#and being able to do such a cool art trade with someone

[everbluekisses]

too hot to put on blankets, feet too cold to be without blankets. his back hurt from his huge belly, the babies have the best time of their life. pregnancy midnight struggles...

[ghostofreach117]

Guns in Teyvat

I’m back on the worldbuilding grind🙏only reason I stopped was bc I ran out of ideas lmao. Love drawing guns

MONDSTADT

You will never find anyone with a firearm in Mondstadt. They simply don’t have the resources, money, or -most importantly- need for such an expensive product that is essentially useless. It is considered extremely rude to use a firearm when hunting as the sound scares animals away from other hunters in the area and their use is seen as “cheating” by the general population. Since they have such little presence in Mondstadt, there is little to no regulation on anything pertaining to guns (you really have to try to break the law). If you want to obtain one you must import the parts from Fontaine or Snezhnaya and assemble it yourself, and it’s a pain to buy them. If you are willing to go through all that trouble then either someone wants to kill you or you are out to kill somebody else. Probably both.

FONTAINE

Fontaine has mastered the art of mass production. Guns are produced by the hundreds (very impressive for such a centralized nation!) for the Fontanian military. They have been meticulously engineered for the utmost safety of the user. Fontanian firearms are prized for their lack of recoil, lack of tendency to jam, and innovative safety mechanisms, such as loaded chamber indicators and their revolutionary rifle decocker invention. This comes at the cost of power. Most Fontanian rifles and flintlocks/pistols take very low caliber ammunition and do not have the stopping power of larger firearms. They are much more suited for ceremonial use or intimidation as opposed to actual combat. There are a select few exceptions though. For example, Clorinde has had her twin flintlocks especially made for her, and they are known to take ammo she has to commission from an armory in western Fontaine.

SNEZHNAYA

If you were to ask anyone with a knowledge on the subject, they would tell you that Snezhnayan firearms are often exceedingly dangerous. They are known to jam, catch fire, and even explode. Hastily produced by independent armories contracted by the Fatui, they are low in cost and quality. In exchange, these guns are extremely powerful. The Ночной Ветер, for instance, is able to take cartridges of up to .50 (you can’t even purchase ammunition of this caliber outside of Snezhnaya). The gun laws and regulations in Snezhnaya are surprisingly strict, however they are not enforced. Fatui officers are more likely to take the 5000 mora offered by whomever they have tried to charge with illegal possession than actually arrest a lawbreaker. This has allowed an underground firearms market to thrive, especially among those who oppose the Tsaritsa.

Note: Snezhnayan firearms do not possess a safety. Once the gun is loaded, it is ready to shoot. Please exercise caution.

Double note: full auto guns don’t exist yet in my AU (subject to change based on what I think is cool) . I drew childe with an ak47 because it’s so him lmao.

INAZUMA

Inazuma’s strict laws have long forbade any type of firearm from being used, sold, or traded in the country to keep the nation in its eternal state. They have often been seen as useless foreign inventions that make the user weak by forcing them to rely on guns. Guns are also seen by some to violate the strict honor code that many Inazumans live by. Not even gangs or delinquents will use them.

SUMERU

Sumeru has outlawed any weapons that the Mahamatras deem to pose a danger to the preservation of knowledge. Surprisingly, there is little to no pushback on this ban. Those who reside in the desert find that grains of sand clog the inner mechanisms of guns, rendering them useless and forest dwellers dislike firearms for many of the same reasons Mondstadters do. The Corps don’t have trouble with smuggling when it comes to Sumeru natives or tourists, but they keep a watchful eye over the Fatui diplomats, occasionally requiring a search, as their presence often heralds political maneuvering rather than genuine interest in Sumeru’s knowledge. Evidence of this can often be found in the remains of crime scenes, weapons tend to be left in the riverbanks of the forest, and though exceptionally uncommon, there have been reports of firearms bearing Fatui insignias being uncovered underneath muddy outcrops by riverbanks. Though this is all coincidence, of course. It must have been a rouge terroist from Fontaine.

Other notes

I mentioned this previously, but guns and ammo are SUPER EXPENSIVE. The average person would never be able to afford/maintain one.

Guns are extremely difficult to use with a vision. Unless you have your gun created for you by a specialty armory, you won’t be able to channel elemental energy through one.

On the other hand, Guns are very easy to counter if you have a vision or a delusion due to the fact that they require many small, intricate parts working together perfectly to fire. Whether through making the metal brittle with frost or softening it with flame, it’s very easy to neutralize a gun. Best to keep them out of active combat. Swords, bows, and catalysts are much more effective thanks to their simplicity. It’s a lot harder to stop a giant hunk of metal hurling towards you than freezing a gun.

Um. I did not mean for this post to be as much of a yap fest as it was. Lmk if I was confusing or if you have questions I love talking to people 🙏🙏

[pin-k-ink]

Chrollo! There isn’t enough dark content about him. I want to see how Chrollo is, compared to Yandere Chrollo. I love both, but we don’t get enough dark content of Chrollo.

Chrollo is seen as manipulative, and cold. Considering he’s a mass murder, and his empathy is nonexistent to people outside of the phantom troupe. Though, he’s able to act like a gentleman, and a curious man who seems sweet. He definitely isn’t stable, but catching his attention would be terrifying. He collects what he’s interested in. Being in a relationship with him would be interesting, but complicated.

entropy // chrollo lucilfer

tw ⇢ emotional abuse/manipulation, psychological trauma, toxic relationship, mention of self-harm, suicide attempt, dub-con, non-consensual/coercion, stockholm syndrome(?), mention of violence and criminal activities, power play, some unspecified mental health issues, rough sex, cunnilingus, begging, idk kinda rushed ending, narrator’s pov

wc ⇢ 7.1k

a/n: i really liked this idea, anon, so i present you with 7k words of chrollo brainrot. i really tried not to make chrollo a cliche, run-of-the-mill yandere but im not sure i did a good job. its also my first time using y/n and i hated it

The dim lights of the crowded bar cast an amber glow across the room, the air thick with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses. Perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, I nursed my whiskey, the smooth glass cool against my palm, the rich amber liquid swirling hypnotically as I lifted it to my lips. The first sip burned pleasantly down my throat, warming me from within as my eyes scanned the crowd out of habit, taking in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

That's when I saw him.

He moved with a fluid grace that stood out amidst the tipsy stumbles and raucous laughter of the other patrons. Dark hair fell across his face in an artful sweep as he leaned in close to whisper something to the bartender, who nodded knowingly and slid a drink across the polished wood, the crystal tumbler gleaming under the soft light. As if sensing the weight of my gaze, he turned slowly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat, my fingers tightening reflexively around my glass.

A polite smile curved his lips as he approached with measured steps, sliding onto the stool next to mine with a nod of acknowledgment. "Good evening," he said, his voice smooth and cultured, with a faint lilt of an accent I couldn't quite place. "I hope you'll forgive my forwardness, but I couldn't help noticing you from across the room."

I felt a flush creep up my neck at his directness, a heat blooming under my skin that had little to do with the whiskey. But I maintained my composure, lifting one eyebrow in a practiced arch. "Is that so?" I asked, taking another sip of my drink, letting the smoky flavor linger on my tongue. My heart fluttered in my chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness at the attention from this intriguing stranger.

"Indeed. It's rare to find someone so comfortable in their own solitude. It speaks to a certain strength of character." His eyes held mine, dark and fathomless, seeming to search for something beneath the surface, beneath the mask of cool indifference I wore like armor.

I smiled slightly, intrigued by his observation, by the way he seemed to see beyond the carefully constructed facade. "And what would you know about my character?"

"Very little, I admit. But I'd like to learn more, if you're willing." He extended a hand, long fingers elegant and strong. "Chrollo Lucilfer, at your service."

"Y/N," I replied, placing my hand in his. His grip was firm, his skin cool and smooth against my own. A shiver raced down my spine at the contact, a spark of something electric and unfamiliar. I found myself drawn to his enigmatic aura, the hint of danger that lurked beneath his charming exterior.

As the evening wore on, Chrollo and I fell into easy conversation, trading stories and opinions over drinks, our knees brushing under the bar in a way that felt both accidental and deliberate. He was articulate and well-read, with a keen insight that made me feel like he could see straight into my soul, past the walls I'd so carefully constructed. There was a magnetism to him, a pull that I couldn't resist, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I felt a connection growing between us, a sense of understanding and shared secrets that left me both thrilled and unnerved.

We began seeing each other regularly after that night, meeting for dinner at quiet candlelit restaurants or for coffee in cozy bookshops, the rich scent of roasted beans and old pages enveloping us as we talked for hours. Chrollo was always the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out chairs, his manners impeccable, his attentiveness unwavering. But there were moments, fleeting glimpses, where something else seemed to flicker beneath the surface, a darkness that both thrilled and unsettled me. I found myself drawn to that darkness, to the mystery that surrounded him, even as a part of me whispered warnings in the back of my mind.

One evening, we were walking through the city, the pavement damp with recent rain, the neon signs reflecting in puddles at our feet. A man stumbled out of an alleyway, clearly drunk and disoriented, his clothes rumpled and stained. He lurched towards us, mumbling incoherently, his breath sour with the stench of alcohol. I tensed, expecting Chrollo to step in and help, to offer the man a steadying hand or a kind word. Instead, he sidestepped the man neatly, his movements fluid and precise, not even sparing him a glance. There was a coldness to the action, a calculated indifference that left me feeling chilled despite the warm summer air. A flicker of unease stirred in my gut, a sense that there was more to Chrollo than met the eye, but I pushed it aside, not wanting to shatter the illusion of the perfect romance.

Another time, we were at a restaurant, a trendy spot with exposed brick walls and industrial light fixtures. The hum of conversation and the clink of silverware against plates filled the air, a pleasant buzz of activity. A commotion broke out at a nearby table, a woman's voice rising in pitch as she gestured wildly at her companion, her face flushed with anger. Chrollo watched the scene unfold with a detached sort of interest, like a scientist observing a particularly fascinating specimen. When I expressed concern, my brow furrowed with worry, he simply shrugged, the movement languid and unconcerned.

"Some people thrive on drama," he said, his tone indifferent, almost bored. "It's best not to get involved."

I tried to brush off the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, telling myself that no one was perfect, that everyone had their flaws and quirks. Chrollo was attentive and affectionate, showering me with gifts and attention, his touch always gentle, always reverent. It was easy to get lost in the romance of it all, in the heady rush of new love. But even as I surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, to the tender caress of his lips on my skin, a part of me remained wary, a tiny voice whispering doubts in the back of my mind.

But the doubts continued to gather at the edges of my mind, like storm clouds on the horizon, dark and ominous. There were inconsistencies in the stories he told, small details that didn't quite add up, pieces that didn't fit into the puzzle of his past. He was evasive about his work, about his family and his childhood, always changing the subject with a charming smile and a clever turn of phrase when I pressed for more. I tried to ignore the growing sense of unease, the feeling that I was only seeing a carefully crafted facade, a mask that hid the true nature of the man I was falling for.

It all came to a head one night when we were out for a walk, the city streets quiet and still around us. A police car raced by, sirens blaring, red and blue lights flashing against the buildings. Chrollo tensed, his body going rigid beside me, his eyes tracking the vehicle with a sharpness that made me pause, my heart skipping a beat in my chest. There was something in his reaction, a hint of fear or guilt that I had never seen before, and it sent a chill down my spine.

"What is it?" I asked, searching his face for clues, for some hint of the thoughts swirling behind those dark eyes.

He relaxed just as quickly, his expression smoothing into a mask of calm, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Nothing, just lost in thought for a moment."

But I saw it then, in that brief unguarded instant. The hairline fracture in his facade, the glimpse of something raw and real beneath the polished surface. The realization hit me like a freight train, stealing the breath from my lungs - I didn't really know the man I was falling for at all. He was a mystery, a puzzle with missing pieces, and I had no idea what secrets he was hiding behind that charming smile and those fathomless eyes. Fear and doubt coiled in my gut, a sickening sense of dread that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that everything was fine.

The doubt became an itch I couldn't scratch, a constant presence at the back of my mind. I found myself watching Chrollo more closely, looking for clues, for any sign that might confirm my growing suspicions. He was as attentive and affectionate as ever, his touch gentle, his words sweet. But there was a guardedness to him now, a sense that he was always holding something back, always keeping a part of himself locked away. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth.

One evening, we were at his apartment, curled up on the plush leather couch with a movie playing on the large flatscreen TV. The room was dimly lit, the flickering light from the screen casting shadows on the walls. Chrollo's phone buzzed with an incoming message, the screen lighting up on the coffee table. He glanced at it, his expression hardening for a split second, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly before he smoothed it away, reaching for the device with a casual hand. My heart raced in my chest, a sense of foreboding washing over me as I watched him, a part of me desperately wanting to believe that it was nothing, that I was overreacting.

"Everything okay?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Just work," he replied, his thumb swiping across the screen, his eyes scanning the message quickly before he slipped the phone into his pocket. "Nothing to worry about."

But there was a tightness to his smile, a strain around his eyes that belied his easy words. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling me, some secret he was keeping locked away. The doubts gnawed at me, a constant ache in my chest that I couldn't ignore, no matter how much I wanted to lose myself in the fantasy of our perfect love.

As the weeks passed, the distance between us grew, an invisible chasm widening with each passing day. Chrollo would disappear for hours at a time, offering vague explanations about meetings or errands, his tone carefully neutral. He was increasingly evasive about his activities, changing the subject with a practiced ease or deflecting my questions with a charming smile and a clever quip. I felt like I was losing him, like the man I had fallen for was slipping away, replaced by a stranger wearing a familiar face.

I knew I should confront him, demand answers, but a part of me was afraid of what I might uncover. The man I had fallen for, the gentleman with the quick wit and the electrifying touch, felt like a stranger wearing a familiar face, a mask that was starting to crack at the edges. I was torn between the desire to cling to the illusion of our perfect romance and the need to know the truth, to see the man behind the mask, no matter how painful it might be.

The final straw came late one night when I was leaving Chrollo's apartment, my mind whirling with unanswered questions, my heart heavy in my chest. As I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps, I nearly collided with a man coming from the opposite direction. He was tall and lean, with cold eyes that seemed to look right through me, his face all sharp angles and harsh lines. A shiver of unease ran down my spine, a sense of danger emanating from him like a palpable force.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, trying to sidestep him, my skin prickling with unease.

But he blocked my path, his large frame filling the narrow hallway, his gaze flicking past me to Chrollo's door, a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. "He's expecting me," the man said, his voice flat and emotionless, sending a chill down my spine.

I glanced over my shoulder, but Chrollo had already closed the door, the sound of the lock clicking into place loud in the sudden silence. A wave of dread washed over me as I hurried past the man, my heart pounding in my ears, my hands shaking as I jabbed at the elevator button. Questions swirled in my mind, a growing sense of fear and unease that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to rationalize it away.

I didn't sleep that night, my mind racing with possibilities, with questions I was afraid to voice aloud. Who was the man in the hallway? What business did he have with Chrollo at such a late hour? The not knowing was almost worse than the truth, my imagination conjuring up all manner of dark scenarios, each more terrible than the last. I tossed and turned, my sheets tangled around me, my heart aching with the growing realization that the man I loved was not who I thought he was.

The paranoia grew like a cancer, spreading through every aspect of my life, tainting every interaction with Chrollo. I found myself watching him constantly, analyzing every word, every gesture, looking for some hint of the truth behind the mask. Every phone call he took, every message he received, every unexplained absence became a clue in a puzzle I was desperate to solve, a mystery I couldn't let go. I was consumed by the need to know, to uncover the secrets he was hiding, even as a part of me feared what I might find.

I started making excuses to drop by his apartment unannounced, hoping to catch him off guard, to glimpse the man behind the facade. But Chrollo was always one step ahead, his mask of charm and civility firmly in place, his explanations smooth and plausible. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth. I felt like I was losing my mind, like I was trapped in a maze of lies and half-truths, with no way out.

The strain began to take its toll, the constant state of heightened awareness, of second-guessing every moment. I was distracted at work, jumping at every unexpected noise, seeing shadows in every corner. My friends noticed the change, commenting on my withdrawn behavior, the dark circles under my eyes, the way I seemed to be constantly on edge. I brushed off their concerns with a forced smile and a wave of my hand, not wanting to voice the suspicions that consumed my every waking moment.

I started to pull away, to put distance between us, needing time to clear my head, to make sense of the tangled web of lies and half-truths. I made excuses to avoid seeing him, claiming work obligations or family commitments, my voice shaking only slightly as I lied through my teeth. I needed space, needed to step back and look at the situation objectively, without the haze of love and desire clouding my judgment. But even as I tried to distance myself, I found myself drawn back to him, like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of his magnetism.

But Chrollo wouldn't let me go so easily, his presence a constant pull, a magnetic force I couldn't seem to resist. He showed up at my work, at my favorite coffee shop, always with a bouquet of flowers and a contrite smile, his eyes soft and pleading. He promised to be more open, to answer any questions I might have, to lay his secrets bare before me. And for a moment, I wanted to believe him, to fall into the warmth of his embrace and let the world fade away.

I started to dig deeper, to research Chrollo's past, looking for any clue that might explain the inconsistencies, the blank spaces in his history. Late one night, huddled over my laptop with a mug of coffee growing cold beside me, I found it. A news article, buried deep in the archives of a local paper, a few scant paragraphs that made my blood run cold. A string of high-profile thefts, linked to a shadowy group known as the Phantom Troupe, their methods as elusive as their identities. And there, in grainy black and white, a photograph of a man with dark hair and piercing eyes, a face I would know anywhere.

My heart stopped in my chest as I stared at the screen, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place with a sickening clarity. The man I loved, the gentleman with the silver tongue and the devastating smile, was a thief. And not just any thief, but a member of the most notorious criminal organization in the city, a ghost in the shadows, a phantom in the night. I sat back in my chair, my hands shaking as I tried to process the truth, to reconcile the Chrollo I knew with the man in the article.

The reality of my situation crashed over me like a wave, cold and unrelenting. I was in love with a lie, a beautiful fiction wrapped in a tailored suit and a charming smile. The future I had imagined for us, the life I had started to build in my mind, was nothing more than a house of cards, ready to come tumbling down at any moment. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in around me, trapping me in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

And I had no idea what I was going to do about it.

The truth hung heavy in the air between us, a suffocating presence that filled the room and pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My heart raced as I confronted Chrollo with the article, my voice trembling with a potent mix of anger, fear, and betrayal. He sat across from me, his posture relaxed, his eyes downcast, his hands resting calmly in his lap. The silence stretched on, broken only by the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall, each second an eternity of agonizing anticipation.

When he finally spoke, his voice was even and measured, devoid of any discernible emotion. "I never intended for you to discover the truth this way," he said, his gaze meeting mine, his dark eyes revealing nothing. "I considered telling you, explaining everything, but I couldn't find the right approach."

Disbelief and heartache surged through me, constricting my throat and stinging my eyes with unshed tears. "Explain what, Chrollo? That our entire relationship has been built on a foundation of lies? That the man I fell in love with is nothing more than a carefully crafted illusion?"

His expression remained impassive, unfazed by my accusation. "The connection between us is genuine, Y/N. My feelings for you, the moments we've shared, none of that was a deception."

A bitter, mirthless laugh escaped my lips, echoing harshly in the oppressive stillness of the room. "But everything else? The thefts, the Phantom Troupe? How can you claim that's not an integral part of who you are?"

Chrollo sighed, a subtle indication of impatience rather than genuine weariness. "It's not that simple. The Troupe is like family to me. We have each other's backs, keep each other safe. What we do isn't solely about financial gain or the adrenaline rush. It's about survival, about carving out a place in a world that's never given us a fair chance."

As I sat there, my mind reeling, a chill crept down my spine, raising goosebumps on my skin. Chrollo's dark eyes bored into mine, a glimmer of something cold and dangerous lurking beneath the surface of his composed exterior. In that moment, the true depth of his detachment became starkly apparent, sending a fresh wave of fear washing over me.

"You need to understand, Y/N," he continued, his voice low and even. "The Phantom Troupe is more than just a gang. It's a way of life. A family bound by blood and loyalty. I've committed heinous acts in the name of that loyalty. Acts that would make your blood run cold."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a trapped bird. "And what about me, Chrollo? Was I just another pawn in your twisted game? Another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored?"

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "No, Y/N. Never. What I feel for you is the closest thing to genuine emotion I've ever experienced. But I won't deceive you. I am what I am. That's not going to change, not even for you."

With shaking legs, I stood up, my entire body trembling with a mixture of fear, anger, and despair. "I can't do this, Chrollo. I can't be a part of your world. The things you've done...the person you truly are...I can't turn a blind eye to that."

He nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I expected as much. I knew this moment would arrive sooner or later. I merely hoped..." He trailed off, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "It's irrelevant now."

I took a step back, my mind struggling to process the revelation of Chrollo's true identity. The man I had fallen for, the charming and enigmatic gentleman, was nothing more than a meticulously crafted facade, a mask concealing the cold, ruthless criminal beneath.

"I can't be a part of this, Chrollo," I repeated, my voice quivering with a mixture of fear and resignation. "I can't be with someone who lives a life of crime, who has no regard for the people he hurts."

Chrollo's expression remained inscrutable, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Y/N. You see, you've become quite an intriguing diversion for me, a delightful puzzle to unravel. And I'm not in the habit of relinquishing things that keep me entertained."

His words, spoken with chilling calm, carried an unmistakable undercurrent of threat that turned my blood to ice in my veins. "What are you saying, Chrollo?"

A smile devoid of warmth or humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It's quite simple, really. You have two options. You can choose to stay with me, to accept me for who and what I am, and continue to be a part of my life. Or..." He paused, his gaze hardening. "You can refuse, and face the consequences."

My heart raced, a sickening realization dawning on me as the true nature of my predicament became clear. "And what consequences would those be?"

Chrollo shrugged, the gesture casual and unconcerned. "Death, of course. I can't risk you going to the authorities, exposing me and my associates. If you can't be with me, then you can't be allowed to live."

The words hung in the air between us, a chilling ultimatum that left me feeling trapped and utterly helpless. I searched Chrollo's face for any sign of remorse, any hint of the man I had thought I knew, but found only cold, calculating resolve.

"I...I need time to think," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, my throat constricted with fear and despair.

Chrollo nodded, his expression impassive. "Of course. Take all the time you need, Y/N. But remember, the clock is ticking. And I'm not a patient man."

With those words, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone, the weight of his ultimatum crushing down on me. I sank to the floor, my legs no longer able to support me, as the full horror of my situation crashed over me in relentless waves.

I was trapped, caught between a love that had turned to ashes and a fate worse than death. And no matter which path I chose, I knew that my life would never be the same again.

I sat there, numb and disbelieving, as Chrollo's words echoed in my mind. Stay with him, or die. The choice was no choice at all, a cruel mockery of free will in the face of his cold ultimatum. With a heavy heart and an overwhelming sense of despair, I realized that I had no other option.

"I'll stay," I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue, tasting of ashes and defeat. "I'll stay with you, Chrollo."

He nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark eyes, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A wise decision, Y/N. I knew you'd see reason."

But even as I agreed to his terms, a part of me rebelled against the idea of being trapped in this nightmare, of living a life shackled to a man who saw me as nothing more than a possession, a plaything to be discarded when he tired of me.

In the days that followed, I went through the motions of my life, a hollow shell of my former self. I smiled when Chrollo was around, played the role of the dutiful girlfriend, but inside, I was screaming, my soul withering with each passing moment. The weight of my despair pressed down on me, suffocating me slowly, day by day.

I couldn't bear the thought of living like this forever, of being forever bound to a monster who held no love, no true affection for me. In a moment of desperation, I made a decision. If I couldn't escape Chrollo in life, then I would find my freedom in death.

I sat in the bathtub, the steaming water lapping at my skin, providing no comfort to the icy numbness that had settled in my heart. The razor blade rested against my wrist, the metal cool and inviting, a whispered promise of release from the nightmare my life had become. My hand trembled, the weight of my decision bearing down on me, tears streaming down my face and mingling with the bathwater.

But even as I sat there, the razor poised to end my suffering, I couldn't bring myself to do it. My hand shook, the blade biting into my skin, drawing a thin line of crimson, but I couldn't find the strength, the resolve, to finish the job. Sobs wracked my body, my chest heaving with the force of my anguish, as I sat there, paralyzed by fear and despair.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

My head snapped up, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of Chrollo's voice. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a look of detached amusement on his face, as if he'd stumbled upon a mildly entertaining scene.

"Chrollo..." I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken, barely recognizable to my own ears.

He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the bathroom, his movements casual and unhurried. "Did you really think I wouldn't know, Y/N? That I wouldn't sense your desperation, your pathetic attempt at escape?"

I lowered my gaze, shame and despair warring within me, my cheeks burning with humiliation. "I can't do this anymore, Chrollo. I can't live like this."

He crouched down beside the tub, his dark eyes glittering with a cruel sort of amusement. "And yet, here you are, unable to even commit to your own demise. How tragic."

With a sudden motion, he grasped my wrist, yanking the razor from my fingers. I gasped, more from surprise than pain, as he held the blade up to the light, examining it with a detached sort of interest.

"Did you really think this would be the answer, Y/N? That you could escape me, escape your fate, with something as trivial as this?"

He tossed the razor aside, the metal clattering against the tile floor, and cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You're mine, Y/N. Forever. And no matter how many times you try to run, to hide, to end your own miserable existence, I will always find you. I will always bring you back."

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the bathwater, as the hopelessness of my situation crashed over me anew. Chrollo was right. There was no escape, no way out of this hell I had foolishly walked into.

He stood, looking down at me with a mixture of pity and cold amusement. "Clean yourself up, Y/N. And let this be a lesson to you. Your life is mine, to do with as I please. And I'm not done with you yet."

With those words, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the bath, my skin pruning in the cooling water, my heart shattered beyond repair. I had gambled everything on Chrollo, on the love I thought we shared, and I had lost. And now, I had to live with the consequences, forever trapped in a nightmare of my own making.

Chrollo led me from the bathroom, his hand wrapped around my wrist in a grip that was both gentle and unyielding. I followed him numbly, my mind still reeling from the events that had transpired, the razor's bite still stinging on my skin. He guided me to the bed, the plush comforter soft beneath my bare legs as he lowered me onto the mattress.

I sat there, my hands clasped in my lap, my eyes downcast, as he moved about the room, his presence a tangible force, a weight pressing down on me from all sides. Fear and despair coiled in my gut, my heart racing as I tried to anticipate his next move, dreading what new torment he might have in store for me.

"Look at me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for disobedience.

I obeyed, raising my gaze to meet his, my breath catching in my throat at the intensity I saw there. He stood before me, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair falling across his brow in a way that was both casual and calculated.

"Do you understand now?" he asked, his tone almost conversational, as if we were discussing the weather rather than the complete and utter destruction of my life. "Do you see the futility of your actions, the pointlessness of your resistance?"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with unshed tears. "I understand that I'm trapped," I whispered, my voice hoarse and raw, barely recognizable to my own ears. "That there's no escape from this nightmare, from you."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes. "Good. You're learning."

He reached out, his fingers ghosting along my cheek, tracing the curve of my jaw with a touch that was almost tender. I shivered, my skin prickling with a mixture of fear and revulsion, my stomach churning at the unwanted contact.

"You belong to me, Y/N," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, sending a chill down my spine. "Body and soul, heart and mind. There is no part of you that is not mine, no corner of your being that I do not possess."

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping to trail down my cheek, the hot sting of it a bitter reminder of my helplessness. He was right. I was his, wholly and completely, a moth caught in the web of a spider, helpless to resist the pull of his power.

Chrollo's lips brushed against my skin, trailing a path of fire down the column of my throat. I gasped, my hands fisting in the comforter, my body responding to his touch despite the revulsion that churned in my gut, despite the voice in my head screaming at me to fight, to resist, to do anything but submit to his twisted desires.

"You will never leave me," he whispered, his words a dark promise, a vow etched in blood and tears. "You will never escape. You are mine, now and forever."

And as his mouth descended on mine, his hands roaming over my body with a possessiveness that bordered on violence, I knew that he was right. There was no escape. Not for me, and not for anyone else who crossed his path.

I was his. And there was nothing I could do about it.

His kiss was like a drug, the taste of him addictive, the feel of his hands on my body intoxicating. I tried to resist, to push him away, but it was a futile effort. My body betrayed me, arching into his touch, craving more.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire, his breath ragged against my skin. "You can fight me all you want, Y/N. But in the end, you'll give in. You'll surrender to me, just as you did before."

"I won't," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

He smiled, a cold, cruel smile that sent a chill down my spine. "We'll see about that."

With a growl, he claimed my mouth again, his lips rough against mine, his teeth nipping at my skin. I cried out, my nails digging into his back, my body surrendering to the pleasure even as my mind screamed in protest.

I knew this was wrong, that I should resist, should fight him with every fiber of my being. But the line between pain and pleasure was blurred, the boundary between fear and desire a thin and fragile thing. And as he ravaged my body, his touch bruising, his voice a low and menacing growl in my ear, I realized with a sickening jolt that a part of me wanted this.

A part of me craved the pain, the darkness, the twisted power play. And that realization, more than anything else, was the final nail in the coffin of my doomed resistance.

Chrollo's hands moved over my body, his fingers tracing the lines of my hips, the curve of my breasts, a strange mix of gentleness and possessiveness in his touch. I gasped, arching into him, my pulse racing, a dull ache building between my thighs.

"That's it," he murmured, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of my neck. "Give in to me, Y/N. Surrender."

His teeth grazed my earlobe, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine. I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair, his name a whisper on my lips.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice rough and low. "Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours," I breathed, the words tumbling from my lips without hesitation, a damning admission of defeat. "I'm yours, Chrollo."

He kissed me again, hard and possessive, his tongue delving into my mouth. I surrendered to him, my body and mind consumed by the raw, primal need that burned between us.

He pulled back, his gaze dark and hungry, a satisfied smile curving his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his thumb brushing across my swollen lips. "Now, let's see just how much you're willing to give me."

He moved with a predatory grace, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, his body a weapon honed to lethal perfection. He knelt before me, his fingers deft and sure, as he spread my thighs, his lips ghosting across my heated flesh.

I cried out, my back arching off the bed, as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves at my core. He growled, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me in place as he feasted on my body, his tongue and lips working their dark magic on me.

Pleasure rippled through me, hot and urgent, my skin tingling with electricity. I gasped, my hands clutching at the sheets, my body writhing beneath his touch.

"Chrollo," I moaned, my voice hoarse and desperate. "Please, please..."

He laughed, a dark and dangerous sound, his eyes glinting with a mix of lust and amusement. "Please what, Y/N?"

"Please," I begged, the word a broken whisper, a plea for release. "I need you."

"What do you need?" he asked, his tone mocking.

"I need you inside me," I gasped, my body aching with desire, a dull, throbbing heat pulsing through my veins. "Please, Chrollo, I need you to fuck me."

His eyes darkened, a look of pure, animalistic lust flashing across his features. With a low growl, he rose to his feet, his fingers digging into my hips, lifting me effortlessly, and drove himself into me, the sudden fullness tearing a cry from my lips.

I clung to him, my nails scoring his back, my body shuddering with the force of his thrusts. He claimed me, his mouth hot and hungry on mine, his hands gripping my flesh with a bruising intensity.

The room was filled with the sounds of our bodies colliding, the scent of our desire hanging heavy in the air. I cried out, my voice hoarse and raw, the waves of pleasure crashing over me, drowning out all thought, all reason.

I lost myself in the moment, in the feeling of him inside me, filling me, completing me. For a brief, shining moment, there was nothing but us, our bodies moving as one, the line between pain and pleasure blurred and meaningless.

And then, with a cry, I shattered, my body convulsing, the release tearing through me, an explosion of sensation. I felt him follow, his movements growing erratic, his breath a ragged gasp in my ear, his release hot and intense.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, the sweat cooling on our skin, the aftershocks of our shared pleasure still rippling through us. I lay there, breathless and spent, a strange mix of emotions churning within me.

I was disgusted with myself, with the way I had surrendered to him, with the pleasure I had found in his arms. But beneath that revulsion, buried deep beneath the surface, was a sense of shameful satisfaction, a twisted sort of gratification.

I had given in to him. I had surrendered to the darkness, the madness, the primal desire that raged between us. And as his arms tightened around me, his breath warm against my skin, a part of me reveled in the knowledge that, no matter what happened, he would always be a part of me.

"Are you satisfied?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning, with implications. I glanced at Chrollo, my gaze flicking over his naked form, his skin still flushed with the aftermath of our encounter. He was watching me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the challenge clear in his dark eyes.

"No," I replied, meeting his gaze evenly, a thrill of anticipation running through me. "I'm not."

Chrollo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest sparking in his dark eyes. "Oh? And what more could you possibly want, Y/N?"

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest as I forced myself to hold his gaze. "I want the truth, Chrollo. The real you, not the mask you wear for the world."

A slow smile spread across his face, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Careful what you wish for, my dear. The truth can be a dangerous thing."

I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I knew the risks when I chose to stay with you. I'm not afraid of the darkness."

Chrollo chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Brave words, Y/N. But we both know that's not entirely true, don't we?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, his fingers trailing along the curve of my jaw. "You may think you want the monster, but can you truly handle the reality of what I am?"

I met his gaze unflinchingly, my pulse racing with a heady mix of fear and desire. "There's only one way to find out."

With a sudden movement, Chrollo pinned me to the bed, his body covering mine, his eyes glittering with a dark hunger. "Then let me show you," he murmured, his mouth descending on mine in a searing kiss.

As the hours passed and the shadows lengthened, we lay there, entwined, our bodies slick with sweat, the air heavy with the scent of our mingled desire. Chrollo traced idle patterns on my skin, his fingers moving over my body with a familiarity born of countless encounters. But there was a distant look in his eyes, a contemplative expression that I hadn't seen before.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, curious despite myself.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze focused on something far away. "I was wondering," he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "how things might have been different, if we had met under other circumstances."

I felt a flicker of surprise at his words, a strange sensation of hope and longing stirring in my chest. "What do you mean?"

Chrollo sighed, his fingers stilling on my skin. "If I wasn't who I am, if I wasn't a criminal, a member of the Phantom Troupe... could we have had something real, something genuine?"

I swallowed hard, my heart aching at the wistfulness in his tone. "I don't know," I replied honestly. "But I'd like to think so."

He smiled then, a sad, fleeting thing that barely touched his eyes. "In another life, perhaps I could have truly fallen in love with you, Y/N. Without the lies, the secrets, the constant threat of danger hanging over us."

I reached up, cupping his cheek in my hand, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palm. "But this is the life we have, Chrollo. The one we've chosen, for better or worse."

He leaned into my touch, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. "I know. And I don't regret it, not really. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder..."

His words trailed off, the unspoken possibilities hanging in the air between us. I knew what he meant, knew the bittersweet ache of imagining a different path, a different fate. But we both knew that there was no going back, no changing the choices we had made.

"We have each other," I said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "Here and now. That's what matters."

Chrollo smiled, a real smile this time, his eyes warm and fond as they met mine. "You're right," he murmured, pulling me closer, his arms tightening around me. "And I wouldn't trade it for anything."

[annoying--moth]

No matter how many times it is explained to me or I talk about it with someone, I can't fully grasp what exactly is going on with art in the arc of a scythe universe. Because like,

It's stated multiple times that post-mortal art is "bland" and "uninspired" and "redone to death," and while I can certainly understand SOME art being like that, surely not all art is like that?? And I understand this in the sense that like, everyone's constantly remaking/repainting/making their own versions of famous paintings and such, but also there still has to be people who don't do that, right??? Like maybe I just have zero reading comprehension and somehow missed the bigger picture, but I feel like all this talk about art being redone to death implies that no one is making original art anymore? Which just. doesn't seem feasible to me?? Because as an artist myself, I can't see immortality taking away my ability to draw or come up with cool ideas. I don't draw because I'm going to die one day, I draw because I like it, and it's a form of creative expression. You can always come up with something new to draw- whether it's a cool oc, or someone you know, or just something random and abstract. The possibilities never end!

Of course, I suppose there is the argument then that people just aren't creative anymore, but I also find that hard to believe. I couldn't imagine ever truly running out of ideas. Like I mentioned above, OCs people??? I highly doubt there's no one in the post-mortal era still making weird, whacky, badass, or just cute OCs. Heck, I'd expect scythe ocs to be really popular! I wonder if it's like a thing for every kid to have a scythe oc phase..? Or at least kids in certain communities/fandoms (like scythe card trading- maybe they make their own cards for their scythe ocs!)

And also, it's confirmed that fiction is still very much a thing in the post-mortal era (I know zombies are referenced in one Gleanings story) so it's not like people can only connect to non-fiction. That's another thing that's discussed more in terms of theatre and writing- people not being able to connect to the themes because they're so far removed from it in reality. But my thing is, I've never experienced war or death (until very recently at least) and I still don't find myself unable to sympathize with people losing their loved ones to death or war or disease, although I suppose this could also have to do with the nanites. Plus the fact that death and war still exist in society as an actual thing that happens, but idk.

Also by the way- I feel like that one Gleanings story The Mortal Canvas has a subtle diss on digital art? And I have nothing against traditional art- heck I probably draw traditionally more often since I'm always doodling/sketching, but I feel like just because art is digital doesn't mean it's "uninspired" or whatever people were saying in the books. In fact, I've found myself moved emotionally by more digital pieces than traditional ones (although I don't see a lot of traditional paintings compared to digital ones tbf)

Also also I want to say- I don't exactly know how well this relates to my point but that one dude in The Mortal Canvas who made the others' artstyles into filters was a huge douchebag. AI art type shit, I was ready to strangle him reading that.

I remember the bit in The Toll about Ezra the artist, and how he said he was just "decent" or "moderately good" or something along those lines when we first met him, and I was going to make an argument about that part too but to be honest it's been a little while since I've read The Toll so I'll have to come back to that one once I reread it. But I think it also had to do with the emotional/creative aspect of art, which again, I refuse to believe immortality has such an influence on creativity that no art is original or interesting anymore. Sure it might make certain things harder, or make motivation worse, but I feel like if someone is truly creative it doesn't matter? Though then again, I'm not immortal so what do I know.

I briefly mentioned nanites earlier, and that is one thing that I do think probably has an impact, and I specifically mean emo-nanites. Since post-mortals can't feel as strong emotions as us mortal humans, perhaps that's also why their art seems more uninspired or whatever, because they can't put as much emotion into it. However, an excess amount of emotion isn't exactly needed to make art either. Like as I was writing this I was looking through my own art and realised that for some pieces I wasn't putting any emotional thought whatsoever into the pieces, yet there's still a clear emotion there when you look at them. Joy, wonder, whatever.

Anyway in conclusion, I think that it's unrealistic to say that all post-mortal art would be dull, uninspired, and meaningless, because I believe there will always be creative people who will make art not because they're gonna die one day, but because they want to and enjoy it, simple as that. Thanks to whoever stuck around long enough to read this far, I really hope it made sense. It's kinda late while I'm writing this and tbh I'm half-expecting there to be some huge detail/plot point that I missed that makes my whole argument totally invalid, whether that's me misinterpreting all the bits about post-mortal art or just being a complete dumbass with zero media literacy. Either way hope this was a fun read, I don't write long-form posts like these super often (note the lack of confidence in my media literacy skills) and if I made a really bad argument/missed something huge please be nice in the notes, I have a fragile ego :(

Uh yeah anyway I think I got everything as usual don't take my rambling *too* seriously, I just always found it confusing how post-mortal art is said to be so "uninspired" (I keep using that word cause I reread chapter 3 of Scythe today and Faraday uses it there) when I personally can't imagine not being able to be creative, though perhaps I'm just self-projecting. So uh, yeah.

[airborneice]

i'm late to this year’s art review thingy bc I had a reeeally busy december and then left my laptop behind when I came home so couldn’t finish any drawings or get my files 🥲 anyway I’ve been reunited with it now so!!!

it’s been a weird but mostly good year!! i started my first proper job in the anim industry and moved house twice. there’s tons of stuff i wanted to make this year but couldn’t find time for bc of the amount of. everything. going on all the time. it was actually a bit hard finding art to fill the spaces this year, which is why i had to stretch my little amount of sketchbook week stuff over two months. it’s been a little bit frustrating - i feel like i’ve learned so much from my job but i haven’t had much time to do anything to show it, but i guess that’s the trade-off. it’s cool being a small part of someone else’s idea but that means i get less time & energy for my own. i want to try and strike a better balance between the two this year and i really hope that soon i’ll be able to share the thing i’m working on i’m literally gonna die of excitement 😭

it’s been really cool getting to make more content of my ocs and see ppl enjoy it, you guys and the nice comments you leave are everything to me. i hope this new year is kind to everyone and thanks for sticking around <3

some of these i haven't posted so to give due credit -

*feb was a gift for @ewwgene-fitzherbert of our blorbos <3

*september is fanart of @the-hilda-librarians-wife’s amazing OC meiri. there will be more

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part five - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: Bullying

Michael has a lot of stuff. A lot of heavy stuff. Despite him assuring her that he can move it all in on his own, she still wants to help.

It would be kind of a dick move if she didn’t assist with all of this. An hour in, and the apartment is already transformed from bland and empty into a hoard of pastel rainbow decor and soft white staple pieces.

She takes a break to admire the painting of a fluffy white angel cat over watercolor Van Gogh scenery. Michael comes through the door, panting, with his White Cottage microwave in tow.

“Who painted this?” She asks him.

He smiles, blushes, puts the microwave down and then his hand on his hips. “I did.”

Her eyes grow wide. “This is amazing.”

He chuckles. “Thank you.”

She likes Michael a lot already, but she’s also very jealous of him and his many talents and cool possessions. He makes her want to decorate and be creative, both skills she’s never been able to possess correctly.

She hasn’t gotten the key made yet, so she goes out and does that while he starts unpacking his things. By the time she’s done, her apartment looks astonishing. Fairy lights twinkle over gauze white curtains and a big speaker plays soft hiphop music in one corner of the living room. Her couch is full of comfy white and grey fluffy throw pillows. An incense burner releases gourmand, smoky aroma into the air.

Michael is stretched out on the couch, taking a break, watching Legally Blonde on DVD. Her small TV is now in her room and his bigger flatscreen dwarfs the stand that it was on.

She sits down beside him with two glasses of water. Before she can set hers down on the coffee table, he stops her. “Wait! Coasters!”

He digs through two boxes of stuff before he finds new marble coasters for them to set their drinks on.

She laughs at him and he grins back. “I know, I know,” he tells her, “typical trust fund kid BS.”

“You’re fine,” she says. “I was laughing at the coasters because the table is already a mess.”

“Listen,” he says, “this table just needs some tee ell cee. A sander and some paint would do her wonders.” He pats the wooden top.

“Can I help?” She asks, excited and jumping at the opportunity a little too eagerly.

“Of course you can,” he assures.

She remembers him telling her that his mother is an artist. “Did your mom teach you to paint?”

He nods. “She also taught me how to make miniatures. You know, like dollhouses but for adults?”

“That’s amazing. Do you trade art with her?”

“I do,” he says, “we send things back and forth in the mail. Although my dad says it ‘clogs up their post office box’.”

“He’s not a fan of art?”

Michael snorts. “He hates everything except golf. Sometimes I think he hates me.”

She shakes her head. “Does he really hate you? You’re the perfect son.”

Michael sighs. “No, but he hates gay people, so it’s close enough. When I first came out to him, if my mother wouldn’t have been there, he would’ve probably shot me. He’s a real man’s man if you know what I mean...”

She nods, smiling ruefully. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean.”

Michael thinks for a moment. “We should get a dog.”

“I would love that, but it’s no pets here.”

He raises his eyebrows and sips at his water. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

They decide it has to be a quiet dog, one who’s comfortable being alone at night, and there are an abundance of local shelters displaying perfect furry candidates online.

“Rocky. Pitbull mix. Potty trained, good with kids and other pets, sweet and loves everyone.” She shows Michael a picture of a medium sized black, stout dog with shiny grey eyes.

Michael shows her his own selection, a retired service beagle named Winnie. “Short for Winnifred,” he reads, “loves people and other pets, very polite, and hardly ever barks.”

“I love them both,” she groans, leaning back into the couch cushions.

“Same,” Michael sighs. “It’s one in the afternoon. Do you work tonight?”

“Yup.” She presses an arm over her face, blocking out the ceiling light.

“Don’t you have to sleep?” He asks.

She’s not tired at all because she slept through the night—wet dreams work wonders on insomnia—but she agrees because Michael sounds like he needs some alone time. Plus, her DVDs and TV are in her room now, and if she can’t sleep she can watch an old, comfortable flick.

The problem isn’t getting to sleep, it’s staying there—waking up sweating, gasping, whining John’s name. She slaps her mouth shut, presses her face into her pillow, and prays to any deity listening that her voice wasn’t loud enough for Michael to hear. First day in the new place and his roommate is a fiend. It would make any sane person want to revoke their rental agreement immediately.

She should be embarrassed and anxious that Michael potentially heard her, but instead she’s grinding against her sheets and thinking of tall men handcuffed to beds.

This won’t work. This isn’t working. She’s so pent up that it’s borderline painful. She sticks her hand into her sleep pants, past her underwear, and into a sloppy mess, tries to think about anything but John while she rubs herself raw, but in doing so her brain latches onto the thought of him and pretty soon he’s the only thing on her mind.

She tries to paint a decent fantasy of what she would like sex with him to be, but really she doesn’t give a shit as long as it’s him. And that’s what scares her. He could be absolutely celibate and she’d still crave whatever he wanted to give her whether it be a rough kick or a soft caress—she’d be his dog, and **this is the worst time for her to realize that because her alarm is going off for work.

She orgasms at the cost of being ten minutes late.

The locker room lights are off when she goes to put her things away, which is unusual. Since she started, they’ve been lit around the clock. In fact, she’s not even sure where the light switch is in here because she’s never had to use it. Fumbling around in the pitch black is making her even tardier. Finally, when she finds the switch and flips it, the room illuminates, and standing under the migraine-inducing glow is someone who makes headaches seem like a dream come true.

Benny grins from his seat on the bench, which he quickly abandons in favor of looming over her. Once again, the sweaty, edematous mass of him blocks her exit.

She’s too busy contemplating if anyone would hear her scream to see him hold his open palm out expectantly.

“Give it to me,” he says.

“What?” She asks, imagining in another universe she sounds angry and oppositional instead of whiny and terrified. In another universe, she can also kick his ass. Not in this one, though. In this universe, she does as Benny demands and hands him her phone so she doesn’t have to suffer through the touch of his greasy skin a second time.

He holds her phone in one hand while the other holds his own. She doesn’t bother trying to see what he’s doing because she can’t get her feet to move let alone stand on tiptoes and look over his shoulder.

This goes on for a while in which her only thought consists of asking herself if she could run to the door and make it into the populated infirmary before he can catch her. Again, this is a solution mainly dependent on her stubborn feet.

She’s not really worried about what he puts on her phone. It’s what he’s getting from it that sets her pulse careening.

He reaches out and tries to shove it into her jacket pocket, but luckily that’s when her feet decide to save her and step away from his hands. He scowls at her like she just insulted his mother.

“Fine.” Benny opens his hand and drops her phone on the stone floor. She winces when she hears the shatter, then looks back up at his pleased, disgusting expression.

“Remember our trip.” He pushes past her, not enough to hurt but to make her yelp and stumble, and slams the door shut on his way out.

Her phone isn’t broken. The screen has a tiny crack in one corner but other than that it’s still perfect.

She grabs her bag from her locker and brings it with her to the nurse’s station, labeling the locker room as an unsafe and off limits space, which are becoming more bountiful by the day.

John is not her patient tonight. On her day off they must have had an influx of admissions because she’s responsible for 10 of them and the infirmary is unusually and appropriately staffed.

Her hopes of his nurse trading him are slim to none because he’s a wonderful patient and over time everyone has seemed to agree that they want him on their assignment sheet.

The other nurse’s that take and give her report always talk about what a cool, easy going guy he is and how they’re surprised that he needs that many guards with him.

“What do you think he did?” Stan, one of the day shift nurses, asks her.

“My bet’s on released a circus full of wild animals and let them trample a small town, but I could be wrong.” She taps her pen against her report sheet and laughs at her own joke.

Stan snorts. “He probably killed some rich guys.”

The other nurses like him so much that most of their theories on why John is in four point restraints with four men guarding him at all times is because he’s done something valiant that pissed someone powerful off.

That’s probably the other reason his wound looks better; not just because of her, but because if you like a patient or connect with them you’re more than likely going to give them the best care you can provide.

If she’s honest, it kind of makes her feel sick. Not because everyone has grown to like John, but because that means she’ll have less chance of being his nurse from here on out. Also, she knows it’s kindergarten mentality, but she liked him and treated him well first while the other ones had to get to know him beforehand.

Her case load is heavy. A couple IV’s, wound changes, someone with a tracheostomy. She sits down to chart, finally, at 3 AM.

One of the other nurses, Bill, calls for her across the hall.

She fights the urge to groan while standing on sore feet and walking over to his medication cart.

Bill grins at her, looking like he’s really enjoying himself. “My patient in 9 wants to see you.”

“Me?” She asks.

Bill shrugs, still looking very amused. “He says he needs to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Bill tells her. “Seems that he likes your company, though.” He gives an eyebrow raise at the awkward expression crawling onto her face.

She reminds herself that this her workplace for the 80th time and that Bill’s suggestive expressions are just him messing around. Joking. That’s all. He’s joking.

John is watching the door, waiting for her. When she pops in like a mouse and scurries to his bed, he feels the urge to pat her on the head for showing up which would be the only thing he could do to stop himself from grabbing her up and kissing her.

His smile is wide and genuine. “How’s the roommate search?”

“Uh, I got one.” She smiles timidly, hoping he doesn’t think she’s erratic and air-headed for finding someone so fast

His eyes widen just the smallest bit. “That’s good, is she…nice?”

She nods too eagerly. “He’s great. And he has great decorations.”

The key word here—at least the one his ears attune to—is he. Not because a woman and a man living together automatically entails romance or connection, but because John knows men—John is a man—and most of them turn out to be less than good.

He tries not to look mean, to keep his smile, to focus on her being here with him in the present and alive and well; If he doesn’t, rage will start talking, nefarious, whispering sin in his ear, assuring him that it wouldn’t be hard to break out of these handcuffs and make sure her roommate becomes her loyal dog for the rest of the time he spends living with her and alive.

“If you wouldn’t have suggested it, I’d probably be homeless by next week.” She tries to sway the conversation toward optimism because she sees something in his expression that reads like he’s a little upset. He probably does think she’s a moron at this point.

Maybe it’s just good that she’s happy. He tries to shift focus onto that. The roommate can’t be malignant if she’s so upbeat.

It’s been very easy to talk to John most times, but then there are moments like this when something awkward and unsaid hangs between them and more often than not she doesn’t know what it is. Maybe he doesn’t either.

“Just be careful,” is what he decides to say.

She chuckles. “I will, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t understand what’s funny—again, but he appreciates the laugh. One of them can get him through a few hours, and they’re so easy to wring out of her pretty throat.

One of the security guards stands, stretches, yawns. He says he’s going to take a break. The other guards are asleep, so once he leaves they’ll be alone.

“I’m gonna go to vending, John you want anything?” He asks.

John shakes his head no. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry if I bothered you while you were busy,” he says, too eager to talk as soon as the guard walks out. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She purses her lips, which he thinks means she’s trying not to leak an expression that will probably be embarrassing. Really, she’s trying to tame her lion heart back into its cage before it sinks its teeth into him and refuses to let go.

“I’m okay, John.” She attempts smiling. “You’re the one in the hospital bed.”

He shrugs like his stab wound and near death are just a hiccup.

She talks again. “And I’m glad you called me in. I like talking to you.”

His face is all smile now. “Likewise.”

He tells her to pull up a chair if she wants, and she steals one of the metal ones that the breaking guard left behind, sitting by his bedside. They start with a casual conversation about the weather that turns into a discussion on harsh winters in Belarus.

“Did you grow up there?” She asks him.

He nods. “I traveled a lot.”

“So, you’re Russian?” She puts her chin in her palm and stares at him like he is the most interesting person in the world. She’s adorable like this. He wants to brush the stray hairs from her cheeks.

“Yes. American, now.”

“Do you speak Russian?” Her eyebrows raise.

“да, красивая девушка” His tone automatically slides into a deeper baritone when he says this, and it makes her shudder.

He needs to be nerfed. Outlawed. He should not be handsome, nice, like-able, and be able to speak a different language in his perfect voice. It’s really not fair at all.

She’s too busy trying to tame her rogue thoughts to ask him what he even said. The desire to climb into his lap and straddle him crosses her mind twenty times in different ways. She blinks heavy. “You’re the coolest person I know.”

They talk until the guard comes back from his break, mainly about Belarus and what it was like there and where else he has traveled.

Although she has a ton of charting to catch up on, she doesn’t want to leave him. The taste of human connection is on her tongue after a couple years of abstinence and she’s becoming addicted.

When she exits his room, it’s with reluctance and impressive self control.

She tells him to sleep. He promises he’ll try.

It would be easier to do her job if she wasn’t catching Benny sneering at her whenever they’re in the same space, but she gets through it, reasoning that John has it worse than her because he has to suffer through six hours with the asshole guard in his room. And, it’s easier also because of…well, John himself.

[fernlessbastard]

first time using this ask thing heh and i don’t rly know what to say, but, as a casual tntduo lover to another tntduo lover, i desperately kindly ask what are your favourite fics? dont rly mind if its suggestive/smut, id still like to show dem authors love and support. as a trade offer, ill leave some fic recs on my next ask hehe :]

anyways been following u for a while now (on insta) and id like to say ur art brings me immense joy and never fails to inspire me. hope u and your partner have a nice day! bubye !

i know this aint a prompt or idea or concept but u just seem like a cool person that i want to interact with :]

Hiiiiii

My guy, I am so sorry, but I hardly have any recommendations...

Why? Well, I went to my AO3 account, and like a solid 1/3 of my history was completely deleted - as in the works were deleted. Additionally, I haven't been reading much lately, so I have no newer titles, unfortunately. But here's the couple I have:

there's always this thing that we're becoming. Brilliantly written, genuinely gorgeous, in character, etc - it is smut though (top notch smut, though)

I'm pretty sure I enjoyed TntDuo Content I Don't Want To Attach My Username To too - also smut lmao

Agape - NOT smut, for once, but never finished lmao

There's also this fic I am completely not connected to ha ha it's called Losing Face and while it is unfinished I heard that the author is doing this like kinda rewrite kinda reimagining sort of thing where tldr it's the same concept just executed better ha haa👀👀👀

Another one is real life au - it's VERY heavy though. Like, I had to stop reading it at some point cause it was legitimately just hitting too hard. It is well written, and it's supposed to evoke those emotions, but just be VERY careful with it. VERY tldr is that it's about Schlatt - Q's abusive ex - becoming Wilbur's sugar daddy. It is VERY dead dove do not eat, and deals with SA and s-cidal ideation. The fic is called Sugar Lips, but I won't put the link here cause seriously, it's fucking heavy - and in a very realistic way, not the fantasy "eating someone's heart while they're alive" type of thing, but in a "this happens to real people in real life" type of way. Idk if you still want to read it dm me for the link but yeah, just please stay safe, guys

And then there's one work which I cannot find for the life of me - I don't know if it got deleted or something but if it wasn't, tntblr please help me find it It was about Wilbur coming to Quackity when his stitches break. Once the guy stitches him up, there's a whole scene when Wilbur has a breakdown and Quackity helps him through it. Then I believe it's kinda this sort of "montage" of how Wilbur and Q kinda grow closer, and (spoiler alert) it ends with some event during which Sapnap and Karl show up and there's arguing and at some point Wilbur and Sapnap start fighting (physically) and Wilbur ends up beating Sapnap to death. It was so well written, and it was one of the earliest fics i've read, and i haven't been able to find it for a long, long time now

Anyway send me asks about absolutely anything, don't worry about it being "right" or anything - all asks are welcome, be it HCs, prompts, ideas, or just some appreciation, sharing something you like, a question to me, etc :]

[slithergaunt]

Gimme your hands

I’ve made this tweet, or some version of it, at least half a dozen times during conversation with others. If you aren’t familiar with the actual scene itself in a while, or haven’t seen Jaws (ARE YOU FUCKIN KIDDING ME? GO WATCH JAWS) you can find it on youtube as I did as the “gimme your hands” scene.

For those without time, Quint (played masterfully by Robert Shaw) is FINALLY being hired to go out and kill the shark that the mayor and town have been reluctant to actually acknowledge until now. However Hooper (played also wonderfully by Richard Dreyfuss) is a marine biologist or something and wants to come along too, and bring his fancy equipment.

Quint demands to feel Hooper’s hands, and the audience already knows Hooper not going to enjoy this. While squeezing squeezing the fuck out of Hooper’s hands to wound his masculinity, Quint claims Hooper’s fancy 2,000 nets and gadgets will be worth nothing against the shark they face. Then claiming his wealthy idle upbringing make him too weak to participate, leading to “You’ve got ‘city hands’ Mr. Hooper. Been countin’ money all your life..”

This is like mid-argument in the conversation, but the moment tells you EXACTLY the type of person Quint believes he is. Working man, man’s man, had to sweat and bleed in the mud for every dollar he’s made in his life. And Hooper is the soft little wimpy man from the city, the city man, bestowed with wealth, never done “an honest day’s work” in his life, weak and idle with all his fancy toys.

In the past century, we artists have been softer people. We’ve always been considered, and often felt, weaker in our trade. Not a “real job” kind of thing. Layabouts who don’t go out and actually “work”. For over the past century, we’ve been Hooper in this scene getting our hands crushed. I know I have.

But then, these techbros came along, with their AI generated art. I almost refuse to call it AI art, because that’s not what it is. It’s Mass Non-Consensual Online Image Combination Generated Media. MNCOICGM, rolls right off the tongue doesn’t it. But let’s humor them. Here they come with their new toys, their new gadgets, that allow them to do art purely by typing on a keyboard.

I’m not even gonna post examples of what they spurt out. The equivalent of using the Doordash app to order from 20 different restaurants, having a robotic arm put the contents into a blender for you, baking it, and declaring yourself a chef. And I know what you’re thinking, techbro “there’s SO MUCH MORE to the process than that!” and you’re correct! That IS a gross over-simplification of how much work is done FOR YOU while all you did was type.... a prompt

So now suddenly artists all over the world, even kindergartners with crayons have put in more work and effort than them. Suddenly we’re the one’s who’ve been putting in the hours, busting our backs, sweating in the mines, and have knowledge and skill sets (they could totally go learn too if you wanted btw) that make us seem like the grizzled workers who had to learn everything the hard way, over years of toil.

And someone has replaced us as Hooper. The rich boy with all his fancy toys and gadgets his dad bought him, who’s never worked a day in his life, and just sits around thinking he can use his new gadget to make things that look just as good as ours (by secretly feeding millions of our images into his gadget).

We never ever IMAGINED the day would come, but the artists of the world, of all mediums, finally have someone to say “Gimme your hands” to, and pettily emasculate by crushing their hands.

My main decree has always been: AI artists, it doesn’t matter how good the programs get, it doesn’t matter what results it produces, no matter how real or how “cool” you’re able to make it look. You typed a prompt, your machine used our shit to do it. I can now FINALLY embody the spirit of my coal-mining forefathers, and call you a pansy who’s never worked a day in his life, and I’ll keep doing it forever.

[goldnhourwrites]

Combined Headcanons (just for fun!)

continuation of my Heartsteel College AU headcanons post!! feel free to use this for shipping purposes or whatever, I tried to put them in some kind of order by person!

Sett and Yone had to take a physiology class together once and Sett brought a bunch of homemade cookies at the end of the term. Ever since Sett learned Yone was a permanently exhausted pre-med student he has made an effort to bring food to office hours/study groups to share with him

K'Sante and Yone took an 8AM lecture together once and bonded because they were the only two people who were ever both on time and fully awake for it

Ezreal shows Yone the coolest places to take walks on campus when Yone needs a break from work, like cool public artwork and parks he’s found nearby

Yone enjoys reading the poetry Aphelios publishes under his pseudonym, even though Aphelios doesn’t know it

Yone longs to be more involved in the music side of campus and Aphelios encourages him to pick up an instrument again. Yone goes to every orchestra, jazz band, and choir performance he can

Yone has gone to one of Kayn's band’s shows and occasionally listens while Kayn practices guitar

Alune works at the café where Yone gets his coffee most mornings

Yone and Alune also study together occasionally since Alune’s bio classes sometimes overlap with Yone’s pre-med ones, and they share notes when they take the same class

Sett and K'Sante met by always being at the gym at the weirdest times (like 6AM before a practice meet) until they each went "hey, I should learn this guy's name since I see him 3 times a week"

Once they’ve become friends, Sett and K'Sante start going to each other's home competitions and hyping each other up

Ezreal has gone to a party at Sett's fraternity where Sett practically had to carry him out at midnight for being too drunk (he didn't drink a lot, he's just a lightweight)

Sett and Aphelios didn't really "meet" before Heartsteel, but Aphelios goes to Alune's a capella performances and sometimes he sees Sett there during crossover/multi-group events

Sett and Kayn spar for fun sometimes because Kayn used to do martial arts before college, and they occasionally trade fighting techniques from different disciplines

Sett will model for Alune's fashion projects. He knows a bit about how to sew, so he'll occasionally help her with tailoring things

Ezreal and K'Sante will act for Alune if she needs someone for a video or photoshoot

K'Sante met Ezreal by asking him for help with a source for an anthropology project while Ezreal was working as a librarian, and Ezreal kept offering him more and more books to use

K'Sante and Aphelios have crossed paths in the music department while practicing after classes. K’Sante learned a bit of sign language so he could talk with Aphelios more easily

Kayn doesn't dance with a group, but he likes going to the dance shows and finds out that some of his favorite dances were K'Sante's choreography. Eventually, after Heartsteel forms, K’Sante teaches Kayn how to dance hip-hop (they both love it)

Aphelios has had to help Ezreal find his way out when he got lost in the computer science building while he was looking for a cool new study spot

In return, Ezreal has had to wake Aphelios up because it was midnight and he’d fallen asleep in the library and Ezreal needed everyone to leave so he could close

Ezreal and Kayn both joined the parliamentary debate club their freshman year and immediately hated each other's guts. They often sided against each other for the sake of getting to argue with each other and not because they actually supported the positions they were debating

Ezreal and Kayn have become partners in crime by repeatedly seeing each other in places they're not allowed to go ("You're not supposed to be in here!" "Neither are you!"). They occasionally cross paths in places neither of them should reasonably be able to get to (like the rooftops of a tall building) via Ezreal’s teleportation and Kayn’s wall-phasing and have agreed to not tell on each other

Alune and Ezreal were in a play together once. They’re both the right amount dramatic to get along with each other, and Aphelios met Ezreal when Alune was hanging out with him after a rehearsal

Kayn and Aphelios have both made things in the jewelry studio - Kayn making spiky silver earrings and rings and Aphelios making delicate necklaces

Aphelios and Kayn took a painting class together one term and saw each other in the studio often. They still occasionally see each other at figure drawing sessions

Kayn plays a bunch of video games and will always playtest Aphelios's game projects and give him feedback

Aphelios and Alune live in the same area of campus and are often seen walking home together. Alune is trying to teach Phel how to skateboard, but he’s committed to biking everywhere

Aphelios and Alune always go to each other’s performances (with permission), since they both have a bit of social anxiety and it helps to know someone is in the crowd supporting them

Alune and Kayn have been to a skate park together and Kayn is teaching Alune how to skateboard

[riallasheng]

Hello!!! Thank you for answering my ask about the boys' achievements, it's so cool to see how much info about them!! It's amazing! And I'd love love love to know about TinTin, Brains, and the rest too if you dont mind ^⁠_⁠^

Hello again my lovely returning anon! ^^

I'm quite glad to have answered your question, and I'm so happy that you enjoyed my answer! ^^

I'll answer these as best I'm able, although in warning there simply is not as much information on these characters as there is on the Tracy brothers, and it tends to be a bit more contradictory (esp with Brains. Oh my heavens Brains' stuff tends to be ALL OVER the place)

Despite there not being as much, it is still several people, so readmore deployed yet again!!

I also added in Grant Tracy (Grandma Tracy's husband) and Valentina Tracy (my name for Jeff's wife... I know Fleetway and now TaG have adopted the fanon name of Lucille for her, but I don't use it for my TOS fanworks)

Going from oldest to youngest again, which - given I'm a fan of the 'Brains is only Alan's age' - means Brains is last. Brains has like... four... official / canon age brackets. He bounces between 'roughly Jeff's age', to 'roughly Scott's age', to 'roughly the age of the 'middle' sibling (John or Virgil as ye please), to 'roughly Alan's age'. To me, his puppet LOOKS young, as does most of his art in the multiple canon comics, and he is referred to as a 'young man' and Scott thinks of him as 'the younger man' a few times in the novels and comics (plus Scott overall treats him like he is both younger than Scott himself AND much as he does his brothers - and his brothers treat Brains as if he were their age / one of the brothers in the novels and Brains treats THEM as if they're off the same age with Scott as the 'older sibling' in the novels too. Seriously there is SO MUCH SIBLING-LIKE BANTER AND TEASING it's wonderful XD ) So if nothing else in the NOVELS and pretty much all the comics I'd say Brains must be either in the 'middle sibling' or 'Alan' age bracket. (In a few comic stories, but most notably Atlantic Tunnel, Alan treats Brains as if THEY are roughly the same age, which is why I default to Brains being about Alan's age for my fanworks. Most official bios put Brains at ~25 though and thus 'middle sibling' age)

A quick note unrelated to this but in relation your other ask that is just a 'I forgot to add this': Gordon apparently does not have his astronaut wings, and seemingly doesn't have a astropilot license, not even a provisional / limited one. We actually only ever see him in space / on TB3 a very small handful of times and most of them are in Fleetway or Countdown.

Grant Tracy:

We somehow know both even less and even more about Grant than we do about Grandma Tracy. XD

We actually know his canon given name, and we know his profession (farmer) where we don't know what Grandma's profession was, and we know he was killed in the same avalanche that Jeff's wife was killed in

We know basically NOTHING ELSE about the man XD

I made him 3-4 years older than Grandma Tracy, and being VERY similar to Gordon in personality, to give someone for Gordon to have been really close to when the poor lad didn't quite fit in with the rest of the family. (which funnily enough gives him my baby brother's birth year)

I also had it where Grant graduated high school, but did not go for college as he wouldn't need it for his career (plus there honestly is nothing wrong with NOT going to college). I could absolutely see him going for a Trade school though

Given he seemingly was driving the car that he and the Tracys' mom was in when it was hit by the avalanche (Fleetway puts it as the house was hit so there's that too), he obviously would have had a Class-D (standard driver's) license. We know there was a lot of heavy farming equipment on the farm as Virgil's bios state he loved tinkering on and working with it, so he absolutely would have had a Class-B (farming vehicle) license. Outside of that, we don't really know what he might have had license wise

Grandma Tracy:

Not a part of her canon education or accomplishments, but my name for her in my fanworks is: Ruth Rosemary Joan Tracy (with a maiden name of Hughes). While the name of Ruth was popularized in the TOS fandom by the amazing Boomercat, I actually had come up with the name separately, naming her in honor of a VERY dear friend and 'great aunt' of mine who was VERY similar to Grandma Tracy in personality -especially the calm, down to earth, grounding and driving force that she is in the novels - and cooking skills (and in size. oh my lord my great aunt Ruth wasn't even 5 feet tall, which was always a bit amusing when she and I got to talk in person -she lived in Cairo, Egypt and I am American - as I'm 6 foot even) Her middle name of Rosemary actually was originally Eowyn, but I changed it in 2017 as my way of tributing Boomercat (Rosemary "Rosie" Alcott) when she passed away Her confirmation name (as I have her as Catholic, again in honor of the real-life Ruth for whom I named her) is Joan in tribute to Joan Hughes - an amazing woman in her own right who was actually the pilot of the real-life Tigermoth in Thunderbird 6!! Her maiden name of Hughes is a double duty tribute: both to Joan Hughes and to Howard Hughes!

There really is not much known about Grandma in canon. We aren't certain of her education. In the 2060s timeline, she would have been born in the late 80s (1987) and thus would be a millennial. Some of her bios imply that she would have been born in western Colorado (as that is where the Tracys were when the tragic avalanche happens and she and her husband Grant had moved to Aspen, Colorado after giving the TRACY family farm to Jeff and his new wife). So her education would be that of an early millennial / late gen Xer.

We don't know if she had any college education in canon. As I decided to make use of her apparently highly skilled cooking, I had her go to trade school / vocational school as cooking / baking is considered a trade

She refers to her cooking (and her cooking is referred TO) as famous, so I like to give her the accomplishment of running a bakery that won her awards and was well known but it isn't a canon accomplishment

Similarly, while it IS canon that Grandma traveled the world and is very worldly / knowledgeable about many places... we don't know anything more than that. I went with giving her Joan Hughes general backstory: A stunt pilot since the age of 15, one of the first people accepted into the newly formed World Air Force in the 2010s (one of the first women accepted into the britsh air force for Joan Hughes), served as a ferry pilot and ferried / flew aircraft all over the world - fighter craft, scout craft, bombers, you name it., then went on to be a stunt pilot after the war for a while. This means that in my fanworks, the Tiger Moth is RUTH's and used to be her stunt plane and she gave it to Jeff, and then Alan when she got too old to safely fly it. As a further result of this, Ruth was given the World Government equivalents of Joan's awards / medals in my ficverse (That would be the MBE and Pike Trophy- the pike being for outstanding contribution to civil flying instruction)

Grandma is strongly implied to have been a pretty good marksman in her past, so I gave her that skillset as well in my fanworks. Granted a LOT of farmers / people in rural areas in the US tend to be decent marksman as it's actually a fairly required / necessary skill set, esp on farms.

We never see Grandma driving in canon, BUT as someone with many kith and kin in rural areas in the USA... let's just say she would ***100%*** have a Class-D (standard driver's) license. Like seriously, public transportation is NOT an option outside of urban / suburban areas. I'd assume she also would have a Class-B (farmer's) license. My version of the character has a pilot's license as I used Joan Hughes' backstory to explain Grandma Tracys' 'world travelling' and 'exciting' past. She might have a helicopter license, though I strongly doubt she'd have a helijet license. She might have a CBL (or class A, B, and C commerical vehicles) license if we go with her having a Bakery that was big enough and /or to transport planes around via transport trucks. She seemingly has a commercial boating license, and the show kinda implies that she knows HOW to scuba, so we'll assume she has a diving license. Grandma is old enough (78 in 2065) that she likely has not renewed some - if not all - of these licenses. It depends on her health and opinions and needs

Parker:

Yes, yes, I know that in canon Parker is ~5 years Jeff's junior, but gosh darn it that always felt WRONG to me, Parker consistently looks and ACTS older than Jeff so I decided to age him up so that he was 5 or so years Jeff's SENIOR (Basically, it's the same age gap we see in the 04 film. Bill Paxton was born in 1955, Ron Cook was born in 1948)

I pull MUCH more heavily off the novels and comics for Parker and Penny than I do the TV series (esp the Lady Penelope novels) as Parker is MUCH less of a comedic and bumbling figure there, portrayed as far more competent and capable, and there is legit respect and friendship (if not a family-like bond) between Parker and Penelope in the novels and comics. Oddly enough, the 04 film really captured novel/comics Parker in a way the TV show never really did for me.

Parker hails from a long line of retainers for the English aristocracy 'for centuries', going back to at least the time of Queen Victoria and most likely longer than that. Parker was actually born into a decently well to do family, as his father was head butler, and his mother head housekeeper to an Earl.

Parker went to school and excelled at thermo-technical dynamics and engineering - at 13 years of age he converted an ex-army hovercraft into an all-terrian car/library for the Earl (from what I can figure, he basically gutted the hovercraft and installed shelving and a desk in the now empty interior, removed the partition wall between the cabin and main body of the hovercraft, and likely added a ramp of some kind to the rear for access. The hovercraft seems to have been about the size of a short-bus from context clues. So impressive, but not impossible for a 13 year old.

It's heavily implied that Parker continued to go to school and into higher education, still with a focus on thermo-technical dynamics and engineering, and continued to excel at it

The Earl died with Parker was 20. The Earl's family cut off Parker's allowance, his parents paychecks, kicked the Parker family out of the house / off the grounds, gave them no recommendations and from the sounds of it 'took back' a LOT of the money they'd been saving / left the family basically penniless.

The Parkers moved to London. It's HEAVILY implied that his parents died very shortly after this, and Parker fell in with bad company, quickly using his education to become the finest / best safe-cracker in the world, and an equally skilled cat-burglar. No violent crime at all, in fact it seems the only violence he has was self defense or while resisting arrest / escaping custody, and even that seems limited to 'only what is needed to get away and won't do any lasting harm'. At the very least, Parker seems to have no counts of murder, manslaughter, battery, or assault. He indeed was only at Parkwood due to his reputation for being to escape 'any nick'

He was eventually caught and ended up in Parkwood Scrubs Prison and spent some time there, where he shared a cell with light-fingered Fred and the two became great friends.

Parker was released from Prison and given passing refences to his having served in 'the war' I tend to think that he might have had something similar to his Real-Life INSPIRATION occur: Johnny Ramensky was a career burglar and safe-cracker. During WWII he was released after agreeing to enlist in the military and put his skills to 'good use'. Parker having this past explains why he was released after only one to three years, the mentions of him having served / having military contacts and friends, and is a nice tie-in to his primary inspiration! There's at least one mention in the comics and I thiiiiiink one of the bios that he has a decorated service record.

Parker, like Jeff, is old enough that he likely was involved in SEVERAL of the 'world conflicts' that happen in TOS comic and show canon -The Global Conflict of the 2010s: In canon Parker wouldn't have been born yet, and in my aged up fanon he, like Jeff, would have only been a preteen. So not involved. -The Global Atomic War of the 2030s: Parker would have been in his early 30s for this, too young for what we see in the 'time in Parkwood' flashback, and likely joined this war of his own free will and likely is when he was a 'radio-man' and could even be where he got a lot of his driving training / skills as the way it is described in the novels is VERY 'military' in style. (Jeff was in this war too btw, as a pilot although it is heavily implied he was flying medical aid and not a combat pilot). Great Britian, Russia, Turkey, and I think Brazil become Military Dictatorships during this war and remain so until the 2040s. -In the 2040s, the World Goverment uses the Universal Secret Service (basically WIN from Joe 90, but the Agent 21 stories predate Joe 90 and the 'name' WIN by over 5ish years) to kill the Dictators in command of the various dictatorships, toppling said goverments and bringing them into the world goverment. These events were referred to as Civil Wars . We see Agent 21 being sent to the British Dictatorship to do this / take part in the British Civil War in his comic strips, set in 2046. Parker likely would have been living in England, likely even in London, during this time frame as he mentions he's only ever lived in England. Parker could have been a Loyalist, part of the rebellion, or even just 'I don't care', we really have no way of knowing. All factors considered, I lean towards Parker simply didn't care all that much and was still engaging in burglary and the like during this time frame. He would have been in his mid 40s. -Some time in the 2050s (I lean towards late 2050s given the ages of various characters involved) there SEEMS to have been another War. This is the one that Scott, Gordon, Troy, Phones, Scarlet, and many others MUST have been involved in. Parker would have been in his early 50s and THAT matches up with the age we see in the Parkwood flashbacks. Thus Parker likely was captured and held at Parkwood sometime in the late 2040s to early 2050s, and when the War started, was offered freedom in exchange for his skills.

After the war, Parker's bio says that he tried to go straight and narrow, taking odd jobs, but nothing worked out and by the time late 2063 / earl 2064 rolled around, he was back to burglary and safe-cracking... which is when / how Lady Penelope ended up meeting and hiring him. It's a FUN story, btw, and the first comic of Lady Penelope's comic strip stories. Parker goes to break into the safe of an American Oil Tycoon... only to find Lady Penelope already in the room, chilling. She basically half forces / half tricks Parker into agreeing to work for her.

Parker is an AMAZING driver, an excellent mechanic, and there's ONE comic (in Fleetway, which came out in the 90s) where we see him flying a plane so he at some point got his pilots license, but that MIGHT actually be a trainers / limited pilots license. Penny does canonically have a pilots license and thus so long as she is in the craft, Parker could fly with a limited license, and that might be only for jet craft, not propeller craft - ABSOLUTELY not for bi-planes XD. He absolutely does not have a helicopter or helijet license. He seems to have a civilian AND Commerical boating license, and might have a civilian submarine craft license. We see him diving, so he has a diving license. The man suffers from vertigo and shows no control over his parachute(s) when he uses them, so he doesn't have a skydiving or paragliding license. He might have a CBL (Class A, B, and C commerical vehicle) license, in fact I'd lean heavily towards it.

Jeff's Wife / Tracy Brothers' Mom:

She might be British? I think one of the bios says something along those lines, but all other canon material implies she was, like Jeff, American so it's sort of a *shrug emoji*. I like the idea of her being British myself, but it's a VERY grey area so choose as ye please

Yes, I made Jeff's wife older than him (only a year or so though XD ) I actually did it so that Alan and TinTin mirror the relationship, as Alan actually mirrors Jeff in a LOT of ways

I also go with a non-canon name. Valentina Lucille Tracey (maiden name Baumgartner) In my defense, Lucille was just a very popular fanon name starting in the mid 80s and then in the 90s, Fleetway comics made it canon, THAT happened only because the creative team at Fleetway mistakenly thought Lucille WAS canon / were persuaded to use it because of how popular it was. Both Gerry and Sylvia said they 'never would have named' the character Lucille so by the time Fleetway made it canon in the 90s, and then when TaG made it canon in the Teens... I already had a name for the character. I used the name of the first female Astronaught for her given name, and I gave her the surname of the first female test pilot. Then as a tip of the hat to fanon (and now canon) her middle name is Lucille.

Rather like Grant, we really don't know much about this woman, we don't even TECHNICALLY know her canon name in TOS, as Fleetway didn't come out till the 90s... although it is considered 'part', or at least one of, the canon continuities that make up TOS

We do know from bios that Virgil is the one that took the most after her - in appearance, in personality, and in his artistic and musical talents. Virgil's bio also flat-out states that she was musically focused, rather than Virgil's heavier art focus. She had a promising career as a concert pianist. She either retired from it to be a full time mom or 'retired' when she passed away. That means that the White Baby Grand is almost certainly HER piano.

Small fun fact, the 'died giving birth to Alan' might actually be ascended-fanon as well. Gerry and Sylvia never said or implied it themselves, and the sources that use it generally didn't get the info from them. officially, she died in a tragic accident when Alan was 'quite young' and Alan was then raised by his father and eldest brother and was as a result 'rather spoilt'. The avalanche I think first shows up in Fleetway, but I'm not sure.

Jeff Tracy

Canonically one of the first men on the moon... which... really, REALLY, REALLY doesn't work. Even with the 2020s timeline, Jeff was born in the 1970s which is AFTER the Space Race, and even Fleetway has it where there is the beginnings of a Lunar Colony in 2000 / 2001 when Jeff goes to the Moon. That's likely why so many fans make it where Jeff was the first man on MARS. Even with the 2060s timeline, that would have taken place in the 2020s to 2030s and thus predates pretty much any instance of humans on Mars... eeeeexcept in TV21 - which had Mars colonized sometime in that 2010s time frame. =_= ...honestly, there's a reason in my fanworks I moved the Martian Capital City of Kahra from Mars and the Martian Colony to Venus / have it where Agent 21 operates from / was born on Venus and Mars is NOT yet colonized but instead Venus was XD

We know he graduated High School in the top of his class (don't know if he skipped grades) and had a higher education at an Ivy League school... likely Yale or Harvard, BUT if he went to school at Oxford, that could be how he met his wife, as she apparently was British!! He easily could have had something similar to Scott where he got his Masters at Yale, then 'finished' his schooling at Oxford to get a PhD or a second Masters.

He served in the Air Force (World or US) and served 'in a war' which almost certainly would have been the Global Atomic Conflict of the 2030s when he was in his mid to late 20s. He met and befriended Casey at this time. Both he and Casey achieved the rank of Colonel during their time in the war. There's a refence in the comics (and I think bios) that Jeff was the youngest colonel on record 'until Scott claimed that record' which is likely where the reference to Scott being a Colonel comes from.

Jeff was a pilot, but it seems like he avoided direct combat / was not a FIGHTER pilot and certainly there are no mentions of him being an Ace. He might have been flying aid missions and the like. There's a passing mention of his being involved in a mutiny, but it's in the sense that HE wasn't part of the mutiny OR the target of it, but more he had the bad luck of being on a ship when the mutiny occurred.

In what would have to be before the War (so in the 2020s) Jeff received training to become an Astronaut. He also seemingly started founding his company around this time / in his early 20s. (Seriously, that company has SO MANY DIFFERNT NAMES IN CANON.) By his mid-20s Jeff's company had gotten started and was already bringing in millions, and Jeff was running it alongside his astronaut / pilot duties and seemingly was managing to keep it going (likely by hiring skilled CEOs) even during the was in the 2030s. The company is BIG. Big enough that funding IR can be hidden in the shuffle big. That means forget millionaire. possibly forget billionaire. Jeff might be a trillionaire. and he is 100% a self-made man, as both of his parents (and their parents and going back generations) were middle-class - at best - generational farmers.

oh also, in TV21, at some point in the 2030s, there was a rebellion at the Jupiter Colony and the leader of said rebellion went to Earth to try and claim control of the moon / lunar colony. He is stopped and captured by Jeff and the jovian invasion force surrenders and returns to Jupiter. the leader, Kranol will be held in a high security prison until sometime in the late 2060s.

Has a Class-D (standard driver's) license. ABSOLUTELY has a pilot's and astropilot's license / has his astronaut wings. Pretty much certainly has a Class-B (farmer's) license. Likely has a CBL (Commercial Class A, B, and C) license. Has a civilian boating license and likely has a commercial boating license. I can't think of any time we see him diving, so might not have that.

Kyrano

There isn't really much known about Kyrano's education. He must have HAD it, because he is listed as working at both Kew and Kennedy Space Center as... well, quite a few things. one mention is that he was a professional cook, but ALL other mentions put him as a botanist. Either Expert Botanist in general and was in charge of many plants and layouts and landscaping... or plants to recycle air for space travel/stations... etc. Botany is the career things keep returning to, so that like is what he majored in and to get a job at the places he did, he must have a degree and most likely a Masters or the equivalent there of.

The Hood is his younger half-brother and somehow stole Kyrano's inheritance from him, leaving Kyrano penniless. Kyrano's family owned a massive jungle 'estates' with a variety of things reported and having rubber plantations and mines of some kind.

Kyrano and TinTin and how they met Jeff / came to live with the Tracys is... really a hodge podge, although the only MAJOR outlier is Fleetway. All the other canon continuities have it where Jeff and Kyrano have been friends for YEARS, meeting before his wife died. TinTin to all appearances came to live with the Tracys while she was fairly young AND seemingly before her father came to live with the Tracys (possibly Kyrano trying to get TinTin away from the Hood and the danger he presented?) as TinTin seemingly finished up her High School in America and ABSOLUTELY was living with the Tracys for her entire higher education period, as Jeff paid for it. Kyrano has been living with the Tracys and acting as the housekeeper / butler for a few years to several years by the time of the pilot. Fleetway has it where Jeff doesn't meet Kyrano and TinTin until two or three years prior to the pilot episode which... doesn't fit with anything we see / are told in teh show, novels, or any other comics.

He has a Class-D (standard driver's) license. Has a pilot's license. Seems to have a helijet but not a helicopter license. Doesn't seem to have any other licenses that we're aware of

Lady Penelope

Penny started her schooling at Hightower School, starting when she was 11 and graduating somewhere around 12-13 years of age. She was top of her class, Head Girl, and top athlete. (so it'd be Lower School, if I recall correctly, and seemingly skipped a grade or two)

After Hightower, she went to Rowden Boarding School - a highly exclusive and well respected school. We don't know what she majored in, only that she was again top of her class, Head Girl, and top athlete and graduated at 14-15. (Upper School if I, again, am recalling correctly. She seemingly doesn't skip grades here, but she is a year or two younger than everyone else due to graduating early from Hightower)

In quick explanation we find out in the 'Penny as a Young Girl / Penny as a Teen' comics that Penny's father is actually a retired spy, and Penny decides right around as she is set to graduate from Rowden that she wants to be a spy as well. UNFORTUNATLY the comics don't follow up on this. Instead the 'Penelope as a Young Woman' comics are set in the mid 1960s instead of 2045 -2050s, Penny wasn't going to school but instead going to live in the city, there was no indication she was rich, they never went into her spy career... she just... suddenly was a middle class girl trying to get by in the big city. Which probably wouldn't have bugged me if it hadn't been PENELOPE right when she was supposed to be starting her spy training!! To make it even worse, Penny's bios and bits and bobs we get from her comics, novels, etc all tell us that she DIDN'T have these adventures, but instead went to a Swiss 'Finishing School' that was actually a cover for a SPY SCHOOL and became an independent Secret Agent by 19 years of age!! (It actually matches up almost perfectly with what we see in Class 6 Sternoff', a subline comic in the Lady Penelope Comic Magazine, and one of the leads is VERY similar to Penny in personality... which makes me think that Class 6 was originally the 'Penny as a Young Adult' and the stories set in the 1960s were supposed to be the subline with an original character.) As a result of all this, I freely admit that I generally ignore the 'Young Adult' comics and treat Class 6 as the 'official' Young Adult Penelope comics.

Upon graduating, Penny became an independent spy / free agent. She has been indicated to have worked for the USS (Universal Secret Service - the TV21 equivalent of WIN), to have worked for WIN (World Intelligence Network, introduced in Joe 90), to have either worked FOR or FOUNDED or became the leader of FAB (Federal Agents Bureau)... the problem with all of those is that the TV show, comics and novels all make it VERY clear that Penny doesn't work for anyone. She's an independent agent that a few other spies / higher ups in agencies know (and many of them have no idea who she REALLY is, only knowing her as Agent L). Rhapsody's bio claims that Lady Penelope was the founder and leader of FAB and that Penelope trained Rhapsody... but the thing is EVERYTHING but Fleetway's Complete TB Story puts Lady Penelope very VERY solidly in the 2060s - like flat out stated multiple times solidly... and that means Penny and Rhapsody are the same age, only a year or two of difference.

There is a VERY weird refence that Jeff met Penny / she was an old friend from his 'Agency Days' and that becasue of the 'delicate nature of some of his missions, he met Lady Penelope' which... this is literally the only time it's implied that Jeff was a secret Agent (something DIRECTLY contradicted by everything else we know of his history) and it also directly contradicts every other instance we have of how the two met... which is always something along the lines of 'close to the time IR gets started, Jeff is informed by SOMEONE of Penny's status as a super spy, meets and usually tests her in some way, and then has her become the first IR agent / head of the IR agents.

Penny is involved in a lot of charities, and has a cover of a 'aspiring journalist' that she maintains to explain her travels and questioning of people in her line of work when 'I am rich and was bored' will not work. She is famously as generous as she is polite.

Lady Penelope has gotten up to QUITE a few adventures as a spy, many of which have had World Politics level impact (the woman has dealt with Generals, Heads of Secret Police, ARMYS, and more)

She speaks several languages with native level fluency; known examples include Italian, French, German, Spanish and Berezniki

There is a passing reference that Scott and Penny met 'while in school / met a few years ago' that is just... what. WHEN. But not in the 'this directly contradicts EVERYTHING we're told way' that the 'during Jeff's Agency days' bit does Of all the characters they are the ones MOST LIKELY to have met prior to the mid 2060s, since the rest of the Tracys (including Jeff) basically stayed in America (and/or outer space) with Jeff's time outside of America mostly being in the 2030s... which would have been before Penny was born in late december 2039. Scott was in England for Oxford in ~2055 which would be around the time Penny was in Rowden Boarding School. He also was in / around Europe during 'the War' when Penny would have been finishing up her Spy Schooling / just starting her spy career. TinTin went to school (multiple) SOMEWHERE(s) in Europe as she finished up her education, but those are canonically all engineering and technical universities and I don't think the timelines match up as well. Brains MIGHT have gone to school in Paris, but so far as we know Penny did not spend much time in Paris and wouldn't have been going to an engineering school there... also Brain's time in Paris is VERY QUESTIONABLE as far as canon goes If the two did meet - esp during the time that Penny was preparing to be a spy (last year of Rowden), training to be a spy (the swiss school) or starting her spy career (late 2050s-early 2060s), that actually does answer the old fandom question of "who told Jeff about Penny and how she was a spy when even the commanders of MI5, WIN, the USS and every other spy organization (except FAB, which Jeff wouldn't have a connection to) doesn't know?" Scott, possibly.

one point of note here... Penny likely doesn't have many (if any) of these licenses as 'Lady Penelope', but instead has gotten the training and has fake licenses / licenses under false IDs Lady Penelope has a Class-D (standard driver's) license... yes, really. There is only one instance where Penny apparently 'doesn't know how to drive' and it's when she's playing the 'socialite' AND trying to delay returning to London. There's another episode where we see Penny driving in the show and she has NO issue with it. She has multiple instances of driving herself around in the comics and novels. She is the only character stated FLAT OUT to be able to drive a motorcycle (and a rocket motorcycle at that!), so she absolutely has a motorcyle license. While it's said (I think in the show? but it's absolutely said in TB6) that Penny doesn't have a pilot's license, she is actually seen / mentioned flying a plane in the comics and novels, so I'm going to go with 'Penny not having a pilot license is a lie', most likely said because Penny felt someone she didn't want to know the truth was in ear shot / she was worried there might be a recording device nearby. She has flown a helijet and a helicopter, so likely has a license for both. She seems to have a civilian submarine craft license. She has both a civilian and commercial boating license (although she goes through the Seabird Yachts like CRAZY. Seriously she starts her comics with Seabird I and was on Seabird VI by the time her comics ended). She has a diving license. She has a paragliding and skydiving license. She doesn't have a astopilot license or astronaut wings and canonically she doesn't know how to drive commercial vehicles or construction vehicles.

TinTin

What's in a name? ...a lot of confusion apparently XD Multiple canon sources say that TinTin's name means 'sweet', but there is no Malaysian word that is similar to TinTin that means such... buuuuuuut there is a MANDARIN word that means Sweet Tián If you go with a non-canon surname (Tin - catonese spelling of the mandarin surname Tian - meaning field) you end up with the name Tián Tin which to many people would sound like 'Tin Tin' ...the fact that this is the name of one my RL friends is just coincidence and maybe kinda sorta inspiration for this XD the fact that said friend is a HUGE Adventures of Tin-Tin fan and gleefully claimed 'Tin-Tin' as a nickname that she STILL uses to this day... well... XD As for why she uses 'Kyrano' as a surname once or twice in the show... it could just be an false surname for security purposes, or even just a mix-up in paperwork (I did get called 'Ms J Leonard' at a job once, as a mix-up had them thinking my dad's given name was my surname somehow, so it CAN be a thing that happens)

TinTin apparently comes to America to live with the Tracys while fairly young (and before her father does) as she at minimum finishes her high school (equivalent) education in America before moving onto a higher education. She also apparently skips grades as she SEEMS to graduate at ~16.

She goes to college in America for a period of time, and then goes to Europe to finish her higher education. What these schools are is unknown / never said unfortunately. A bunch of countries are mentioned / considered canon by the fandom, but nothing is said or even really hinted at in canon. I honestly have her following in Scott's 'footsteps', going first to Yale for ~2 years (in 2060 & 2061) and getting a Masters in Electrical/Mechanical Engineering and possibly Higher Mathematics. I have her take a 2 year gap to get job experience - working at Tracy Industries, also in part because this falls during the apparent 'War' that happened. After the war, TinTin went to Oxford for ~2 years (in 2063 & 2064) and gets a Masters in Advanced Technical Theory and if she didn't get the Higher Mathematics before, she got it here. She graduates in June of 2064.

She is canonically an electronics expert, a mathematical mind, and engineer. (Fun fact, she is the only character we see doing maintenance in the TV show when she's shown doing maintenance on TB1 in Martian Invasion.) She is also said to be an engineer / head engineer in the Lady Penelope audio adventure 'Introducing Thunderbirds' which for some reason was cut from the Anniversary Episode

She acts as Jeff's secretary as a 'cover', but seemingly actually HAS had secretary training and sometimes does secretary / dictation work to help Jeff out when not helping Brains in the Lab / doing engineering work

TinTin has a Class-D (standard driver's) license, and might have a motorcycle license. She's apparently an expert level diver, almost as good - if not as good - as Gordon is and thus would have a divers license. She has a civilian boating license and apparently is very skilled. She has a civilian submarine craft license. She has a pilots license for both jet and propeller craft and apparently can pilot a biplane and stunt plane. She has her astronaut wings and an astropilot license (although it MIGHT be a provisional / limited license as we never see her pilot solo). Likely has a paraglider and sky diving license. Has a CBL (Commercial Class A, B, and C) license.

Brains

hooo boy here we go

What's in a name? Well to start, it IS NOT Hiram K Hackenbacker. Even if you totally ignore the fact that the episode where the name is introduced flat out states it's an alias that Brains fails to react to... there are other instances where it's stated to be an alias in the audio for this ep. It also isn't Horatio Hackenbacker, despite what the 1966 Spring Extra says ^^;; Whatever his name is, it's not this ^^

Born in Michigan (some things say 'Chicago, Michigan' which... well Chicago is NEAR Michigan, but the Windy City is actually in Illinois) and while preteen his parents were killed when a.... hurricane... struck... their... Michigan home I i literally do not have enough words to explain why that is impossible in this... maybe in a separate post like the 'Y'all don't get America dudes' one or something

After the death of his parents, Brains was adopted by a retired Camridge professor who had been a friend of his parents. Said adoptive father apparently passes away before Brains is a mid-teen / early teen btw. Poor kid.

Brains skips LOTS OF GRADES. I personally headcanon that he was homeschooled by his adoptive father as Brains likely would have been bored by normal schools and likely heavily bullied. He starts college as a young teen, and must have been taking tests (like CLEP or DANTES) to get as many classes out of the way as possible while he was 'still in high school' since he's got his first Doctorate as a mid teen.

What school(s) he went to is uncertain. There's a single reference to him going to university in Paris, where he gave a lecture that Jeff heard and made Jeff realize the young man was the perfect person to make IR a reality... the issue with that is that Jeff unlikely would have been in Paris sitting in on a random lecture. All other schools Brains could have gone to were in America, so I tend to assume that Brains had an American education. He's had MIT, Harvard, Yale, Stanford, University of Chicago, Caltech and... Fleetway puts him at Tracy University - which while it was a space focused school, it was also one of the best tech universities in the world. As a result, I tend to have it where Brains went to Tracy U. That means he would have ABSOLUTELY run into at least one of the Tracy brothers, who then could have easily brought Brains to Jeff's attention.

While still a teenager (probably in 2061 or 2062), Jeff listened to a lecture Brains gave at his college, approached Brains and Brains was soon part of IR.

Brains has SEVERAL Doctorates by the time of the pilot episode. I remember at least one refence to him having ~12, and I know he's got at least 5 mentioned a few times

Brains was involved in the designing of all the Thunderbirds and pod vehicles. Jeff, Scott, John, Virgil, and Gordon seemingly were also involved to various degrees in the craft (Alan seemingly was not, and TinTin is debatable - though she WAS involved in the construction)

What his many doctorates are in, we do not know, though we can assume it's various tech, math, engineering and so on

His 'hobbies' include trigonometry, thermodynamics, and advanced robotics / programming, and seemingly is trying to create an AI / android as shown in Braman.

[facks-stories]

I doubt you guys want to read this long message,

Point is, I’m going to leave tumblr for longer, reasons under cut:

Reasons

1 - writing

Like I’ve said before, I like writing more then drawing, and I love you guys and all the art I make for you guys [love is pushing it for the art but let’s ignore for now]

But I asked someone for their opinion [if I should write more,ect, ect.] and they told me to do what I wanna, so I am, I’ll still draw but probably not as nearly as much, only for the characters sheets and art trade

I’m going to write a lot more, its better for my heath anyway [not sitting up for so long], the same format for anyone who doesn’t want to see my storys/the opposite, @weather-story for just writing, @facks-arts for just art, @facks-stories for text and art with context,

2 - heath

As you know, I’m built with fucking legos or something because my heath is so unstable and unreliable, so I have limited energy, I can’t spend much more of that energy making posts and drawing,

Hopefully this break can give me more of that energy back, I’ll also have more time to figure out what going on

3 - burn out?

I think I’m getting burn out, from something, so I might not have that much art, or even writings when I come back,

4 - mental health

As you guys know, my mental health is also built out of legos- its shit and every one knows it, especially because I lost someone I considered a best friend [starby is alright and alive, we just don’t talk anymore]

And especially it’s been bad because I found out something personal, I’ve just been a little rocky lately. So I don’t really feel like talking to people that much,

What can/will happen during the break?

-I’ll try and answer any dms I get, I still care about you guys so dm me if you need or want to talk

-Receive asks, the ask box will still be open, send asks while I’m gone, don’t, doesn’t matter

-answer in polls I’m tagged in, its just a poll

-make the weekly cotton posts

What won’t happen during the break:

-I won’t do picrew chains, 😔 as much as I love not being able to make myself I’ll do them after I come back

-answer asks, same with this^ I’ll do them when I get back,

-make posts [that isn’t weekly cotton]

-send asks [I’ll probably wrote them down if I have any

After break?

I’m going to write more, maybe I’ll repost some of the writings on this account but I doubt,

Basically go back to being normal but probably a lot more rants

Asks, picrew chains, and the character sheets will be done after I come back

Thats all from what I know, I’ll edit this if I need to, but this will be pinned until I get back

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

My (second) take on Miles and Gwen’s future kid

My art skills are still not the most impressive, but hey, is not the same face as Angelica and is decent, so i will take what I can.

Some fun facts about him!

The name was Miles idea; Gwen wanted to prioritize Miles' idea for a name, since Angelica's was really her idea; however Miles wanted to prioritize both someone important that they lost.

He hates his name, he feels he is just being compared to these guys he never really met (or not the version he is named after at least.) It also made things confusing in a few occasions.

At some point when he was a kid, his grandpa Jeff joked with calling him junior to make things easier, and it kind of stuck. He is called Junior around friends and family for the most part.

He has dark brown hair, blue eyes, and is a few shades lighter than his sister. He can pass as white.

Aaron indeed, uses glasses. Since the society had people from the future and such, Aaron was able to get on the eyes of his mask to act in the same way glasses would.

While a lot of people peg him for a nerd thanks to his glasses, he is really laid back and jokes around a lot.

Despite technically being the "baby" in the house (being just a couple of years younger than Angelica), he feels he is just on his sister shadow.

Jr is kind of clumsy, if his healing factor wasn't as good as it is he would be covered in small scars all over the place; he wasn't allowed on missions until much later than his sister's for that reason.

HATES being compared. Aaron constantly feels he is measuring up to someone, "You look a bit like your great uncle", "Your sister can answer while barely looking at the blackboard and you make these type of mistakes?"

Can make friends with anyone, knows how to blend in and get people in a good mood.

Had a thousandth hobbies on his short lifetime, he never stuck with anything for him to be great at something, but it gave him a lot of passive knowledge in different things, as well as being kind of a jack of all trades.

Wishes to be a great hero like his dad and mom, but they don't let him do much because of his clumsiness and not really being good at combat.

Teachers dislike him because they see him as a good for nothing and a class clown. In reality, a lot of times he mix stuff up or made a mistake, and decided to play it as a joke to avoid feeling humiliated. Hasn't revealed that to someone for who embarrassed he is.

Extremely jealous and bitter towards his sister; because she can be amazing in school, an incredible hero, and has jack shit interest in either of them.

(He doesn't know it, but Angelica is actually really bitter towards him; because he makes friends everywhere he goes and people like him; while she tends to be more awkward and standoffish. The type of girl who is in a corner and you think she may look cool, but is panicking thinking how she knows no one.)

Likes to do small magic tricks for funzies, it was a way for him to keep his hands busy with something, and it can be very amusing.

You can clearly see where I was going/being inspired with Angelica and Aaron, but I couldn't help it. Just like I couldn't help with the cliche of siblings who are jealous of what the other have, is just fun.

Oh boy, I wish Miles and Gwen good look with these kids; specially since I was considering Aaron being tempted to get a Symbiote, and the results of that are as good as you can imagine.

[trash-gobby]

Hi there! I LIVE FOR PALMER CONTENT FROM THE THING! I love your writings! If it’s not too much trouble, can I please ask for something with him? I love angst! Maybe hurt comfort or whatever you’re up for! Headcanons are neat too! If not him then Pinhead from Hellraiser would be neat! ALSO If you ever want me to write something for you, don’t hesitate to ask! I love horror too and you seem really cool! I’d be down to do like, a writing trade(?) kinda like an art trade but with writing! If not that’s cool too! I still love what you do! Keep it up!

Palmer - The Thing: Headcanons, Pinhead - Hellraiser: Headcanons

Pairing(s): Pinhead x Reader, Palmer X Reader

Characters: Pinhead, Palmer

Link: The Thing, Hellraiser

⚠️ Warnings!: References to sex, death

A/N: Hello! I really appreciate your kindness. I am super behind in my writing and I am trying to play catch-up right now. I hope you enjoy this piece of work. It has been a while since I've written anything so I might be a bit rusty. I tried for angsty HCs, but I'm not sure how well I did lol.

You don't have to write me anything if you don't want to (especially since this req is a year late 😥) though I appreciate the offer <3

__________________________________________

Palmer (The Thing 1982)

General Headcanons

✨Palmer has had a rough go of it. He's took this job in the middle of the freezing cold in order to make ends meet after stagnation in his work life.

✨The job at the outpost was paying way above whatever he'd made and he'd wanted to save up in order to get out of the endless spiral of debt he's in.

✨He acts like he doesn't really care about much, but he has a brother at home who he sends money too. The Walkman he has was his brother's which he gave him as a gift to keep him sane in the Antarctic

Pairing Headcanons

✨Palmer struggles to get close with someone as he has been disappointed a lot in the past. He wants to care for someone, but is torn between his obligations and his fear of rejection.

✨He often doubts himself, and doesn't understand why anyone would be interested in him when there are a lot of other more attractive men (in his opinion) at the outpost.

✨When/If you die at the hands of the Thing Palmer will be distraught. He will not be able to trust anyone and get more and more unstable until he meets his eventual demise.

Elliot Spencer/Pinhead (Hellraiser)

General Headcanons

✨Pinhead has lost all faith in humanity, with not much empathy left. It is what makes him such a good cenobite.

✨When he was human he once believed in emotions like compassion and kindness, but witnessing the horrors of war warped him. This sent him on the path right to the lament configuration.

✨ Though Pinhead talks of the pleasure and pain of the dimension which the cenobites hail from with such reverence, he is often very lonely. The empty spaces of his universe, can't even be filled sufficiently by other cenobites for him.

✨ Being trapped with only the vague memories of the past and the everlasting pain of both physical and mental proportions stops Pinhead from wanting to pursue any kind of meaningful venture.

Pairing Headcanons

✨ Pinhead is a creature of horror and wonder, a man turned monster. Thus his ability to show affection or humanity will be limited.

✨ He's guarded when it comes to the more sensitive sides of a romantic relationship. He's more familiar with carnal acts, both physical and emotional.

✨ It will take a lot to remind Pinhead of his humanity, and even more to get him to express it.

✨ Although if his partner is able to get him to remember the past he long has forgotten, confronting that trauma. He will end up forming a bond with them that will last over many lifetimes and dimensions.

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Hey! Here for the matchup trade for Tokyo Debunker :)

Appearance-wise I am a 165 cm tall, average build, Bangladeshi woman (She/her but also cool with they/them). I have wavy black hair that just reaches below my shoulders and I usually dress in South Asian attire, usually salwar-kameez plus a hijab. I also wear glasses. I don't really feel comfortable going out without them 😅

My MBTI and enneagram: INTJ 5w4

Star sign: Sagittarius sun, Virgo moon and rising (I act more like a Virgo, allegedly)

Sexuality: demiromantic asexual (demisexual?)

Personality traits: Calm, collected, polite, quiet, shy (but that can easily be mistaken for being aloof or done with everyone's shit (they aren't entirely wrong about the latter)) (someone told me I radiate black cat energy), not very facially expressive (I'm the most emotional emotionless person I know. I do feel things more deeply than people give me credit for), a good listener, hardworking (I often bite off more than I can chew and end up burnt out), intelligent (especially with numbers. RIP impostor syndrome + gifted kid burnout syndrome. As much as I love my major, electrical engineering is kicking my ass). I am also the oldest of three sisters, so I'm good at handling kids (I'm also expected to be the perfect daughter, so... yea). Someone also told me I'm wise, but all that wisdom came from all the books I read + watching Avatar: The Last Airbender lmao. The same person also said my presence was therapeutic (paraphrasing, of course. Also, this is alleged). Cats and dogs seem to love me also. Dogs like to come up to me and say hello, and cats just seem to feel at ease around me.

Hobbies: Making art, making jewelry, reading, writing, animating (I'm relatively new to animation. I don't know what I'm doing most of the time, but I'm still having fun), basically anything creative. I especially like to draw and paint things that radiate a sense of comfort, nostalgia, and serenity. Someone also told me that my artworks also hold a sort of innocence in the composition of the shapes, colours, and overall vibe of what I draw/paint. I also make jewelry from time to time

Likes: Classical music, lofi hip-hop, indie rpgs (Yume Nikki and Off have me in a chokehold), visual novel games (coughs in Obey Me, Court of Darkness, Twisted Wonderland, Arcana Twilight, Ikemen Prince, and ofc, Tokyo Debunker), tea, books, creative outlets. I also like to learn psychology

Dislikes: Cruelty, anyone who would dare to threaten my family or friends, loud noises, red meat (The texture is too much for me to handle), bright lights. I also dislike strong smelling things and being in crowded, noisy and bright environments for prolonged periods of time

What qualities do you look for in a partner? It may not look like it on the surface, but I'm a huge softie, I'd like anyone who I can feel safe talking to. They don't need to be perfect, I just need them to put effort into helping me with my emotional needs. I already do that a lot with others, so I'd like it if they turn the tables on me. I also would not tolerate it if my partner belittles me or if they're just mean or rude for no apparent reason.

My love languages include making art for them and spending quality time. Also acts of service.

How do you want to receive affection? As I stated before, I would like them to put effort into helping me with my emotional needs. I already do that a lot with others, so I'd like it if they turn the tables on me. I would also like physical touch and words of affirmation, but I can't guarantee I'll know how to react to that at first 🥲. It's gonna take some time for me to get used to it

I hope this is enough information. Thanks in advance

Hi! Thank you for proposing a matchup exchange, especially for Tokyo Debunker! It's great being able to write for such a new fandom. I hope you like your matchup!

In Tokyo Debunker, I match you with...

Without a doubt, Haru is your perfect matchup. He’s kind and is definitely someone who makes people feel like they’re in a safe space.

He’ll also put in all of his effort into helping with your emotional needs. I feel like he’s looking for someone who will do the same too so hopefully you can help him out there in your own unique way.

You’re both hardworking people who tend to get burnt out and that probably won’t change even when you’re together. But when you do both get burnt out, you can spend a day together resting and enjoying some quality time.

Please make art for him! Haru definitely gives off the vibes of someone who would hang his kid’s drawing on the fridge and it’s no different with you. Whether it’s a painting, a drawing, or a piece of jewellery, he’s going to display it somewhere everyone can see.

Haru will also be really good at giving you physical affection. He knows it’s going to take you a while to get used to it so he’ll start with small touches and only build up when he can see you’re feeling comfortable.

[greggs-mistflower]

A Deal in the Amrayn Market

A tale in the Solar Trials universe of @professorhephaestus, alias of Ngozi Ukazu. (Am I tagging this right?)

Increscent Neptune loomed ever to the southeast, 8 degrees wide, above the spaceport that cradled the Venus High Flyer, the interplanetary liner the three Humans had arrived on. They stalked under the arch of the Dead Beast Gate. They were wary, for Amrayn Market has a shady reputation for an Aphran market, and that is a most shady reputation indeed.

Hovering in the air was the wailing reedy music of a tampira, in the mode of longing and loss. Bitter incense drifted from the door of a run-down temple of the Worm God, pacing the Humans as it was swept slowly down the street in the cool poleward trade wind. Next to the temple door was a prostrate figure sprawled on the ground, its face stretched in the rictus of a becc-dream, the gnawed remains of the narcotic root itself clutched in its hand. Whether it had sold its robes for the root, or someone had looted its clothing, mattered not at all to anyone.

Being warned, the Humans kept to the side of what passed for a street in this quarter, keeping to the tired sunlight that reached Triton. Only vague cloaked figures could be made out in doorways. One hissed when it had judged that a Human looked too long. Curiosity was a deadly crime in Amrayn Market.

The Human on the right, the one with some facial fur, started when he felt his pocket twitch. He leaned casually towards the leader in the center, murmuring in a Human tongue, "The first-gold resonator just went off".

The three shambled to a halt in the street, casting their eyes about as if casually. The furred one gestured slightly to the store they'd just passed. The old carved pillars of flame-tree arched over, holding the sign The Goods of the Third Merl Clan.

Parting the curtain of leather strips (what leather, a prudent mind would not contemplate), they carefully looked and stepped within. There was a small room with various statues and amulets behind translucent panels of utworla sandfish skin. One stood forth, evidently the shopkeeper. The three Humans had enough Trade Patois to be able to converse.

The first words were customary, the shopkeeper praising its rare and priceless (yet affordable) goods, the Human sneering at the evident common and shoddy quality. The leader glanced again at the befurred one, who nodded slightly.

The leader then commented, "It is beyond hope that you have something worth seeing. We might be interested in something … purer and more shining than this."

A shopkeeper needed to be skilled in interpreting vague hints. It spoke sharply to a collared servant to mind the main shop while it went through another curtain to a hidden chamber. Not long after, it called the Humans to come within.

There was a small table covered with deep purple-ultraviolet cloth. There was a centerpiece frame holding an inscribed shining yellow disk. Even the Humans could tell that it appeared to be the plate of an astrolabe.

The hairy one palmed the little detector and reached towards the disk. The shopkeeper clicked its teeth and gestured sharply with its wand. "It is the custom of the market. Goods are not touched without payment."

The furred one withdrew his hand with an affronted word, though he was fully satisfied. He glanced at the leader again and again nodded slightly. The detector had gone off strongly as it approached the disk.

The haggling did not last too long, considering. They settled on a price of 60 Venusian trade talents. The sequence of actions was a sticking point: neither was willing to hand over what they had before getting what they wanted. The Humans finally gave way. The leader offered the 60 talents on the spot for the disk, but warned, "We have heard that Aphrans have … loose ideas of justice, and the art of vendetta. Humans too have our own ideas about justice, but we prefer quick, large-scale destruction. We can afford to do this because we have the power to obliterate those who cheat us."

The shopkeeper bowed its body in acquiescence, for tales of Humans violence and wars had reached even the outer system. It began to draw up a receipt. "Shall I indicate the price as 95 talents?"

The Humans bristled. "Do you think to charge us more than you have agreed?!"

The shopkeeper made the gestures of humor and placation. "The honored Humans misunderstand my halting words. The price you will pay me remains 60 talents. The receipt that you may use to be reimbursed will say 95 talents. Humans coming into danger are surely not paid enough for their work?"

The leader gathered the two others with his eyes, and got their eager agreement. Even without that, it was a good deal. Their … organization would at last get a supply of first gold without the knowledge of the damnable meddling Martians, to experiment with … and maybe someday to surprise and displease the Martians.

The shopkeeper drew up, with fine brush strokes the receipt on utworla belly skin, and carefully stamped on the green-infrared ink of a seal. "This is the sigil of the Third Merl Clan. You may compare it with the design above the door."

The shopkeeper asked whether the Humans had a shield bag, to keep anyone inquisitive from prying into their matters and perhaps interfering. The Humans had already been instructed about the prudence of shielding their property.

The Humans continued further into the market, to not draw too much attention to this shop. The shopkeeper curtly instructed the collared one to keep an eye on the place while it went up the stairs to the living quarters.

The shopkeeper curled inwards to the shop owner and spoke, "My honored Aunt-Husband. I advise you to get a message to Third Ortho-Cousin Dlokenar, suggesting that it betray us and our shop to Omerronar and his subbranch of the clan. And make sure to get a cut of the bribe."

The shop owner raised up its bulk and said, with silky outrage, "Have the mind-worms eaten your soul?! This is a fine location of great value! You would have us lose our living and our goods, and worse, to our hated High Leg rivals!"

The shopkeeper laughed in the Aphran way and explained what had happened below. It laid particular emphasis on the Human threat of overwhelming power. And also mentioned selling them a decorative disk (brass plated in mundane gold), which had been sitting atop a framework, itself sitting on top of the good purple-ultraviolet cloth, which was sitting on top of the first-gold bracelets that the shopkeeper had slipped off its wrists while setting up the table.

The shop owner admitted awe. "It is so good a location and so valuable a shop -- it is too much to hope that Omerronar itself will run the shop and be present when the Humans and their weapons arrive. Regardless, they will still suffer a great loss, in bribing Third Ortho-Cousin Dlokenar and then losing goods and people here."

The Aunt-Husband caressed the arm of the shopkeeper. "Ah, every day I rejoice that I claimed you from the ruins of your family campound! Now let us prepare swiftly, before the Humans have a chance to check the bag!"

(Author notes: lots of Old Solar System planetary romances had a disreputable decadent Orientalist setting for some of the action, like this. On the other hand, Solar Trials feels more optimistic & clean than this, more Original Star Trek than Star Wars, so if the mood here seems wrong, please let me know.)

[vaguely-concerned]

zeblue sketch dump

here we go! :) this will go long because I Love them

I personally think of Blue’s glasses as less of the conventional nerd kind, more of the insufferable tech bro vibe. He IS a nerd but he’s also a scammer trying to get you to think it’s a sound financial investment to buy his cryptocurrency

God I wish I was more interested in/better at drawing clothes and fashion, because the idea of Blue wearing Aava hand-me-downs is one of the greatest mental images I’ve ever incepted myself with and I don’t think I can ever do it justice. + obligatory blue's dumbass jester my beloved

The Most important version of fullly armoured knight zero that I unforgivably forgot to include in my original post

Introducing Nephili ‘Neph’ Ax-Vel, one of the Force-sensitive kids that I invented for my ever-fixed mark ‘verse! Featuring an omwati redesign because the idea behind the species seemed so cool and yet what little art there is looks like uh… just humans with 80s hair and that was Not It for me. 

She is incredibly interested in technology and is showing signs of integrating her connection to the Force in that, exactly as Aava was so interested to see someone do! However (the monkey’s paw curls for Aava) Blue is her absolute favorite adult in the whole world, for unknowable reasons. (It probably comes down to them having some ineffable yet powerful autism2autism communication going on; he is surprisingly non-awful with her.)   

She’s also the only one of the kids small and literally bird-boned enough for Blue to be able to carry. (Dar-Yen — who even as a little babby 10 year old besalisk is pretty solid — once made a bet with his BFF that Blue would catch him if he jumped into his arms, Brooklyn 99 meme style. This experiment ended with several bruised ribs on all sides and a stern talking to. To this day the kids argue over whether Blue at least tried to catch him before they both went down like matching sacks of potatoes, or was just trying to save his cup of caf. Reader, I think you know in your heart what the truth is there.)

Before Aava and Zero started trading off haircutting duty, Blue’s hair got pretty long, which Neph took as prime free ‘I’ll braid your hair!!!’ real estate. 

Feared lethal assassin Agent Zero play fighting with the kids and dramatically pretending to fall to their combined might is something that can actually be so personal (is so personal I guess considering I made it up for myself lol). It is partially just to be an uncle-shaped jungle gym, but also a way to sneakily train them in working as a group the way he used to when running with a pack in his youth  

*blue voice* but why did theseus seduce ariadne though. Why did he not put the moves on the minotaur instead. This seems like the more obvious and productive cause of action long-term (and I have no other horny reason to think this)

*affectionate Zero voice* you’re insane (and extremely gay) but alright I’ll be insane along with you

(I could imagine this being a real in-universe statue that got commisioned and that they'd pose for fdskajfa Zero has gone through all the stages of grief long ago when it comes to what Blue does to his libido and has arrived at the perfect Zen of 'this will awaken something in me. and that's chill we live and learn about ourselves')

:') they

(Slightly older?) Neph and Blue, and some Zeros I doodled as a means to cling on to my sanity while stuck on a train for a couple of hours. Aava is right he handsome

important information being exchanged (the fact that blue specifically calls the hired killer he employs pretty... I will never be over it what is wrong with him)

The silly stupid little arms-wide-open-in-welcome doodle of Blue in this might be my favorite thing I’ve ever drawn. He really saw bae, went :) , and it fills me with such simple delight

(there’s also a Zero looking sad on this page of my sketchbook that didn’t make it in here, but that’s the context lol)