#I’ve decided i hate rendering now

[pebbleaf]

My gaze has lingered on her for quite a while

They’re gay and in love (it’s canon trust me)

[jezabelle9299]

Fashion Show S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture- You try on a new dress for a night out, and Spencer is continuously surprised by how beautiful you are

CWs- Reader wears a dress and heels, Spencer walks in before she's zipped the dress up all the way (But he doesn't really see anything-- just the back of her bra), Penelope is one pushy matchmaker and we love her for it

A/N- Day 19, I did not in fact fall off the face of the Earth (Yet), and I will hopefully get caught up with everything by Thursday! But I can't make any promises. If you like it, let me know-- and if you hate it, then maybe don't tell me, please, thank you.

Finally having your first fancy professional job came with something you were not all that familiar with, disposable income. So when Penelope invited you for a shopping trip on your lunch break, you obliged. You walked around the mall with her, and ended the trip with three new outfits, and a new pair of shoes. Two were for work, since you spent most of your time there anyway; and the third, along with the shoes were for the occasional night out. Whether a date (Which were few and far between), or the rare occasion of the government paying for a nice hotel with a bar you felt the need to dress up for. 

The fitting rooms were closed for maintenance when you went, so Penelope convinced you to do a quick fashion show when you got back, just for her in her office. The bathroom was right next to her office, so no one would even see you on the walk while you tried to decide if you liked the things you got. 

You tried on the work outfits first, working your way up to the piece you were most nervous to try on. It was a somewhat short purple dress, with a lace trim to complete it. But of course, this was the one thing you could not zip yourself. You threw on a jacket for the ten foot walk, and made it into Penelope’s office without seeing anyone. But as soon as she ran over to you in her very high heels to help you zip up, someone knocked ‘shave and a haircut’ on her office door, before promptly walking in. 

You knew from the knock that it was Spencer, unfortunately Spencer had no idea you were in there, let alone what you were doing. 

“Hey Garcia—“ as soon as he caught a glimpse of you, right as Penelope started zipping you up, he froze. No recollection of why he came over here, barely even registering Penelope’s presence when you looked like that. 

As if his life was one cruel joke, his favorite person in the world was wearing his favorite color, in a dress that could have been engineered specifically to render him speechless. And in the workplace no less. And in one final twist of the knife, he wasn’t supposed to see you. And he knew it. As soon as his brain could get him to move even an inch, he was covering his eyes. Like a child during a scary movie, he fully covered his eyes with one hand placed sideways, only to double the other one over top of it. 

You couldn’t not laugh at him. Just a little bit. He was just so scandalized at seeing a little bit of your bra. 

He was just trying to figure out how to excuse himself without opening his eyes when he felt your hands over his wrists, gently tugging his hands from his eyes. 

“Spencer, it’s ok. I promise I’m fully dressed now.” 

“What did you need, boy wonder?” After shooting you a look declaring, once again, her support of you and Spencer becoming a couple– Penelope sat herself back in her desk chair, ready to do whatever Spencer needed. 

“I—uh.” He quickly readjusted his glasses, but it didn’t help. Functionally, he was a brick in a sportcoat. 

“The incomparable Dr.Reid speechless? This dress is better than I thought.” You made the joke to undercut the tension you were feeling, but it only made it worse for both of you. 

“Sorry, I—I’ve just never seen you this dressed up.”

“She bought it to go out, you should take her for a night out tonight!” Both of you looked at Penelope, you couldn’t believe she would do that to you. Setting you up for that kind of rejection? Even if he did say yes— would it be for the sole factor of you dressing in a form fitting outfit? Spencer had a similar line of thinking– Penelope knew he liked you, and he was deeply upset that she would force him to actually hear your rejection. 

“Oh–um. I’m sure you have plans, I mean– you look really nice, I’m sure you have someone in mind or somewhere specific you wanted to go.”

“She doesn’t have any plans tonight! You don’t either, so you two are hitting the town.”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Me neither.”

“It’s a good thing we’re getting off work soon, and the chinese place down the street is open late anyway.”

You looked at each other, or in the general direction anyway. Neither of you wanted to make eye contact, and then when Spencer shot Penelope a betrayed look at her meddling, she just tilted her head to the side in a ‘go on’ motion.   

“Would you maybe like to go to the Chinese place with me after work? As a– I mean as a date?”

“You want to go out with me?” He was so surprised by your reaction, he ended up taking a full step back– his brow furrowing as he did. 

“Well yes– of course, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” By the end of his sentence his cheeks were starting to turn pink again. 

“I thought that you knew I liked you, is all. Of course I want to go out with you.”

“Oh– ok, can I pick you up at your desk after we’re done with paperwork?”

“That sounds nice, thank you Spencer.”

“Of course, and could you– maybe– keep the dress on? You just look really, really, great.”

“Sure Spencer, I’m glad you like it.” The teasing you endured from the rest of the team was worth it, because every time you looked at him, he was already looking at you– tossing you a shy smile that could only increase your excitement for tonight.  

[rubydracogirl]

A short, angsty one-shot.

Stanley finds a distressed Reader. He's not good with words, but he means well.

Sometimes you just need to take a drive to process things...

Rated T, just in case.

"The Scenic Route"

It happened again.

Just when you thought you were in the clear, life took you by the collar of your shirt and dragged you through the mud again. The numbness of your heart hadn’t settled in- you still felt the stabbing pain of your anguish. Tears were flowing from your eyes- you hated them, you hated crying like this, you were so ugly when it happened-

No matter how hard you tried to hold it back, they dripped down your red cheeks and slid down your neck. Your nose ran and you looked down at your trembling hands. When would the numbness settle in so you could stop feeling like this?

The thought that someone would find you hadn’t crossed your mind. Least of all that it would be him.

“There you are, toots! I’ve been looking all over for you…-” Stan’s gruff voice trailed off as he noticed how hunched over you were.

You twisted away from him, trying to apologize, trying to hide your tear-stained face but he brushed off your apologies, silently walking over to sit beside you. His warmth radiated against your body like a furnace, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. It was embarrassing enough that he’d caught you like this.

“Who made you cry?” There was an edge to his voice that spoke volumes of what he might do to the perpetrator, but you shook your head. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and you took deep breaths, trying to get control of yourself.

It felt impossible-

The weight of Stan’s arm wrapped around you and he softly murmured, “C’mere. It’s ok. You don’t gotta talk about it if you don’t want to… But lemme hold you, doll.”

You kept your face hidden against his chest, allowing him to pull you against his warm body. He was simultaneously soft and firm; one arm kept you close while he stroked your hair with his other hand. The comfort of his touch was enough to help you regain control of your breath and you finally settled down, breathing a little easier.

“It’s just… I'm so tired.” You whispered finally, the sting of your pain still throbbing in your heart.

His fingers faltered in your hair before he tilted your face up to his. You resisted.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

You finally turned your face up to him. His dark eyes were like warm pools of amber, and you saw your pain reflected in them. His rough palm caressed your cheek gently, wiping the bitter tears from beneath your eyes. His lips twitched with indecision before he spoke.

“You and I both know I’m no good with this sort of thing. Besides, there’s nothin’ I can say that you haven't heard a million times before already… Whatever's bothering you, I can't take it away... But I got a car. Why don't we get out of here for a while?”

You decided that, yes, you did want a ride. 

“Well, then.” He stood up, taking your hand. “What the hell are we waiting for?”

You let him lead you and with every step, the pain began to lessen if ever so slightly.

The Stanleymobile roared to life and you felt a flicker of exhilaration as you settled back against the seat. Stan passed you a tissue.

“Don’t worry, it’s clean. What kind of guy do you take me for?” He chuckled at the skeptical look you sent him before accepting the offering.

The car rolled from the driveway, and the world became a slow-moving blur of sweet-smelling pine trees. Stan flicked the radio on, and the wind brushed your face and played with your hair as he took you down the winding roads of Gravity Falls.

You knew, deep down, you’d have to face your problems when the ride ended, but for now, it was just you, Stan, and the gorgeous views that were passing you by. The sun set, rendering the sky with watercolor textures of orange, pink and soft lavender.

Not one more word was spoken between you and Stan during the ride, and that was ok with you. His presence was enough to comfort you.

You leaned back, letting your eyes close as you drummed your fingers with the music, swaying with the motion of the car, and inhaling the smells of the surrounding forest.

The chill of the evening air became a bit much, and he turned to look at you.

“Ready to go back?”

“No, not really.”

He chuckled softly.

“I know where we can go.”

The Overlook wasn’t exactly a secret spot, but it was still fairly private, and as Stan parked the car, you took off your seatbelt and slid closer to him. He wrapped his arm around you again. The edges of dusk were giving away to twilight. The sight was beautiful, and for a moment, you really forgot about your pain. 

In that moment, all you could feel was warmth, and you glanced up at Stan. He squeezed you a little closer, his mouth pulled in an uncertain smile.

“You’re gonna be ok, toots.” He hummed.

“I know… Thank you, Stan.” You leaned against his broad chest. He shifted slightly, and you felt his lips brush the top of your head affectionately.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

[keisobe]

; 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 (𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲)

— from avatar 2 : the way of the water (spoiler free!!)

˚｡ 𖠗 as a sweet gesture, you offered to dry neteyam’s hair after a long journey in the sea. in the end, your kindness was rewarded with a salty kiss.

contents. f! reader, the reader is matkayina + eldest child of ronal and tonowari, mentions of matkayina features to describe the reader, no use of y/n, mild profanity, friends → lovers, descriptive kissing scene, all fluff + wc. 2.0k

notes. i loved avatar 2 and developed the fattest crush on lo’ak and neteyam, so i had to come in clutch and write a fanfic of my fav sully ! this is also my first ever fanfic that i’ve ever published, i got too excited to post so it isn’t fully proofread, but i really hope you guys enjoy <3

The sun was setting up for its rest. The glistening rocks were engulfed by the salty water, leaving residues of foam like the sea had left its mark on the land. Orange reflected off the waves— a beautiful sight to see. Though the ocean was a serene sanctuary for the Matkayina people, you had also come accustomed to its down sides. The tangy smell of ocean life clung stubbornly into the locks of your hair as you rose from the depths of an aquatic galore. In an effort to clean yourself, you ringed out the salty water that was nestled in your hair— causing a gush of water to fall beside you.

“Shit,” you cursed to yourself, shaking off the droplets that shedded from your greenish skin.

Not long before, the others had caught up with you, witnessing the disgusted features that permeated into your usual neutral face. Ao’nung couldn’t help but crack a smile, leaning over to whisper a joke to Rotxo— who suppressed a laugh. Your blue eyes suddenly shifted towards your troublesome siblings, rendering them completely silent and stiff. Now it was Tsireya’s turn to laugh, graciously walking over to your struggling form and running her delicate fingers through your salty locks.

“Big sister, you seem as if you hate the sea,” Tsireya teased as she latched more firmly onto your hair, more water spilling out. “Though you are our village’s best swimmer.”

Glancing towards your other side, you see the newcomers studying your frustrated movements and seemingly, anticipating your response. They noticed your blue eyes staring at them. The younger one, Lo’ak, shuffled a bit in the water and averted his eyes onto the boring sand beneath his feet to the orange clouds that casted above him. His older brother Neteyam, didn’t seize away from your gaze. Instead, he sneakily elbowed his brother from his poor attempt to act uninterested— earning an annoyed groan from Lo’ak. His eyes still on you throughout the whole scene. You couldn’t help but snicker a bit, deciding it’s best to give out some information about yourself to feed the curiosity of your new friends, especially for Neteyam.

“I do not hate the sea Tsireya,” You noted the perk of Neteyam’s pointed ears when you said that. “The water weighs down on your hair throughout the day and… the smell never goes away.”

Your words seemed to have sparked something within them, prompting the others to smell their own hair. From today’s adventure through the mounds of aquatic life, this would inevitably leave a strong scent of fish must— meaning smelly skin and hair. The forest people were expressive with their distaste. Lo’ak was the first to gag loudly, not used to the familiarity of the ocean. Neteyam, out of respect for the ocean, didn’t utter a word but the slight grimace that formed on his face said it all. Your siblings, very much used to the ocean, simply nodded in agreement, leaving everybody to ring out their own hair as more salty water was being released back into the ocean.

Neteyam silently dried out his dark braids away from the others. His movements were mediocre and it seemed as if his struggling efforts did nothing to solve his problem. Neteyam noticed your stare when his intense yellow eyes locked onto yours. It felt like the world stopped for a moment as if the both of you were silently communicating with one another. Then the sound of splashing waves became more distracting, forcing the both of you to return to your senses. Neteyam suddenly danced his long fingers through the air, signing to you. It seems that the sign language lessons you taught were actually helping the forest people.

Can you help me please? His lips moved along with his silent words, trying to memorize the language.

You shyly grinned towards him, signing back in response as you dragged your strong legs across the shallow waves. The soft sand beneath your feet tickled as you became closer to Neteyam’s presence. It strangely felt warm and welcoming. Finally, you stood beside the taller male, having to look up slightly in order to directly meet his eyes again. Intently, Neteyam looked down at you with a foreign softness— something you never saw from him before. It left you feeling a bit flustered.

“May I?” You faintly spoke, gesturing towards his neatly braided locks, reaching out slightly but hesitating to get any closer.

Neteyam only nodded, turning over to give you a clear view of his glistening back and completely soaked hair. Your eyes couldn’t help but admire his toned muscles, showing the remnants of his hard work and dedication as a warrior. His queue floated against the waves— you weren’t sure whether or not to dry that also but for now, you left it alone. Like Tsireya’s delicate fingers, you glided your own against his tight braids, pressing them until the squelch of water was heard. Neteyam hummed in satisfaction, though with his back facing you, his expression was completely unreadable. You repeated this motion for a few more seconds, the sounds of chatter and each other’s breathing filled the silence between you two.

“Thank you for helping me,” Neteyam was the first to speak up, his voice much more calm from his previous stern tone towards his brother Lo’ak.

“Of course, and I've seen that your sign language has improved from our last lesson,” There was a smile on your face as you recalled the fond memories of your one-on-one lessons.

You remember when Neteyam would struggle to form his words together without an awkward pause in between. How his fingers never bent properly that would completely change the meaning of its words. At times, you had to step in and tangle your soft fingers into his much rougher ones, articulating the correct words without having to verbally explain it again. Now, Neteyam could form small sentences a lot more fluently and it made you swell up with pride.

“It's because you’re a good mentor,” His voice lowered a bit as he said that, hints of teasing but also genuine gratitude.

You smirked a bit as you looked up towards where his eyes would be, wishing he was facing you. What did his face look like right now? Smug? Maybe even timid?

“Well I'm glad you’re learning our ways,” You replied in a neutral tone, trying to keep your composure as the upcoming successor as the tsahík of your village.

Twisting his braids in one swift motion, a surge of water fell against his stripped back— his hair completely rid of the rank odor and heaviness of the ocean water. Gently tapping his shoulder, Neteyam turned to face you. You swore his ears perked up a bit when he gazed at your lips for a second. Out of old habit, you fiddled with the colorful pearls and shimmering shells of your tiny garment. His features were similar to his mother’s, long dark lashes and a perfectly sculpted face. Neteyam’s eyes never shied away from you, regarding you with utter confidence but also a hint of uncertainty.

He slowly shifted closer and asked, “Maybe next time you could teach me how to swim as fast as you?”

To close the distance even more, you stepped closer to him, burying the sand over your feet in anticipation for what’s to come from Neteyam’s bold request. The water reflected the purple and blue blotches from the night sky, specks of silver shined brightly matched Neteyam’s white freckles. From the relentless teasing from the others, to the undeniable tension between you and the forest-born Na’vi— you wanted to finally take the initiative without waiting around.

“What if we make it a date as well?” Your voice was like silk to Neteyam, it made him shudder a bit.

Neteyam always dripped of composure and confidence. But when it came to you, he couldn’t help but feel like his trained limbs turned into a pool of putty. There was an alluring aura that you emitted. The way you held your head high in tough situations to the way you can make anybody laugh until they ran out of breath. You were also as skilled as him— maybe even more from all the adventurous stories you would share with him when you came by his marui. He was also one to stray away from anything distracting, whether it be Lo’ak and Spider bringing up the topic of girls or Kiri mentioning that someday he will meet his lifetime mate. All distractions, he told himself that. Now, in this moment on the calming shore, with you covered in the prettiest seashells and holding a gorgeous smile on your green face— Neteyam realizes that he needs to loosen up a little. A date sounded nice, especially with you.

“Sounds like a deal,” Neteyam dipped his head a bit, regarding you with a boyish grin.

His white fangs were in full display, making your heart swell in joy. Without second thought, you pressed a soft kiss against his warm cheek, catching Neteyam completely off guard.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow then,” You sweetly whispered against his cheek, brushing your hand against the kiss mark as you turned towards the village.

But before you could take another strong stride, a powerful tug on your wrist forced you to be tucked into the warmth of Neteyam’s chest— your face squished against his striated skin. He pulled you away and with quivering lips, he leaned down to press a tender kiss onto your own balmy ones. Instantly, you melted into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his small waist to bring him closer. Neteyam’s large hand was nestled into the locks of your hair, pressing your face even more closer. His lips tasted like the ocean, salty and bitter. Both of your lips shyly moved in sync with one another, slightly sloppy due to both of your inexperience. You and Neteyam pulled away at the same time, slightly panting from the lack of oxygen. Neteyam rested his forehead against yours, the smile he had before never left his face.

“Hey, don’t leave without me,” His voice sounded so gentle and his breath felt nice against your face. “I’ll walk you back to your marui, okay?”

Still a little dazed from the kiss, you nodded in reply. Neteyam pulled away and held out his warm hand, which you gladly took. He led the both of you out the shore, back to the village that was still full of life and lit with colorful lanterns. You found the others lounging by the wooden pier, covered in fluffy fabric that helped dry out their wet hair and damp skin. Tsireya waved at the both of you, two pieces of fabric clutched in her hand, seemingly for you and Neteyam. Your younger brothers and Lo’ak regarded the both of you with sly smiles and kissy faces, laughter bubbled within the group that ultimately earned them a complaint from a nearby family resting in their marui.

“Skxawngs,” Neteyam shakes his head in annoyance, but there was a small smile that crept onto his face.

You could only chuckle at their childlike behavior, squeezing Neteyam’s hand a little more tighter as you guided him towards the pier— making sure both of your younger siblings don’t stir any more trouble before you could finally return back home.

“Next time, you’ll dry my hair,” A gust of the nightly wind adorned your beautiful locks of hair, somehow he couldn’t wait to help you with that offer.

“Of course,” His heart began to pump even faster. Neteyam never felt genuinely happy ever since his family took refuge in Awa’altu, but he did now.

A much larger crowd had formed around the pier, breaking the grossly romantic trance between the two of you. Still hand-in-hand, you guys rushed through the swarm of tall bodies to retrieve your younger siblings, lecturing them on the way home. Neteyam sighed in contempt. He hoped they wouldn’t ruin his date with you.

© 2022 keisobe – please do not copy any of my writing and repost or translate to other sites.

[ikemen-trifecta]

A Date With Death ~ Making Grim Blush

“I’m not gonna write fanfiction or headcanons about him,” I thought to myself last night before going to bed, my head absolutely brimming with ideas. Ahem. Anyway. I took inspiration from HuniCast shenanigans and the CGs from the game. If you’d like to see more of Grim, feel free to submit a request to our Tumblr with more scenarios (not taking NSFW)! Please refrain from using his real name in comments and reblogs, as it is a major spoiler. Thank you for reading! –Edi

Edit: Two and a Half Studios retweets spoilers; it's fine.

⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️

🌻 The quickest way to make him blush is by resting your chin on his shoulder and murmuring “Oh, Grimmy~” 🌻 It’ll irritate him that you're not using his real name, but the close proximity will get him flustered regardless. 🌻 He’ll turn around and say “P-please stop doing that,” trying to obscure his face with the back of one hand.

🌻 Another way to make him blush quickly is to press your face into his chest (or make contact with his torso in any way). It's very sensitive, and he absolutely hates the fact that you use it against him. 🌻 You can run a finger down his back and render him a sputtering, red mess. 🌻 He tries to get you back by biting your neck (gently), but you are either very resistant to tickles or just don't care if you get flustered. It irritates him more.

🌻 Something more tame that you do that makes him blush is starting to grow a garden of sunflowers from the seeds of the bouquet he gave you. 🌻 He won’t say it, but he’ll be very touched that you decided to do that. 🌻 Every time he passes by the garden, his face will automatically become flushed at least a little thinking of you. It may even make him tear up a little.

🌻 Seeing you spend time with your pet will also make him blush. He won’t admit it, but you look very cute like that. When you aren’t talking, that is.

🌻 You also ordered your own axolotl plush to match his. He didn’t like sharing at first, but he couldn’t say anything when he found you in your apartment one night, all snuggled up in bed with Raphael. You had named the plushie after the angel of safe travels in preparation for the journey of your soul (Raphael is also seen as an angel of matchmaking and healing).

🌻 Speaking of sharing, he’ll…eventually…let you touch his hair. You enjoy having him sit against your bed or resting his head on your lap in order to braid his precious locks. If you look into his eyes while you’re at it, he’ll blush and avert them slightly. 🌻 To top it all off, you’ll either make a flower crown out of the blooms from your garden or weave them into the braids. He really is the prettiest grim reaper you’ve ever seen.

🌻 You’ll sometimes correct his typos, to which he’ll mutter the same thing again and again: “I do not type correctly…” 🌻 You always try to phrase it gently, but he’s still hard on himself regardless. He’ll blush and ask you about the proper grammar before disconnecting the call.

🌻 He still blushes when you mention the nonsense that is soul babies. 🌻 “You’re on about that again?” he’ll say. You respond by pushing him onto your bed. 🌻 “You. Me. Soul baby.” 🌻 “E-excuse me?!” 🌻 He’ll barely get those words out before you playfully hug him. 🌻 “You’re so easy to tease, Grimmy.”

🌻 He’ll try various things and finally pin you to the wall as a last resort and growl in your ear. 🌻 “I’ve got you now, Sunshine.” 🌻 You just smirk before stunning him with a quick kiss. He doesn't even know what happened, poor soul. You take this opportunity to taunt him. 🌻 “I’m the one with the most ‘rizz,’ my little reaper.” This mention of his previous cringey word usage will snap him out of it. 🌻 “Cease.” 🌻 “I don't think I will,” you’d respond, giggling. 🌻 This makes him pout— not that he notices. You bury your face in his chest again. He lets out a surprised squeak before just giving up and hugging you. 🌻 …still blushing from his chin to the tips of his ears.

[marigold-hills]

Dunes & Waters, part 3

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

They drink the tea. Remus sits at the small kitchen table, tries to fix the crossword. Sirius stays at the window, pointing out everything he sees and deems interesting. (That woman and her dog look identical. There’s a cat sitting on the boot of that car there, does it come every day? Think I could feed it some fish? I’ve heard there are a lot of strays in Egypt. Maybe if it’ll like me it will come inside.)

“I’ll need to go shopping today,” he says, finally, after having been ignored for the rest.

Remus has been given strict rules from the Ministry, and the first one is: don’t let the criminal out by himself. “Whatever for?” He asks because everything Black could possibly want is already in the apartment.

“Clothes.”

“You got clothes yesterday.”

“What, those things Shacklebolt had left? No way am I wearing those.”

There’s a scowl on his face, accentuating the sharpness of cheekbones.

“I’m not wasting money on your vanity, Black. Anyway, it seems like you managed to get yourself something,” he points to the white shirt, ignoring the way its sheerness offsets the tattoos.

“Like it?” Black hops off the windowsill, does a little shimmy. “I’ve transfigured the curtains.”

He must read the expression on Remus’ face correctly, because he adds, no remorse and full of mischief: “don’t worry, they’re the ones in my room. I prefer to have full access to morning light. And I have money, I’ll have you know. Don’t need you to buy me clothes.”

It’s a beautiful shirt. Looks delicate. Immaculately centred on Blacks collarbones and only showing the very outline of them. A tiny pattern of flowers on the cuffs.

“Fine,” Remus concedes, thinking he needs to get more cigarettes anyway. “We’ll get you more clothes before you rid us of all the soft furnishings.”

The smile Black gives him is both beautiful and so self-satisfied it renders the beauty frustrating. Remus wants to take back his acquiesce – he hates it, that he gave in. People like Black (beautiful, rich, connected) already get what they want too often. Remus vows, for his own sanity or for his own wicked amusement, to stand firm next time and say no. No to shopping, no to cigarettes, no to tea.

If time in jail didn’t teach Black not to take things for granted, then Remus will.

“Change that one back though. I’m not having the hotel bill the University just because you decided to play at a fashion designer.”

“You’re no fun, you know that?”

“I do, in fact. Lucky for me we’re not here for fun.”

“Right. This research you’re doing,” he says research so pointedly there is no need for quotation marks. Remus feels mocked. “Ever going to tell me what it is?”

“As Kingsley said: you’ll be told when you need to know.”

Black huffs, throws himself onto a chair opposite Remus. The way he moves is more than dignified: each careless turn is as fluent as water. Even with how thin he is now, and Remus imagines that’s the result of jail rather than a choice, Black is graceful. Fingers wrapped around a mug, ankles and long legs on display. Every delicate, breakable bone a sight people would pay to see.

NEXT PART

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[vivianthevirulent]

I FINALLY HAVE A DECENT DRAWING OF MY ARCANA OC!!!! It’s not done, but it’s going good!

I’ve been making this oc for a couple of months and I finally have a decent reference for her! She isn’t really the MC since she’s a courtier I guess, but she does help with the investigation. Her name is Demelza and she is assistant head physician! She came to Vesuvia to become a doctor, and Valdemar took her in. She was their apprentice for a while and then became a doctor (specifically a pathologist), and eventually during the plague she was promoted to their second in command. They were science bros but towards the end of the plague Demelza got really sick and ended up dying. Valdemar hated this and decided they would bring her back since she was the only living person they seemed to really care about. It worked, but soon after Demelza decided she didn’t want to take the chance of dying again, and made a deal to became a weird demon thing too. Now they’re science bros again!!! Her personality is kinda weird and morbid because that’s genuinely my personality and she’s like me.

I love Valdemar so much!!!!! I also drew them being silly. I have to finish rendering my sprite of her and then make more outfits oh boy. I want to make her look a little less human and maybe add a bit more to her outfit, but I don’t know how yet.

[calissarowan]

Thoughts on Fairy Ogron?

Ooh…now, and feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m going to go ahead and guess that this question was brought on by @1v31182m5’s incredible art and au, right? I keep meaning to reblog that; it’s just the coolest thing ever! In fact, I did while writing this.

So…if we’re talking about that au? I love it. Especially her art to demonstrate it. I saw it in the Discord server, asked, ‘Is there context?’ and almost shrieked with joy when she said yes, it’s an au. I love a good au. The idea of Ogron being made into a fairy is amazing, and I gotta say, slightly disturbing in a way, because I suppose it would be changing his very magical essence without his choice, which just makes it hit all the harder! I love angst, don’t judge me. If he’s a fairy, then I suppose he’d in all likelihood have to start using light magic, as dark magic is seldom compatible with fairies, at least according to the show, but this is an au, so I’m happy to be corrected! I’m quite sure he’d struggle with that, plus, he’d be in serious distress, and so positive emotions might not even be attainable. Which would basically render him powerless, other than his wings, which, having been talking in the Discord server, he would apparently not want to use, at least to start with, which I’m totally on board with. A guy that devoted his life to taking out every Earth fairy, suddenly using their method of transportation? Yeah, no, least of all with a guy as stubborn as Ogron. I love him, but we all know he’d sooner walk across the Sun than be wrong or do something he didn’t want to. But I adore this au, am actively praying that Mary posts more about it because I need this in my life. (Seriously praying.)

Moving on, because you got me going and I will ramble until the cows have come home so many times that now it’s their kids coming and going, if we’re just talking about Ogron just…being born a fairy, I guess? That would be crazy complicated, because then he’d be hunting his own people. I’ve seen a fair few fics where that’s more or less the case, at least two where he’s actually Morgana’s son, which I liked, but it felt complex. But Morgana’s kids never make sense. But I can see him being born a fairy, and I think Ogron’s emotional state has perhaps always lent itself more towards dark magic, which a fairy would never perform, so maybe he would have wanted to become a wizard, which nobody was okay with, so he had to stay a fairy, with magic that he knew didn’t suit him, and, getting into it now and just rambling like it’s a backstory, he grew to hate his wings, because they were keeping him tethered to the light magic he struggled so hard to wield, and as he felt more and more alienated, the more negative his emotions became, so his choice was either to use dark magic and use his emotions, or to watch his magic dry to a trickle and die out. So, since nobody would let him change, he figured out a way to remove his wings himself, and became a wizard the hard way. The White Circles channelled fairy powers, so it’d make sense they could take someone’s wings and let them change their magic, so he asked Morgana to do it, but when she refused, feeling trapped, he took a White Circle and did it himself. His dark magic was so wild and untrained that the spell twisted the Circle, corrupting it, but it worked, and he managed to strip himself of his wings. Of course, Tir Na N’og would have been very, very angry about what he’d done, so he probably had to go into hiding, but with years of repressed negative emotions finally able to surge to the surface, he was damn hard to stop. Eventually, he started being able to steal the wings of others, seeing it as just after they decided what magic he could or couldn’t use. He was sick of living his life in fear of them, of making choices based on what they told him, so the fairy hunt came about. Also, in this idea, I think he’d have two long scars down his back, because he really did just tear his wings out with that spell, it wasn’t perfected, and he always keeps them covered up, because he hates being reminded of what he was. Please note that this is not my new backstory for Ogron, but I do like it, a lot, and I might use it in a fic where Yllidith really doesn’t fit in.

And finally, getting a mention is if Ogron became a fairy by his own free will. Not a lot in my head here, but I’m covering all the bases. Au, angsty past, and this. Ogron might at some point reform, and as his emotions became more and more positive, dark magic might become harder, or perhaps even feel like a trigger for past trauma, so he’d choose to avoid it, and maybe at some point, it just feels hard using his wizard magic, so he decides to become a fairy. I think people would think it was strange, and the Earth fairies would have mixed feelings, because why should he be allowed to bear wings, after what he did to them, but also, if he’s got wings, he’s not coming after theirs, right, so it’s probably fine… I think he’d be pretty nervous about having wings, since he knows how vulnerable they are, and at some point, for karmic reasons, I’m pretty sure he gets a broken wing, just so he knows how it feels. I’m sorry, I’m being mean, but the angst is just too good to pass up. He’ll be fine, don’t worry!

Thank you for the awesome ask! I honestly got a bit nervous about coming up with stuff to say, but rambling saved me again! I’m actually so in love with the fairy Ogron backstory I just made up…I may have to use that somewhere. As always, feel free to send in asks; I love them! And, since my little backstory spoke to me so much…here!

Have a picture of fairy Ogron! I love his wings so much…I originally thought purple and grey, but something about the sort of sunrise colours actually works so well. Not that he wouldn’t change their colour if he got the chance. He would. He tried. The best he can do is dress as goth as possible. I figure his fairy powers would be much the same as his wizard abilities, i.e. absorbing magic, but he can’t easily summon his powers using light magic, so it’s weak.

[breakerwhiskey]

173 - ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY THREE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

Okay, I am officially concerned. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but the truck was’t in the drive like usual so I just assumed…

I should have checked the whole house. But I’m so used to never coming into the garage because I know how much you hate your studio being disturbed but when I woke up this morning and you still weren’t home, well, I went in anyway and the truck is still here. In the garage.

It’s running fine—that’s where I’m broadcasting from right now, though obviously I turned the engine off. And I have to say, I’m impressed that you were actually listening when I told you to bring it inside for the winter if you weren’t going to be driving it much. But if you’re not out there driving this truck on a supply run, where are you?

I—I took the other car. Which, I’m sorry to say, is now somewhere in California, having been put out to pasture. But unless you finally decided to take an interest in car mechanics after all this time, I don’t know how else you’d be getting around. I know you love your walks—or, you did, eventually, once you got past the worst of the paranoia, but…you never went on a walk this long.

If you’re—if you’re dead in a ditch somewhere, I’m going to be fucking furious, Harry.

[click, static]

It’s…weird. Being in here. It feels like being inside your head somehow. It’s a goddamn mess, which I didn’t really expect. I’m sure you’ve got your own system—though who the hell knows—but I definitely can’t make sense of it. I’m glad to see you pulled the radio in here though. Maybe you did hear some of my transmissions after all.

Is that why you’re not here? Because you heard me say I was coming and you didn’t want to see me? You’ve enjoyed your life without me so much that you couldn’t bear to have your peace shattered.

Except…you’ve been thinking about me. I know you have. And maybe this is why you never wanted me to be in your studio in the first place.

There’s…a lot of me in here. Paintings, sketches…not all of my face always but you must have known that I’d recognize the curve of my own ear, the shape of my hands.

Have—have you been doing this all along? Or just since I left? Were you always coming in here and spending hours perfecting the color of my hair when some days you wouldn’t even speak to me—

[click, static]

Is this why you asked for the stories behind all my scars? So you could render them in perfect detail, knowing exactly what made them and when? I thought you wanted to know more about me, but maybe it was just an avenue for your art, one of the few subjects that you had access to, too tired of painting birds or trees or images from your own mind.

Or did you ask because you wanted to know? You talked once, about how painting helped you understand the world, or yourself; how that was one of the things you loved about it, one of the reasons you started painting in the first place. Because when nothing else made sense, charcoal and oil and your own hands were able to bring shape to the world.

Were you trying to understand me? Or were you trying to understand what you felt about me? Or was guilt swallowing it all up that you couldn’t uncover anything else.

I just…I need you to come back and explain what this is all about. Because in a room full of canvases and color and stray sketch pages, I keep turning and seeing my own face. I’m everywhere.

[click, static]

There’s a lot of other art too, of course. And it’s all…it’s fucking beautiful. Your art has always been so beautiful.

I…I’ve added to your collection. I picked up a painting when I was in Santa Fe, something that I thought was pretty and that I thought you might—

Well, I’ve left it in here. In case you want to do anything with it. It’s yours.

There are also—well. I wrote you some postcards. But I obviously had no way of sending them to you so I just…held onto them. But you might as well have them now.

I don’t know why I’m saying all of this on the radio like I can’t say it to you face to face. You’ll be back and you’ll probably be annoyed that I left stuff in your studio without asking. There’s no need for me to leave anything for you, not when I can just hand it to you.

But I just have this feeling…

I’m going to look for you tomorrow. Drive to the usual spots, take a walk in the woods behind the house. And because I’m fucking considerate, I’m going to leave a note.

[click, static]

[storeecbrcod]

Through the Rubble (Pt 2)

Ghost x Reader fic (TW: Death, crushing injury, mild body horror, night terrors)

It’s been months since you were deemed KIA. Months since Soap heard Ghost’s agonised screams in the distance over the crackling of fires and tumbling of walls. Months since Soap had to call in back up to pry Ghost from your still body, and force him to leave the area just so a recovery crew could render your fractured body irrecoverable.

Ghost hadn’t been the same since. He turned colder, meaner, more sour. Presumably, it would make him stronger; he’d been through so much, this was surely not his worst experience.

His days spent in his bed on base begged to differ. He could barely get up anymore. He was used to your soft touch to rouse him, small kisses to his shoulders to get his muscles to work for him. But he didn’t have you now. He wasted away in his room for hours, trying to build up an ounce of strength to face himself and do something.

He hated how weak he felt. How he couldn’t even open his eyes without being painfully aware of the bed springs laying untouched next to him. He hated how he had to drag himself from the sheets, huffing and groaning, just to force himself to get dressed let alone leave his room and continue his life.

The team noticed, watching Ghost move sullenly around base. If you didn’t know what to look for, you’d probably think Ghost was just angrier than usual, but still Ghost. Him moving deliberately and with cold eyes wasn’t uncommon, after all.

But the team saw how he’d become hesitant. He wouldn’t answer their questions with unwavering certainty, he’d always think about it for a moment. He’d pause before picking up his plate from the mess hall. He’d look around a room before entering it. No matter what he did, he never walked straight into anything anymore.

They all thought it was anxiety, flashbacks of some sort. They all assumed he was thinking about how his decisions somehow got you killed, how he didn’t want to eat from grief, how he was searching for danger in every room.

But, in reality, he was thinking of you.

He was trying to decide how his answer might affect you as if you were there. He hated that he was grabbing a plate, not two for a quiet lunch in his office with you like you always used to. He searched for you, hoping against hope that your eyes would meet him and beckon him over to you.

You were never there, though.

It was another night laid in bed, sleepless and overwhelmed. He tried to close his eyes so many times, but all that he got in return was recurring images of your body, lifeless under the rubble through his tear-soaked lashes as he held your hand. Over and over again, all he saw was blood seeping from your crushed body, pink bubbles at the corner of your mouth as you spoke to him.

“Go, Ghost. Go while you can. I’m done.”

How his pleads spilled from his mouth, begging you to push against the weight on your chest.

“I love you, Si.”

He opened his eyes, sighing as he tried to push the thoughts away. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. He invited the person on the other side in, Soap opening the door.

“Morning, LT,” he said cheerfully. It made Ghost’s head hurt.

“Morning, Johnny. What is it?” he asked bluntly. Soap smiled a bit wider. “I’ve got a surprise, mate,” Soap replied. Ghost got up slowly, walking to Soap and following him through the halls.

“What is it, Sergeant?” Ghost grumbled, not appreciating the wake up call despite the sunlight and the crows calling outside.

Soap didn’t reply, just leading him through the halls in a blur. He wasn’t paying attention as he felt his heart flutter in anticipation. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he felt excited, hopeful.

He picked up pace with Soap, exiting the barracks and being led straight to the aircraft pad. He saw a crowd around a helicopter that had landed, their backs to them as they approached. He felt his heart pick up speed again as he plunged through the crowd, forcing them aside without care.

Body after body he had to push past, not bothering with apologies as hope continued to grip his body. I need to know. It has to be. Who else would it be coming home? Coming home to me?

A flicker of hair was seen, and he recognised it immediately, choking him up as he barreled past the last few people. He felt tears prick his eyes in relief, in joy, knowing his intuition was right.

It was never wrong with you.

He burst through the crowd, only to see you standing there. Your eyes pierced his, your smile putting one of his own on his disbelieving face. He just stared for a moment, a mountain of emotions crashing down on him; relief, joy, happiness, disbelief. You were uninjured. You were safe.

You were alive.

“[Name]?” was all he could muster. In response, you lifted your arms to invite him into a hug, and he rushed forward with a strangled choke.

His arms wrapped around you as he cried into your shoulder. So small, my love. I’ve missed you so much, I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to hold you.

There was nothing but comfort for a moment as he held you, his silent tears racing down your skin, staining your shirt.

You were alive. He couldn’t believe it, it didn’t feel real. But all he knew was you were there with him now, hugging him like he had hoped you would for months.

“Ghost.” It was all it took to break the moment. A shiver crawled up his spine, dragging fingers up his vertebrae as the warmth turned cold in an instant. He stilled, holding you in his arms.

Something isn’t right.

He pulled back a bit to see your face. It was sad, but a smile stuck onto it as he looked into your eyes. Streaks ran down your face, as if you had been crying.

“Why?”

His heart sank instantly, his stomach being thrown into unrest as he recognised your tone. His face dropped into a confusion.

“What?” he whispered.

“Why, Ghost? I’m done.”

Your ragged words sent electricity through him, jolting him. As he held you, he felt himself start to shake. He tried to hold you tighter, but felt himself gag as your chest gave way to his squeeze, feeling each of your bones scrape against their fractures in the movement. It was cold, horrifying, but he didn’t dare let you go.

“Go, Ghost. Go while you can, I’m done.” He blinked, and was suddenly assaulted by the smell of burning rubbish, dirt caking his lungs as he looked down at you, now laying on the ground as he kneeled next to you.

No, please. Not again. I can’t.

“No, no, no, [Name], please. Not again,” he whispered, an arm holding your battered body up as his other hand searched you, trying to find the source of your injuries as if he could somehow fix them with his touch, soothe you back to breath.

“For fuck’s sake, not again! Please!” he bellowed. He was growing desperate again, panic forming tight bonds around his heart as it hammered against his chest. He felt your stuttered breaths as your heart fluttered under his grasp, soft and almost gone.

“Don’t you fucking say it, [Name]. I don’t want to hear it,” he growled. He knew what came next, the words that left him broken and clutching his chest in the mornings. The pain that was so unbearable to him.

“I love you, Si.”

He sat up with a scream, booming and piercing. He looked around frantically, eyes wide as his hands shook with the memory of your last breath, the slip of your blood between his fingers. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t over his laboured gasps for air. How cruel.

He looked down to his palms, his mind not comprehending the lack of dirt and blood. Your blood. The blood of his love.

He tried to force air into his lungs, knowing that if he didn’t he’d spiral further. He dare not close his eyes, knowing all he’ll be met with is your face going from a smile to a limp look of distress and loss.

It took time, but he eventually settled, being left with taught features and a tired heart. His pulse felt slow as if he was pumping mud through his veins.

He always tried to avoid using the words heavy or crushing to describe how he felt, feeling like it mocked you, but he was losing words to aptly communicate how much his grief wrapped around him.

He felt as if no one could understand the jarring pain of holding your love while you shared their last breath, so close you could kiss them, willing yourself to believe your lips on theirs would somehow pass life back into their frozen body.

He felt as if no one would understand how he had taken on some of your breathlessness, needing big gulps of air every once in a while to push against the rubble in his chest.

He felt as if the weight on his heart could only mirror that of which your chest had stilled beneath.

But no matter how he felt, he knew this weight would never lift. A pillar of grief on his body, a reminder of his love gone.

Grief.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 (Final)

[rutzozeth]

(Select to see the full post to see me write about my thoughts in these styles and the behind of me making them and why I made them)

So this is gonna be me rambling and yapping about this subject, but I realized I wanted to have more than one art style when I was finding inspiration in the artists I like the most and who I inspire myself the most to find what I want my art to look like, and I realized there were many things I wanted in my art I didn’t know how to implement in one single art style. I wanted some cartoony features, some anime-like features and some realistic features, so I decided to make 3 art styles based on what I wanted to see in my art depending on what I wanted to draw.

Like I said, maybe I’ll change my mind, maybe I’ll settle for one style or find one that mixes all the features I want perfectly, but I like all these art styles I made, and plan on drawing in these styles and keep up improving them, so I’m still (and always will) be open to constructive criticism in any of this styles.

In the realistic one I don’t want to be full realism, I still want it to be stylized in some way, but it’s the most detailed one and the one I want to learn to make full renders.

In the anime-like is how I’ve been drawing these past 2 years, and I really like it, looking back at my old drawings there were mistakes, sure, but with what I made most recently I realized I don’t hate this style and want to keep using it. It’s a mixture between my other styles, and even if I still don’t know if I should cell shade it or full render it, I grew very fond of this style, and I want to keep improving it.

Now the cartoony one is the most chill, it looks for the most simple and easy anatomy, and is the cutest and most simple of all of them, but that doesn’t mean is bad. I usually draw like this when I want to make something funny, goofy and chill. I don’t usually draw like this most of the time, but when I made this art style, I liked it, and plan on drawing more like this.

Now this is for drawing style, not really coloring or rendering, that’s its own can of worms I’ll tackle when the time comes, but as of now, I’ve been practicing a lot of anatomy, perspective and more, color theory will come later (although it should come soon, but I’ll see), but I also have my thoughts and inspiration of them too, so maybe when I find a coloring/rendering style I like, I’ll make another post like this.

[sburbian-sage]

do YOU KNOW WHAT i think? i think YOU ARE THE MOST ARROGANT PERSON i’ve ever MET, EVEN MORE SO THAN MY BROTHER.

i’m cruel TO YOU BECAUSE OF THE REASON i outlined IN MY FIRST MESSAGE: YOU HAVE RUINED MULTIPLE SESSIONS FOR ME, BECAUSE YOU INVOLVED YOURSELF IN A SITUATION YOU DIDN’T UNDERSTAND.

i don’t BOTHER TO EXPLAIN MYSELF WHEN i mention THINGS LIKE FAMILIAR THEORY, BECAUSE i was ONCE A witch. my WORD ON THE TOPIC SHOULD COUNT FOR SOMETHING INHERENTLY.

in THAT SAME VEIN, YOU ONLY SAY THE THINGS YOU DO BECAUSE OF TWO REASONS: YOU THINK THE GAME CANNOT BE ESCAPED, AND YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW CHERUBS WORK.

you CAN’T UNDERSTAND HOW THIS FEELS. i’ve spent MY ENTIRE LIFE AS PART OF THIS FOOL. i know EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW ABOUT HIM, AND HAVE DECIDED THAT i despise ALL OF IT. this IS HOW IT ALWAYS IS FOR CHERUBS, AND HE IS SIMPLY LYING WHEN HE SAYS ANYTHING ELSE.

the REASON HE WANTS TO “WORK TOGETHER”, IS BECAUSE IT WILL WEAKEN ME. when A CHERUB REACHES MATURITY AND PREDOMINATES OVER THEIR OTHER HALF, IT COMES DOWN TO FORCE OF PERSONALITY.

if i let UP ON HIM, THEN WHEN i finally ESCAPE, HE WILL PREDOMINATE OVER ME, AND i will DIE PERMANENTLY. i cannot RELAX. i cannot “MATURE”. i cannot ALLOW HIM TO GET A LEG UP ON ME.

the most i could DO IS PLAY ALONG, PRETENDING TO AGREE WITH HIM. not ONLY IS THE THOUGHT OF SUCH DISHONESTY AND SUBMISSIVENESS ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING, BUT IT WOULD ALSO LEAVE ME OPEN TO FURTHER MANIPULATION.

not BECAUSE OF HIS rage POWERS (he doesn’t fucking have them, he’s an heir of doom this session, pay attention to the things i say you ignoramus!!! and WHILE I’M AT IT, i don’t KNOW WHERE YOU GOT 3-4 YEARS FROM, i said OUR FIRST SESSION ONLY ENDED A YEAR AGO, THEY’VE BEEN SHORT), BUT BECAUSE IT’S WHAT HE HAS always DONE.

we DIDN’T SPEND OUR ENTIRE LIVES IN THIS GAME. he’s ALWAYS BEEN ANGLING TO WEAKEN ME, TO GET ME TO MAKE COMPROMISES, BECAUSE THAT WAS WHAT HE HAD TO DO TO SURVIVE. and BECAUSE WE WILL ONE DAY ESCAPE, NOTHING HAS TRULY CHANGED. i will NOT GIVE UP MY ADULTHOOD, MY INDEPENDENCE, THAT i have FOUGHT SO HARD MY ENTIRE LIFE TO ACHIEVE.

you ARE ASKING ME TO EXTEND TRUST TO SOMEONE WHO WAS BORN TO KILL ME.

i just WANT TO rest. i want to sleep knowing my body does not move without my consent. i want TO KNOW THAT WHEN i wake UP, THE FRIENDSHIPS i have BUILT WILL NOT BE destroyed! i want MY COPLAYERS TO TAKE MY SIDE, BECAUSE THEY LIKE ME MORE, BECAUSE i deserve TO BE LIKED BECAUSE i’m upfront ABOUT MY INTENTIONS AND WILL PROTECT EVERYONE IN MY TERRITORY WITH MY LIFE WHEN I’M AN ADULT AND BECAUSE AND BECAUSE i try SO HARD TO CARE FOR THEM AND i deserve TO HAVE BEEN BOR N AS SOMETHING ELSE AND i hate YOU i hatre HATE hat hea t hjate hate hate hate hate you i hate you i hate you i

*cacologyCataphasis’s computer ceased functioning. This message was sent automatically to prevent loss of data, but may be incomplete. This can be disabled on their end in the advanced Nemesis browser settings.*

Oops, looks like someone's browser had a stupid setting that rendered their use of the anonymous function redundant. For what it's worth though, I do want to make it clear up-front that if I discover any of my followers start doing weird harass-y shit with your handle, I am going to turn my Ringship around, drive directly into their session, and take them and their entire house with me.

In any case, you're tragically dense, and it seems it's purposeful. I could point out how I obviously meant 3-4 *session* losing streak, and and now getting ragged on for a typo (or for assuming that a session takes roughly a year to complete, which is average from what I can tell). Or how I obviously was asking if you thought he sent me a Rage-encoded ask, *while he was a Rage player*. Or the fact that you yelling yourself into a computer crash about how you can't let yourself mature is an act beyond parody. But the biggest misconception here is that you can escape the game or become an adult.

You're communicating to me on the replayernet. Please think about the implications for a minute, or what reason your coplayers could have for always looking like they're teenagers despite having been at the game for years. I'll even let you know, some sessions have lasted so long that people who began playing at 16 reached their 20s, but no session lasts forever, and once they step through the door they're back to puberty. I've done my research on Cherubs when I had the downtime, and even putting aside the constant resets to your body, do you really think you can fly away to a distant star when the entire Incipisphere is surrounded by Others that grab and eat players like breakfast? Unless you intend to fight through an entire galaxy of Others, until you eventually find... The only thing out there is other sessions, and that's where I'm hopefully drifting towards, ever slowly.

I said it before, but give it up. You couldn't persuade your way out of a paper bag. You've failed to substantiate your brother being worse than you outside of variations on "trust me you idiot". You'll never have a body of your own because your (physical) maturation is stunted by the game, and you're too worried about what it'll do to you if you kill him in his dreamsleep. Your behavior not only doesn't endear you towards your coplayers (nice job handing your brother ammo btw), but you accidentally leaked your handle online and now everybody can trace this unreasonable behavior back to your account, letting them side against you before they ever meet you. And it seems your main strategy is "stop playing the game that you have to play forever".

I'm not advocating a total surrender. They say the first death is in the heart, and I consider losing all hope of ever surviving SBURB to be a metaphorical death, in that you're just a walking corpse. There are communities online dedicated to finding a way to fix the door, or escape the game in some other manner, if you've invested in that I heartily recommend you join them. I also don't advocate that you "will yourself to die" and leave your body to your brother or whatever. I can't imagine what it's like to be sharing a body with someone else (or the biological implications of the fact that your body seemingly never really sleeps), but if it makes you feel better, consider it a sort of disability and learn to live with it like the couple hundred disabled players out here do. If you'd like to chat with someone who might know what that does in fact feel like, leave a note nearby when you go to sleep, or however it is you communicate with him. And for god's sake, read the Etiquette FAQ.

For your own sake, I will not be responding to or publishing any more asks you send me. This might change if I'm allowed some correspondence with your brother, or if you calm down, or if my judgement becomes impaired in the near future. If this seems similar to how the coplayers you've met keep freezing you out, consider it a test of sorts. "What would I say to get someone who doesn't want to talk to me, to talk to me". Your brother ended up figuring this one out, and I unintentionally kneecapped him by not reccomending him the Etiquette FAQ, hint hint.

[irishk0rn]

Guilty

I don’t actually hate Cenarius, I just don’t particularly care for him or his character. He just happened to be the target of my negative projection as I project onto Illidan.

Trans Illidan fic.

//

Illidan was tired. He was tired of hiding who he was; hiding behind a name that wasn’t his, hiding inside of a body that didn’t belong to him. And his brother knew; at least his brother knew. He was proud of him, actually. That was a bit of reassurance — Hell, Malfurion even helped him pick a name. And it didn’t have any correlation to his assigned name. The beginning letters or sounds weren’t even the same.

He supposed the easiest course of action after telling his brother and his close friend, Tyrande (who also happened to be transgender? who knew!) was to tell his teacher, his mentor, Cenarius.

His brother had advised him to do so; his hunch was that Cenarius would understand and maybe teach him a more masculine themed program. The night elves, sadly, had really harshly engrained gender roles. Illidan knew that it certainly wasn’t easy for Tyrande to be herself — not even with the help of him and his brother. But she was a great woman. He loved her bravery…

Illidan felt alone, despite Malfurion being right behind him, telling him encouraging words. He couldn’t really hear them — he wasn’t tuning him out on purpose, but this looming sensation of fear and coldness weighted like chains upon his already torn heart.

“It’ll be alright, brother,” Malfurion said. It ran a good chill down Illidan’s spine to be called brother. It was one of the first steps Malfurion took for him. “I think Cenarius will understand…”

“... I can only hope,” Illidan muttered, continuing on his terrifying path to speak to his teacher.

Cenarius was reading a book in between teaching druids when Illidan approached him. Malfurion decided this moment was for them, so he stayed a small distance away. But he was close enough where his brother could see him and know he was there to support him. The dark haired sin’dorei took a deep inhale, swallowing his pride and nerves. The nerves cut his throat like a blade and when he tapped Cenarius on the shoulder, he was unable to speak for a moment, the sharp unforgiveness of his pride rendering him unable to do so.

Cenarius tore his gaze away from his book. “Yes, Zar’lyne, what is it?”

Illidan tensed at the use of his deadname. “I’m, um, I’ve something to tell you, teacher…”

He could barely speak. Cenarius closed his book and turned his full attention to Illidan, which made Illidan even more nervous; and he began to sweat — when he looked at his hands, bringing them up to fidget, they were trembling. Cenarius tilted his horned head. “What is it, my student?”

Illidan took in another exhale. “My name is Illidan and I— I am a man. No longer a Stormrage sister — but a Stormrage brother.”

Cenarius frowned, and it struck a wave of fear through his student’s body. Oh Gods, he thought, he’s disappointed.

“Oh,” his teacher uttered. “I see.”

The dark haired kal’dorei frowned at him and awaited more. More than a disappointed “oh” before Cenarius went back to his book. And for a few moments, nothing more came. He almost took it as a cue to walk away before his teacher spoke again.

“Well, Zar’lyne,” Cenarius said. His deadname was used deliberately this time, “think of this: what would Elune think?”

Illidan frowned. “Elune? I…”

“Consider the question, my student. What would she think of your pretending?”

The caster was now more confused than anything. Did Cenarius really some up what he had just confided as pretending?

He reached out to pat Illidan’s head, like a parent consoles a child, but Illidan leaned out of his reach. “No, don’t — why do you think—”

Cenarius got closer and leaned down to his level. “I know you want to be like your brother, little one. But this is not the way to go. I can’t help you if you continue this charade and Elune won’t be able to, either.

“You’re not him, and you can’t ever be. So he Zar’lyne, not… what was the alias? Illidan? Don’t be that.”

And, because he was in shock, Illidan just nodded before taking his leave. As he walked by his brother, Malfurion put a hand on his shoulder, midway through asking how it went, before Illidan shoved him off. He did it so hard that Malfurion even fell in the grass. He got up quickly, changing into his travel form to catch up with his brother.

—

Illidan was throwing things in his room now, and Malfurion was trying to calm him down. He was angry now.

“Brother, please, calm yourself — stop throwing your things!”

In defiance, Illidan threw a wooden bowl at Malfurion’s head. The other elf ducked and it smashed against the wall, breaking into pieces. Had it hit him, because it was thrown so hard, it could have knocked him unconscious.

“I hate Elune. I hope she falls from grace painfully!”

Illidan began to cuss in Darnassian, and Malfurion matched the languages. How could you say that? Malfurion asked him, ducking again when Illidan threw something else, but just at the wall. She must forsake me!

His brother frowned. Why would you say that? He was concerned of the cursing Illidan was doing of whom they worshipped, afraid he would suffer consequences for his rage driven words.

“She must!” Illidan now responded in common, “She must forsake me! She made me in the wrong body, and made me your sister!”

Malfurion blinked. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means, brother! I will never be on your level — I will always be in your shadow! I will always be known as your less talented sister before I fade into nothingness. I could save all of Azeroth and I will still only be remembered as ‘Malfurion’s sister’!”

His twin went over to him and put his hands on his shoulders. “Por’wyeun,” he said. It meant brother in Darnassian. Illidan swatted his hands away. “No. I can’t talk. Get out. Get out right now.”

Malfurion frowned, but obliged, and listened to the slam and lock of the door. Then he heard even more smashing and punching of the wall before his brother let out a rageful scream that would have shaken Elune herself. And it hurt his heart for his brother. Twins were connected to some degree, and could feel each other — feel their hurt. The pain was so strong in Illidan’s heart that it made Malfurion’s own chest ache with pain, so badly that he didn’t attend his class that evening.

His family was in pain and he didn’t understand how to help him. Should he stop showing his excellation just so Illidan could feel he had a chance? Should he give up in the name of his brother? Should he let Illidan earn it? He didn’t know.

All he knew is Illidan was hurting and he didn’t know how to help.

[themattress]

After watching the video in this post, I decided to look up the script for Duel of the Fates, Colin Trevorrow and Derek Connolly��s first pass at Episode IX before Carrie Fisher’s passing rendered it unusable. While I stand by what I’ve said previously about how its ultimate message (how it’s good to be a “Gray Jedi” who uses both Light and Dark sides of the Force and thus every Jedi prior to Rey got it all wrong) pisses on Star Wars and its core philosophy of the Force and what “balance” means far more than anything J.J Abrams or Rian Johnson could ever put out, I want to bring up another flaw. See, Duel of the Fates is praised by people who loved The Last Jedi and hated The Rise of Skywalker for being a far more “natural continuation” to The Last Jedi. The question I now pose is...is it? Is it really? 

I mean, in some respects it certainly is - it maintains the harsher tone, maintains certain beats like Rey having no special heritage and Rose being a central character, and isn’t afraid to risk fucking with sacred cows of the franchise’s mythos (even if they take it too far, in a way that lends a ton of credibility to every “Rey is a Mary Sue!” argument ever made, but I digress). However, look deeper and cracks begin to show to the notion that Duel of the Fates is an organic follow-up to The Last Jedi and would have satisfied everyone who loved that movie.

Yes, Rey would have stayed just a girl from nowhere with no special heritage, and one could argue that her Gray Jedi outcome fit with her trajectory in The Last Jedi where she’s basically perfect as is and doesn’t need to learn much of anything; in fact her “teachers” end up learning from her. However, the big “reveal” scene about her parents from The Last Jedi is still retconned. In The Rise of Skywalker, the retcon is that Kylo just saw what happened - Rey’s scavenger parents selling her - and assumed there was no deeper truth to it but then learns he was wrong about that. In Duel of the Fates, the retcon is that Kylo flat-out lied. He knew that Rey’s parents didn’t sell her for drinking money and were in fact hiding her...not from an assassin sent by Palpatine, but from an assassin sent by Snoke. Him. Kylo Ren. He himself killed Rey’s parents because they hid Rey from him and later lied to her that they just abandoned her. I have no idea how this works timeline-wise given that Kylo doesn’t seem that much older than Rey, but whatever. Also, Rey’s real name is “Rey Solana”. Yes, literally just “Solo” if the last “o” got taken out and the “ana” from “Organa” got put in. Um....poetry?

Speaking of Kylo Ren, The Last Jedi positioned him as the irredeemable Big Bad now that he’s Supreme Leader of the First Order. And Duel of the Fates kind of did and did not stick with that. Yes, he’s the Big Bad all the way to being the Final Boss (for a third film in a row), but his entire plotline is completely detached from the First Order he’s supposedly the Supreme Leader of. Rather than just being treated as irredeemable, damn near every good guy in the film is constantly trying to redeem him (above all Luke’s ghost, since “See you around, kid” was taken literally here instead of figuratively). And yet at the last minute, he kind of receives redemption anyway? He loses in lightsaber combat to Rey, then beats her anyway by killing her via his lifeforce-draining ability, only for Leia to contact him through the Force and tell him “Come back to the Light”....and despite everything he’s done up to this point where he has succeeded in his goal, this is somehow enough for him to immediately give his own lifeforce to Rey, resurrecting her and killing him. He did nothing good other than backtrack on something evil he’d literally just done, so I guess he isn’t redeemed, but then why does the script describe his passing as having light in his eyes and holding Rey’s hand while looking at her with love? How are we supposed to look at this? It’s beyond confusing! You can keep Kylo unredeemed or redeem him ala The Rise of Skywalker, but not both.

Finn, and Rose certainly get it better in Duel of the Fates than they do in The Rise of Skywalker, with Finn leading a massive Stormtrooper rebellion and Rose being one of the core characters instead of an extra. But there are three problems. Rose ends up largely contributing nothing beyond further social commentary and even gets captured and tortured, which doesn’t seem like it makes her starring role worth it. Finn and Rose are a romantic couple, and as it ended up John Boyega and Kelly Marie Tran had no romantic chemistry with each other. And funnily enough, The Last Jedi did not set Finn up for his Stormtrooper rebellion arc! It could have, but for some reason the version of his battle with Phasma that had build-up for this development wasn’t used in the finished film! So that’s a big whoopsie! Poe’s arc in Duel of the Fates actively backtracks on his arc from The Last Jedi! Whereas in The Last Jedi it was positioned that his hot-headed recklessness was wrong and he had to grow as a leader by taking Leia’s example, Duel of the Fates has him in the right over Leia by pointing out “rebellion IS recklessness!” and that Leia has had her time and now she has to let Poe take charge even if she has some reservations about his gung-ho methods. Hux, meanwhile, who was positioned in The Last Jedi as scheming to betray Kylo Ren so that he can become the leader of the First Order...never does that in Duel of the Fates. He basically IS the First Order’s leader anyway since Kylo Ren is busy with his own shit, and the farthest extent his “treachery” goes is just hoping Rey and Kylo kill each other rather than take initiative himself in any way. Oh, and he’s also randomly obsessed with learning how to use the Force and collects lightsabers, one of which he commits seppuku with at the end. Yeah.

As for the other characters, there’s honestly not that much difference from what they do in The Rise of Skywalker. Luke keeps with his turnaround on how he views the Jedi and his place in the universe and assists Rey as a ghost, Leia still reaches through to her son via the Force in order to engineer his change of heart, Han is a vision that confronts his son (albeit one that fails in Duel of the Fates), Lando is reluctant to get involved but then ends up leading the cavalry in the final battle, the sidekicks are still the sidekicks and one of the droids even has their memory wiped but later restored (though it’s R2-D2 rather than C-3PO), and despite all the fan bitching there is no instrumental role played by the ghost of “Chosen One” Anakin. The only other big difference is that instead of Palpatine, a character established as a master long-term schemer with a fixation on finding a way to cheat death, returning, we have a confusing character named Tor Valum who is apparently master of ALL THE SITH which breaks the Rule of Two, hints that Darth Plagueis in his entirety was a lie, and exists as a plot device to make Kylo Ren a formidable Final Boss after having been made a joke of in the climax of the previous two films. I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather have Palpatine.

So there you have it. Not much else to say but...

[tahlalilian]

As I gasp and wheeze on my hands and knees, I slap, somehow, digital art on the table that took bloody hell ever. My arms attempt to pull me up off the floor so I can start to explain only for me to give up and decide to just talk with my chin on the table.

Ok, so, what was this? Four on the get to know your OC list? Not going to check it. It was the render your OC in a full scene. My overly eager DUMB ass decided to place her in Brahms’ kitchen from The Boy. Since in her little world she lives with him. I compiled a few scenes to make the background then traced everything then kept it handy for colors. then changed the chairs and tossed in Ann. She’s just enjoying a moment by herself. Drinking tea, drawing and getting promptly distracted on her phone when she went to look for reference for a desired pose. Next one...is their room or home or something? I...hate backgrounds, well...no I fear them...it’s a lot of work to get right. But I do have an idea for her given room, and I’ve got some perspective/background tutorials I hope will help. Ok...I’mma...slip back now and let the floor take me. siiiigh.

[mediaevalmusereads]

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. By Patrick Süskind (trans. John E. Woods). Penguin, 1985.

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction

Part of a Series? No

Summary: In the slums of eighteenth-century France, the infant Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is born with one sublime gift—an absolute sense of smell. As a boy, he lives to decipher the odors of Paris, and apprentices himself to a prominent perfumer who teaches him the ancient art of mixing precious oils and herbs. But Grenouille's genius is such that he is not satisfied to stop there, and he becomes obsessed with capturing the smells of objects such as brass doorknobs and fresh-cut wood. Then one day he catches a hint of a scent that will drive him on an ever-more-terrifying quest to create the "ultimate perfume"—the scent of a beautiful young virgin.

***Full review below.***

Content Warnings: animal death, racism (including the g-slur), torture, reference to incest

Overview: I’ve known about this book for some time, but for some reason, I only now just decided to pick it up. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t to fall in love with the prose and devour this novel in 2 days. As soon as I started reading, I had a hard time putting the book down, and much of it has to do with the absolute masterful way Süskind tells his story. While this book might not be for everyone, in my opinion, it is a mesmerizing, seductive, dark tale that quickly became a favorite. 

Writing: This novel was originally written in German, and since my German is awful, I can’t evaluate the faithfulness of the translation. I will say, however, that Woods (the translator) did an excellent job of rendering the novel into, for lack of a better word, a work of capital-A Art. I loved the way settings and characters were brought to life in vivid detail, with Süskind/Woods deploying visceral word choices that evoked disgust and horror at various smells, sights, and sounds. I also adored the meditations on scent, the passages on hate and love, all of which felt meaningful yet not so heavy and philosophical as to weigh down the narrative. Everything felt perfectly in balance, including the pace, which was neither too fast nor too slow. In short, this was a masterfully-crafted book, and a stunning example of a writer who knows their stuff.

Plot: The plot of this book follows Jean-Baptiste Grenouille - an 18th century urchin with a superhuman sense of smell - as he attempts to make a perfume so enchanting that it will make humanity love him. The narrative follows Grenouille from birth to death, detailing the experiences that shape him into a murdering monster. In addition to being rejected by his caregivers at an early age, Grenouille also learns the art of perfumery from various artisans, and eventually, his obsession with scent leads him to start murdering young women. The reason, the book states, is that he wishes to capture their aromatic essence - the scent that makes people fawn over them and want to do anything to protect them.

Despite this plot centering on a murderer, the actual murders don’t occupy a large percentage of the book (so lovers of true crime might want to look elsewhere). Most of the focus is on Grenouille‘s acquisition of perfumery skills as well as the detailed world of his olfactory sense, so it’s a very character-driven story that builds suspense through the way it portrays the different phases of Grenouille’s life. Personally, the lack of focus on murder didn’t bother me because I was so captivated by Grenouille as a character, and even when he started killing people, I was curious to see whether his theories about the “ultimate perfume” would work. I also very much appreciated that I wasn’t subjected to long, detailed descriptions of violence and gore, and though their was some weird gender stuff going on with all of the victims being virgin women, it only made the implications of the novel that much more interesting.

Characters: Grenouille, our protagonist, is incredibly interesting and compelling not only because of his superhuman sense of smell, but because of the way he contemplates the interplay of love and hate. Grenouille grows up without receiving an ounce of affection, and most of his time is spent capturing and contemplating complex scents. As a result, he builds a rich, sensuous, fantastical otherworld in his mind’s eye (or, rather, mind’s nose?) that contrasts with the outside world, and the novel uses the olfactory world to play with the idea of Grenouille being born bad while also longing for (and simultaneously rejecting) love. Because of the complexity of the olfactory world and the relationship Grenouille had with humanity, I found him endlessly fascinating and enjoyed watching him learn and grow (even if that growing was ultimately horrifying).

Supporting characters were perhaps just as fascinating as the protagonist. All of them felt complex and were motivated by somewhat selfish interests, but it was hard to dislike any of them because they were somewhat whimsical and had unique quirks. Giuseppe Baldini, Grenouille’s first perfume instructor, struggles to revive his failing business and wishes to be the most famous perfumer in the world (despite not being very good at his job). I was amused by his reflections on the changes in fashions and his anger at one of his rivals. Marquis de La Taillade-Espinasse, a lord who finds Grenouille after the latter’s 7 year solitude, is amusing for his belief in "fluidal theory." Antoine Richis, the father of Grenouille’s last victim, wishes to establish himself as both a rich man and as part of important families, and his devotion to his daughter is both admirable yet off-putting.

If I had any criticism, I would say that a lot of the female characters - especially the murder victims - didn’t seem to have as much (or any) complexity as the male counterparts. It’s kind of a shame, because the narrative almost treats them as objects in much the same way Grenouille does - objects to be used, not people to be mourned. I kind of understand the rationale, as making them all full characters would shift the tone to something more dark than it already is, but still, I think it’s worth mentioning because some readers might be disappointed.

TL;DR: Perfume: The Story of a Murderer is a well-crafted, character-driven story that will enchant readers from the first page to the last. By building complex, sensuous worlds and following a protagonist that is simultaneously compelling and revolting, Süskind creates a modern classic that is sure to mesmerize readers with an appreciation for descriptive, visceral prose.