#response.

[dfntenna]

LATE NIGHT SPECIAL

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Hi. Name's Null / Hypno / Fell / "Tenner" or "Tanner", or if I like you, Devon. [prns.cc] I'm a Defernull Tenna fictive and I Don't Like You.

Our system's Anger Holder so watch your tongue when sending me shit. [1]

Sysmates with @boy-do-i-need-a-mailman, our main sysblog is @endogwnic [my signoff is - 📼]

I'll update this when I feel like it.

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#blue anon. - for the anon that always typed in blue text

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[zimwy]

"Being gentle doesn't come easy to you, does it?"

WEAPONS DONT WEEP. | @bobrvynolds

' all it does is get you killed. ' being gentle. in war, a man had to be indomitable. he had to spare no expense, and expect no mercy; a kindness afforded today was actionable retribution tomorrow. bucky wasn't so unaware as to pretend whatever delicate gossamer-thin parts of him had survived the utter decimation wrought unto him, that whatever new entity had spawned off the back of barnes' suffering had carried with it his tender regard for the world around him.

no, that was--long gone, as extinct as the child who'd briefly entertained the idea that pandemic conflict could be solved through pacifistic negotiations of peace, weapons cast aside, instead of bargained for at the end of a rifle muzzle and a trail of bloody corpses.

that kid would've balked to see who he'd become, what was left of him now. an empty shell, housing only ghosts and gore: the self-haunting monster. he would've clawed himself out of his own skin to truly understand the depravity of man as bucky did so intimately now. man was a practitioner, and war was his trade.

torsion in the prosthetic forearm results in a drinking glass simply erupting from bucky's hand, glass scattering across the carpet. he wants to apologize, sorry, i didn't mean to, i couldn't feel how hard i was pressing, the false arm has no nerves, but all of it gums up in his throat. he doesn't hear bob after that, lips parting around a ragged exhale. the amaro  liqueur looks like a blood stain. it looks like...

' i think i should leave. '

[midwests-arc]

contınued  :   @bykesl

her hand is quick to pull back from the knee once mari shows that she's in pain.   she could tell that the other was in pained sound alone.   as well as the bruising   ...   that couldn't feel good.   as a frown settles on her face she can't help but shift her attention towards shauna.   who's currently doing nothing but sulking.     “  it's truly depressing to be around.  ”     she can't help but indulge in a little bit of shit talking.   what else was there to do in the wilderness for however much longer they're there for.   if people are even still looking for them.   that,  and she's not even apart of the team.   she doesn't know the entire drama and baggage the team holds,  but she'll be damned if she didn't get some sort of insight through the several months out there.

“  we were all concerned about you,  by the way   ---   if that even matters.  ”     she shifts her gaze because she has totally just been staring at shauna shipman this entire time.

the last thing she needs is to get on her bad side right now.   now when she seems like the littlest thing could set her off right now   ---   and teddy's very aware that things could easily get violent out here.   she doesn't want to be the teams next meal.   quietly,  and mostly to herself,     “  straight up psychotic.  ”

[zarinthelwrites]

thanks for reading! and... well. I do like Kaeru. I might end up writing some scattered bits and pieces of her like I do with many of my older ocs whenever I do drabble challenges, in which case I’ll put them up on this tumblr. No promises, though. 

[fromfireandashes]

How is sorting through the adoptables applications going?

Boy howdy it’s going! I’d say we’re a solid 85% through. Unfortunately I don’t think we’ll have results out tonight, but more likely than not we’ll be able to announce them and send out invites tomorrow! Sorry for the wait, and thank you for the patience!!

- Jess

[just-wishes-and-faeries]

Art Fight

An art trading game

It's that time of year again! If you're on artfight and want to send me an attack with someone not yet listed, feel free to! I will reblog any artfight attacks that are posted to tumblr on my main (@maybefandomstuff) and, if JW&F-related, on here. The anons, however, are not mine, so I can't accept any art of them. Maybe they could send in their own accounts (if applicable) and accept art there, instead. Here's my artfight card thingy for this year.

(yes, I plan to be on Team Wither. I've heard they're fun guys *badumtss*) Relatedly, the monthly aggie on July 1st (this next Friday) is planned to run as usual.

[sunworne]

"it's what we were meant to do."

       there is a peculiar taste in her mouth ,   a flavour rey has yet to grow used to , and she turns it inside of her mouth over and over , holds it against her tongue and tears it apart piece by piece, as if delay will multiply it & line an empty stomach. there is no need to do this here , of course : though the resistance talks of rationing , there is an abundance of food rey has never seen before , and doubts she will ever see again. there are things in life one should not get used to. like kindness , the abundance of it , reflected in confidently firm eyes.

      rey does not know what to do with it , this kindness in eyes that match the eyes of a killer only in color , though in secret she finds that the light of it is as warm as the sun , only not as deadly. leia speaks , and silence lingers : rey chews on the words , sets them apart syllable by syllable , puts them back together only to start over again , the desperation of a child who has known nothing but the wait. once , rey was told she was meant to be a scavenger : she was a small child , and could fit in the unhabited corners of a fallen ship , and her skinny and malnurished fingers could reach where adults' could not. it was all she has ever been good at & all she has ever known.

      she knows what she tastes, now, in the back of her throat : fear. it wraps itself around its neck, and beckons her name, its voice familiar in its mocking , and rey finds herself longing for the heat of jakku, and the coarseness of sand.    ‘ i don't understand , ’    she hears her own voice , an attempt at stubborn defiance ,   though to her it sounds more like the beggings of a child      ‘ why it has to be me. i'm not --- ’    she thinks of the basement of maz' castle , of han's fall , of finn's wounded back. she thinks of a voice , so familiar , calling out for her. she thinks of a dragon with two suns for eyes.   ‘ why would luke skywalker come back for me? ’

⭒  𝐝𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬   :  @slayhutts