#and middle names too

[hoperays-song]

Sing Characters as Human: Ash Batalla

Everyone bow to the punk-rock princess of The New Moon Theatre, Ash.

[stargatebarbie]

If you feel comfortable please tell me about your middle name in the tags too! I'm nosey and don't know what to do with my own middle name lmao

[heartorbit]

find another role, carry on the show

[soracities]

Cameron Awkward-Rich, from "Another Middle-Class Black Kid Tries to Name It" [transcript in ALT]

[mishy-mashy]

Toga: Someone who wanted to be happy

Uraraka: Someone who wanted to make others happy

And also,

Toga: Someone who wanted the world to be easier to live in

Uraraka: Someone who wanted to make the world easier to live in for others

[leonw4nter]

everyone says that leon is a cat person or a dog person and tbh I see it… but hear me out. leon as a guinea pig person, SPECIFICALLY RE2 leon. like that little white boy is laying down on the couch, knocked out, and there’s a cute little guinea pig that lowkey looks like him laying on his chest.

in a universe where the canon events never happened, he has 2 guinea pigs that he looks forward to when coming home so he can set them on the counter while he cooks. spends more money on high quality lettuce (and whatever veggies guinea pigs eat) than his own meals.

if someone hits him up about his guinea pigs?????? he will INFODUMP, go all 💡🤓👆 on the person he’s talking to ( if he gets a partner , this is his form of rizz or wtv). he WILL show pictures of his guinea pigs and you’re not sure what’s cuter, him or his pets. will talk to his guinea pigs about shit from work or a cute person he saw today.

his guinea pigs prolly look like these bad boys:

(and they’re both girls) (AND THEIR NAMES ARE PROBABLY SMN STUPID LIKE IDK buster and paper clip coz he thought one of them was a dude and the other idk he got lazy)

[feketeribizli]

[on the cheating rumours regarding his involvement with the seperation between sally carrera and teammate montgomery "monty" mcqueen after their two years of engagement]

[sonadowkismesis]

sorry, no art this week. just edits of fem!ford of varying quality. her name's andromeda. grauntie andy. and i love her

[dizzybizz]

al lsasints steret 🥺

i lvoe alll saints stereettttrahghghhhh

[flakops]

teenage love

[scyllas-revenge]

Just read your “leap of faith” fic for Legolas and I have say I absolutely adore your writing style! Would it be possible for you to do a drabble or some rough ideas on what he would act like in the morning after waking up?

Thank you so much!! Honestly, that wasn't a fic I really planned to write more of, but your ask got my extremely rusty brain back to writing, so thank you! I'm not sure I succeeded at the style I was going for here, but it was fun to give it a try. I hope you like it!

(and @heilith I remember you requested to be tagged in my next Legolas content, so here you go!)

Leap of Faith, Part 2

aka even more Only One Bed shenanigans

Legolas/reader (gender-neutral)

Word count: 1100

Rating: G

Read part 1 here!

Legolas wakes to the sound of his name, but does not hurry to open his eyes. Your voice is a thing of beauty, as it always is, and he sighs a soft smile at the sound, willing the outside world away.

Soon his name is on your lips again, a bit more insistently this time. He shakes his head faintly. Not yet. Mortal sleep is a new experience for him, and he would indulge in it a few moments more. 

Now your hand presses against his shoulder. Regretfully, Legolas allows himself to be jostled into real wakefulness at last, where he finds you lying beside him, soft morning light streaming in through the inn’s faded curtains.

Your body is still curled toward him under the blankets. 

Concern pinches at your brow as you study him. You have never seen him sleep with his eyes closed—is he unwell? But then, perhaps elves never feel unwell. The wry laugh in your words does not fully disguise the sudden pain behind your eyes—perhaps you are reminded, as he so often is, of the immeasurable gulf between you, mortal and immortal, human and elf.

But you were never one to dwell overmuch on such heavy matters—you rest a hand against his forehead, half-teasing, as though to check for fever. Burning up, you inform him, your solemn pronouncement betrayed by the grin playing on your lips. Alas, he is quite unwell indeed! You fear his days are numbered. He had best get his affairs in order.

Legolas does not return your laugh. He will feel unwell in truth, he knows, the moment he must rise from this bed and carry on his journey with you, pretending he did not hear you whisper his name in your sleep, pretending he did not succumb to mortal dreams by your side. But he must give you an answer, and such a confession will not do. 

He was curious, he admits at last. It is no lie—not even a half-truth, for he is burning with curiosity, has burned ever since he met you. It is a weak answer, but it seems to satisfy you, and you smile at him more earnestly. 

Your hand still rests on his forehead, as though you’d quite forgotten to remove it. 

Have you shifted nearer to him? He does not think so. Yet the distance between you now seems unbearably small, intimate, your legs half-entwined under the blankets, his hair touching yours on your pillow. Nearly a lover’s embrace.

It is improper, Legolas thinks to himself, the instinct to scramble back rising in his throat. His curiosity has always warred with nervousness around you, the desire to at once surge forward and retreat often keeping him at a standstill entirely. But you speak again, and his eyes are drawn to the movement of your lips, so hypnotizing that you are forced to repeat yourself twice before he understands. 

Has his curiosity been satisfied, then? Now that he has had a taste of mortal sleep? Your eyes crinkle with laughter, the sound dancing soft and intimate between you. Mortal sleep is quite dull, after all, and you fear he must be disappointed. You shake your head ruefully, your hand leaving his forehead only to brush, agonizingly, against his cheek as you draw away—

“No.” Legolas's hand grasps your retreating wrist before you are aware of it.

His voice is still soft, the half-hushed restraint of early morning that you, like all mortals, seem to favor, but you cannot fail to sense the change in it, a flame igniting the word, low and rasping and hungry.

You lay frozen for a moment, your lungs scarcely drawing breath. But an answering flame sparks behind your eyes, and you raise your brow at him. “No...you are not disappointed? Or no, you are not satisfied?”

Softly you return your hand to Legolas’s face, your fingers trailing tentatively over his cheekbone, his jaw, the shell of his ear, shaped so unlike your own. His heart soars at your touch, and he laughs softly for sheer joy. “How could you disappoint me?" His hand falls to your waist, drawing you nearer. "In the waking world and in sleep, there is delight to me in all you do.”

“I am glad.” Heat blooms on your cheeks, but your fingers continue to play over his face, his neck, his hair, and your smile now is a thing of fire. You lean in closer than ever, and he wishes it might burn him. “And how could I satisfy you?”

Oh, there can be no doubt, now, that you feel as he does. The little bedroom seems suddenly to be made of gold, the morning sun sinking into his skin as though this is the first sunrise ever to grace Middle-Earth, the world born anew before him. Yet for all his elation Legolas knows not how to answer—he wants too much, far more than he can ask of you, and he fears his curiosity will never be satisfied.

Smiling all the wider for his silence, you take pity on him, tapping a playful finger against his chest as though in thought. “Perhaps I might tell you what I dreamed of last night. Will that do?” 

Your touch burns over his collarbone, his neck, his jaw, until your thumb sweeps softly over his lower lip. He swallows hard. He sees your sleeping face again, branded into his memory, your lashes fluttering, lips parting as you murmur his name. No, he thinks. It is not enough. “Perhaps you might show me instead.”

There is a heat beyond fire in your smile now, a heat to rival the rising sun. You know as well as he that this alone will not satisfy either of you, that this will begin something new and terrifying, a leap of faith far greater than the one he had taken last night in lying down beside you and closing his eyes. Yet he does not mean to retreat, and nor, it seems, do you. 

“Hmm. It will do, for a start.” 

Legolas is still chuckling fondly at your answer when you press his name against his lips, tangling your fingers in his hair. As you pull his body flush against yours, sighing as he parts your lips to taste the joy and trust and desire on your tongue, his fears and doubts vanish like summer fog, for he knows you have faith in each other utterly. 

He knows that when you take this leap together, you will fly.

[crymeariveronceagain]

hey i don't know what writer needs to hear this today but you can have characters in your work who exist only to move the plot forward. you can create an oc for a fanfic who exists to ask a question at the right time and is never seen again. you can create a novel and have random characters that exist to move the story. characters are elements of narrative. not every single one has to have a whole backstory and a life fleshed out. sometimes they can just be there for a scene and then never be involved again. isn't that how life works? don't we meet people and then they vanish? aren't our lives simply moments spent to drive forward the plots of others? your character can be pointless. you character can exist in a moment. your character can take up space. your character can exist, even if you don't know their birthday and their mother's favorite song.

characters are not people. you do not have to make them into people unless you want to. you owe them nothing. use characters however you want in your story. develop them as is relevant. otherwise, it literally does not matter.

[sforzesco]

TRY AGAIN LATER

it's like. well. its several things.

(Plutarch's Crassus, trans. Warner)

and also this

(ibid.)

that compliment sounds like an insult, baby.

anyway, there's a fun kind of eroticism in being given everything, in taking things that aren't yours without any real consequence, in climbing towards becoming a Roman Alexander, only for one man to deny you, over and over and over again, at every turn. Sulla tried, Crassus did it better. who would put a butcher in their place? who else knows you well enough to do it? who else can match you step for step like this? doesn't it feel like a kind of intimacy, a kind of—

it's also about the 'even sulla kissed my sword/so you want me on my knees too?' innuendo was too good to pass up. that was actually the first line I wrote, I figured out the rest of this to justify making a comic with it

and finally! the sword line is referencing/playing off of Lucan's Pharsalia a little bit because it fucks hard

(Lucan's Pharsalia, trans. Jane Wilson Joyce)

EDIT: oh, and that's a public domain anatomical illustration of a heart. you know how it is with love and hate.

[crystalpallette]

frye inspires this sort of manic "i can do whatever i want" kinda will in people and god. I sure did do whatever I wanted here

[pigeons-with-jello]

I can never just say 'tim' or 'martin' or 'gerry' and 'jon' is a visible struggle. I gotta say full names. Timothy Stoker. Martin (k) Blackwood. Gerard Keay. Jonathan Sims. Its therapeutic. There sre no life crisises any more i can say full names

[solargeist]

tfw you meet God and they uses your face to make fun of you and admit theyre borderline entertained by ur suffering