lucifer burning through nick, but Worse. because the burns were an expected outcome of skin not strong enough to hold him. humans were built for angels, some were built better and some worse, but they’re meant to work. putting amara in human skin should disconnect the skin and mind and soul from the reality her brother built itself, i think. slowly. bit by bit.

and at the same time, i’d gone and written the kind of wild scenario you really can only write for your thirteen year old mary sue, given that spn oc the part of herald/high priestess/failed vessel. which she pursued with wild abandon like that would fix anything wrong with her <3

in the end, running alongside the borrowed family theming of the original show was my own theme of “how much self-annihilation will you accept to make your point. are you accepting it, really. or are you seeking it.” not just physically, in letting something unmake the base components of what you are as it tries to fit inside you or in it constricting and suffocating itself beyond self-recognition to get inside in the first place, but, obviously, it’s supernatural, how much selfhood do you cede to your family. is it worth it.

it was interesting, if nothing else. let thirteen year old me cook. she had ideas.

[ustwoforsaken]

what up everybody immm mischa and i wanna talk about my paracosms 👍 transmasc nonbinary aromantic faggot with an addiction to sad old men. minor. proshippers/radqueers DNI, i dont wanna see ur stinky ass around here. umm uhhhhh ill make a proper masterpost eventually i dont think i have MADD? little daydreams have been a part of my life for a couple years now, but its always been easy for me to pull myself out of them when i have to and it doesnt negatively affect me. still, i have paracosms with super detailed lore that i wanna talk about!!

tagging system · paras organizations

[hawkzeyes]

IVE GROWN A MOUTH SO SHARP AND CRUEL ITS ALL THAT I CAN GIVE TO YOU MY DEAR AND WHEN YOU COME IN QUICK TO STEAL A KISS MY TEETH WILL ONLY CUT YOUR LIPS MY DEAR