#and his twink brother

[geniemillies]

doodled high lord tarquin and some.. soon to be high lord vanserras question mark????

there are actually no buttons in prythian. i confiscated all buttons all laces. all shirts.

[eventually--darling]

nation's fuckboy x local town harlot is such a beautiful pairing

[neeeeeoposts]

i said id make character sheets and so i did

plus extra headcanons!!!!!!

[calebsrottingcorpse]

Philip Witteba- *cacophony of disturbing noises and a big explosion*

(original scene below the cut)

[flufflecat]

Its nearly christmastime so you know what that means

annual rqg sexy battle wizards holiday special relisten

[foursaints]

Now I need more thoughts on this teenage stubborn child laborer Reg you speak of pls

so enchanting that in a narrative filled with elaborate revenge schemes, regulus’s great comeuppance basically consisted of, like, fatally stabbing himself & his enemy and waiting to see who bled out first. the suicide-by-locket is so charmingly straightforward! CHILDISHLY stubborn! regulus is not particularly clever, nor handsome, nor interesting, nor likable. but he is practical. and he knows how to endure unthinkable circumstances by being blunt & realistic & strong, and never expecting anything less. and once again this itself is a form of dignity.

no more fanciful french rococo regulus. MY regulus is like a brutalist concrete slab structure in the soviet union and he could effortlessly bloody your regulus's nose. and he would do it with a sullen, dispassionate look of resignation, like a child soldier who has literally never been taught that it’s possible to want for comfort.

no canon basis for any of this but isnt it fun to think about? regulus is like a cold war spy who is so used to training his immunity on cyanide capsules that he gets sweaty when he goes a day without ingesting poison. he understands vaguely that this, probably, is not how normal people live — but he’s never really thought to complain. he fronts the facts of his own life. some people are not allotted a fair share of pleasure.

now imagine THAT regulus having an encounter with james potter. could you imagine how much he would hate him, and admire him, in the same moment? how much james would (obsessively, compulsively) admire him back, for the opposite reasons? even more than he looks up to sirius? they both delusionally think that the other is the Main Character and feel jealous about it. GOD

[peachysorrel]

He’s a kittycat meow meow meow meow meow meow meow

[xxplastic-cubexx]

cherik mpreg son onslaught that charles gave birth to

actually appalled how this is a factual sentence and that this is canonical comic book lore

[robindrake93]

Is anyone going to talk about how this is the second time Branch has brought someone back from the dead?

[takaraphoenix]

No, actually, I’ll not just be generally vaguely upset about the framework that pisses me off, I will also be specifically pissed off about the way he’s trying to pat himself on the back and rewrite history.

So having a gay character be brave by coming out and that bravery be an inspiration to other queer characters so they can be brave and come out too is something that comes off poor on its own already - because of the shallow framework that our existence alone is already oh-so brave of us and that others wouldn’t have dared come out if not for Major Queer Character who did it first.

But there is something particularly twisted and nasty about Riordan using this for Nico di Angelo, actually.

Because Nico di Angelo didn’t come out.

Nico di Angelo didn’t get to be brave or inspirational.

Nico di Angelo was forced out of the closet.

Nico di Angelo was outed against his will, in front of others.

Eros forced Nico to come out in front of Jason.

And, quite frankly, the way it was handled further was just as poor. To make this repressed teen from the 1930s, who up until mere days ago was dealing with severe internalized homophobia and couldn’t even admit his own feelings to himself, confess his crush in public, in the middle of camp...

Both of these events really just showed that Riordan is a straight man who doesn’t know this, and didn’t do his research beforehand.

And people just love giving Riordan the benefit of the doubt. Love giving him a pass and clapping him on the shoulder for the inclusion and for trying. And you know what! Yeah, I do love that he includes the gays. I do not think he should get excused for handling representation like shit though.

And this? This is in his newest book? You should think authors grow. Best selling authors should do more research. Get consultants. Stuff like that.

Instead, we’re going back and rewriting history. That forced coming out? Now a moment of bravery and inspiration for others!! Look how great and amazing that is!

Nico di Angelo didn’t get to choose that he was ready to come out, it wasn’t a moment of bravery. Not the kind of bravery that it takes when you are ready to face your personal truth and willingly take the step to own it. It was a moment of fear and desperation. And it was the bravery to face that fear and desperation.

And it really makes me sick to now learn that we’re looking back at it and pretending otherwise, in-universe.

[technicolourcowboy]

Finished drawing the babygirls… don’t look at me

CW: suggestive? I guess?? Those vines be climbin’

🌱😳🌱😳🌱

Just an insatiably horny plant demon and his farm boy(friend) Hanging Out!!! 😇

Fraternizing with a band mate is never a good idea 😔 have you learned NOTHING from Fleetwood Mac 😾

But Mallory loves to wind him up and watch him go 🤭🤭🌱💕

👆Tucking flowers into his hair… or trying to at least.. the romance of it all 🙂🫶

👇+ a closeup of Hally’s last 2 brain cells freaking the fuck out

That’s it thank yewww 😼🫰

[skitskatdacat63]

Pictures that fuel the 007 vettonso au that exists in my head(for now)

Also go listen to "You Know My Name", and think of Vettonso while doing so because I think it is SOOOOOO them coded(but also f1 in general tbh.) And also if you've seen Casino Royale, hey, remember that chair scene? >:)

[landure]

GEPARD APPLICATION: WRITING SAMPLE 1.3k wordcount

Belobog, last bastion of humanity, did not stand on its own. That larger than life fact is something every Silvermane Guard sworn to the Oath holds close to heart, closer than their fears, their love of hearth and safety, closer than the deaths that pile atop each other like firewood to be burned, than the ice and hail they mix with brave men’s blood and blood-tasting bravery.

And there’s so much of it - that brave men’s blood.

The naive soldier boys fresh out of Belobog Cadet School end up in only two ways; they die like cannon fodder in the first few seconds, swept up in their first expedition into the merciless Snow Plains, die beneath the shadows of the fortified walls in the Restricted Zone, or they harden to calcite and iron and ride above the storm. Gepard was one of those boys once, but more importantly he is a Landau through and through. Lions each and all, they have their own way of working through things, and that way has never stopped working for Gepard. Not yet.

…If you want to cry after your loss, Gepard, then cry.

But you need to stand back up even when you are crying.

Serval’s right. Always stand back up. Her big, little brother spits out the blood in his mouth and keeps going, his knuckles split inside the tight clenches of his gauntlet and the white glove on his opposite hand is abraded raw, but he ignores those too. It’s not the duty of the wall to give, but to divide; them from us; none of you will touch any of this, not on my life. On this shield. 

“Gunners forward! Stand clear of the Fragmentum volley and return fire on my signal! Halberdiers ready your charge!”

The Shadewalker banshees scream their shrill war cry, humans mouth grit in readiness. Geometric patterns tint the air in precursor, air chills on a monolith of frost made condensed, and behind his wall the gunners and halberdiers do exactly that. Gepard, their Captain, is strong in the sense that nature’s structures are strong, impenetrable and resistant, an unflagging mountain rising up from the earth sturdy and tall enough to divide it, on one side the Fragmentum, on the other his allies. On the average battlefield, they only lose one or two, on the worst, entire platoons or enough soldiers that they’ll be dissolved after the fighting is over. Ever since Gepard was made Captain it’s been the former more and more.

Well. For any effect that isn’t zero, he finds it hard to call that a strength.

❄

“The fortifications and logistics are complete. Good work today, Captain.”

“You too. I’ll take it over from here, Pela. Get some rest.”

He files his paperwork with Pela, gives the verbal report to Lady Bronya in curt, ready tones, gets home. It’s always the same after that.

Two feet in the door, shut door, turn lock, broad shoulders deflate. He lets out a hefty colossus of a breath fit for a whale, melting away all the day with it, pushing out all the exhausting impurities collected in enduring ice. The front lines are filthy business; he strips off the Geomarrow gauntlet, sets his boots aside for later shining, he tries to bathe. Tries. Out there contending with the worst of the Eternal Freeze, insulated clothing is an invaluable lifeline; in Gepard’s flat, it’s a sweaty death trap of annoyance.

Multiple layers of thick fur and starchy regalia may as well be densely packed strata, one great vampiric white-blue leech sucking on his blood slick skin like it can’t have enough. He tries once, twice, gives up with a bullish sound of frustration and merges face down with the couch. His arms and legs hang over the edges. It’s nearly too small for him to lay down on, but that’s never stopped the exhausted Captain from getting his shuteye, sleeping here more than his own bed for its proximity to the door.

Just like faithful Earthwork it’s never given up on old Geppie when it counts most.

The springs scream as he rolls over, he gives the pleated arm rest a tired pat like a dog, and stares thoughtlessly up at the lights. Do it later. Other levels of thinking can’t be applied to that though. The flower pots catch his eye guiltily in the corner. Most people check their flowers during the day, Gepard comes home late enough to see the flowers wilting. This marks the third time - maybe the flowers and horticulture, the softer, gentler cultivations, just aren’t for him.

❄

Gepard isn’t all that soft, not really.

He gets a lot of flack for that outside the hours his hardness is made for. Serval says that he could stand to be softer spoken, especially with Lynx, but he doesn’t really know how. Where does a soldier begin? An iron wall doesn’t stop being iron on account of a playful scolding that he can't be velvet, and doesn’t find it easy either. 

The soldier Gepard only gives the straight answers, walks the straight path. Little Belobogian boys ask how they can be like strong Captain Gepard and he tells them what he knows, honestly, without frills: train hard and drink milk. With the older ones he’s a little harsher.

Another servant of Belobog might say try your best, study hard and pursue your military education to its last legs, someday you’ll be just like me. Gepard, stern and unchanging, tells them not to join unless they’re prepared to give their lives. It’s smart word, hard word, but in that equally selfish. A proper protector of the peace enjoys the bright faces he comes home to, doesn’t want to see those same faces pale and frozen cold beneath the winding sheet tarps.

Gepard will be remembered a hero, a stark pillar of the Silvermanes, their iron wall through hard time and harder time again. As he patrols the streets he sees a group of loping, gangling youths and one of the girls makes him think of Lynx. Pela, to a degree. Soldiers as young as her aren’t rare anymore. They’ll continue to be common with the soldiers that die each and every day to Fragmentum invasions.

“You’ll go no further. I’m Belobog’s indestructible shield!”

“Years of cold hardens the will!”

Their wooden sticks and shields smash against each other, playing out a familiar scene. Gepard watches for a moment longer, arms behind his back and smart black boots clicked together by the heels, not soft enough to smile, not ignorant enough to see it as flattery.

❄

No one tells Gepard anything. Not that he’s a bad artist, not that he snores louder than anyone when he dozes off in the company office with newspaper fanned over his eyes, or that his face takes on a scary looking scowl the closer they get to confrontation with the Fragmentum forces. Some of the Silvermane don’t even need a clock, they get ready by the hour and minute hands of their Captain’s expression.

Some things never change.

Following the advent of two nearly world-ending calamities named Stellaron and IPC, a scowling wall of iron stands with his forces. It’s warmer here in the Underworld, something about being closer to hell, likelier to do with the great prevalence of Geomarrow mining operations, but there’s still a trace of frost. And Gepard on the orders of the new Supreme Guardian, Lady Bronya, will root it out.

The cold prelude of Fragmentum invasion nips at his cheeks but he’s long since learned to ignore it. He’s not a child anymore, he’s said to Serval countlessly, and Gepard isn’t a yellow-bellied private either floating in a lack of purpose like the naive soldier boy who dies first. A wall faces forward, doesn’t question what it protects, because instability is the bane of all upstanding defense, because doubt a disobedient and ineffectual soldier makes.

Gepard can’t deny what he's been taught, that the Architects are the best of Belobog’s interests manifest, he can even lesser deny what keeps him alive. He isn’t made to be soft, he’s made to be iron, and for all that that’s needed—that he’s needed—he wouldn’t change a thing. 

“Gunners forward! Stand clear of the Fragmentum volley and return fire on my signal!”

[mattzerella-sticks]

Everyone stay with me because I have a vision for a reboot of Supernatural...

[lemonbeemon]

I have never been more trash at a game I love than DS3