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#can you tell i have a sister
shower-phantom-ideas · 5 months
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Bruh emotional support ghost kid? Well thats what they are calling him
Suicide cases in gothem are about to fucking plummet boiz cause this one weird blue eyes, black haired boy is now heading to your location.
How does he know where to be? Having a bad day and are all alone? No the fuck your not cause don’t turn around now but theres some shiny blue eyes coming at you from that dark ally. Oh shit hes here to drop some information about you and your lost loved ones that he should know. Oh god the closure. How could you have been afraid on this sweet, creepy, boy who just helped you find your way.
Meanwhile Danny is chillin in Gothem cause the GIW hate it there (none of they equipment actually functions in Gothem so it’s either super haunted or actually not haunted at all). Then all of a sudden he gets approached by a random ghost begging for his help because their sweet baby girl is about to do something horrible. Oops now all the ghosts are following their most loved ones around just to make sure they are there to rush to Danny for help when all else fails. Now hes getting to fulfil his protection obsession double time because one hes helping protect people from themselves and two hes protecting everyone in Gothem by stopping people from becoming villains for revenge. Plus he gets to see first hand how hes making a difference because all those people he saved are sending him some good vibes from all across Gothem.
Thank god he followed Jazz around so much to slightly absorb some of her phycology knowledge over the years. Plus it was actually pretty interesting so she gave him her old text books. Shes also helping him deal with the rare events where he can’t save someone. Just a moment too late or he stops them but they later succeeded in the hospital. Neither are his fault. Now only if he could convince his core of that.
Anyway why Gothem you ask? Amity Park would have been just as good tbh but imagine Batmans face when he finally gets to be face to face with the emotional support ghost boy. Why is he here? Bruce is fine. Batman is fine. Hes not gonna do anything crazy. It’s just a hard time of year. Around their death always gives him grief. But hes an adult and can manage it.
“You know they are so proud of you.” The boy states. As if it’s clear as day, even though it’s Gothem and never a clear day. Batman blinks at him, stunned for a moment. “What?” This boy can’t possibly know that. No one will ever know that, Bruce can only hope. “They see their home, full of such life. That big house that felt so empty, so cold, to them as well for years. Then you filled it with Family and Love like they had always wanted for you. They are so proud of what you have turned it into. Somewhere full of life and warmth.” A small smile graces his face as finally “you have made your parents so proud” and its all he can do to contain himself. Emotions are running high and sue him because he really did need to hear that ok. The boy suddenly looks to Bruces right with a confused face “aren’t all basements like that though?” Before Bruce can even get a word in hes gone. Just vanished before his eyes.
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missazura · 1 day
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I'm at the brink of a suicidal breakdown. I've been waiting to get my paycheck from an illustration job I've done last October 2023, I did ask them about it and said that I would get paid on the 27th. It's the 28th and I still don't see any updates on my end. I've gotten my hopes up for so long, every month since and I've burnt the fuck out from waiting.
I've been refraining myself from eating and buy myself stuff like food and toiletries and I've completely ran out of money to survive. I wish i could accept commissions but I haven't been doing great mental and physical wise and I don't have the means to draw other than a few sketches to cheer myself up. I'm completely burnt out.
If you could help spread this around I would appreciate it, every bit helps at least to cover my necessities for a while until I hope to eventually get paid
I'm sorry for asking for donations so frequently I just can't hold on for much longer in this state
Donations and reblogs are appreciated, thank you
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moeblob · 5 months
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Me, too, Blade. Me. Too.
(I am taking donations to buy a gigantic $250 stuffed cheeseburger. It's giant. I want it. I will never obtain it. I saw it in a shop window and..... wow. Big.)
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booknerdmusician · 11 months
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there are many things that left me utterly happy about gotg vol. 3, but one I haven't seen many people mention is that Peter refers to Mantis as his sister at least twice in the movie. Like obviously they are all a big found family and they call each other as such. But there's something about the aknowledgement of Mantis put in the same regard as Peter's grandpa on earth. Something about the fact that he considers her as well as a blood relative because they are both the children of Ego, and Ego raised Mantis to be a tool in the same manner he would've done so with Peter if he had the chance, and they were both taken advantage of by him. And despite all that they both went through because of Ego, they at least managed to find each other.
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uselessnbee · 1 year
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if i don't get Robin and Mike finally talking to each other and then Robin basically adopting Mike like this in s5 then i don't want it
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seagull-scribbles · 7 months
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I want you to tell ‘em that you love the way that they don’t stick out like sore middle fingers
[Continuation of this]
#TMNT 2012#casey jones 2012#raphael hamato#rasey#this is platonic again but I’m not against romantic subtext or whatever#when I was in school being able to do this with your hand was super cool and I often still do it with both#but I’ve met both adults and kids who’ve never seen it before and it freaks them out ahaha#anyway I was jus thinking of hands again and this is a warm up sketch#but i do think thee two would have heart to hearts on rooftops sometimes and really open up#maybe theyre sat next to eachother and raph looks at his thigh next to Casey’s and gets self conscious#maybe one of them was hurt in a fight (probably Casey) and theyre patching eachother up and they just start exploring their differences#or maybe its something as simple as raph asking casey if he was Tarzan and the scene with the hands and Casey’s like yo we can do that#or even more childish theyre just doing it to see who’s hands bigger because Casey’s sister has been doing it a lot and its fun#because let me tell you it doesnt matter how old the kids i work with are they all love comparing my hand with theirs#but i imagine Raphs eyes for a second would give away hes upset a little cause he’s definitely the most self conscience about being a mutant#so Casey would do this and be like ahh look see we arent that different really#raph could bend his fingers to emphasise how much shorter Casey’s are#and cause would say something like these digits might be small but theyre mighty#leading to a shove or even a thumb war or something#anyway ill stop gushing i have a comission to do xxx#OH OH OH THE BITE MARK ON CASEY IS BECAUSE A MUTUAL COMMENTS ABOUT EATING MY RASEY ART SO THATS THEIR TEETH but im not naming names....
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yuri-is-online · 2 months
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Well damn now I want to tell them about witchcraft.
Ruggie: what the hell are you doing?
Yuu: money spell.
R: *looks at the weird jar of random shit that yuu is currently sealing with green wax* ... what?
Y: just trust me bro
And like a week later they randomly get a promotion or a 1000$ art commission or something or just straight up find a stupid amount of money on the ground and rugginald bucchiland is like
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Azul comes knocking at their door the next day with the aura of an eager salesman and the intentions of an FBI interrogator
rugginald bucchiland is his official name now, mickey mouse told me himself.
Something I have always wondered about isekai settings is if magic from one world would even work in another because like. Would the forces you are attempting to invoke be able to respond? I like the image of the universe tapping on the window between worlds separating you to try and get your attention because they have some good luck they want to send your way but being unable to make it through.
But assuming it does work I feel like Yuu would need to be in witness protection from Azul. Or like to successfully reverse psychology him into thinking that it wouldn't really be his money if he made it off their spells because he didn't really work for it and strike at his ego a lot little bit.
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bri-bees · 29 days
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I always see people have Yang be protective over Ruby whenever she dates Weiss, but I hardly see people showing Winter being protective over Weiss whenever she dates Ruby because I could see Winter setting up a whole interview like conversation with Ruby to see if she is qualified to date her sister lol
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shima-draws · 7 months
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I started watching Bluey and when I say I was absolutely fucking ENLIGHTENED.
Me: Bluey’s such a popular show and even my adult friends like it…but why?? Isn’t it just a show for preschoolers
Me, after watching one (1) episode: OH….I UNDERSTAND NOW…..
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originalcontent · 4 months
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I can't find art of my ship anywhere so I GUESS that means I have to make it myself, here are some doodles.
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keekity · 9 months
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social media influencer and the "roomate" behind the camera
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queenlucythevaliant · 2 months
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Tell Your Dad You Love Him
A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event
An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.
Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”
They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down. 
“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”
A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived. 
The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”
“Yes father?” said Rowan.
“Tell me how much you love me.”
An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.
Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”
The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”
Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out.  “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”
The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”
Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.
When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?” 
“I do.”
She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”
“Like salt?”
“Well—yes.”
The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset? 
But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?
“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.
Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”
“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.
“Father, you can’t really mean–”
“Leave us, Coriander.”
So she left the king’s court that very hour.
 .
It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.
She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him. 
If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.  
A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–
With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.
Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.
 .
When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.
She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—
She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.
She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.
“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”
“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.
“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”
“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”
Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”
There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.
 .
She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.
Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.
“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.
“Much. Thank you, ma’am.
“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”
“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say. 
“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”
Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”
“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”
 .
Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.
The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.
“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”
Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.
As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food. 
 .
Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.
She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.
Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”
“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”
She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.
When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”
Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”
“Yes?”
“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”
Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”
“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”
The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”
.
In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands. 
Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.
“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”
 .
The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.
Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway. 
It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”
When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say. 
Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now. 
The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered. 
“Dad. You know me?”
“Of course.”
“Then you understand now?”
The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”
Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.
She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room. 
“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters. 
Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”
Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her. 
“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?” 
Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”  
“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”
“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”
The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”
“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”
The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”
.
Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years. 
She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”
“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl. 
“I love you,” he said.
“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”
The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”
So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.
.
“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint. 
She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”
The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.
“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”
Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to. 
.
When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet. 
Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.” 
It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.
“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”
Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try… 
“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”
A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.
#inklingschallenge#theme: storge#story: complete#inklings challenge#leah stories#OKAY. SO#i spend so much time thinking about king lear. i think i've said before that it's my favorite shakespeare play. it is not close#and one of the hills i will die on is that cordelia was not in the right when she refused to flatter her dad#like. obviously he's definitely not in the right either. the love test was a screwed up way to make sure his kids loved him#he shouldn't have tied their inheritances into it. he DEFINITELY shouldn't have kicked cordelia out when she refused to play#but like. Cordelia. there is no good reason not to tell your elderly dad how much you love him#and okay obviously lear is my starting point but the same applies to the meat loves salt princess#your dad wants you to tell him you love him. there is no good reason to turn it into a riddle. you had other options#and honestly it kinda bothers me when people read cordelia/the princess as though she's perfectly virtuous#she's very human and definitely beats out the cruel sisters but she's definitely not aspirational. she's not to be emulated#at the end of the day both the fairytale and the play are about failures in storge#at happens when it's there and you can't tell. when it's not and you think it is. when you think you know someone's heart and you just don'#hey! that's a thing that happens all the time between parents and children. especially loving past each other and speaking different langua#so the challenge i set myself with this story was: can i retell the fairytale in such a way that the princess is unambiguously in the wrong#and in service of that the king has to get softened so his errors don't overshadow hers#anyway. thank you for coming to my TED talk#i've been thinking about this story since the challenge was announced but i wrote the whole thing last night after the super bowl#got it in under the wire! yay!#also! the whole 'modern setting that conflicts with the fairytale language' is supposed to be in the style of modern shakespeare adaptation#no idea if it worked but i had a lot of fun with it#pontifications and creations
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thevampireauthoress · 11 months
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Insanely busy but trying to catch up with @re-dracula I cannot wait to hear what my girls (the brides/roommates) sound like!!!
Truly, my obsession with vampires stemmed from seeing this image from the Folio Society edition of Dracula at 13 years of age and I thank them every day for it ❤️
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They are POWERFUL they are WILD they are going to EAT BABIES and even after all this time I still have the same "I WANT TO BE THAT" feeling I did on first sight 💕
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moeblob · 21 days
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So it occurs to me that I posted most of their lore on my OC blog (though a few posts on here have the story info) and honestly I think it's very important to note that the entire reason a guy from Florida is recruited to help defeat the demon lord isn't him as the hero. His younger brother (by about ten years younger) is the Chosen Hero and... not very good at it. So the goddess (Solei) who had selected the hero has to begrudgingly go back to earth and convince his older brother to help save her world.
(Also Reynold admits to Solei that "Sascha could never be a bad influence. He's the best impulse control I've ever had" and she really doesn't like to hear it. That's terrifying.)
#my characters#sascha is The demon lord and there is truly only one at a time#solei however is simply a goddess - not the only one of divinity#i dont actually know if thats been mentioned on either art blog lmao#also its not pictured here but reynold is recruited and only asks for one favor when in the other world (from solei)#he wants to be a woman while he helps his brother#she thinks its a weird flex but ok whatever buddy you can be a woman#and the logic is not him actually wanting to be one its just you see his younger brother finds it weird#to have a guy cling to him and dote on him like reynold does and said One Time WHY COULDNT YOU BE A SISTER THIS IS WEIRD#and so reynold is briefly rey for about a month before being held hostage by sascha and hes like... super polite#and asks her if she was cursed and so shes like uhhh what and he mentions looking at her gives him a headache#because the core and the outer appearance arent the same and he can revert her back to her original form if she wants#and she does so rey goes back to reynold which is very nice and reynold appreciates it#because honestly looking at rey in a mirror gives HIM a headache cause solei designed his appearance#and it was so bright thank you demon lord for giving the florida man his natural boring look back#also reynold will always carry sunglasses because solei can just appear and she is way too bright to deal with without eye protection#solei is not amused and thinks its basically slander against her godly appearance and reynold just smiles at her and tells her tough luck#he wants his vision for his new hot husband she can deal with a little insubordination#florida man begs for torture bc he can handle that and he knows it#is instead handed courtesy and manners and doesnt know what to do with it - quickly developing what he claims is NOT stockholm syndrome#solei and sascha quietly muttering about what that could possibly mean cause they dont know what this guy is talking about
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astranauticus · 2 months
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Link Click single "Prometheus" Fan Translation
youtube
translation under cut!
让黑夜吞噬最后一点光
Let night swallow the last bit of light
就当是一场梦
Pretend this is all a dream
如果无法挣脱索性就让一切都失控吧
If I can't escape, then let everything go out of control
尝尝我的痛
If you have a taste of my pain
或许才会明白哭到失声根本没有用吧
Maybe you'll understand that there is no point to crying
倒数着三二一零
Count down, three two one zero
卖弄可笑的六欲七情
You're still playing up your laughable emotions and desires
这世界已经天翻地覆
This world has already been turned upside down
不如和我一起跳到深渊感受这失重吧 Why don't you jump into the abyss to feel this weightlessness with me
叫他们的幻想蒸发
Let their dreams evaporate
像是面无表情撕碎玩具那般从容
As simple as coldly tearing apart a stuffed toy
谁叫他们学不会听话
It's their fault they keep falling into my hands again and again
还是一次又一次地落入我的手中
Because they can't learn to stay in line
早听腻了烦人的叽叽喳喳
I've long grown tired of this annoying chattering
用绝望在墙上染个碎花
Use despair to paint a splatter on the wall
请他们永远永远闭上嘴吧
Invite them to never, never speak again
[(LTX:) piano solo]
隐秘的血色的黑夜童话
The hidden, blood-soaked midnight fairytale
刹那间将所有光芒抹杀
Smothers all light in an instant
偷走那神的火把
Steal the torch of the gods
坠落下万丈悬崖
Fall down the bottomless abyss
没有归处的人等待世界崩塌
The ones with no home await the world's collapse
(最后的 狂欢吧
(The final carnival
最后的 狂欢吧)
The final carnival)
偷走那神的火把
Steal the torch of the gods
坠落下万丈悬崖
Fall down the bottomless abyss
没有归处的人啊
The ones with no home
静静沉睡吧
Sleep peacefully now
暂时藏起了利爪和鳞片
I'll conceal my claws and scales for now
魔鬼躲进她黑白的琴键
The demon hides in her black and white keys
收起你那套因果循环
Keep your talk of causality and repetition to yourself
我会遭报应吗?反正还没应验
Will I receive retribution? We don't know that yet
都是我的消耗品
(LX:) They're all expendables to me
被我牵着鼻子走还抓不着要领
I'm dragging you along by the nose and you still can't figure it out
一个 两个 三个 四个
(LX:) one, two, three, four
心跳加速只是我的白噪音
The sound of a racing heart is just white noise to me
撬开一层层的保险
Prying away the layers of safeguards
像茶余饭后的消遣
Just to pass the time after a fine meal
对黑夜缺了点敬畏
You people who get hurt needlessly
白白受伤的人
Because you lack respect for the night
看着我千万别眨眼
When you look at me, never blink
下一秒骇人的画面
Lest you miss the scenes of carnage
命运她由我来加减
I am the one who will alter fate herself
我是那灭灯的神
I am the god that extinguishes the light
隐秘的血色的黑夜童话
The hidden, blood-soaked midnight fairytale
刹那间将所有光芒抹杀
Smothers all light in an instant
偷走那神的火把
Steal the torch of the gods
坠落下万丈悬崖
Fall down the bottomless abyss
没有归处的人等待世界崩塌
The ones with no home await the world's collapse
没有归处的人啊
The ones with no home
静静沉睡吧
Sleep peacefully now
(bonus: my translation of 321!)
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haliaiii · 11 months
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Lmk sketches I did !!
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