#THERE IS SO MUCH OF THIS I FIND SO INSANELY ADORABLE

[hellenhighwater]

Hi Hellen I was wondering if I could beg some thoughts/advice from you! I've been rotating an idea for a while now of making a coin/token for my dnd group - I haven't the digital tech to 3d print/etch etc. So I was thinking clay would be my best bet to bringing the concept to life. All that being said, if YOU were to make a coin, how would you go about it? Would you build it up from scratch? Would you use a pre-made mold as a baseline? Would that be cheating?? I might be overthinking this project as a whole. ANY thoughts would be much appreciated - I absolutely adore your work!

Absolutely doable! I don't work with polymer clays, but they're an option if you don't have kiln access. Ceramic coins are an option if you've got access to a kiln or if you're willing to do the microwave kiln thing, which (insanely) does get hot enough to melt glass or fire low temp clays and glazes. That does require a dedicated microwave, which you can probably find secondhand. I've never used one and you might want to do some safety research first.

From a fabrication standpoint, you're going to want a round cookie cutter, and you can either hand carve the coins or make/buy a stamp. Hand carving is time consuming but the best option if you want every coin to be different. If you want them all to be the same, then a stamp makes sense. Powder your clay (rolled into a flat sheet) with cornstarch and do the same to your stamp to ensure it doesn't stick; any leftover cornstarch will be burned off in the kiln. Your stamp can be made from clay! You can carve your design into a piece of clay in reverse, fire it, and use that to press the design into unfired clay. You can get custom clay stamps for about $20-$30, if you want a clearer custom design, and rubber stamps are an option too, though they don't give as much depth.

If you're doing kiln fired glazes, you can really only do one side of the coin, unless you do coins with a hole in the middle and fire them on a high temperature nichrome jewelry armature, like this. You can glaze both sides (but not the center hole) and fire them hanging on these rods like big flat beads.

Photos are just pulled from Google, I didn't go to the studio today and that's where my stuff is

[mariasont]

hiii! could you write aaron x bau! reader where they have a child that’s like 2 or around that age - so still very little but one day they came back from a case and yn was so unwell and turns out that she’s pregnant again but they weren’t planning and work’s been so busy and she’s a bit scared how aaron’s going to react��� thanks!!!! 🫶🏻

Two Heartbeats Later - A.H

summary: you weren’t planning for another baby, but life doesn’t wait for timing to be perfect and hotch shows you that sometimes the best things are the ones you don’t see coming pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader tags: pregnant reader, unplanned pregnancy, soft!hotch, domesticity, flangst, happy ending, established relationship, a little post pregnancy stress wc: 2.3k

You barely made it past the front door when your body gave up the charade. Like it had been so wired together with caffeine and pure fucking spite, like every muscle had been clenched so tight for so long that the moment your brain registered home, everything unspooled at once. 

You go-bag slid from your shoulder, the strap half biting for half a second before it was gone. You think you heard it hit the floor. Think you heard the keys, still clenched in your uncooperative fingers, rattle against the table. Shoes still on. Jacket too. But taking it off required effort, and you'd run out of that hours ago. The couch was there, and then so were you. Face-first, half-breathing, half-existing.

The sigh that pushed from your chest felt endless, like it had been lodged inside you for days. Weeks maybe. Years.

The house was quiet. Unnaturally so. 

No padding feet, no sticky hands pulling at your sleeve, no stubborn, sleepy voices demanding one more story before bed. Jessica had taken Jack and your two-year-old, Bella, insisting that you and Aaron need real sleep after back-to-back cases.

You should have been relieved. It should have felt like a luxury. Should have.

Aaron's voice reached you from somewhere behind. "Well, aren't you dramatic."

You exhaled, too drained to even roll your eyes, barely mustering the energy to glance at him over the arm of the couch. He was by the door, still half in shadow, arms loose at his sides and watching you with that look on his face that he got sometimes—the one that said you were both completely insane and completely adored, all in equal measure.

You made a noise. Not words, not quite a groan either, the sound barely making it past the cushions.

"That bad?"

You lifted a limp arm and let it flop back onto the couch.

"I see." A pause. "Should I be concerned?"

"Probably."

The fridge door hissed as it opened, then shut. The tap turned on, ran for a few seconds, then clicked off. A glass placed, not set, not dropped, just placed, onto the counter. Then, the soft shuffle of socked feet across the floor. The indication he was near by the couch dipping under his weight.

And then there was his hand, finding your leg, fingers pushing into the space between your ankle and the couch. One shoe. Then the next. Like he'd done this a thousand times before. Which he had. Because you were beyond lucky. Fortunate. Blessed. All the vocab words that could be synonymous with you being undeserving. His palm dawdled, thumb dragging absently over the thin stretch of skin just above your heel. 

Your heart did something stupid and weak in your chest.

"You're a very doting husband," you murmured, aiming for teasing but landing somewhere softer, somewhere warmer.

Aaron chuckled, shifting beside you until he was comfortable, his arm draping over the couch as he turned toward you. "Yeah, I don't get many complaints."

You peeked up at him through tired, half-lidded eyes. "I could complain."

"But you won't." His palm flattened against your hip before slipping away. Gone too soon on purpose, you were sure. "You like being spoiled too much."

You let out a small, drowsy hum. "Maybe."

His hand moved to your back, dragging up the ridges of your spine and smoothing over the knots you'd stopped noticing until now. And it was unfair, really, because he then found that space at the base of your neck, and you were done for. 

You should have let yourself be submerged in it. Into him. Into this. You wanted to. Needed to. 

But your brain was perpetually doing loops, swinging from thought to thought, refusing to land. Because as much as you wanted to focus on your very handsome, very intuitive husband, on the way he just knew what you needed before you even had to ask, on his touch, on jus the undeniable, singular himness of him (which, okay, maybe wasn't a real world, but you were too tired to litigate that)—all you could hear was JJ's voice.

"God I remember that level of wiped. I felt the same way before I found out about Michael."

It had been a throwaway comment, made with a laugh as you'd all packed up to head home. It was the kind of thing that should have rolled right off your back. And it had, at first. You'd scoffed, waved it off and blamed it on the jet lag and the late nights and the way your body never quite figured out how to recalibrate between cases.

But now, laying on the couch, staring at at the cushions like they held divine answers, every part of you felt off. Tender in a way you didn't like, in a way that felt far too familiar. 

And you couldn't ignore it. Well, you could. Probably. Maybe. Except no you couldn't because JJ was unfortunately, irritatingly, horrifyingly right.

Aaron repositioned beside you. "You're quiet."

"I'm tired." As if that could be the end of it. Like if you said it just right, it could turn into an irrefutable fact.

"No kidding." A pause. Then softer, nudging. "Try again."

You turn onto your side, eyes catching his before you brain can screech abort mission, bad idea, too much eye contact, danger. And in that same instant you were even surer of your discernment.

Because this isn't suspicion or paranoia or stress or an overactive imagination.

This is real.

The strange dragging in your limbs, the hot-cold whiplash that makes you constantly second-guess your own damn thermostat, the nausea you wrote off as too many takeout meals and too little sleep.

Your body had known for weeks.

It felt like someone had upended a bucket of ice water down your back. Or no, actually, more like a door slamming shut on every single ounce of stability you had spent years clawing toward. 

Because there was no room for this. No room in the schedule, not in the fridge (which, let's be honest, was already one yogurt cup away from disaster), and certainly not in the tenuous, barely-functioning balancing act that was your life.

Jack's school projects, his late-night study sessions, his growing independence that you want to encourage, needed to encourage, but what if you're pushing too hard? What if you're not pushing enough? Bella's refusal to eat anything that isn't shaped like a star, her impossible stubbornness, her need for you that takes up every ounce of energy you have left. 

And work. Gods, work. The late nights, the cases that leave bruises on you emotionally and physically, the constant demand to give more, be more, solve more.

You barely made it though last time. How are you supposed to do it again?

Before you can spiral any further, before your brain can really sink its teeth into the oh my gods, you're fucked of it all, you're moving, no, being moved, with absolutely no input on your part, being hauled into Aaron's lap.

"Do I need to bribe you out of whatever's happening in that head of yours?" he muses, shifting so his hands can slip beneath your shirt, palm warm against too-cold ribs. "Or do I just have to annoy you until you snap out of it?"

You blink at him, heavy-lidded, and he smiles, unfairly amused. "Because I can talk about legal precedents and federal jurisdiction until you pass out from boredom."

You groan dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder like you're already picturing it.

"Not the legal precedents," you mumble, voice muffled by his shirt. "Anything but that."

"That's what I thought."

You peek up at him, pouting. "I'll take bribery, please."

He smirks and inclines his head like he's mulling it over. "What's my price?"

You angle your head, shifting just enough that he’ll get the hint, because obviously he’s not dense, and obviously you don’t have to spell it out.

Aaron's chuckle is warm and affectionate, and his smirk slips into something more partial. "Well, lucky me."

His lips graze yours like he has nowhere else to be, like the rest of your world isn't hanging on by a thread. And gods, for just one selfish second, you let yourself chase it, into that fleeting illusion that everything is fine.

But then he pulls away, and it's gone. The illusion crumbles, slipping through your fingers like sand.

Because he's too good. Too selfless. Too willing to bear everything like it won't eventually crush him. And now here you are, about to pile more onto his already impossible load. Another thing for him to carry, to shoulder, to make space for when there's already so little left. You don't know if you can stand it, don't know if you can watch the depletion deepen in his eyes and be the reason for it.

Aaron catches it in seconds, because of course he does, because nothing ever gets past him, because you could probably breathe funny and he'd be asking what's wrong. His teasing vanishes immediately, replaced by something gentler, and something infinitely worse. 

His hand is on your face before you can neutral your expression, his thumb at the corner of your mouth, like he's trying to press the emotion back in, to stop it from spilling over.

"You're breaking my heart, sweetheart," he murmurs, fixing his head to meet your gaze. "Tell me how to fix it."

Your hands lift, like the movement might shake the words loose, might make sense of everything in your head, but they fall just as fast, fingers tangling into the material of his shirt.

“It’s just—I don’t know, I should’ve seen it coming, right? But I didn’t, and now it’s like—” You squeeze your eyes shut, breath shaking. “Aaron, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know how it happened, I don’t know what to think, I don’t—”

"Hey, honey," Aaron interrupted, his thumbs sweeping careful paths down your tear-stricken cheeks. His brow dips. "Slow down for me, okay? I need you to breathe."

You try, you really do, but your chest feels like it's wrapped in steel bands, too tight to expand properly, and your thoughts are useless, spinning too fast, overlapping, crashing into each other.

"You're talking in circles, baby. Help me understand."

A sound claws its way out of your throat, half a sob, half hysteria.

Aaron just watches, expectantly, like he's waiting for the moment it all clicks into place. For you to say it. For you to crack wide open.

"Aaron, I'm—God, I'm pregnant."

For a long, stretched-out second, he doesn't move.

His eyes flicker between yours, scanning, searching, reading every inch of your expression before, instinctively, unconsciously, they drop downward. To your stomach.

His hands follow, hesitantly, like they already knew, like something deep in him had felt it before his mind could catch up. But he doesn't touch you, not yet. His fingers just hover, inches from your shirt, like he's afraid to break something delicate. Like he needs to believe in it first.

"You're—?" It's not even a word, just a shape in his mouth, just air barely pushed into sound.

You nod, and oh, something gives way, splinters inside you, breaks open just like he was wanting and suddenly, you can't stop talking.

"I know," you whisper, voice breaking, hands swiping furiously at damp cheeks. "I know."

Your shoulders tremble, fresh tears slipping past your lashes, and damn it, you can't stop them, can't stop any of it.

"I'm so sorry, please don't be upset, I don't know how this happened, I didn't mean for it to happen, I—,"

"Hey." You freeze instantly. "Stop."

He pauses for a second as if trying to figure out the right thing to say. "Why are you apologizing?"

You open your mouth, already scrambling for some kind of justification, some kind of explanation, but he's faster.

"Pretty sure we were both there when this happened," he says, voice so deadpan, you almost didn't hear the amusement as his mouth flicked upward. "Fairly certain it was a mutual effort."

You let out a choked, watery laugh. "But we weren't expecting this. We didn't plan for this, and the timing is awful, and work is insane, and Bella—,"

"—will be fine."

"Jack—,"

"—will love it."

"And what about us?"

Aaron's hand moves again, actually pressing to your stomach now. And then he smiles, this tiny, crooked, almost smug little thing that makes your stomach flip in a completely different way, like he's remembering something good, something soft, something dangerously sentimental.

"Did I ever tell you," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to drop this, "that you weren't even supposed to be on my team?"

Your brows furrow instantly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he says finally, "you were supposed to be off in some White Collar division. Probably catching investment bankers committing tax fraud."

"Then how did I end up here?"

Aaron snorts—actually snorts. "A clerical error."

"Are you serious?"

"Like I said, Strauss meant to assign you to the White Collar division." His thumb strokes along your jaw, like he’s trying to soften the absurdity of what he’s about to say. "But someone messed up the paperwork. By the time she noticed, you'd already started your first week."

A sharp, incredulous breath escapes you. "So I got on the team by accident."

"Not entirely," he murmurs. "Strauss asked if I wanted her to fix it. Move you where you were actually supposed to go."

"And?"

His hands find their way into your hair before you can process the movement—fingertips brushing against your scalp, smoothing strands away, tucking them behind your ears, like he needs to see you.

"And I almost told her yes." And he says it in a way that makes you think maybe he still can't believe it.

"Not because of your skills," he continues. "But because I knew—I knew that if I spent any more time with you, I was going to fall in love with you."

"And I didn't want that," he admits. "Because I wasn't sure if I was ready for something that permanent."

He'd never told you this. Not in words. Maybe in glances, in pauses, in the way he always found you first, in a crowd, in a crime scene. But never like this. Never out loud. Your brain stutters, short-circuits, tries to process it, but it's like pouring water into a cup that's already full, it spills over, sloshes everywhere, and makes a mess of things.

You almost laugh except there's this awful, aching tightness in your throat, and you think if you let the sound out, it might not be a laugh at all. 

"So what changed?"

He lets out a breath, a small, almost reluctant smile playing at his lips. "You told me to relax."

"Excuse me?"

“You were new. Three weeks in. I was this close to telling Strauss yes. Had the email typed out, my finger hovering over send. And that whole week, I had been—” he pauses, smirks faintly, “—a pain in the ass. And you just—” another shake of his head, “—you knocked, walked in, took one look at me, and said, Hotch, you need to relax.”

A long, drawn-out pause.

"And then you walked out."

You let out an unguarded laugh. "No, I didn't."

"You did. And I remember thinking—who the hell does she think she is?" Then, without hesitation, he pulls you flush against him, like that thought alone is hilarious in retrospect. "And then, two seconds later, thinking—God, I hope she never stops. And you never did."

"And thank God for that." His forehead presses to yours. "Because now, you're my beautiful wife. The mother of my children. You know, I spent so much of my life thinking I needed a plan but turns out the best things happen when you don't."

And then he kisses you and damn it, he tastes like that coffee, the stupidly expensive, unnecessarily strong stuff he insists on smuggling onto the jet, the kind that is so obnoxiously him it makes your head spin.

Dark roast, sharp on his tongue and now on yours, transferring straight into you like somehow he's the one who's addicting. And maybe he is. Because when he pulls back, there's another smirk at his mouth, but his hand stays at the nape of your neck, like he's already considering doing it again. And Jesus, you hope he does.

"You know," he muses, far too casual for a man about to be slapped. "if we really think about it, this might actually be your fault."

Your jaw drops. "Come again?"

He tilts his head, all easy amusement, all knowing. "You were the one who insisted on that very thorough stress relief session a few weeks ago."

Your face flames. "Aaron!"

“Oh, don’t act innocent,” he hums, tilting his head like he’s thinking, like he’s remembering in excruciating detail. “I was there. I distinctly recall the moment you climbed into my lap and said—”

"Stop talking."

"—Aaron, I need to—"

Your hand clamps over his mouth, but his laughter is instant, vibrating against your palm, his eyes crinkling at the corners, full of mischief and love and the kind of thing that turns your brain to static.

"You’re the worst," you mutter.

Aaron just smirks, prying your hand away, pressing a kiss to your lips like a punctuation mark. "Says the one who keeps letting me knock her up."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[atzhrts]

everyone going crazy over anton SAME 🫠 imagine surprising him at his parents’ house after not seeing him for 2 months and he’s just so insatiable, you having this perfect innocent persona & keeping a good figure in front of his family but his only wish would be to take you on the spot. his parents would notice him behaving differently but they would innocently believe that he is happy to finally be home. the secret groping, constant touching and need to be near you. i can see him on the family couch having you sit on his lap during the whole movie, not watching a single thing just having you in his arms (and on his huge cock). after hanging out he would fuck you so hard in his bed whispering about how much he missed you. would have to cover ur mouth & telling you to keep quiet or else everyone will notice how dirty you are… aftercare would be insane. he would bath you, dress you and just do everything. I need him so bad 😭😭😭😭😭😭

yeah my page looks like i’m the biggest anton stan ever and he’s not even in my bias line 😭😭

anton is mentally cursing you out right now, normally he’d find it so cute how you get along with his parents so well, helping his mum set the table and telling his dad what a big fan of his you are. making his brother laugh and his parents smile at him, telling him how lucky he has to have you. that is if you wouldn’t have sent him the most delicious picture of you in your new set (the one he picked out and bought for you) just minutes before you arrived. it’s torture for anton, knowing exactly what lies beneath your innocent appearance and having to sit back and pretend he’s not rock hard beneath his pants. having to pretend he’s just showing you around the kitchen, letting you pick out what you want to drink and not groping your tits over your shirt, frantically moving his eyes from the door, where anyone could just walk in back to your boobs in front of him.

it’s torture, having his mum call the two of you adorable when anton pulls you into his lap, only the two of knowing of the way his fingers drum against your clothed heat. burying his face in your neck to hide his breathy groans, anton knows how risky this is but he has absolutely no plans of stopping you from grinding over his dick.

and the rest of the night is torture as well, sweet torture. having placed a pillow between his bed frame and the wall to make sure he won’t wake the whole house up with his thrusts. anton’s hand pressed against your mouth to muffle your moans and his face hidden in the crook of your neck, teeth gently scraping against the skin to not make too much noise himself.

he knows he has to come up with some excuse why you have a hickey on your shoulder and why he had the water running at 2am, because “oh yeah we had rough sex in my childhood bedroom” won’t cut it but it was totally worth it.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Weekend Ramblings

GelBoys Episode 1

Great first episode. I like that they're using public transport and walking outside a lot, it feels more alive and realistic even if I have no real frame of reference. I like that the nails are telling the passage of time and this is going fast. The first episode spanned 3 months at least judging from that, probably more.The visuals are really good and I really like the editing, and the way it's shot almost makes me feel like I'm watching a documentary. Seems like this will be messy and angsty teenagers kinda bl and I'm ready.

Perfect 10 Liners Episode 16

I'm still comfortable in my hypocrisy and will use this gif whenever it suits me. Cause Faifa is me, in any other show but this one.

There's something about a brooder begrudgingly falling for the ray of sunshine he swore he’d never need, that I just adore. Add to that the fact that the brooder is played by Perth and I'm in uni bl heaven. I loved this arc so damn much. These two make such an adorable couple and Perth and Santa are great together. I'm surprised with their chemistry but also not, cause I think both of them can probably have chemistry with anyone. If they stay a pair for now I'm on board. Although I do enjoy seeing Perth kissing different boys. We had another parental forgiveness moment which I hate but at least she's moving away and I won't have to see her again. I love Faifa and as much as I hate saying goodbye to YothaGun, it's gonna be fun to watch him and Wine. I do hope just like ArcArm, I still get some crumbs from those two.

Boy Next World Episode 6

Say what you will about Mame but she can deliver a sex scene like no one else. I like that Phu has agency here and that there's real communication happening around and during the nc scenes. Boss and Noeul also deliver as usual but I find the dynamic a little too similar to LITA, and I don't love that. I think it happens more when it comes to Noeul, although I concede that I'm often too distracted by Boss's face to notice much of anything at all, but there are moments that I'm seeing Rain instead of Phu. Fake dating seems to be the go-to these days to keep psychos away and I'm not mad about it. That mother though. His stalking tendencies notwithstanding, it’s a wonder Cir is a functioning human at all. I really like the sides and I adore Jin.

Sangmin Dinneaw Episode 7

This show continues to be the weirdest. And I don't know what I did to deserve this but I think I got a double prize today. Amnesia plot my beloathed and some noble idiocy to follow. At least when it comes to the amnesia we were warned. Although I'm not sure when he actually remembered, so he might not have had amnesia at all. Honestly, who knows with this show? Half the time, I have no idea what's happening, and the other half, I wish I didn't. That scene with the sides gave us the usual whiplash, and the scene with the mother was just insane. It's psycho mom's day, apparently. At least with this one, we got to see some mom-on-mom fighting. It's all bonkers but at least there's only one more episode to go. Sangmin better have a damn good reason for leaving, although I doubt it. At least let me have some fluff from these two, cause they are cute. Also why is the hotel dude still breathing?

[catocappuccino]

Khan using his wrench to put Nori out of her misery

Then Uzi using the same wrench to put N "out of his misery" in a not killing but saving life way in the 1st episode do you do you understa

Do you understand what I mean.

[elpida]

"You could try, you never know maybe what they truly crave is long-forgotten mannerisms." and yet that smile on her face changed into something wider, pearly white, and a little carefree. Not enough that she wasn't watching him but enough that she could loosen the reigns, just for a few minutes. Back in that settlement, Eden had been what her Brother, Ben, had labeled as a peacekeeper. She liked to give newcomers the benefit of the doubt. She didn't want to believe that everyone in the world was bad, despite their being bad people. As awful as it was, what was the point in living if they forgot the very morals and emotions that made them human? There was a difference in surviving and survival. That was the thing too, Ben had been the brute for the both of them. Whilst she was soft-spoken, peaceful, gentle... he'd hardened to something tough, so that his little sister didn't have to lose herself to the end of the world. Maybe that was how she got this far, took a leaf from his book, the big brother that made her promise she'd be more cautious, that she'd point a fully armed weapon at someone like he taught her. It was a silly thought but Eden did like to believe that somewhere, in some twisted turn of fate, her Brother was guiding her path... and just maybe he'd guided her to find someone that'd manage to get a smile, from the girl that thought happiness had forgotten her.

Eden had shaken her head, her smile faded enough to know that no, her Grandmother was not here anymore... but she also wasn't a monster roaming the Earth in a permanent state of limbo. That knowledge was enough for her. "The politeness in me wants to say sorry, for hearing about your Mother's passing and your father, and how young you were... but in these times, it's almost like they received mercy right? To die in the old world without knowing anything about this, the memories of them never weighed down by this life." Eden took a breath and she really did think before she spoke again with words that came from her heart. "We all lost people, I don't think there is a single person that didn't lose someone along the way anymore.. and grief is a hell of a thing, right? I think what determines how we handle it is how we think about it. I like to think the grief will never leave me." she starts to explain and she'd accepted what happened to her Grandmother, she went peacefully, died in her sleep... but Ben haunted her, in the best of ways. "Maybe if we just think about our grief like a gift, that we got to know someone and that hollowing feeling it leaves means that we won't ever forget, right? Grief is in the memories they leave us with and I'd never change them so if that is the greatest pain I'll ever know, that we'd ever know and maybe we could suffer with it together because I hope it never leaves. I hope I suffer with grief, forever." One moment passed before she turned her head at what he said, that he'd keep her alive, her slight smile resuming. "I think I can live with that punishment."

Another swig of water as he moved, but this time it was left glistening on full lips. "I'm good, don't smoke. Never touched one actually, I uhh.. I do have some, but I found them for trading purposes you know?" That Brother of hers had taught her the basics very well, what to keep if she found it, what'd be worth it's value these days. See, the world now was so different but in the old world, they wouldn't have known each other. She'd have been pure sunshine that didn't step foot inside grubby bars downtown, she'd have never gotten in trouble with any gangs or mafia... she'd have been that girl behind a counter serving you coffee in a bakery, that was filled with a million sweet aromas. Cinnamon, warmed bread, vanilla but her perfume would have been lavender. That's what she was, sunshine and lavender daydreams. Eden O'Connor would've been a local town sweetheart in knee-length dresses that fluttered in the breeze. "I worked in my Gran's bakery on a weekend. It was called Bread, Bakes and Books. I make a mean cupcake." she was in that reminiscent state, picturing the place, the worn wooden floors, the display of pastries, the shelves lining the back of the stoor. She was picturing her and Ben, standing and having their height marked into the wooden door frame and how she hoped it'd still be there. "I wanted to be something she was proud of but in the end, she was proud of me wanting to take over her Bakery. I liked making things and seeing people enjoy them, it was... simple, you know? My Brother was training to be a doctor, he was in medical school." those moments she'd laughed with him, made her feel like there was hope for something better than everyone being her enemy. Her own laugh was light and bubbly. "Oh I don't know, you'd totally pull off one of those white collars!" she teased but her nose scrunched when she giggled.

"I could take you there, to where the settlement was because I imagine it'd still be there, the radio and it was the type you could get music on, or reach out to people, had one of those-" she moved a hand to do the walky-talky gesture near her mouth. "-things, to talk to people. I want to get a few things I had to leave behind but... thing is it'll be crawling with the dead by now, it'd be dangerous. We'd have to be real careful." What perk was there in that for her? She'd have cover, there was no way she could get back there alone. No chance... but with him? Maybe it'd be achievable. "Are you looking for someone?"

"A market? I haven't heard of it but that sounds.." her head nodded to finish her sentence. It sounded dangerous, people sounded dangerous but... if you wanted to get your hands on certain goods you had to face the music. Eden knew that she'd need antibiotics or something to fend of infection, that'd be her best and probably quickest way of getting them. She didn't trust him fully, they'd exchanged kindness but trust was something that was deserved and earned. That didn't mean she didn't like him, that she didn't like the way darlin' and sweetheart rolled from his mouth. Yes, she knew it was probably something he'd throw at any woman, but she was definitely allowed to feel a degree of flattery given the situation. Sunlight streamed across her face, and there was a moment she realized exactly what she was, dead weight. Her hand rummaged into her pocket, pulling a small handful of bullets and handing two out to him. "That was the deal right? Bandages, for two. Plus... if we end up in a tricky situation, you have options. We both do." She was evening their playing field, she could kill him easily.. but her handing those bullets to him, was her own extension of trust to him. He didn't have to help her, but he had and fair, was fair. If she was untrustworthy, she'd have kept them in her pocket and not brought it up again.

Those same petite hands and slender fingers reach out for his shoulders, about to slide her legs around and get to his back. She could walk if she had not been so exhausted, but this was a girl that'd fought to even be here right now and you could tell Eden was beyond tired. She was fighting heavy eyelids even as she'd held that gun at him. Under normal circumstances she'd have made herself walk, but what use was there in fighting? All that came was this sad and hesitant question. "Won't I just slow you down? I don't want to be your burden.." Despite how her mind protested and told her to walk, Eden slid herself to his back and hooked her arms around his shoulders and to his front. Just for a little bit, she told herself. What she did do, was hook her backpack around her shoulders and linked his through one arm.

In her head she was convinced that as he walked, she'd be the lookout, the eyes... make sure no dead ambushed them from any direction and yet, they'd barely walked a street before the weight of her head became that bit more noticeable. The grip of her hands together loosened at his front and what'd been nicely paced breaths became deeper, something lost to slumber. Heavens she had tried to fight it off but when exhaustion came knocking you'd not rid it. Her head rest against the back of his shoulder, short strands of black slightly skewed, and the heat of her breath angled at his neck could be viewed as a relaxing reminder, that they were no longer alone, just as the heat of his body served as some form of comfort to her, a sweet lull. She did not trust Jace, but he was safe right now. If he didn't have this hold on her she'd wake, and she'd know herself stupid for wanting to believe in human decency but right now, just like this, he was safe to her.

" Well aren't you a little lady. " smooth baritone, warm and thick like melted caramel, complimented the manners rather than mock them. It did tickle the man under the ribs, witnessing someone uttering ' please and thank you ' so honestly, not from fear or force. It seemed to him, the girl was a pleasant company even before the army of dead conquered mother earth. The realization followed by another, that the chances of them being in the same circles in the life before were slim, very, very slim, odds for even meeting her where 1 in a 100. Sophisticated, polite, calm women did not enter pubs owned by the mob, filled with people arm to the teeth, downing beer and not minding the brute behavior. No, this one certainly would not be in the cards he was dealt -- so somehow, deep inside, for the first time the man saw the bright side of getting that Joker with a decaying zombie face that changed the world order. . . because meeting Eden certainly didn't count as another disaster.

" Does the please and thank you approach work on the corpses as well? Maybe I am missing something here. . . instead of smashing their hissing, ugly mug, I should have just politely ask for them to take a hike. " the laughter continued to spread through the scattered, ruined space of the gas station, until it suddenly died down. Her touch, that is, the squeeze of the sleeve of the leather jacket left him in place, watching the small hand next to his wide one. He allowed contact, left his hand still, feeling the hunger for protection, comfort. . . perhaps most of all humanity, in that act. " No need to thank me sweetheart, we can't all be just savages, killing for a bite of food or bullet that would do more good if we swallow it ourselves, not others. . . " A grim tone to the response, but honesty evident in the sentence.

A thought passed through the privacy of his mind, a realization of hypocritical statement. He killed for less than a bite of food, which today means literal survival -- before he killed for mere piece of land that wasn't even his. A territory, to protect the invisible lines of what the Devil stranglers proclaimed theirs. Gaze wondered to the chain still hanging on his jeans. A weapon taking more lives than bullets ever did or would. A favorite thing to steal a soul with. Clearing his throat, snapped back to the present moment by the melodic tone of Eden's voice, grin appeared under the untrimmed mustache. " Would never say, Irish's that is so polite? Maybe there is hope for us after all. " he joked, knowing well the reality is far from the stereotypes other glued to the Irish. They were friendly, helpful, honest, loyal . . . maybe after a few pints they were just a bit sensitive with the nerves. However, a few firsts flying in a quick brawl and everything is back to normal. " I am a mutt myself, that is why the accent isn't on point. " Jace explained vaguely, unaware of the small chit chat they were having, not very common for this times. " Am from Texas, long way from here. Left when I was 16. " small pause, deafening silence when the never-ending regret cut the beating blood pump on the memory of what. . .who he left behind without even a proper goodbye. " Mother was Irish, died giving birth to me. My father was Texan, and the old man gave his best to convey the bits and pieces of her memory on me, so he copied her accent, until my tongue didn't shape words with it. . . the thing ended tho, he died when I was eight, went to my uncle and aunt. "

History lesson was over as quickly as it began, telling it stirring the graves of too much buried ghost eager to haunt him. " Some valuable skills for sure. Is she still here? " Regretting the question as soon as it fell from the mouth, thick eyebrows lowered. " I mean. . . if your community fell apart, maybe she is out there. " Approach of reassurance not his usual ammo, though he tried. It seemed this fragile woman experienced a turbulent ride through the roads of Inferno, there was no need for the ' hard truth ' yet, telling her everyone she knew were probably dead, and she had a guardian angel getting her this far if she was so merciful and trustworthy toward strangers. Although, he scolded his own self, recalling the words she uttered before, asking only for a quick death. The woman was tired, obviously, tired of living the life on the run and in constant terror or everything around them. Chest puffed, chains of muscles tensing, need to shield her bubbling in his chest. She seemed as one of the very few pearls of purity on this gruesome battlefield of horror. " The thing you said, about finishing you? I think I'll keep you alive, listenin' to my bullshit probably a better punishment, to teach you not to lower your weapon around strangers, ya? " Jace teased, trying to bring up her spirits.

Pushing the callused hand into the back pocket of the light blue jeans, man fished out a crumpled box of cigarettes, biting the bud of one and extending the hand towards Eden. " Want one? " The other hand lighted the tobacco, as he inhaled the delicious smoke almost feeling the muscles fluttering with euphoria. Yes, he was addicted to this sinful pleasure. Next statement of the woman came as a punch to the gut, nearly choking on the grey could lingering in his lungs, Jace coughed violently. The corners of the eyes tuned red, while the eyeballs were glazed with a thin layer of tears. " Damn darlin' , you nearly killed me, I though we were good. " Commenting while straightening himself up, balled fist slammed the stone-hard chest. " A preacher, huh? I assure you, sweetheart, I was quite the opposite before zombies fucking up the society. " As if the patch ' president' on the left side of his chest and the brutal sight on the back, didn't reveal enough.

" And what were you? Professional climber surely not. " Another harmless joke, trying to keep the conversation light, making them forget for a moment where they are. Thick fingers brought the cigarette to the lips, taking another hit. Mention of the radio caught his interest instantly. " Radio, huh? Honestly darlin' been searching for some of those for a while now. Classic radio, song playing one. . . any chance you know where I can get that? " There was a promise, a legend even, passed down from generation to generation of the bikers. An agreement, between the rival clubs. A story so bizarre Jace always thought it was just a joke. But now, he really hoped it was not. The story went that if ever there was a disaster, something so devastating that the world can't recover from it, the clubs will join forces, unite, see the survival of their ranks is secured. And all he had to do to see if that is really true, is find the radio and listen. . . for the tunes of the song The house of the rising sun. Coordinates hidden inside of the lyrics, to the actual house.

Jace thought through the options laid on the table of destiny. Wounded stranger with probably not one savage bone in her body a bad package to take on. Slowing him down is the least of his problems, after all, he can't fully trust her. " Ok, darlin' this is what I propose. I am heading to a place allegedly not far from here. . . a market so to speak. Vulture's nest, heard of it? " Of course he will decide the opposite, taking her with him Jace got the information from the last guy he joined forces with. . . briefly -- considering Eden was now drinking the water he took from the man after strangling him. But he didn't end the guy's life for liquid, no, it was because the man tried to do that to him. Mistake on his part, underestimating Jace's calmed behavior. " From what I hear, I can get some bullets there, for a price. And medicine, that is certainly a thing there too. . . I just wonder what they will charge for it. " Trade was a complicated thing these days, value determined on the spot by the individuals, depending what they need. But she needed some antibiotic, something to prevent a potential infection. " Can you walk? " Jace asked before she answered does she even want to join him on this path, already approaching her and turning his back. " I would gladly offer you a ride on my Harley, but the flat tire got us separated. So I can offer you my back for a while. Because we have to move. This place? " He looked over the gas station. " Hot spot for unwanted guests probably doing the same things we did, looking for anything they can use. So we need to go. "

[unriding]

hi evie !! how have you been ? :33 i hope you dont mind me borrowing you and moze for something ehehe <3

[thegreatyin]

this nemesis ambition started out a little slow but I am getting closer to finding that bastard who killed my wife, and I’ll not rest a minute now that im far closer to on his trail

sorry got in character for a second

Anyways fun ambition so far very fucked up though

congratulations on joining the murder club anon!!!! depending on who you ask the name refers to either people who have murdered or people who have witnessed murder. usually both. actually extremely often both. it's a swell time you'll feel right at home (don't mind our collective skyglass knife collection in the back)

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #117

One day, May receives a threatening letter at work. It says, "Do you know who your nephew is?" and contains, crushed into the page, a dead spider.

Horrified, May calls Tony Stark. Plans are set in place immediately to move the Parkers into Stark Tower for protection while Tony tracks down the people who sent the threat. 

Peter is at school during the chaos of getting May to the tower. He only learns what's happened when he's called out of class. When he gets to the office, it's Tony waiting there (with the very stunned school secretary) to pick him up. He has his nanotech housing unit on.

Tony explains once they're in the car. Peter freaks out until Tony promises that May is already safely at the tower with Happy and Pepper. Only then does Peter notice that Tony's hands are shaking too.

All of this was not what the villains wanted. Their plan had been to scare May into abandoning Peter. They didn't know that she already knew who he was, and they definitely didn't know that the Parkers were close to Tony Stark.

An abandoned and homeless Peter would have been much easier to kidnap. Now, they will have to step up their game.

[wildsaltair]

not just a snack but the entire five-course meal plus coffee and dessert. I'll have mine in my room

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Thoughts on TOTK Ganon's appearance?

A lot of them!! Some would say: too many!!! Too much!! So much so that I was almost starting to turn this ask into a TotK early review, so I'll simplify my answer a little.

I have not finished the game yet, but I have seen the memories and a good chunk of it, but my opinion is therefore incomplete and subject to lapses in judgement/hasty positions. Also, my opinion on this is kind of a buzzkill and I already made people depressed and bummed out by explaining it, so I'm putting it under the cut to avoid hurting the good time of people who might not want to think about this/might disagree on this description alone (and I understand, since it's an opinion that also depresses me!!! I wanted to like everything!! I wanted to be blown away!!).

I think this Ganondorf is like OoT Ganondorf redux, but with even more problems than OoT Ganondorf, somehow??? which is honestly a flex at this point.

(I love OoT Ganondorf to be clear, but the flaws are pretty undeniable and you have to navigate through a lot of bullshit to get to the good parts)

Between the green skin that lacks any proper justification in the context of the game (I say this because I always hear "oooo but it's because he's a demon/undead" and uhhhh no, it's not because of that apparently), the fact that he's half naked but we're never ever meant to conceive him as a human person in any way but merely as a constant physical threat... Like I'm certain the famous Ganondorf Designer did their utmost to give him justice and there is an obvious attention to details in his design, and I'm not blaming them or anyone in particular for the Nintendo treatment --but it does add up to something quite uncomfortable in his characterization regardless. Even the fact that his face rigging is extremely flimsy and makes his emoting feels super strange bugs me (I heavily suspect it's because it's way less soft anime and structurally very different from any other face in the game, especially around the jaw, and so they had to do a custom rig and had to work around its limitations --it's all speculation, and I am always here for Unsettling Ganondorf Faces, but it kinda felt accidental and not intentional like in WW or TP). He's at once a lot and really not much. I find his characterization beyond barebones. Even Twilight Princess Ganondorf had more to him than this (like the man was fascinating in comparaison, show me a guy claiming to be chosen by the goddesses while sitting on a throne next to the decapitated statues of said goddesses any fucking day over what we got here)

I like the mechanical aspects he introduces; the gloom is cool, the hands that grab you are amazing, the bosses are such cool callbacks --and he's just causing messes and putting parasites in things!!! You go girl. I do love that he's having his little puppet Zelda run around causing hijinxes, that's very fun of him and my favorite part of his character in this game so far, tho I don't know if that even counts as him --and I'm not 100% sure what that even says about anyone?

But here's the thing: nobody (beyond * arguably * Rauru) seems to be allowed to have a character arc in this game, so it's hard to come up with anything to say since he's the sole cause of conflict while being almost completely motivation-less. I don't think anyone is written particularly competently honestly; it just shows more with him because a Ganondorf who's not well written reverts back to Ganondorf at his most generic expression of a baddie imaginable, with a side-serving of, quite frankly, really questionable orientalist themes that I see little excuse for being handled the way they were in the year of our lord 2023. Like I'm kinda shocked not to see more people calling the racism for what it is, because it's... pretty blatant. But that goes beyond Ganondorf and that's the whole game, and I said I would try to keep my scope limited, but!!! I will screech about imperialism eventually!!!

The other aspect of that discussion, which is inevitable, is how much does TotK erase everything that came before? I'm sure there are some amazing Zelda theorists out there who will find a way to reconcile all of this, but for now, I get the sense that Nintendo wanted to get away from their messy timelines (fair) and reinvoke some of the old songs for a new audience, and in doing so scrubbing the slate clean. My problem is not so much that they wanted to do this (even if I think BotW's solution was, strangely, much cleaner and more respectful of their own history), but what they introduced instead: and, in Ganondorf's case, he's kind of reduced to a parody of himself --one that is so unbelievably unsympathetic and impossible to relate to and also responsible of his own oppression and also not oppressed since he attacked first!! and also oppressive?? (I made A Sound when I heard the line about Rauru talking about "the last free gerudo village falling" bitch!! free according to whom??????)

Removing a lot of the Goddesses/Triforce thing (so far, maybe it will come up) also does this conflict zero favors in my opinion, as it makes everything and everyone's actions much less fated and an expression of self-determination/resilience over their predestination, and much more uhh political in a bad way, while still borrowing the aesthetics of divinity to justify its own mind-numbing moral simplicity.

I don't know. Maybe the third act reveal will really surprise me and make me reconsider my position, but it would take a lot to scrub off all the dedicated efforts made to flatten Ganondorf to his lowest possible denominator (him and his people honestly my follow-up to the gerudo post will probably be Oops! All Salt) for the sake of the most brazenly imperialistic and feudalist Hyrule to date and its really weird and uncomfortable reimagined origin story.

So uhhh, Thoughts Bad! I guess thoughts bad. :(

(Matt Mercer did a great job with what little he was given tho, and so did every voice actor)

[enruint]

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐍, pt. 1:    a study in hostile architecture, expansion and reduction,  the unseen and assimilation into the strange

what makes venxian so scary    is not the supernatural creatures    that live there and are part of the society.    people are aware they exist,  humans and supernatural creatures co-exist in so far that it's possible or keep to their own sectors in the vast city.   nothing scary about that.    what's so unsettling and quite frankly eerie and puts the people within venxian ( including the supernatural creatures ) on edge is what they all can't see.    what moves beneath the city,   the force that keeps the inhabitants all trapped within the city - state.    whatever is in the air that whispers in their ears,   that presence in    the dark waters   that creeps closer and closer,   and rises higher   &.   higher,    intent on drowning venxian.    it's the city itself that seems to shift,   to move,   breathe and groan.    the streets that move upwards and further in upon themselves,   stairways that go down into the deep where it feels like you're actually going upwards into the nightsky instead of downwards. it's quite   impossible to navigate the city   because everything about it feels so wrong.    nothing looks right.    not the many bridges that connect the various levels of the city with one another,    the ones that creak and bend in impossible angles,    not bringing you any closer to where you want to go.    not the tramcars that stop at stops that don't exist and their eerie rumble shaking the shoddy buildings of the lowe-city to their core.   the signs,    if there even are any, refer to places the inhabitants don't even know exist but the city claims it does and it's best you just go along with whatever the city demands lest you become part of the scenery yourself. and lastly:   the inhabitants themselves are quite simply odd as well.   they are and unsettled by the place they call home and    are unsettling themselves in return.   to outsiders the inhabitants don't make sense whatsoever,    the things they accept are ridiculous:    why is the sound of a child crying seen as normal in that particular alleyway ?   why does the crying becoming softer the closer you get to it and louder when you run away ?    why is there is no sun and is the city covered in perpetual darkness ?    what do you mean the lanterns on the street protect you from the dark waters but only in so far the city thinks is fine ?   the inhabitants just live their lives in a place that is uncanny at best and horrifying at it's worse and they are part of it   ( whether they want to or not,   whether they're aware of it or not ).    they play as much of a role in the unseen horror that keeps this city in a choke hold.   most exhibit strange behavior and accept the strangeness of the city as well.    the museum with no doors,   the town square that seems to call to something no one can hear,    the annual festival near the piers where it's custom for families to sacrifice a living thing to the water because of course !   don't want to make the sea angry and have it swallow up another piece of their already shrinking land right  ?   best ignore    the squelching mass in the thirteenth alleyway   because it's regurgitating whatever the walls have eaten before or   better yet feed it your neighbors for good fortune. the people are off,    the city is off and the true horror is that no one knows what's going on,   what has   settled in this place and the sea   and what it wants, the rot that spreads across the streets    &.    eats at the walls.    the rot that infects people:   killing some and completely changing others.   the   unknown and the unseen   is what makes venxian such a horrifying place.   the way it seems to expand yet shrink is terrifying. and not the creatures that inhabit it,   they're just as much of a pawn as the humans are.   the horror is the city itself.   and the horror is what the city has made the inhabitants become.   you can't escape it when you live in it,   you're part of it's odd game when you visit it.   the city has a mind of it's own:   and it's just gotten started.

[moeblob]

Man the last few days have been stressful, have more OCs??

[yioh]

some of my fave ships over the last few years !!!

[waterfallofspace]

I’ve started watching j/jk which has immediately taken over my life, and I want you to know that it is entirely because of you and your beautiful fics 😭😭😭 I’m obsessed

omg- I'm so honoured!!~ 😭💗 I actually found J/JK through here too, so the cycle continues!~ thank you so much, truly am not worthy, but I'm glad you enjoy!!~ and I hope you enjoy the rollercoaster that is this amazing show~ haha!

[widevibratobitch]

i hate them with a passion